Defy

by Sara B. Larson

  “Your shifts are ending soon, I believe?” he asked.

  “Yes, my lord,” Marcel confirmed.

  “Both of you go and bring me word of his response before you retire for the night.” He waved us off as Marcel and I pressed our right fists to our opposite shoulders and bowed.

  The king’s chambers were in a completely different wing of the sprawling, massive palace, and Marcel and I had to turn around and head back the way we’d come to find Iker’s room, next to King Hector’s private quarters.

  Once we were out of earshot of Prince Damian, Marcel and I both began to walk more slowly. He seemed to dread talking to Iker as much as I did.

  “Did you hear about any victories recently?” Marcel asked as we climbed the staircase to the second floor.

  I shook my head. “No. And I’ve never seen that girl before. I wonder if she’s really that stupid, or if someone put her up to it to try and get a reaction from the prince.”

  “If so, she’s an excellent actress. I was sure she was about to throw up when Damian stood to leave.”

  I had to agree with Marcel; she’d been very convincing. Maybe there’d been a report of a victory we hadn’t heard yet. But even if there was, I couldn’t believe she’d had the audacity to bring up the murder of Prince Damian’s mother at dinner. It didn’t matter if that was why King Hector had declared war on Blevon; it was not something to discuss over chilled soup and poached whitefish.

  When we reached Iker’s door, it wasn’t completely shut. Marcel tapped lightly on it. We waited, but there was no response.

  “Should we go in?”

  For some reason, I had to suppress a shiver. I didn’t like Iker. He was a narrow man — everything about him was angular and sharp: his beaked nose, his chin, the point of his head, which was ill concealed by his greasy black hair. I did not wish to go into his room, yet we had no choice but to try and find him. “I guess so. Prince Damian will throw a fit if we come back without a document signed in blood, swearing to bring him news of any and all victories as soon as Iker has them.”

  Marcel went first, pushing the door open a bit wider. The room was encased in darkness, all except for the back corner, where a tall figure stood hunched over a table. The meager glow of a low fire in the hearth next to him revealed the bony outline of Iker’s body. There was a slight haze in the room, and an acrid, coppery scent turned my stomach.

  The moment we walked in, Iker straightened and whirled to face us, blocking our view of what was on the table. “What are you doing, barging into my personal room without permission?” he demanded, his expression furious. He clutched a small knife in one hand.

  “Prince Damian sent us and your door was open….” Marcel gestured behind us.

  “Leave my chamber at once.” Iker glowered at us, the faint light of the fire behind him barely illuminating his features, giving him a dark, wild look. The air felt thick, heavy, entrapping. Something was wrong in here and I was more than willing to comply with his command. I spun on my heel and strode out. But Marcel lingered. I turned to see him still standing in the doorway, meeting Iker’s glare.

  “Iker, was there word of a victory today that Prince Damian was kept unaware of?” Marcel crossed his arms over his chest and I groaned. I knew that position well. He wasn’t going to back down or let Iker intimidate him. Normally, I wouldn’t have either, but it wasn’t just Iker I was eager to escape. It was his room; the smell; the little knife in his hand, which was stained with something all too similar to blood; and the darkness that felt thicker than normal, somehow. I couldn’t imagine what he was doing in there, and I was surprised Marcel wasn’t as eager to leave as I was.

  “I said, leave my room,” Iker’s voice was low and threatening now as he marched toward us. Marcel had the good sense to back away. Either of us could have taken down the greasy-haired, older man in a fight without even breaking a sweat. But he was our superior — almost as powerful as the king himself. It wasn’t a good idea to infuriate him.

  Iker pulled the door shut behind him and pointed at us with the knife. “You may tell your prince that I will inform him of any and all victories over Blevon at the king’s discretion. As for the both of you, since you obviously have nothing better to do than barge into people’s private chambers, I now require your services.”

  Even with the door shut, the smell still lingered in my nose. I looked down at his knife and tried to keep my expression neutral, despite the uneasiness in my gut.

  “We have a new batch of orphans to place,” Iker said, “and the king’s guard is down a few men right now because of illness. I believe they should be arriving through the west gate shortly. No one seems to like the job of taking the girls to the breeding house, but I’m sure the both of you won’t mind.” His fingers tightened on the hilt of the knife. “Am I correct?”

  Revulsion made my stomach turn. I’d only been forced to enter the breeding house once before. Even though I’d been inside for just a few minutes, I still had nightmares about the place. The stench of unkempt bodies and overused sheets. The echoes of screams, the desperate sobbing behind closed doors. The heat and fear that coated the air like smoke. The empty eyes of the girls. The swollen mounds of their bellies. Bile rose in my throat and panic seized me. I couldn’t go back there — I couldn’t lead other girls to that fate at sword point.

  Iker looked directly at me with a cruel smile on his thin lips and repeated, “Am I correct?”

  “Yes, sir,” Marcel finally answered for us both. “We’ll go right away.”

  “Maybe next time, you will think twice before disturbing me.” Iker gave me one last dark look before going back into his room, shutting the door firmly behind him this time.

  THE HEAT-DRENCHED NIGHT made my uniform stick to my damp skin as Marcel and I walked silently across the palace grounds. Farther away from the main entrance to the palace, we could see a large group of people being herded through the side gate by some of the king’s guards. I had to employ every bit of training to keep my expression passive, to keep control over the panic racing through me when I got close enough to make out their faces, to see the terror in the girls’ eyes. I counted eight boys and twelve girls. The youngest girl looked no older than five. She gripped an older boy’s hand tightly, her face ghostly pale in the meager light of the crescent moon hanging above us.

  Don’t think about it, don’t think about it, I commanded myself, swallowing the thick lump in my throat and clenching my teeth together.

  “What do you two think you’re doing?” one of the king’s guard asked when we were only a few feet away.

  “Don’t tell me you’ve come to help,” another sneered. “The prince’s guards aren’t man enough for this type of work.”

  A trickle of sweat ran between my breasts, sliding down my belly. I reached down and grasped the hilt of my sword. For some reason, it helped calm me down. “Do you want help or not?” I asked. “Because we’ll leave if you’re going to be pigs about it.” I was grateful when my voice came out biting and hard. My stomach churned and my heart pounded as I forced myself to stare at the guard, refusing to look at the orphans.

  “We’ll take the help,” the first guard replied grudgingly. He began to shout orders, telling the other three men to separate the boys from the girls. “You two can help me escort the girls to their new home,” he said to us with a nod of his chin toward the breeding house. “You three” — he lifted his voice at the other guards as they worked on getting the boys and girls into separate lines — “take the boys to the barracks, get them assigned to separate battalions.”

  I watched helplessly as the girls followed the guards’ nudges and shouts, most of their faces resigned. This could have been me, forced into a life of rape, attempting to breed as many new soldiers for the king’s army as possible before my body gave out.

  “Breathe,” Marcel murmured from next to me.

  I realized that I was gripping my sword so tightly that my knuckles were white, and my chest was hea
ving. I had to get myself under control. There was nothing I could do to stop this — there was nothing I could do to keep these girls from their fate. No matter how badly I wished I could.

  When the guards reached the littlest girl and her brother, the brother wouldn’t release her hand.

  “You can’t take her,” he said, stepping in front of her. He couldn’t have been more than ten.

  “Step away, boy.” The guard’s voice was hard.

  “No. You can’t have her!” he repeated more vehemently, turning and wrapping his arms around the little girl, whose whole body shook violently as tears ran silently down her face. She clung to her brother, her small fingers clutched in his tunic.

  “You take the girl, I’ve got the boy,” the guard said, gesturing to one of his companions.

  The first man grabbed the girl’s arms and pulled, while the second guard took the boy, yanking him away from his sister. She screamed, a desperate sob, reaching, grasping for her brother as they were torn apart by the guards.

  “Kalen! No! Leave her alone!” The boy shouted and thrashed, but it was no use.

  I hadn’t even realized I’d started to move forward until Marcel grabbed my arm, forcing me to stop. My chest was on fire, my whole body thrummed with horror, with fury.

  “Come on, let’s get these girls out of here before they draw too much attention to themselves. We don’t want to disturb the king,” the guard in charge said, marching forward to the first girl in line. “You two take the rear, and keep an eye on that one; she tried to escape once already.” He pointed at a tall girl in the middle of the line, who glared back defiantly.

  The other guards herded the boys in the opposite direction, leaving us alone with the girls.

  “Follow me,” the guard shouted at the frightened line of girls, “and don’t even think about trying to run away. You’ll be shot down before you make it ten feet.” With one last look, he turned on his heel and began to march across the grounds to the breeding house. The girls hesitantly followed, even Kalen, who was still sobbing quietly. An older girl held her hand now and was speaking softly to her.

  “I can’t do this,” I whispered to Marcel, my breath coming in spurts.

  “We have to,” he said, meeting my panicked gaze with a bleak one of his own. “I’ll go first. You follow me.”

  He turned and marched across the grounds behind the row of girls. I made myself follow, and forced my mind to go blank. I concentrated on staring up at the building in front of us instead of the row of girls, until the guard in front stopped and pounded on a wooden door.

  A few moments later, it swung open to reveal an older man with thinning hair and small, watery eyes. “Brought me some new girls, eh? We’re almost full, until they finish building the new addition, but I’ve got a few rooms open. Doesn’t hurt to make ’em share, either.” His jowls were ruddy, and a sheen of sweat glistened on his fat upper lip.

  “That’s fine, Horace,” the guard said.

  Horace opened the door wider and gestured for the girls to go in. “Come on, then. I haven’t got all night. There’s still work to be done.” He winked at the guard and I had to swallow the bile that rose in my throat.

  The guard went in first and the girls slowly followed. Some of them walked in tall and proud, others went in with their shoulders trembling. When Kalen entered, still holding the other girl’s hand, Horace whistled. “My, aren’t you a pretty young thing? Don’t worry, you can stay with your friend for a while. You’re no good to us yet. Not for a few years anyway.” He chuckled.

  My hands clenched into fists at my side, but Marcel threw me a warning glance over his shoulder, as if he could read my thoughts. Or maybe he was having the same ones but knew we were helpless to stop this. It was the king’s orders and no one could defy them, least of all Marcel and me.

  When the last girl had filed through the door, into the dim interior of the breeding house, Horace shouted, “Marie, we got new ones again. Get down here and help me find ’em rooms!”

  I stood a little bit behind Marcel on the threshold, hoping our part was done. I had to breathe shallowly to keep from wincing at the smell that wafted out of the entryway, a mixture of sweat and fear and something else foul.

  The guard noticed when I started to back away and motioned at us. “Get in here and help me make sure they all get locked up in a room. Then you can go.”

  The small foyer was lit by a couple of oil lamps, sitting on two small tables on either side of the doorway. The unsteady light revealed a run-down interior, with dust gathered in the corners and on the tables. Grime coated the stones beneath our boots. The girls were lined up along a wall to the left of the door, and straight in front of us was a narrow staircase. A painfully thin girl who looked like she was my age slowly made her way down the steps, cupping the swollen mass of her pregnant belly with one hand and holding a lantern in her other. Her cheeks were sunken, making her already large eyes appear huge in her gaunt face.

  “Ah, there you are, Marie,” Horace said, motioning for her to come all the way down. “Help me get these new ones situated, will you? I’ve got to hurry and get back upstairs.” A look of hunger crossed his sweaty face.

  “We’ve only got four rooms left, if you include the attic,” Marie said, her voice chillingly empty.

  Horace looked over the row of girls. “How many of you have already started your monthly bleedings?”

  I flinched at the awful question, but slowly five girls raised their hands.

  “Not you, eh? You can’t fool me, you know.” Horace stepped in front of one girl who obviously had firm, rounded breasts beneath her tunic but who hadn’t raised her hand. “It’ll be worse for you if you try to hide it from me. We’ll have to make up for lost time, my men and me.” He leered at the girl and she began to visibly shake, her eyes filling with tears.

  Slowly, she lifted her hand, and Horace grinned, revealing stained, uneven teeth.

  “Take all the girls who are too young up to share the attic. Put the rest in the other rooms.”

  A door opened down the hallway and another man walked out, buttoning up his pants. Before the door shut behind him, I caught a glimpse of a girl lying motionless on an unmade bed, her head turned toward a small window above her where a sliver of the moon was just barely visible in the dark sky.

  I took a step back and bumped into the door behind me. My hands shook and my heart pounded. I couldn’t stay here one minute longer. Not without killing Horace or the man striding toward us, still tucking his tunic back into his pants after doing his “work.”

  I grabbed the door handle and yanked it open.

  “Where does he think he’s going?” I heard someone ask, but then I was running, tripping, fleeing from that place. From the disgust and horror and fury that had almost made me do something that would have ended my own life.

  “Marcel!” I heard my twin call after me but I didn’t turn back, not even for him. Not even to see why he’d yelled his own name at me, instead of mine. I ran and ran, all the way across the grounds, through the palace, dodging servants and furniture, up the stairs, and to my room. When the door was finally shut behind me, I slid to the ground, buried my head in my arms, and sobbed.

  Marcel came into our room about twenty minutes later, when I’d finally regained control of myself. But before he could cross the room to me, a king’s guard opened the door after him. I turned away, trying to hide my tear-stained face.

  “Marcel?” he barked out.

  “Yes,” my twin responded.

  “You will come with me,” the guard said.

  Before I had a chance to ask what was going on, Marcel had rushed out after the guard, shutting the door firmly behind him. I stared at the door in concern.

  He didn’t return to our room for over an hour. While I waited, I realized how stupid I’d been. How much trouble I had probably gotten us into. I’d run away from my duty — disobeyed a superior. I had never made such a big mistake before. I’d always been able to main
tain control. To keep calm — stoic, even — no matter what. But the breeding house had been too much — Horace had been too much. I still wanted nothing more than to take my sword and embed it in his fat gut.

  When Marcel finally came in, looking haggard, I was standing by the fire, my arms wrapped around my body, holding myself together.

  “Marcel — I’m so sorry,” I began but he shook his head and walked very slowly over to his bed.

  “You don’t need to apologize. I wanted to run away, too. I’m sure it was worse for you.”

  I sat down next to him on the bed and he took one of my hands in his, gripping it tightly. I stared down at our intertwined fingers, grateful that at least when I was alone with my twin in our room, I could be myself. That I could admit my weakness, my fear. “How much trouble did I get us into?”

  “None. I took care of it.” He sighed and grimaced suddenly.

  “They weren’t mad?”

  “Oh no, they were mad. But I told you, I took care of it.”

  “Marcel, what did you do?” I asked quietly, fearing that I already knew.

  He tried to turn away from me, but winced suddenly. That’s when I noticed the blood seeping through the back of his tunic.

  “Marcel — no! You took my punishment!”

  He didn’t deny it and my heart constricted.

  “What did they do?”

  “Ten lashes,” he muttered, his voice tight with pain.

  My eyes burned with tears as I gently helped him out of his ruined tunic and tried not to gasp when I saw the crisscrossing lines on his once-smooth back. “You shouldn’t have done this,” I whispered. “It was my mistake. I deserved to be punished.”

  “And be exposed as a girl? They don’t whip you with your shirt on, you know.” He turned to face me, his face contorted with pain, but his eyes were tender when he met my ashamed gaze. “The king’s guards don’t know us well enough to tell us apart. I had to take your place. I had to protect you.”