Chapter 15
I watched as everyone left, each pair with their task, and the trio of Parisar, Breust, and Tain back to my home. The longing to go with them, to follow behind so they wouldn’t know I was there, was great. But I knew, no matter how quiet I was, Parisar would know. He would sense me or hear me or…he would just know. So I stayed.
I finished my chores and then stood near the fire pit in front of the house and just listened. It was so quiet. I didn’t think I had ever experienced so much silence. Not even a bird sang. The trees were still, not a leaf rustling within ear shot.
I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. I was truly alone. Even time spent in my tower room was never this quiet. There was always noise whether from outside the window or within the castle walls. People moving about, going about their daily lives. Horses whickering and cows lowing softly. The snuffle of the pigs and the bird song that floated on the wind.
But there was nothing.
I slowly opened my eyes.
I could run.
How many times had I thought about it? Planned it? I could fill a sack with supplies from the kitchen and I could just…leave.
But where would I go?
I didn’t even know where I was.
I didn’t know how to get home.
I was as much of a prisoner as I had been when everyone was here.
But that didn’t mean I was helpless. It didn’t mean I didn’t have options. If I wanted to escape, then I needed to be stronger. I needed to know how to fight. I needed to know more about these woods and how to navigate through them. So far all I’d done was play the innocent victim, waiting for someone to come and rescue me. If no one had found me within the week, then it looked like no one was coming. If I was going to get out of here and find out the truth about what was going on, then I had to become smarter. Stronger.
With more determination than I’d woken up with, I marched toward my little training room and grabbed my sword. I didn’t need to hide from anyone today. I made my way back to the training yard and began my kata. This time with my sword.
I practised until sweat rolled down my face and my clothes clung to me. I practised until my hands were red and raw from holding the rough pommel of the sword. I practised until I could do it with my eyes closed.
Without the need to stop for lunch and do the dishes, I practised far longer than I had on previous days. It was difficult at first. Holding the sword in one hand threw off my balance, and I felt like the clumsy beginner I had been when Breust first taught me the kata. But slowly, I adjusted to the extra weight. Slowly I found a rhythm. Slowly, slowly…too slowly.
Throat parched and skin red with effort and the heat of the day, I tossed the sword away, grimacing at the state of my hands. I crossed to the well and drew a long draught of water, drinking greedily. My stomach growled, reminding me that it had been hours since breakfast.
I stalked over to the kitchen and rummaged through the shelves. I could make something, but I didn’t feel like doing any dishes, especially with the state of my hands. Instead, I grazed, picking at the fruit, nuts, scraps of bread, and whatever else I could find in the pantry that didn’t need cooking. With my belly satisfied and bored with the sword play, I headed into the woods to the stream.
I missed bathing.
I could wash here in the compound. There were basins, and if I boiled a kettle I could wash myself with a damp cloth, but I missed immersing myself in the water up to my chin. I missed the sweet-smelling oils and the flower petals my maids put in the warm water, and I desperately needed to wash my hair.
I couldn’t have a hot bath, but I could wash in the stream. Weylei had shown me the plant to use for soap, and I gathered it on my way to the stream. I had a rough length of fabric to use as a towel and fresh laundered clothes to change into. A skirt, instead of pants. I had enjoyed the freedom of pants, especially while training, but I wanted to wear a skirt today. I wanted to feel like my old self, even if it was for a moment. Nobody would be back until tomorrow so I could pretend I was Princess Snow White and not have to be on guard, worried that I’d be ridiculed.
The water was cold, but it felt glorious on my skin. I’d stripped off everything, secure in the knowledge that there was no one around for miles. I laid down in the water, letting my hair get soaking wet, and closed my eyes. It was almost—almost—as good as having a bath at home.
Home. I missed home. I missed Mother and Father and Cook. Sure, I couldn’t complain about the food here, but I missed the sweets. The decadent, delicious, sweet desserts that I knew Cook made especially for me.
Tears threatened but I forced them away. I would not fall apart. I refused to succumb to the feelings of hopelessness. I sat up and washed my body thoroughly, crushing the soap weed and rubbing it in my hands until I had a thick lather. I washed my clothes too, using the soap weed to remove the smell of my sweaty endeavours before hanging them over some branches nearby. Then I washed my hair, scrubbing down to the roots, and I moaned about the length and thickness of it. It was cumbersome and I did not have the skill of tying it up like Tain or Cor. Sim’s short, cropped hair came to mind. It would be so much easier to manage if I didn’t have all this hair.
I rinsed off and then towelled myself dry, wrapping my hair in the rag to help the drying process which I knew would take an age. My maids spent hours brushing and drying my hair after a bath, and they did it while sitting in front of the fire. Weylei had shown me how to light a fire, but I did not feel like spending hours in front of it drying my hair.
I dressed and gathered my still-wet clothes and headed back to the compound. I set a fire in the hearth and arranged my wet clothes close enough so they would dry. Then I went to find the shears I used to cut thread when I was mending.
Not taking too much time to think about what I was doing, I grabbed a length of hair and cut. I thought I would be sad as I watched the tresses fall to the ground, but instead I felt…liberated.
I slept like the dead. I had expected to lie awake and hear every noise and creak and be terrified that someone or something was coming for me but…no. My eyes drooped as I tried to do mending by the fire, my fingers sore from my training. I’d eaten some cold meat and bread with some of Weylei’s gimchi, thereby only needing to wash the plate and fork I had used. With a full stomach, a weary body, and a surprisingly calm mind, I’d fallen into a deep sleep the instant my head hit the pillow. And without Tain’s snoring, I hadn’t woken once.
I did wake early, unfortunately. My body had adjusted to the early morning starts and, without my permission, my eyes had popped open when it was still dark. I stretched on my mattress and rolled over, trying to go back to sleep, but I couldn’t. My brain was awake and refused to allow me the peace I needed to fall back into slumber.
I reluctantly got out of bed and went about my morning. I ate a handful of nuts and berries and made myself the biggest mug of tea I could find. It was glorious.
I had no chores, only my own bed to make, but I did a quick tidy up anyway. I may have taken the time to snoop among my captors’/rescuers’ things, but there was nothing that could shed any light on where their true loyalties lay.
I hauled some water from the well to replenish the kitchen stores and then walked out to the wood pile. There was plenty of chopped wood, but I eyed the axe anyway. Watching Parisar chop wood had looked so easy. I put down the pile of wood I had gathered and took one of the unsplit logs. I hefted the axe in my hand, surprised at the weight. The way Parisar had swung it, I’d expected it to be much lighter. I tested the weight in my hands and then swung it up over my head like I’d seen him do it, very nearly overbalancing. With a groan of effort, I brought the axe back down where it hit the log and stuck. I wiggled it back and forth and even went so far as to put my foot on the log and try and pull it free, but it wouldn’t budge.
I gave up and left the axe exactly where it was. If anyone asked, I’d lie. That was how I found it. No one would believe me, but I refused to admit that I couldn’t even pull an axe from a log. It was yet another example of my inability to fend for myself.
Happy with the state of the house, I went out into the yard and over to the barn. I did not feel like training today. And I was wearing my skirt again. My body was still sore, and even though I knew I needed to keep training and building my strength, today I just felt like doing nothing. I longed for a book and a comfortable pile of pillows. Instead, I had…a barn that I had yet to fully explore. There was always someone in here doing something, so I stayed away. But today I walked in and looked around. It looked the same as the first day I’d poked my head in. A long galley ran down the centre, with stalls along either side. I peered into one of the stalls and was surprised to see a mannequin. It was the strangest thing, wrapped in torn rags and looking like it had been beaten half to death.
‘Oh,’ I said to myself. ‘It’s a training dummy.’
Another stall held yet another dummy, and then another in the next. In the stalls on the other side of the barn were sacks of straw hanging from the ceiling by coarse rope and a line of spears. I picked one up and turned it over in my hand. I eyed the bag and then jabbed it with the spear. The bag swayed away from me, so I tried again, and again it swayed away, not allowing me to stick it with the pointy end. I didn’t know what I was doing wrong, but no matter how hard I tried, the bag kept moving and the spear skidded off the surface without doing any damage. There had to be a trick to it, or a skill I didn’t know.
Giving up, I put the sword back and then walked to another stall. This one was set up the same except without spears. Instead, there was a bucket of knives. Not real knives, as in eating utensils. They must be throwing knives, I surmised. I picked one up and hefted the weight in my hand, testing it. I could shoot an arrow fairly accurately. Would throwing a knife be the same?
I stood with the side of my body toward the target, as if I were doing archery. I held the knife by the hilt and threw it like I was stabbing someone.
Nope. That wasn’t it. It did hit the target, but only just, and it wouldn’t have even slowed down an attacker in a fight. I picked up another knife and tossed it in my hand, thinking about the exhibitions I’d seen at the various seasonal festivals. Turning the knife over, I gripped it by the tip and tried again.
Better. Still not great, but better. Knowing how to throw a knife would be a good skill to have. Knives could be hidden on my person. I looked at the bucket of knives wondering if anyone would miss a few.
‘Helloo?’
I froze. I did not recognise that voice. Parisar had told me to hide if anyone came…but…
‘Helloo? Is anyone here? I seemed to have lost my way.’
Lost? I could understand that.
I crept to the door of the barn and peeked around the edge. The sight before me was not what I expected. A man dressed in simple clothes stood in front of the house. He had an enormous pack strapped to his back. It was bigger than he was, and fat—the pack, not the man. It had to weigh a ton, and I had no idea how he managed to carry it.
I stepped out of the barn to get a better look and he turned, seeing me. His smile widened, and I relaxed. He wasn’t here to hurt me.
‘Who are you?’ I asked.
‘Pete,’ he replied. ‘Pete the peddler.’
‘You’re a peddler?’ I asked, walking closer.
He nodded. ‘This pack has all my wares. Would you care to take a look?’
‘I…I don’t have any coin,’ I replied. I’d never had coin. I’d never bought anything.
‘Oh, well, maybe we could barter? I could use a drink and something to eat, if you would be so kind.’
‘Oh, of course,’ I replied, hurrying to the well to draw him some water. ‘Take a seat, and I will get you some food.’
The peddler set down his pack and sat on one of the logs with a sigh before taking a long drink. How long had he been wandering in the woods? Could he somehow get me home?
I hurried to the kitchen and put together a quick plate of nuts and berries, some bread, and some cold meat and cheese.
‘This is a feast,’ he said. ‘Why don’t you look through my wares and choose anything you like?’
‘Oh, I couldn’t,’ I said.
‘How else can I repay you for your kindness?’ he asked, smiling. ‘This plate of food is far more valuable to me than anything I have in my pack.’
I bit my lip, looking at the pack. It wouldn’t hurt just to look, would it?
Hesitantly, I walked over to the pack and dug into one of the pockets, pulling out the first thing I found.
‘You have great taste,’ the peddler said, looking at what I’d found.
It was a beautiful lacy, pink bodice, designed to be worn over a skirt and blouse. Completely impractical and not in the least bit suitable for where I currently found myself, and yet…I wanted it. I knew I was being ridiculous. Where would I even wear it? If any of the members found me wearing it, they would roll their eyes and remark that you could take the princess out of the castle but not the castle out of the princess. Tain would look at me with particular disdain, and I didn’t even want to think about what Parisar would say.
‘Why don’t you try it on?’ Pete asked.
‘I shouldn’t,’ I said as I reluctantly started to put it back in the pack.
‘Trying it on can’t hurt anything,’ he said. ‘Go on. Why not? It’s not costing you anything apart from the food and kindness you’ve already shown me.’
I bit my lip. I wanted to try it on. I wanted to wear it and feel like my old self again.
With a nod, I wrapped it around my waist and laced it, but I couldn’t get the laces tight enough. The corsets I’d worn in the past, under my dresses, had been laced by my maids.
‘May I help?’
I thought about it for a moment before nodding. It wasn’t improper for Pete to help me lace it. It wasn’t like I was in my underclothes.
Pete stood and placed his empty plate on the log before coming over, wiping his hands on a rag at his waist.
‘Now, let me see here,’ he said, taking the laces in hand.
He pulled tight, and I sucked in a breath. Still, he tightened it.
‘That’s…tight…enough,’ I said, struggling to get out of his grip as I tried to take a breath.
‘No. It needs to be tighter,’ he said. ‘It won’t do any good if it hangs limply.’
He pulled the laces again, and it felt like my ribs were being crushed. The more I struggled, the tighter it became until I was seeing spots before my eyes. I tried to suck in oxygen, but all the while Pete the Peddler continued to tighten the laces, a maniacal grin on his face. The last thing I remembered before blacking out was his grinning face, and then nothing.