Chapter 5
E oin bids me farewell at the edge of Old Mossgarde with an affectionate kiss on my forehead but no more.
“I hope to see you in Frostalm next season,” I tell him as he slings a weighty pack onto his back.
“And I, you. I’ll mind and visit the House of Learning.” He flashes me his usual easy grin before placing two fingers over his heart. “The wind at your back and fire in your chest.”
“Soft snow underfoot and a safe home awaiting you,” I reply, finishing his werewolf farewell and repeating his gesture.
I wait until he passes through the deepening gloom of the swamp before making my way back into town.
The swamp has gone quiet, the rhythmic chirp and buzz of the day all but silenced. Nevertheless, hairs rise along the back of my neck and my heart picks up speed. My au’mana hums. I am not alone.
The harsh clink of armour cuts through the quiet. I glance over my shoulder. Three guards stand on an adjacent platform, watching me. Their eyes glint in the purple haze of the ever-lit lamps.
As soon as we lock eyes, I know I am in danger.
I think of the snow hare. I think of the hunters.
I turn and flee.
“Stop!” one of them calls after me, but their voice is drowned out by the blood rushing past my ears.
I take off at a sprint, feet hammering against the bridge. I barely make it to the platform on the other side before something hard slams into me.
I yelp and topple to the side, catching myself on the platform fence. It creaks loudly, threatening to snap. My shoulder throbs where I landed on it. The guard who tackled me scrambles to his feet and pins me down.
“Stay right there!” he orders.
In response, I open my mouth wide and scream. It is incoherent and wild, pulled from the depths of me. I writhe beneath him and he grunts with the effort of keeping me contained.
“I have nothing!” I shriek when he does not let me up. “I have nothing to give!”
“You have been—stop it!” He leans his weight further onto me, trapping me beneath him. “You have been volunteered. The king is expecting your presence.”
I stop breathing. Something hard forms in the pit of my stomach, heavy as lead. I feel like I am sinking through the platform.
The blood-stained chopping block.
The steel of the axe.
“No,” I whisper, eyes wide. “No!”
I shriek and throw all my strength against the guard, kicking upwards.
“Saints!” he yelps as I fling him off me. The other guards step back in surprise, and I seize the opportunity, clambering to my feet. I push off the ground to flee again.
Another guard makes to grab me and, on instinct, I swing a closed fist at his head. He somewhat manages to pull back in time but not quite—my knuckles land hard on the side of his helmet. Pain explodes along my hand as I connect with the metal. It dulls quickly, adrenaline coursing through my veins. The guard crumples to the ground, a solid dent in his helmet.
Hard hands grab my shoulders from behind and hold me in place.
“Stop fighting it, girl,” one of them growls in my ear. “The king gets what he wants.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, memories invading my mind. Another head rolling. Another woman dead .
A burst of fear makes me jerk out of the guard's hands, but they hold fast, their grip digging into my skin. Physically helpless, myophidkicks in.
Au’manawashes through me and seeps into the wood and metal around us. The platform beneath our feet begins to rattle dangerously, the stilts creaking. The planks holding us above the swamp splinter and crack.
“Quick!” someone shouts. “Before she drowns us!”
One of the guards presses a wet cloth against my face. The smell is foul, and I press my lips together, twisting my head away. The scent forces its way up my nose and I breathe it in unwillingly.
I expect to feel something but when he pulls the cloth away, my head remains clear. The only difference is the platform has stilled. There is a large crack in the wood, starting at my feet.
“Shackle her,” a guard commands. I reach for myau’manaagain but when I try, it is as though myophidsleeps. Where it is normally taut and strong, it is sluggish. I try again to rouse it but nothing happens.
They have drugged me and blocked my magic.
“But I have not volunteered.” My voice is hoarse and defeated. Exhaustion sweeps over me like a wave, overwhelming. I stare at the crack in the wood. The guard I punched clambers unsteadily to his feet and glares at me.
“No. But your father has volunteered you.”
I stand there limply as ice-cold handcuffs are bolted around my wrists. I want to feel something—anger or sadness—but I cannot bring myself to feel anything.
I try once more to reach my magic and tears spring to my eyes when I cannot. I struggle against the handcuffs and the guards hands but the fight has left me. My father, after all this time, has finally put the last nail in my coffin. Worse…I have let him.
I close my eyes and let them lead me away.
???
Mossgarde Castle towers over the village, ever-present and ominous. It was built on the highest raised platform and crafted from scarlet brick rather than the dark wood of the rest of Mossgarde. The construction itself had claimed many lives, breeding bleak rumours. Mossgardians whisper that the brick had originally been white but it was stained with the blood of those forced to build it. Others said the castle was red specifically so no one could see how blood-stained it really was. I do not give much regard to rumours but still, I tried to stay as far away from the castle as possible. The whispers may not be true, but the annual beheadings are real and the memories will stay with me forever.
I try to wash them away as I stand before the castle, its overbearing height looming over me. I have a moment of panic and think of fleeing again but the guards are prepared now. They eye me warily and have shackled my ankles and wrists. The one standing behind me gives me a sharp prod in the back, nudging me forward. My ophid protests.
The castle is impossible to climb without the ladder, which they only lower when necessary. Or, perhaps, with au’mana to manipulate the stilts. My lip curls, thinking of the foul drug they used to take my magic away.
One of the guards calls out, mimicking a bird cry, and a few moments later, the ladder appears. When it arrives before us, I turn to look at the guard behind me.
“I cannot climb with my ankles shackled,” I tell him.
“You should have thought of that before you clocked me,” he replies.
The platform looms above me and I am overly aware of the solid wood beneath my feet. I chew my lip.
“What if I fall?” I ask.
The guard’s eyes slide over to meet mine.
“Then you fall. Now move.”
I grind my teeth together and turn to the ladder. Shuffling close, I raise my leg to test the limit of my shackles. It will be difficult but I can do it. I reach forward and grip the wooden bar, hauling myself up.
The guards wait at the bottom in case I do fall and accidentally take one of them with me. They watch me struggle upwards in tentative steps. It is not long before the muscles in my arms ache, and each time I glance down, nausea bubbles in my stomach at the height. I press my forehead against the wood and try to steady my breathing.
“Not so strong without your witchcraft,” a guard taunts me from below. I press my lips into a thin line, my spite overtaking my weariness, and pull myself up.
And then I smell it.
There is something foul in the air, lingering in the thick humidity. I wrinkle my nose in disgust and turn my head to find the source. When I do, my head snaps forward again. I always had a morbid curiosity about what happened to the heads of the maidens before me. Their bodies went to their families, but the guards always took their heads. Now I know.
The top half of the stilts are lined with spikes. Several heads are skewered there at various degrees of decay. My eyes water, both with the smell of rot and the indignity the king has inflicted upon them, even in death. My hands start to shake and I force myself to breathe through the stench and keep climbing before I slip. I will not become one of the dead holding up the king in his castle.
I make it to the top of the ladder, my legs and arms burning. A guard hauls me over the lip of the wall and grips my elbow to keep me on my feet. I sway on the spot, sucking in air before two other guards join us. Without letting me recover, they drag me to the doors of the castle.
This high up, the top of the castle penetrates the canopy of trees. Even as I am hauled away, I blink in awe at the night sky. The stars glitter against the deep black of the heavens. I am almost ashamed that I have lived for nearly two decades and never seen an open sky. Shame is quickly replaced with indignation, knowing the king has kept even the sky to himself.
I am led through the large front doors and into the throne room. Respite from the smell of the heads outside is extinguished once we step inside.
The throne room is grand, tall and wide, with thick columns supporting the high ceiling. The brick on the inside is white—making me reconsider the earlier rumours—with ornate carvings accented with gold. It is the cleanest, whitest place I have ever seen. My ragged boots squeak off the polished floor as they march me forward.
The king sits on his throne, elevated several steps above us. Grey streaks his flaxen hair, and the ghost of a thin scar sits across one cheekbone. His features are fine despite his older years but I know it is a veneer. A comely veil to cover the rot inside.
When I am finally presented to him, he barely glances at me. Boredom etched across his face, he flicks his wrist.
“Bring in the prisoner,” another guard barks at the king’s order. His uniform is different from the rest—white and crisp, whereas the others are muted pewter. At his command, a door leading further into the castle opens.
Out steps my father, shackled like me.
I nearly gasp when I see him and bite my tongue to keep my breath contained. He stumbles forward, led by two other guards. One of his eyes is swollen and a violent shade of purple. When he moves, he has a limp. I stare at him, but he does not meet my eye.
“Speak then,” the king says, reclining his throne with a detached gaze.
My father looks at the floor. The only sound in the room is the gentle clinking of his shackles as he shifts.
“M-My king…I offer you—”
“Speak up, for Saint’s sake!” the king bellows. One of the guards nudges my father roughly in the back. I nearly wince but remember he does not have anophid.
“My king, I offer you this as a volunteer,” he says, clearer now, although he still does not look up.
“And what exactly is ‘this?’” the king replies and gestures in my direction. My numb shock fades as if waking up from a dream. The world rushes in around me. My stomach drops.
“My only daughter, of age and clean, my king,” my father clarifies, mumbling. I gape at him.
“Hm,” the king grunts before turning his eyes to me. “It appears your father has got himself into a fine mess. Only a desperate man comes to his king for a loan, but a desperate man he was.”
I close my eyes briefly. I know my father gambles, but this…
“Come closer, girl,” the king continues, beckoning me.
I want to do the absolute opposite, but I am pushed on by the guard behind me. I stumble forward a few steps, coming to a halt at the base of his platform. The king peers down at me.
“How old are you?” he queries, sizing me up. His gaze is lecherous. I curl my lip and say nothing in response, chin up in definiance.
“She is four-and-twenty,” my father answers for me. I am unsurprised he does not remember my age. “Unspoiled,” he adds, and I want to bash his head against the ground. Myophidis brimming full ofau’mana, feeding off my quiet fury, but the drugs keep it out of my reach .
“Let me see her teeth,” the king orders, and a guard immediately steps forward to push my lips apart. This stranger's hands groping my face is enough to send me careening over the edge.
Before he can react and I can think, I open my jaw and clamp my teeth over his finger. He screams and yanks his hand back, but I do not release him. I bite harder until my teeth sink into his flesh. Until I feel bone. Until I taste blood.
Hard fingers dig into my shoulders and pull me back as the guard clutches his wounded hand. I grin at him, showing him his blood between my teeth.
“Touch me once more, and I will rip your throat out,” I snarl.
The king laughs and claps.
“Saints, I have another beast under my roof!” He chuckles.
I ignore him and turn my murderous gaze onto my father. He had been watching the events unfold, but now his eyes snap back to the floor. Like a dog who knows he has done wrong.
“I always knew you were a coward.” I spit blood at his feet. “But this is despicable, even for you.”
“You are just another mouth to feed, Shivani,” he mumbles, eyes averted. “You are unmarried with no prospects, for Saint’s sake. At least here, you may have a chance to break this curse and make us both rich. ”
“How dare you!” I roar. I try to throw myself at him, picturing my hands around his neck, but the guards hold me firmly. “You stole my money! Mine ! And now you are trading my life for coin!”
“It is done.” He shrugs. “There is no point in a struggle.”
White hot rage blurs the corners of my vision.
“If the drink does not kill you,” I hiss. “Then I will.”
He stares at the ground.
“Do you hear me? I will escape from here, and I will kill you! ” Several more guards pile in to hold me back as I thrash like a feral croca.
“I think we will enjoy housing you for the next six months, girl.” The king rubs his hands together, cheeks red with amusement. “Perhaps you will break this curse of his! And I do enjoy seeing a fiery young woman learn her place.”
His eyes glint, and my hands ball into fists. I want to leap forward and tear his face off with my teeth. I want to rip the smug smile from his face. But I can do nothing.
“Get her cleaned up. I want her presentable when she is introduced to my son.”
The door my father came through opens again and several women pour into the room. They begin to usher me away as I quake with rage. Their faces are kind, but their grip is firm, and I am swiftly removed. I glance back at my father, his shoulders hunched and his eyes closed.
“Bastard!” I scream.
The king’s laugh follows me into the castle as the doors slam shut.