Chapter Three
I had known cages all my life.
Iron bars slick with rust. Splintered wood that left needles in my skin. I had once been set in a circle of spell work that was etched into stone floors, the magic had pressed so hard against my skin that it felt like my breath had been stolen.
Yet, none of that had ever felt as suffocating as the Eastern Wing of the Obsidian Court.
The guards escorted me through corridors that seemed to stretch on without end, black stone walls polished to a mirror sheen that even extended to the floor beneath my feet; giving the illusion that we were walking along an inky black river.
The Faelight casting an eerie blue glow that turned every shadow into a soul that stood on the other side of living, lingering, watching. It put me on edge.
Doors lined the passage we walked through into the east wing. Heavy slabs of dark wood carved with runes that pulsed as we passed. Most of them would have been wards, designed to keep something out or something worse in.
The guards never uttered a sound, walking beside me in complete silence. They would not even meet my gaze. Instead, they watched me only from their peripheral, as if I was a wolf they needed to be wary of, half starved and barely restrained.
Eventually we halted before a pair of towering double doors, etched with curling silver vines. One of the guards rapped his knuckles once against the wood, only to be met with silence. Until the doors slowly crept open, seemingly of their own accord.
A female elf stood there waiting, arms crossed over her chest, looking at us as though she wanted to be anywhere else but here.
She was petite and willowy, all quiet angles and soft light.
Pale skin unblemished by hardship. Hair the colour of early spring wheat was braided with delicate precision and draped over her shoulder.
Her moss green eyes watched us with an intelligence, hidden behind eyelashes so long they almost seemed painted.
Her gown was made of a simple grey linen, yet the cut was elegant as if it had been made just for her. Belted neatly at the waist, sleeves tapering out to narrow wrists. She possessed an ethereal beauty that I had only ever seen with elves.
Her nose wrinkled almost imperceptibly as she took me in. A mud caked hem, split lip and iron cuffs biting into my skin. Her gaze travelled the length of me, as though she was trying to see what lay beneath all of the grime.
“Is this her?” She asked softly. Her voice was airy, although judgement threaded through it like a wire.
“Yes, by order of the King. She is to be his companion,” the larger guard replied.
“I see... Well, bring her in, I see I have a lot of work to do,” she said, stepping aside with fluid grace.
The room beyond the door was bright. Too bright. Lanterns hung along the walls, flooding the chamber with a pale, relentless glow.
A bathing pool was sunken into the stone floor, steam rising in slow spirals towards the. Beside it stood a long table, cluttered with a barrage of unfamiliar oils, salves and combs.
I had barely stepped foot in the room when I heard her sharp intake of breath. Her eyes fixated on the burn covering the skin of my neck.
The burn scar twisted down from beneath my jaw, and slithered along my collarbone in jagged ridges, the edges shaped like pieces of shattered glass.
It was ugly and for anyone not used to it, incredibly hard to ignore.
The elf did not mask her reaction. Horror flickering to the forefront first, quickly followed by disgust and then something dangerously close to pity.
“Who did this to you?” she asked, stepping closer. Her fingers caught my chin and tilted my head. Exposing the worst damage to the light.
“Depends who you ask, but most people would tell you I fell,” I shrug, that quick sharp tongue of mine rearing its head, to cover up how uncomfortable it felt to have someone stare so intently at my marred skin.
She blinked, her composure slipping from her face. The guards stiffened beside me, like me, expecting punishment to follow my insolence. I resisted the urge to grin at them.
“You may leave us,” the elf said at last, her voice steadying.
“Are you certain? She looks as though she may bite,” one of the guards muttered.
“I do not bite,” I said, turning my head just enough to meet his narrowed gaze. Having to tilt my head upwards to maintain eye contact, “Unless provoked.”
A small smile ghosted across the elves' lips. The guards looked nervously amongst themselves. Clearly considering gagging me anyway. However, after a moment, they obeyed, stepping out and shutting the doors with a heavy thud.
Silence settled within the room. Only the whisper of slippers against stone as she circled me slowly, studying me as if I was an art project she was about to begin.
“If you are planning to buy me, I would advise against it. I have a terrible attitude, and I imagine The King makes his possessions very expensive,” I said, my eyes following her every step.
“I have no desire to purchase you human. My name is Penny. I am to be your attendant.” She replied with a breath that sounded suspiciously like a laugh, but the way she said ‘human’ made it abundantly clear it was not meant as a compliment.
“Is attendant the word they use for you watching over me?” I asked, crossing my arms over my chest watching her through my eyelashes.
Elves had a reputation for being deceitful.
They would convince you that you could trust them, before they drove a blade straight between your ribs.
They were above humans like me, but sat beneath the Fae in the hierarchy of Vaetharyn.
Servants rather than slaves, paid for their labour, but never permitted to forget their place.
“I am here to ensure you survive. To dress you, prepare you. To make certain you understand the expectations that come alongside your place here.” She said, testing the temperature of the bath water with slender fingers.
“What do you get out of it?” I ask, raising my eyebrow as I watch her shake the droplets of water off into the air. I knew how this would work, she would not have been asked to do this for nothing. There was no way an elf would do anything, especially not something with humans involved, for free.
“Your clothes will need to be removed, they are filthy, infested and unfit for the Eastern wing,” she muses, with her back to me. Ignoring my question with obvious intent. Whatever she was getting out of this arrangement was clearly not up for discussion, especially with me.
“I’ve worn worse,” I said, my eyes rolling to one side. Although she had been right, I was filthy, and I could not honestly remember the last time I had felt truly clean.
“I can tell,” she muttered, her gaze moving up and down once more, the judgement once again clear. Taking in the dirt, blood and bruises.
“Fine, but I am not stripping in front of you,” I told her firmly, finally uncrossing my arms. My body was a road map of bruises and scars. She had already shown me pity once. I did not need to see it again.
“You are a slave, human. Modesty is a luxury you no longer possess,” Penny laughed mockingly, raising a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. From her stance I knew she would be more than happy to argue with me, until the bath water ran cold.
“I have a name. It's Elara,” I snapped, tired of hearing her spit the word human as if it would burn the inside of her mouth. Although the retort sounded childish even to my own ears.
For a heartbeat, something shifted in her expression. Recognition, perhaps. As though she had remembered I was not just a task for her to complete. I was a living being who still had a soul.
“Turn around, Elara, I will help you,” Penny sighed, walking across the room towards me. Her eyes talking on a kinder look, not by much, but it was still something.
I hesitate, just for a second. Not from shame or modesty, that had been torn from me long ago. I knew turning my back to anyone felt like placing a blade in their hand. Giving someone your back gave them an opportunity to stick a knife in it, or worse.
Penny’s hands lay on my shoulders, light, like a breath as she turned me. Her fingers worked on the fabric, undoing the ties and knots as the cloth fell away from my body.
Cold air kissed my bruised skin, goosebumps rose like a second layer over my scars. I did not want her pity, but I could not stop it from being given. I felt her hands pull away and a soft gasp escape her lips.
“I know, scars, bruises, a whole tragic tapestry,” I said, refusing to look her in the eye as I turned back to face her. Kicking at the dress as if it had personally wronged me. The fabric slid across the stone as I raised my hands to cover my breasts.
“This is not normal,” she whispered, stepping back allowing me to remove my own underwear, perhaps deciding that was a step too far.
“It is for me,” I said, keeping my tone flat as I used one hand to pull the fabric down between my legs. Discarding it in the pile that had once been my dress.
Penny had warned me that the water had been infused with moon silver, and given my cuts and bruises it would sting slightly.
Sting was a drastic understatement.
The moment I sank beneath the surface, pain detonated across my skin.
Not hot, but a cold slicing frost that seemed intent on settling deep in my bones.
Although I did not admit it aloud, I did not let one single sound escape me in complaint.
Instead, I locked my teeth together taking in deep breaths to distract myself.
Penny knelt beside me, dipping a cloth into the water, scrubbing dirt from my skin. Although when she reached my neck, she handed me the cloth allowing me to clean it myself.
“You are shaking,” she observed as she leant back on her heels, giving me space to wash the scar. Her eyes never left the puckered pink of my neck.
“I am cold,” I lied.
“Elves can smell lies,” she told me, as her hands reached for shampoo pouring the lavender smelling liquid into her hands.
“Well then, I must reek.” I mutter as she moved to sit behind me, lathering the soap into my hair pushing it deep into my scalp using her nails.
I had no intention of ever being fully truthful. That would have left me more vulnerable than I cared to be. Lying was a way to survive, and it had worked so far.
Gradually, the moon silver ceased its assault on my skin. The sting turned into a dull, manageable ache.
When Penny deemed me clean, she wrapped me in a robe softer than anything I had ever felt against my skin. Her hands guided me to a vanity in the farthest right corner, sitting me down and beginning her work.
As she worked, her words drifted from my physical appearance to the running of the Obsidian court. Rules and instructions fell from her lips, who I could and could not be seen with, how I should behave and when I should speak or keep my mouth shut.
Penny made a point to tell me I was not to contradict the King in any way and to do as he commanded without complaint. Hearing those words made my blood run cold. The King was not so different in his expectations after all, he wanted obedience. Complete and unwavering.
“I suspect I will fail before I begin,” I mutter as she sorted through gowns that she pulled from a carved wooden armoire, muttering about fit and fabric.
“You will learn, we all do. The King is not someone who is easily dissuaded from his wants,” she replied, laying another potential gown on the table. Tapping the precarious pile as if willing it to stay and not topple onto the floor.
The day had quickly turned from morning to late afternoon and by the time Penny was finished, I did not recognise the person in the mirror before me.
She had dressed me in a powder blue gown with a square neckline trimmed in lace. It was a vain attempt to cover the scar on my neck, at least partially. A corset laced up my back, left looser than Penny preferred after my complaints of pain.
My hair lay loose and glossy, longer than I remembered it being, and Penny had decided not to put makeup on my face. Claiming that enhancements would come later, once I had settled in.
It was my skin that startled me most. Freed from mud and grime for the first time in years, it was clear, pale, and almost unmarred. Save for the scars and bruises that mapped my tragic history. I looked almost as I had done when I was first sold at nineteen years old.
Almost normal.
Although a scowl formed on my lips as I looked in the mirror once more. This illusion would not last. Clean silk and polished hair could not erase what I was or why I was here.
When the Fae King finally chose to claim what he had purchased, I doubted that moon silver and lace would save me from whatever he intended to carve me into.