Chapter 8
It felt hotter today.
The hurried walk back from the stable left me sticky and breathless. And I hadn’t even begun my day. My back, my legs—they felt as if they were working against me.
The east wing was unusually crowded this morning.
The hall echoed with mumbling as the royals and council members squeezed their way up to the third floor.
Lord Aegir would be amongst them soon. Some big meeting, requiring the presence of all the noblemen for most of the day.
It meant that everyone would be out of their rooms. Mounir saw this as an opportunity and instructed me to change the bedsheets of all the rooms on the east wing, while Clara and Ralfe scrubbed in the laundry room.
Lovely.
I lost count of the number of times I went up and down the stairs carrying heavy loads of sheets, the number of beds I made.
Then it crept up on me, a sharp cramp in my lower belly.
A searing one, leaving me bent over and grunting.
Ugh. After three months of scarce faint pains and no traces of blood, it decided to show up today.
Another one hit me intensely. Sweat formed at both sides of my face, my neck. My necklace felt tacky against my chest, hidden beneath the jewel neckline of my dress. A memory resurfaced. A memory of the day I bled for the first time.
“Selmira! Selmira! I’m dying!”
I was confused by her soft chuckles. “My sweet Delia, do not panic. That’s normal. It means that you have become a woman now. You are no longer a child.” Her voice was sweet as honey, and I could feel it getting the better of my temper.
I grunted. “But the blood, and the pain, it’s too much. I might need a doctor.”
“There is no need for a doctor. The sharp, unbearable pain is normal, unfortunately, yet the blood you shed, it’s a blessing from Amfir.
But we can make it better. I’ll go get you some chamomile tea and a blanket for your belly.
” She halted midway and without looking at me said, “Oh, and I’ll get you cloths for your undergarment. I’ll show you how to wear—”
“Fuck! Fuck! Ffff—”
Selmira spun around so fast. “Cordelia Wildheart! You watch that filthy mouth of yours! Just because you’re in pain does not give you the right to swear.”
“I’m sorry, it’s just—” My sentence ended in a groan. This one made me feel like my sweat was being wrung out of my bones.
“Just lie on the couch and wait there!” Selmira ordered, pinching between her brows.
I stumbled towards the couch and waited while my cramps left and came as they pleased. One moment of sweet relief followed by another excruciating pulse of pain.
After the blood-and-pain situation was under control, I lay on the couch, fatigued. Selmira sat at the end of it, right next to my feet.
“Does this mean that I have to leave now?” I asked, my voice low.
“You know I’ve been dreading this moment since the day I laid my gaze on those big brown eyes of yours.” She did not have to say it out loud; the look on her face was telltale.
“Sand Priestess Constance said that rules are rules and that when we become women, we are asked to leave, so that there would always be space for smaller children.” A lump rose in my throat that I painfully swallowed. The dry air did not help.
“I wish I could let you stay.” Her hand reached for my ankle. “Well, there is one way for you to stay.” My eyes shone, then dimmed as she continued. “But you’d first have to enrol as an acolyte at the Priestess Convent and become a Sand Priestess yourself, and then you could come work here.”
I imagined myself as a Sand Priestess. Ridiculous, I thought. And besides, I had a lingering feeling that Amfir did not like me very much. So I replied quietly, “I don’t feel his calling.”
“Martin Seid, the stableman who visits us from Sharlam, told me that there is a job opportunity, that he can arrange an interview for you to work as a servant at the Sand Castle. I told him that you were not yet of age, but it seems that Amfir thought otherwise.”
Did he now?
“It’s a blessing, I can feel it,” Selmira asserted.
After soaking in what she had just said—realising the worth of the chance, the possibility within it—I whispered, “The Sand Castle?”
Oh! Me, imagine that! Me, living in Sharlam, in the Sand Castle. The place—the place where the king lives, and oh, his companions and his many children live there, too. No, not children, princes and princesses!
“Would that interest you? Martin said he could take you there next week.”
“Next week? But that’s too soon…I—I don’t think I can leave just yet. Can’t I stay for a bit longer, a few weeks, perhaps?”
“The interview would be over by then. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity, gifted to you by Amfir, I’m sure.
You would have a decent job and you could set aside a small fortune, and then do whatever you want with it—buy something.
And you would have a roof over your head, shelter, and food and water.
Delia, those are the things humans need to survive. You would be fed and safe there.”
I swallowed, taking in her words of wisdom.
“All right. Tell him—tell him I accept.” Excitement and fear rolled off my tongue hand in hand.
“I’ll miss you, my sweetheart. Use what you have learned here to make yourself a great worker and an even better person. And you’d better not swear at the castle!”
“I won’t. I promise. I’ll miss you too. And Nutmeg and Linda. And maybe Sand Priestess Constance, but not as much as you.” Selmira laughed, but her shimmering eyes were a second away from spilling tears.
Fuck, fuck, fuck!
I was on the second floor when another one hit me.
I was sure I would faint soon. I needed to rest, at least for a little bit.
I made it along the never-ending corridor in small steps until reaching its corner.
I leaned myself and the weight of the stuffed basin against the wall.
My legs gave in and I tumbled to the floor, basin at my side, holding my belly.
A persistent ringing noise buzzed in my ear, and I was sure I was going to barf.
I should wear a cloth soon. But first I needed to rest, to gather myself.
The little shred of composure I managed to syphon was not good enough, though.
Is he not wearing his keys today?
No, there they were. It was me, I did not hear him approach.
“Delia! What in Amfir’s name are you doing?” I shot to my feet. The floor swayed beneath me, feeling as if it had turned into quicksand. And it was either the walls or my own head that spun like a spinning top. “Slacking off, lying there on the floor like some street dog!”
“I felt dizzy, I fell.”
“Oh, poor Delia. Do you think me that gullible?” He grabbed hold of my arm—his favourite spot—then pushed me against the wall.
He had no idea how close I was to throwing up all over him.
“I warned you not to slack off, but always the insubordinate, always thinking that you can do whatever you want around here. Do you forget that you are no longer Prince Semuel’s little servant?
” That last part hit me hard, right through my chest.
“No. I haven’t forgotten!” I wanted to scream at his stupid, ugly face.
I yanked my hand free and lifted the basin, but he did not allow me to take more than two steps. He jerked my elbow, the basin falling to the floor, the sheets here and there. “Did you hear me dismiss you?”
“I was continuing with work. I swear I was just resting because I felt dizzy.”
Mounir closed the distance between us. It disgusted me how he made me share his foul breath. Too. Fucking. Close. He grabbed me with both hands between my neck and shoulders and pressed down. He dug his thumbs and forefingers so hard, I expected my neck muscles to tear.
“Kneel.”
Semuel’s voice spoke in my head. Always know your worth, Wildheart, even when the other person has more power over you.
My jaw tightened. “You are not my king.” I held the little strength I had left, shaking, but holding.
“You are nobody. Kneel.” His tone turned harsh and he pressed harder.
Much harder. My legs betrayed me and I dropped to the floor.
He kept pressing. “Now that you’ve rested long enough, go to the laundry room and do not come out of there until after dusk, only to serve Lord Hailin his dinner. Clara will continue with the rooms.”
My usual punishment—the laundry room. But perhaps for today only, I would savour it, as I couldn’t physically climb up and down any more stairs.
I lowered my head, avoiding his gaze. I had to.
Otherwise it would have felt like an invasion of my own privacy.
I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.
I didn’t want him to know that tears had lined my eyes.
Not tears of pain, nor tears of self-pity.
No. They were tears of frustration and anger.
I may have wished that Daekon had taken his life instead of his brother’s.
Mounir finally let go of my shoulders and I felt a small hint of relief as I watched his feet disappear from my vision.
He walked away, humming and whistling as if nothing had just fucking happened.
I did not lift my head, even after his whistles ebbed into nothing, just like the fainting sound of clinking keys.
I crammed the sheets back into the basin, and once I was sure he was out of hearing range, I murmured under my breath, “Go fuck yourself, you filthy piece of shit.”
“Oof! My, my, Cordelia. The rage, the ire. I swear it’s palpable.
” I didn’t have to lift my head to know it was Lord Aegir Hailin who stood to my left.
I could tell he was leaning against the wall, based on the positioning of his legs—one crossed over the other.
And I was certain that if I dared look up, his arms would’ve been crossed over his chest, his face lit up with a smug smile, surely.
“Was it him? It was, wasn’t it? Oh, I bet you wish to gut him, to see his blood spill all over the carpet.
I’d wager you wouldn’t even bother to clean the mess. ”
Yes.
Yes, I did wish that. But I kept my head down and answered sharply, “I only wish for him to stop.”
“Stop him, then, Wildheart,” he purred, his tone laced with excitement. “Take your revenge.”
I no longer gave two shits about who saw my teary face and I just snapped at him. “The merciless brute dares mock me—a mere servant—for not seeking revenge.” I scoffed. I heard nothing about how the Hailins heroically stood up for the Ilmans.
Lord Hailin bored into me with his bristling eyes. His voice turned low. “Careful now, or you’ll tempt me to freeze that filthy little tongue of yours.”
A very small part of myself wanted to stick my tongue out at him but I resisted the urge. I grabbed the basin and stood, perhaps a bit too quickly, wishing that my step did not falter and that my wince was not as obvious. The next untimely cramp made it very hard to shroud my pain.
“Are you all right?” the Ice Prince asked, his voice turning careful.
I did not look at him. I didn’t bother with replies. With small steps, I made my way downstairs, thanking whichever god that I had to spend the next hours confined in one dark space. Just me, my pain, and my lovely thoughts.
I was pleased to see that my undergarment was not yet stained. At least one good thing had happened.
Back in the laundry room, I looked at the heaped pile of white sheets that were still to be scrubbed. It made my stomach uneasy. And the fact that Clara was up there fetching more…gods, I could not wait for this day to be fucking over.
By the time I was to serve Lord Aegir his dinner, my bleeding had started and those nasty cramps had thankfully subsided. Yet the constant dull pain in my lower back and belly persisted. Just a mild inconvenience for my feeble body, I told myself.
Come on, one final push and you can go to bed.
I was leaning over, setting up his table, and when I straightened myself, I knew that he stood right behind me. I felt his cool.
Too close.
I moved around the table, giving the cutlery a new place to rest, an excuse to set some distance between us.
“Are you hurt?” His voice was firm, yet I wasn’t sure if I heard a flicker of concern tingeing it. I didn’t look back to confirm it.
I also wasn’t sure what he meant by that. Was he asking about my bruised arms and shoulders? But those marks were concealed beneath my dress. Perhaps I had indeed failed to hide my pain earlier. So I only asked, “What?”
“You’re bleeding. Did he hurt you?”
Why is his voice so low? And why is he asking about my cycle? If you could call it that. There was nothing harmoniously cyclical about it.
I was about to take another step, but he caught me by my elbow, the backs of his fingers momentarily brushing my waist.
I stilled.
If I had to use one word to describe what I felt at that very moment, only a complex one would come to mind. Paradoxical. His grip, tight yet gentle, a threat and a caress, present yet ethereal. It felt as if warmth and cool coursed along my skin, deeper.
“Tell me. Did he hurt you?”
Yes. He did hurt me.
But I only glanced at him from over my shoulder and said, “Women bleed, Lord Hailin.” And I swore he stiffened before letting go of my arm with the slowness of an old snail in the midst of a parched road.
His hold I knew was no longer there, yet I could still feel its imprint—like a phantom touch. “Good night, Lord Hailin.”
“Good night, Cordelia.”
I collapsed onto my bed, finally at peace, and melted as my discomfort transitioned into a soft and peaceful sensation along my belly, my back. Finally, gone. As soon as my head touched the pillow, I drifted off into a dreamless world.