Tryn looked at me, his expression serious. “What will you do then?”
I sighed. It was a question I'd asked myself a million times. We had no other family and I honestly didn't know if I could handle caring for two small children on my own. And it wasn't like there was much chance for somebody in the lower classes of Unduthian society – like me – to move up and better myself or my station.
I just shook my head, feeling completely overwhelmed and depressed. “I don't know,” I said. “I really don't.”
Tryn gave my shoulder a companionable squeeze. “You know I'll do whatever I can to help you.”
I gave him a weak smile. “And I appreciate that. More than you know.”
He nodded. “Then I will see you tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow then.”
I watched Tryn walk toward the marketplace in the center of our village. It was the place where anything could be had for a price. It was where we got our food, drink and whatever supplies we needed to survive. There was always somebody there who seemed able to get anything we needed.
It wasn't technically sanctioned by the Council, and could be considered an illegal underground market, but they tended to overlook it. Mostly because they just didn't care to deal with us unless they absolutely had to.
The elites who lived in Kinray considered themselves above us. They saw themselves as our betters. And they treated us accordingly. Our only value to them was based in how productive we could be for them. What we could provide for them. Other than that, all of us living on the outer edges of Kinray could be wiped out and they wouldn't lose a wink of sleep over it.
I walked into the small, rundown place we called a home. It was a three-room home, built mostly of stone and spare timber. My father hadn't been much of a craftsman, but he'd done the best he could. And it kept the worst of the chill out at night, so I couldn't complain all that much. I knew we had it better than some of the others in our village.
“Byr, is that you?” my mother called from her room.
“Yes, mother,” I said, dropping my bag down on the table in the main room. “How are you feeling?”
I stepped into her room and stepped to her bedside, taking her hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. She looked up at me, her skin looking ashen and her once vibrant silver hair now looking dull and almost as lifeless as her eyes. But she gave me a smile.
“I'm fine, my sweet boy,” she said. “Don't you waste any time worrying about me.”
My mother was always fine. She didn't complain about her illness, not even when it got really bad. It broke my heart to see her so weak and frail. But there was nothing I could do to help her. Even if we'd had the money for the proper treatments, the doctors said the disease was too far advanced and there was nothing they could do.
“I used the last of our rations to make some soup for dinner,” she said. “Will you be able to get more tomorrow?”
I nodded. “Of course,” I said. “I'll be sure to get them tomorrow afternoon.”
The Council wanted to make sure we believed they cared about us by giving us rations of food once a week. Some vegetables, meats, breads – some of it stale and rotten. I was convinced that it was simply leftover scraps from the tables of the upper class.
But, it was better than nothing. I'd become pretty efficient at stretching those rations and making something edible out of them.
“Let me get you a bowl of soup, mother.”
She shook her head. “I'm not feeling well enough to eat right now,” she said. “Maybe I'll have you fix me something later.”
I nodded. “Of course.”
The fact that she refused to eat told me that we didn't have much in the pot. My mother always made sure that her children ate first – even at the expense of her own growling stomach. I gave her a small smile.
“Get some rest, mother.”
She nodded and closed her eyes as I turned and made my way back into the main room. Moving over to the pot hanging above the fire, I ladled some soup into bowls and set them on the table. I grabbed some crusty bread from the box and put it on plates.
“Gynta, Hopa, time to eat,” I called.
The door to the room in back opened and they shuffled out to the table, casting a despondent look at our mother as they passed by her room. They were good kids and did all they could to not cause our mother any undue stress. They knew she was in poor health and that she likely wouldn't be with us much longer, but they did their best to keep her spirits up.
It hurt me to see them not acting like normal kids their age. They should be running around, playing, and laughing. But they were quiet, taking such care to not disturb our mother, and acted so much – older. They were both just ten years old, but they'd lived a hard life already. Had seen and experienced too much – things children their age shouldn't.
“Aren't you eating with us, Byr?” Gynta asked.
I gave her a small smile as I looked into the pot. There was enough left for one bowl – a bowl my mother was going to have.
I shook my head. “I'm fine, Gynta,” I lied. “I ate something at work earlier. You go ahead and eat up.”
They both looked at me like they knew I was lying – but of course, were unable to do anything about it. Instead, they sullenly dug into their meals.
“Hey, tomorrow is rations day,” I said, forcing some cheer into my voice. “If you're good, maybe I can make you a sweet cake for dessert.”
Their faces brightened and they smiled at me. “Really?” Hopa asked.
I nodded. “Really.”
I was glad to see them smile, to give them one bright moment in this otherwise bleak existence. I sighed and grabbed my book – education wasn't given to us on the outer edges, but I'd made a point of trying to educate myself. And I was making sure that Gynta and Hopa were being educated as well.
“Mother, I'll be out back for a bit,” I called. “You two can just leave your dishes when you're done. I'll take care of them. Be sure to get your studies in after dinner though. I'll be in to check on you.”
They both nodded, their eyes still aglow with the promise of sweetcakes tomorrow. Giving them a smile, I went out back and lit a torch so I could see. Sitting on an old crate I used as a chair, I opened my book – and then closed it again a moment later.
I looked to the brightly lit buildings of Kinray. With my stomach growling, I wondered what kind of wonderful and elaborate meals the people were eating. I wondered how many of them were suffering from some debilitating disease because they couldn't manage to get the proper care.
And I couldn't help but be bitter and angry about it.
I stood there, looking at the lights of the capital and felt the hatred burning within me. And it was a deep, abiding hatred of Unduth's elite.
Chapter Four
Hatare
“It's your big day!” Pysh's voice was loud and chirping.
She jumped up onto my bed and bounced around, jostling me – and bothering me. The sun had barely crested the horizon and light was just beginning to fill my bedchamber. It was the day of my eighteenth birth year celebration. The knot in my stomach constricted painfully and I felt nauseous just thinking about it.
“It's early, Pysh,” I said. “Let me sleep a while longer.”
“Nonsense,” she said. “Mother wants you to get up and begin getting ready.”
“The celebration isn't for hours yet,” I groaned.
“No, but I want everything about you done perfectly,” my mother's voice filled the room.
I sat up in bed to find my mother standing in the doorway, her arms folded across her chest, a stern look upon her face. It was very early and yet, she was already dressed and perfectly put together. Of course. That was my mother – the perfect Unduthian wife.
The type of soulless automaton she thought I should be.
“Pysh, give me some time with mom, okay?”
My little sister stuck out her bottom lip and pouted. “Okay,” she said sullenly.
“Don'
t worry,” I said. “We'll have plenty of time together today.”
Her face brightened up and she skipped out of the room. My mother stepped inside and allowed the door to slide closed behind her. She looked at me with a curious expression. I'd practiced this little speech in my head a million times already. I was nervous about it – mostly because I had an idea how it would be received. But I had to try. It was my last-ditch effort to avoid the Academy. If this failed...
“What is it, Hatare?”
I pulled one of my pillows to my breast and held it there. “I want to cancel the celebration, Mother,” I said. “I have no desire to go to the Academy.”
She looked at me, completely dumbfounded. “Where is this coming from, Hatare?” she asked. “It used to be all you talked about. I remember you telling me just how excited you –”
“I was also Pysh's age,” I interrupted her. “I didn't know any better. But my eyes are open now and I do not want to go to the Academy, nor do I wish to be matched with and married to somebody I do not know.”
Her expression grew dark and her lips compressed into a tight line. “This is not up for debate, Hatare. This is the custom and tradition of the Unduthian people. It has been for centuries. It is how we thrive as a people, Hatare, and –”
“But that is not what I want for my life, Mother,” I nearly shouted.
She looked at me, shocked, like I'd slapped her across the face. I'd never raised my voice to my mother before, but this was as serious as it got. This was my life, we were talking about. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out.
“Perhaps not,” came another voice. “But this is your duty to your family.”
I turned and found my father standing in the doorway, his expression dark and angry. He glowered at me and there was that instinctual part of me that wanted to cower and cringe. My father was the undisputed head of our household. His word was law. He ruled with an iron fist and he suffered no fools.
But this was my life. I tried to control my thundering heart and resist the urge to give in to him – as I always did. As all of the women in this house always did. He was a large man, his skin a darker shade of blue than mine and his hair was long and violet. White markings surrounded his eyes and when he was angry, they seemed to add to his foreboding appearance. He was tall, thick shoulder and thick chested. He was a brute of a man. But he was more than that. He was clever. Intelligent. Calculating. He didn't rely on his physical nature to beat you – he simply outthought you.
My mother stood off to the side, her hands folded in front of her, and her eyes lowered to the ground. Now that my father was here, her role in this was over, and she was merely a spectator. Weak. She was so weak. It disgusted me.
“Father,” I said. “I'm sure that Unduthian society will survive without me. I'm sure there are far more suitable gir –”
“This is not up for discussion, Hatare,” he growled. “You know very well what a good pairing means for this family.”
“Yes, yes,” I snapped. “It means more wealth, power, and prestige for this family. It means we climb further up the social ladder.”
“Would you rather have lived on the outer edges with the rest of the scraps?” my father's voice was low and menacing. “Because I did not hear you complain about this lifestyle growing up, Hatare.”
“Perhaps the problem is, you did not bother to listen then, Father.”
My father's eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched. He balled his hands into fists at his sides and glared at me.
“I really do not care for this sudden defiance in you, Hatare,” he said. “That sort of attitude could prevent you from finding a suitable match – and do you know what that would mean for our family?”
“Don't worry, Father,” I replied, my voice dripping with sarcasm, “I'm sure they'll beat any trace of life and personality from me at the Academy. They'll make me a perfect, docile little drone like Mother here.”
My mother choked back a sob and shook her head. But my father closed the distance between us in a heartbeat. I heard the sound of flesh meeting flesh before I could even process the fact that he'd slapped me. My cheek burned bright with pain and tears welled in my eyes. I held my hand to my cheek and looked at my father. I couldn't believe that he'd slapped me.
His face had grown darker and the markings around his eyes seemed to glow, the anger in his face more than clear.
He pointed a finger at me. “You will change this attitude of yours,” he said. “You will be a polite, civilized young woman at your birth year celebration. And you will make a good impression on your potential matches. You will do your duty to this family. Do you understand me?”
I looked at him, my eyes narrowed and hatred flowing through my veins. “Do I have any choice in the matter, Father?”
He opened his mouth to reply, but closed it again. Shaking his head, he turned and walked away, my mother following three steps behind him with her head lowered. The door to my bedchamber closed with a whoosh. I pushed a button on the table next to my bed, locking the door. I was done with everybody.
We were hours away from the celebration. From my enslavement. My final gambit had failed. My words had fallen upon deaf ears. Part of me knew that it would, but I'd held out some small shred of hope that my parents would see me as their daughter – not just as a commodity they could use to further the family agenda.
But that hope was now forever dashed. I now knew that my only value to my family – my mother and my father – was as a chip to climb the social ladder of Unduth.
The question was, what was I going to do about it?
Chapter Five
I sat at the dressing table in my bedchamber, staring at myself in the mirror. My face was grim and there was no sparkle in my eyes. The markings around my eyes were dull, lifeless – just the way I felt. The sun had set, the first of our three moons was already in the sky, and the second was just cresting the horizon. Which meant that I had less than an hour until the celebration.
Which meant, I had less than an hour to decide what I was going to do.
I'd been showered, groomed, plucked, powdered, and made to look like a proper Unduthian lady. I looked like a younger version of my mother. And I wasn't happy about it. Not in the slightest bit. I didn't want to be a programmed, indoctrinated robot that had no independent thought or feeling. I didn't want to be the sort of woman Unduthian society deemed “proper.”
I wanted to be me. Nothing more and nothing less. I wanted to be free to be who I was, to set my own goals, and chase my own dreams. I wanted to live my life the way I saw fit. The way I'd constructed it. I wanted to succeed or fail on my own – not live in some carefully crafted bubble where all of my needs were met, but where I was expected to be perfect. To be what others deemed to be civilized. To be subservient. To be compliant. To be tamed.
If forced to live that life, I might as well be dead.
The chime sounded on my door. With a sigh, I hit the button to unlock it. The door slid inside with a whoosh and Arbul, the house maid stepped through. She looked at me with kindness in her eyes and a gentle smile on her lips. She was only a few years older than I was, and had always been a good friend to me.
“Your mother asked me to tell you that it's time to begin getting ready,” she said. “Your guests will be arriving soon.”
I closed the door and locked it with the push of a button. The tall doors that led to the balcony over my bedchamber stood open, allowing a cool breeze to filter through. Arbul moved closer and sat down next to me. She was my trusted confidant – a rare thing in this household where everything I did or said was reported back to my parents in the hopes of currying favor. But Arbul had always been kind, genuine, sincere, and best of all, discrete.
I looked at my friend. “If you had the opportunity, would you let yourself be shipped off the Academy?”
Because she was born among the lower class in Kinray, Arbul was not allowed to go to the Academy. She had no real opportunity to advance in her li
fe or better herself according to Unduthian social structure. She simply had to be happy with being a servant in the homes of one of the elite. It was an injustice and inequality that never failed to make my blood boil.
She gave me a small smile. “There is a part of me that would, yes,” she said. “If only for the stability and for the fact that I would want for nothing.”
I nodded. I could understand that. Growing up with nothing – sometimes even less than that – I could see the appeal of having your every need met. I could understand the seductiveness of it. And I couldn't blame her for feeling that way.
“But the bigger part of me,” she went on, “would reject it. The only good thing that comes from being of the lower class is that I am free. Free to think what I want, be who I am – I have a freedom that somebody in your position will never know. And that makes me sad for you, Hatare.”
I took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. She was a beautiful woman. She had the same light blue skin that I did. The markings around her eyes – though, different from my own as each Unduthian’s markings were unique – were white and glowed or dimmed with her emotions. Just like my own. Her hair was a soft red, but was long and silky. Much like my own.
The only thing that made us different was luck of the draw. I'd been fortunate to be born into the class I had been born into. But Arbul hadn't been that fortunate. And because of that stroke of fortune – or misfortune, depending on how you viewed it – she was stuck in a life of servitude.
“I can't do this, Arbul,” I said, my voice barely more than a whisper. “I won't.”
She squeezed my hand in return. “Then what will you do?”
I sighed and looked at the dagger sitting on the edge of my dressing table. The lights in the room glinted off the sharp blade. I saw Arbul looking at the blade and then back at me, her eyes growing wide.
“No, Hatare,” she said, her voice urgent. “Put that thought out of your head right now. You cannot do that. I will not allow it.”
Fawks (Dragons of Kratak Book 4) Page 75
