Soul in Darkness

by Wendy Higgins

  “Cake!” The table tittered their amusement as I eyed the fluffy white dessert with sweet cream drizzled over top. I’m fairly sure the sight caused my eyes to twinkle.

  “Not until after the meal, darling,” Mother said with fondness.

  As dinner progressed, I remained silent with my head down, eating every bite of fish and greens on my plate as the men spoke of Roman conquests and expansion, wondering when everyone would finish so we could cut into the cake.

  “You have quite an appetite, Psyche,” Dawn’s prince murmured from across the table. “How do you keep such a figure?”

  He likely meant it as a compliment, but my cheeks heated, and Dawn’s face fell again. Half of her food was untouched.

  “She is young still,” Miracle said, giving me a wink. She had plumped up the slightest bit since marriage, especially in her hips and chest, and I looked forward to the day when I would as well. Thankfully Father asked the suitor his opinion about weaponry, and the men went back to war talk.

  Once “pleasantries” were over, and I’d devoured my delicious plate of sticky cake, I couldn’t excuse myself from the table fast enough. Followed closely by Boldar and his two younger guards, I headed straight for the one place nobody would find me.

  The archery range.

  I wasn’t able to take a solid, full breath again until I passed through the stone archways into the open-air courtyard surrounded by the castle walls and lined with windmill palms and long feather grasses.

  It was always empty this late in the day. During the early hours all of Papa’s soldiers were out there honing their skills, arrows whizzing toward fake soldiers and horse targets made of hay. I chose one of the smaller bows from a wall of weapons hung on wooden racks and examined the quivers.

  “Must you?” Boldar asked.

  I understood his apprehension. When I was eleven, Papa found me sparring with a ten-year-old boy using real swords. Dull, but real. I’d never seen my father turn so red, nearly purple.

  “You could hurt yourself!” he’d shouted, no doubt worried I’d somehow mar my skin with scars.

  “But look, Papa! Watch how good I am! No boy can best me!”

  He’d snatched the hilt from my small hand and frowned. “A woman with a sword is as useless as a teat on a boar. Get inside with your sisters. Don’t you have music lessons?”

  The only thing that kept me from touching a sword again was knowing the boy I’d sparred with had been whipped. I’d talked him into fighting me, and he’d been punished for it. I’d given Papa the silent treatment for weeks afterward, then taken up the bow instead, a solitary hobby. After I became quite good, I announced at dinner one night that I’d taken up archery in secret, and nobody could stop me.

  “Archery?” Miracle had laughed. “Will you chop your hair and join the army?”

  “Don’t jest!” Mother chided, clearly horrified at the possibility of my ruined hair and need for rebellion.

  “If ever we are attacked, I will join the archers to protect our home.”

  “You most certainly will not!” Papa had bellowed.

  Dawn had giggled behind her hand as I stared him down until he softened and shook his head with a huff. I’d been twelve at that point, already appearing older than other girls my age, able to stop men in their tracks when all I wanted to do was run barefoot with my hair down, tangled by the salted winds.

  Five years later, my arrows always found their targets. I took pride in the twang of a strong release, each thwump of the arrowhead embedding into the hay, and the thrill of challenging myself to shoot faster from farther away.

  When my quiver was empty, my chest rose and fell with exertion. I looked at the three guards. They comically stood side by side, armored arms crossed, surveying arrows sticking out from the dummies’ eyes.

  “If only half my men had such steady arms and impeccable aim,” Boldar murmured.

  I walked to the hay figures to retrieve the arrows. “I wish to go to the market tomorrow.”

  All three guards groaned. The seaside market was always bustling with islanders, foreign travelers, and soldiers. In the past year, the number of visitors had drastically risen.

  “They will be looking for you,” Boldar warned. “You are the reason they come.”

  I swallowed hard, regret slithering through me. For over a year, I’d doubted and denied the claims that people came to our island from far and wide to see me. I was a mere mortal girl. The very idea was ridiculous. And then the gifts began. Each week, Boldar gathered wreaths of flowers, small hand-carved maidens of wood I assumed were me—the long hair being the giveaway, and even live goats and sheep adorned with ribbons. He brought the offerings from the castle grounds entrance to me.

  Papa and Mother laughed with glee as each week the gifts became more preposterous.

  “You’re their own personal goddess in the flesh,” Mother had said, running a hand over my hair. I’d yanked away from her at the dangerous comparison.

  “I am no goddess. I don’t want any of this!”

  “Don’t be ungrateful,” Papa had chided.

  “It’s not a matter of gratefulness,” I’d told him. My hands were in fists of frustration, words of explanation eluding me. “It’s just…wrong.” How could they not see?

  But Mother had only laughed as if I were being silly, and Papa kissed my head, telling me not to fret over harmless flattery. After that, I ordered Boldar to donate any live gifts back to the market folk. As for the other baubles, I didn’t even want to see them. I was certain my parents were giving far more than this in their offerings to the gods, and I hoped Venus felt honored that my “gifts” were given back to the poor.

  I looked at Boldar now, the worry in his eyes stabbing me with guilt.

  “I can’t stay cooped up in these walls forever,” I said. “You know I’ll lose my mind.” I chewed my lip in thought as he frowned. Two months ago, when I had visited the market I was swarmed. Nobody wished me harm, but it had frightened my guards. In retrospect, it had been quite comical to see the three strong men being swept away from my side by peasants and street people excitedly trying to get closer to me. But that was the only humorous part about that day. I’d been sickened by the push of bodies, the tear-filled eyes devouring me, the voices calling my name in absolute reverence.

  I shivered at the memory. “I’ll tie back my hair and wear peasant’s clothing.” All three men chuckled, and I glared at them. “Why is that amusing?”

  “Because no clothing will hide your face,” the youngest said.

  “I’ll wear a hood of muslin cloth and keep my head down.”

  “We’ll have to bring more soldiers,” Boldar insisted. “I won’t be separated from you again.”

  I sighed. “If I’m crowded by an army of soldiers it will draw attention. You can alert the others and have them spread about the market or somewhere nearby, if you must, but give me space.”

  Boldar grumbled, making me smile up at him.

  “Just think,” I told him. “In a year I’ll be married off and you won’t have to be ordered about by me anymore.” The thought soured my mood.

  His menacing scowl fell away, replaced by something akin to sadness.

  “I know,” I said, patting his broad shoulder. “I’ll miss you too.”

  HANDSOME STRANGER

  Oh, how I adored the market. The lyrical shouts of vendors’ voices on the air. Laughing children running about with honeyed faces, waving sticks fashioned with ribbons. The scent of everything from shellfish to fresh herbs to food stalls where onions sizzled in deep pans. I smelled everything I could get my hands on. Bottles of lavender water. Candles with rosemary-infused wax. Mint oils to rub on one’s chest and feet during the sickness season.

  I kept my hood low and my face down. Now and then I’d slide coins across a table to obtain items I knew Mother would never buy: deformed bottles and hand-colored scarves imperfectly sewn by local women with arthritic fingers and not enough money for proper glass forges. Mo
ther’s goods came only from the mainland.

  I felt the presence of Boldar and the other guards—more men than I’d requested—but they kept their distance. Their eyes on me felt overly obvious, but people were so involved in their own business that nobody seemed to notice. They would never expect one of the princesses to be walking alongside them at the market in a plain cloak that hung low over her face. The thrill of it never ceased.

  Two hours into my excursion, and my basket was nearly filled with interesting, one-of-a-kind items. My favorite stall was saved for last. I approached the trinkets, reaching out to touch a wooden flower.

  “Don’t touch unless your hands are clean,” the old crone snapped. “And I’ve got a stick long enough to whack anyone who tries to pocket the goods.” The vendor rapped a thick stick upon the table’s leg.

  Without raising my head, I replied, “Yes, madam.”

  Then she was quiet, allowing me to browse the animals and items, ranging from the size of an actual cat to as small as my palm.

  “Do you carve them yourself, madam?” I asked.

  She grunted in response. “My husband and son do.”

  I ran my finger over the beak of a wooden gull. “They’re quite good.”

  Another grunt and we spoke no more. I grinned to myself as I took up a tiny mountain lion cub. That was the exact moment I felt another person sidle up beside me. I tilted my head just enough to see the form and arm of a man. He took a lion bauble in his hand, running a finger along the mane. A bizarre sense of affection and heated, buzzing sensuality came over me and I had to swallow, shocked at my ridiculous reaction to a stranger. His hands were nice, and his forearms appeared strong, but such a tiny glimpse hardly warranted my body’s strong response.

  “Just looking,” he said, his harmonious voice giving me a jolt. I nearly looked up, but realized he was talking to the vendor, not me. “I’ve never been to your island. It’s quite beautiful. I’m here for the day, passing through.”

  Gods alive, his voice. It was warm and sultry, making me shiver under the mid-day sun. His accent was…worldly. Definitely a traveler. It’d been a long while since a male had piqued my curiosity. I turned a tiny fraction to try and see as much of him as I could without showing my face. His build was semi-tall and lean. I felt such a strong pull to move closer and look up that I scolded myself internally.

  “That’s a cute one you’ve got there.” His perfect hand pointed to the cub between my fingers and I gasped inaudibly, setting it down quickly. I checked to be sure my shawl was still in place, as if that would avert his attention from me.

  “Sorry,” he chuckled. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

  He spoke to me so normally, his voice lacking the mesmerized awe to which I’d become accustomed. I let out a shallow laugh of relief, realizing he hadn’t recognized me.

  “It’s okay,” I finally responded, picking up the wooden cub once more. “This one reminds me of something that happened when I was a child.”

  “And what’s that?” He leaned forward enough for me to see the bottom half of his face. I bit my bottom lip, momentarily stunned. I wasn’t one to care about male beauty. Most of the handsome boys and men I’d met in my life had egos to match, and I found prideful males to be undesirable. That wasn’t the impression I got from this stranger. I was actually considering telling him the story, which made me laugh again, my nerves fraying. Oh, Hades, why not? I peered down at the cub, remembering.

  “When I was small, I came across an injured mountain lion cub and brought it home. My parents were furious and scared to death—its claws were enough to shred me—but I insisted on nursing it back to health. So, I did. And it never once scratched me, though I can’t say the same for my room’s furniture. I cried when I had to set it loose.”

  I waited for him to laugh. To exclaim how foolish the female mind was. When he didn’t, curiosity got the best of me, and I lifted my chin enough to look at him. I’d only intended a quick glance, but the full effect of the handsome stranger’s dark features had my eyes darting back to him as soon as I’d pried them away.

  For a long moment I searched his face as he searched mine. Whenever I met a male, it began with a sliver of hope that he might see past my appearance. That hope was never long lived. Each and every time, their eyes, then their bodies, then their minds went through a sickening sort of metamorphosis. I waited for the man’s dark eyes to glaze over, his mind to turn to enamored mush, and his body to spring into lustful possession, but he remained upright and clear eyed.

  My heart set out on a nervous jog that turned into a sprint. What I felt from him was curiosity. Interest. Those were new to me. I had to look away. The handsome stranger still hadn’t responded to my childhood tale, and I began to feel like an idiot.

  “I know,” I said, giving the precious cub one last look. “It was silly.”

  “What?” His chin moved side to side. “No. I don’t consider a tender heart to be silly.”

  He didn’t? Who was this man? I allowed myself to fully stare at him. In that moment, it was as if the two of us were in a bubble. Even with my face lifted, on display, nobody noticed me. Not the stall owner. Not passersby. Even my guards were keeping their distance. I felt miraculously alone with him. Intimate, even, especially as he studied me. I needed to know everything about him. We both opened our mouths at the same time.

  “Where are you from?” I blurted as he asked, “What is your name?”

  What is your name? Of all the questions he could ask. My parents said my name was well-known, even deep into the mainland. I dropped my eyes. I couldn’t chance telling him who I was. Not yet.

  “I’m nobody,” I whispered. He blessedly didn’t press, so I peered up into his tanned face again. “What is your name?”

  “Leodes,” he said.

  Without meaning to, I repeated his name back to him, tasting each letter… “Leodes.”

  His eyes widened the tiniest bit, his reaction making me smile because it all felt so sincere. I’d done a lot of people-reading in my life, and I thought…my gods…this young man might like me. Me. Not Princess Psyche, the name and human idol. Just a girl in a cloak talking about nothing.

  But as I stood staring at his open face, it was like a sudden shadow passed over him. His body stiffened. His throat bobbed with a hard swallow.

  “I’ve lost track of time. My boat will leave without me.”

  My mind raced, panic overtaking me. He couldn’t go yet! I had to find out where he was from without being too forward. I began to babble without thinking. “I didn’t mean to keep you with my stories, sir. Thank you.”

  “For what?” he asked.

  “For…” What could I say without sounding desperate and sad? Well, I’d been honest so far. May as well continue. “Listening.” No male had ever truly listened to me. The kind of listening that went hand-in-hand with caring.

  And just as I was about to ask from where he hailed, his eyes bore into mine and an urge hit me with acute power, shrouding all my other thoughts. There had been one area of the market I’d avoided—the animal farmers. And I suddenly had a huge desire to visit the pig stall. Why? I blinked. Piglets! Yes, that’s it! There had been other things on my mind I’d wanted to ask him, but they seemed of little importance now. I had to see the piglets.

  “I must go, too,” I told the intriguing stranger. “I wish you safe travels.”

  He turned from me, and I turned from him, lowering my face and tugging the hood of my cloak lower. As I walked, feeling sluggish and heavy, my mind became as muddled as the port on a foggy morning. I couldn’t think. All I could do was move through the throng of people to the pig stall on the other side of the market. I barely registered my guards following me, still keeping their distance.

  I stopped outside of the stall, the pig excretions burning my nose. My arms and legs weighed me down, and my skin prickled as if I’d just walked into a patch of shade after being baked by the sun. I blinked, confused. I needed to be right here at
this moment, but why? It was like the sensation of being stuck inside a dream. I felt as if I were being watched, but I couldn’t move my head to peer around, or get my limbs to work.

  The pig farmer caught a glance at my form as he shoveled a mess of hay into a cart. “What do you wannn…” He peered closer and must have seen I was a young female, though I kept the top of my face hidden. “Hello, my dear.” His gruff voice turned sickly sweet, churning my stomach.

  What did I want? My eyes moved across the area to where the larger pigs and piglets had been penned. One spotted piglet, in particular, was running in circles in the small space, bumping the door and sides until the door fell open and he came sprinting out. I nearly giggled at his adorable snorting sounds of freedom.

  The farmer turned and shouted, “Damned vermin!” and kicked the piglet, making it fall to its side with a loud cry.

  A guttural scream escaped me, and I covered my mouth as he manhandled the baby pig back into the pen, shutting it with hands that appeared swollen. Then he jutted out his belly with his hands on his hips, giving me a grayish smile of rotted teeth. I dropped my hands as my head seemed to clear a fraction.

  “You didn’t have to kick the poor thing!” I shouldn’t have spoken to him, but in my anger, I’d blurted it out. At least I kept the top half of my face hidden.

  “No worries, Miss, they don’t feel pain the same as us.”

  “I don’t believe that.”

  “Say, what’s your name, Miss?” The pigman licked his lips. “You seem familiar.”

  My name. My name. What in great Hades was I doing here talking to this cruel man? In a flash, my mind cleared, and I straightened, feeling my strength return just in time for a strong wind to whip through, clattering stall hangings and forcing people to grab belongings. My hood wrenched back, and I turned, hiding my face, but my hair was loose. I felt it lash out around me, the leather strap coming loose to unleash the long strands. I rushed to snatch my hair and shove it back into my hood, yanking the fabric over my face again. The pig farmer let out a gasp, and I turned from him. I had to get out of here.