Chapter Eight
The basin is brought in by a surly woman wearing a pale, grey woollen dress, layered with a white linen apron stained with ash and dirt.
She lets the water slosh over the sides and onto the dressing table when she sets it down, then reaches into her apron pocket for the bar of soap.
I hold my hand out to accept it, but she pulls it away as though I was ready to snatch it.
‘Mind you use it sparingly, miss.’ One of her bushy eyebrows raise, and her nose scrunches in disgust. ‘I bet your lot is used to lathering up without a care, Reyheni scum.’ She spits at me, her saliva landing on the floor millimetres from my bare foot.
I reach into the air expecting to feel the energy of the Relic I need to pull the soap from her grimy, stumpy fingers. But the air is dead and my hand powerless.
The chambermaid’s eyes widen and her face turns a deep crimson, enraged.
‘You dare try use magic on me?’ she seethes. ‘That will get you nowhere here. If you want to survive here, I suggest you start by getting used to a life free of any gods-given power.’
She throws the soap to my chest, and it slips out my hands as I try to catch it, landing on the floor with a thud.
She thumps from the room and slams the door shut behind her.
What a delightful place this is.
I roll my eyes and take the soap from the floor to the basin to rinse it off.
Washing feels delightful, but no amount of scrubbing my skin can make me clean of the last few days. I can’t even be sure how long I was sleeping for before I woke in this festering shithole. I gladly peel the nightdress from my body, casting it onto the rug, hoping it gets burned alongside it.
Getting the dress on by myself is a task, I step into it and tug it upwards the stitching scratching at my skin on the way up in the absence of my chemise.
I pull at the laces from the back as tight as possible and the fabric bunches awkwardly at the uneven lacing, but I don’t make any attempt to fix it.
My appearance is the least of my concerns.
I tie it in a knot behind my back, sticking my tongue out in concentration, one bare foot on the dressing table stool to steady me.
Once I’m dressed, I sit stiffly on the bed waiting for Calli to return, pondering over the redness of her eyes and the sweetness of her personality.
She is a curious creature, her presence bright in the dullness of her surroundings, her personality even brighter.
I can’t be sure which part of Umbra I am in, in order to even surmise who she might be.
She could potentially be dangerous, and I have to keep my wits about me. I can’t afford to be too trusting.
I wait long enough to conclude that she is not coming back and decide I will find my own way to Lillienne, slightly ticked off that I had believed her – an Umbrian – capable of kindness. Her reasoning behind giving me the dress and sending a washbasin was most likely rid the air of my stench.
The corridors are no lighter than the bedchamber, the walls are high and grey, scattered with an array of squint, gold-rimmed paintings that hang loose from the damp-plaster.
I follow the discoloured red carpet that trails the floor, and every subject of the paintings seem to track me with their acrylic eyes, their ominous expressions lit by the black metal sconces that jut out in irregular intervals along the wall.
Everything smells old and musty and faintly rotted.
I reach a junction in the hall, left taking me to an endless abyss of doors and broken chairs, right leading me to what seems to be the opening of a staircase.
I choose the way that seems less daunting and more promising and the banister lining the steps is cold under my fingertips, the stairs unfolding into an unsettling absence of light below, an expanse of shadow that entices me downward with one clawed and beckoning finger.
I can tell from the detailing on the railing that this was at some point intended to be a grand staircase of sorts, the centrepiece to the cavern of a foyer it opens into.
My bare feet make no sound as I reach the last steps and squint my eyes into the dark, trying to make out any outlines of doors or windows, or any hopeful glimmer of light trickling in from either.
I find the gaping mouth of two enormous arched doors, most likely the main entrance to the building. There are pieces of broken furniture scattered all over the tile floors before them, dressers, wooden chairs, and other indiscernible pieces which I have to make a pretty good effort to dodge.
Just as I believe I have passed the brunt of it, my bare toes catch on the wooden corner of a burst open chaise lounge. I bite down on my lip to muffle the sounds of my pain, clutching at the affected foot whilst hopping idiotically on the other.
Fuck. That is the most distinct and appalling kind of agony known to man. I’d sooner have every strand of my hair plucked from my head than I would stub a bloody toe ever again.
Hushed voices echo in from the left, and I quickly resume a standing position, toes throbbing to the rushing of my pulse.
I scan my surroundings with frantic eyes before I spot it, there in the far left behind me, tucked away under the staircase, is candlelight spilling forth from a cracked open door.
As I approach, I recognise one of the voices to be Calli, sounding decidedly more irritated and defensive than she had with me.
A gravely male voice counters hers, sounding utterly vexed, his mutterings quick and pointed.
I take place with my back against the wall behind the door, not brave enough to dare a look inside, either for fears of being spotted, or fears of seeing something not intended for my eyes.
‘She shouldn’t be here. It was foolish of Eliaz to take her from Reyhen, this puts us all at risk. We have no idea what kind of things she is capable of.’ There’s a quiver of worry in the man’s voice.
‘When I saw her, I didn’t see anything particularly frightening,’ Calli disputes.
‘Well, nothing apart from the copious amounts of vomit she is able to produce.’ I can tell from the rounding of her words that she is smirking as she says it.
So, it’s me they’re arguing about. The thought of this man, being afraid or uncertain of my presence – in Umbra I might add – is bordering on laughable.
If anything, it should be the other way around.
Umbrians are known for being dark and unpredictable, their powers sacrilegious, and their tempers short. I edge closer, curious despite myself.
‘You went to her? What on earth are you playing at, Calli? You were told not to step foot anywhere near that wing. She’s dangerous and unpredictable and we have to be extra careful with her if we wish to avoid war with Reyhen.’
The irony of those words being eerily similar to what I said to Lillienne at the ball makes me wrestle back a scoff. As if I’m the threat here. I can’t even access the Relic here, but perhaps they do not know that. And perhaps I can use that to my advantage.
‘She seemed far too afraid of me for that to be true, Cole. I could hardly squeeze a name out of her. She seems to think that her and her friend are in danger here, not the other way around.’
‘She’s manipulating you. Her skittishness is all just a ploy to get you to believe she’s all weak and helpless to get your guard down. She’s the Reyheni princess for crying out loud, that alone should tell you she cannot be trusted.’
A chair scrapes hard on the floor, the sound of someone getting to their feet with frustration.
‘You’re wrong about her. I will bring her to her friend, and she will see that all is well. That is final. I will not negotiate this any further.’
‘Just for her to strangle you with some weird Relic air magic. That’ll be right.’ Another chair grates the floor, and the sound of wood hitting stone booms.
I roll my eyes at his idea of what the Relic’s power is and how it works. It has never occurred to me that there’s a possibility someone else may be more clueless than I am.
‘Get out of my way, Cole. I have the authority here, and I already told her I’d take her. Imagine just how angry she will be if I do not follow through on my promise.’
‘I cannot let you. She cannot be trusted.’ The rustling of clothes ensues, the sound of a struggle.
‘Let go of me, Cole—’
‘I cannot let you get hurt.’
‘You’re hurting me, Cole, just let—’
I can’t bear the sound of her struggling, and I can only hope that if someone were to be near me if I were in her position, that they would intervene too. Although I cannot fully trust her, I can at least return her a kindness.
I throw open the door, the scene of skirmish now fully visible. There in what appears to be some sort of conference room is Calli writhing in the grip of a lean, raven-haired man who has his back to me. The straining in her face loosens into surprise as she sees me in the doorway.
‘Eira,’ she gasps, and the dark-haired man snaps his neck around to me, dropping Calli’s arm in the shock presence of company.
The creases in his forehead disappear and he goes rigid. Holding my chin high, I give him my best menacing smile, silently wishing to see this man squirm.
‘She will be taking me to Lillienne. I refuse to be a prisoner here and I warn you of the dangers in making me so.’
His fearful, blinking eyes examine me head to toe. It could be in search of a weapon, but its most likely for any signs of me making any move to employ any power against him.
His thin lips separate but Calli shoves past him before he can speak, and he stumbles backwards blinking.
She shoots me an appreciative smile, then says to the man she called Cole, ‘Touch me again and you will regret it for the rest of your days.’
‘Why is it so dark in this place?’ I ask as Calli leads me through a labyrinth of barely lit corridors.
‘It’s much brighter in your big castle back there, is it?’ She raises an eyebrow at me.