by Lelia Eye
Stifling another groan as his bruised body protested at its misuse, Skye shifted to look at the entrance to the room. He was surprised to see that the person who had entered was not Tierra, as he had expected, but Gusty. His fellow slave looked down at him with an unreadable expression as he approached, a jar clutched in one hand.
“Princess Tierra asked me to come and assist you.”
Forgetting his beaten body for a moment, Skye sat up in surprise, looking at Gusty with astonishment. Then agony erupted in his back, and he slumped back down with the first cry which had escaped him during the whole ordeal.
It took him a moment, but Skye finally managed to speak. “I thought you were in service to Wisteria.”
Gusty’s lips pursed, and his eyes narrowed at Skye’s tone, but he must have realized that Skye’s contempt was directed at their captors, as he simply stepped forward and replied, “I am.”
“Won’t you incur her wrath if you tend to me?”
“If she finds out,” Gusty said with a smile. “Princess Wisteria doesn’t pay a lot of attention to me as long as I keep my head down and do what I’m supposed to. It might be a good idea if you tried to do the same.”
Skye, who was not about to have this discussion again so soon, remained silent.
Gusty suddenly seemed to realize what he had said and to whom. He colored and mumbled what sounded like an apology before he motioned for Skye to turn over so that he could apply the contents of the jar to Skye’s back.
Gingerly, Skye moved to comply. “I’m surprised that Tierra involved you at all. Wouldn’t there have been . . . less chance of discovery if she had handled this herself?”
An incredulous gasp met his declaration, and Skye turned to look up at the other Skychild, trying to ignore the pain that the movement caused.
“Are you serious?” Gusty demanded.
“What do you mean?”
Gusty shook his head. “I’m surprised you don’t know. We’re not allowed to touch our masters, Skye. Why haven’t you found out about this?”
“Because he doesn’t care to find out,” Strix inserted.
“Be silent, Strix,” Skye snapped.
The bird made a mocking sound and flapped his wings.
Ignoring him, Skye said, “How can I learn such things if no one takes time to explain them? Tierra didn’t say anything . . . so how was I to know?”
“Well, now you do,” Gusty said, lightly pushing Skye down to allow access to his back. “I’d suggest you remember it. You’ll get a lot more than a simple beating if you ever touch Princess Tierra . . . or any other member of the royal family, for that matter.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Skye said, half to himself. There was nothing he wished for less than to touch the princess in any case. To soil himself with one of the ground-bound fools would be a dishonor. “You don’t need to use their titles, Gusty,” he said aloud. “Tierra wouldn’t care, and Wisteria isn’t here now.”
Gusty did not reply immediately, instead beginning to apply the first strokes of the salve, and Skye had to suppress a groan of pleasure. There was something miraculous about the salve, as it washed away the discomfort and dulled the pain almost instantly.
“You’d best get into the habit of referring to them with their titles,” Gusty said as he rubbed the medication into Skye’s wounds. “It prevents you from making a mistake when it does matter. As you know, Princess Wisteria is not the type to put up with defiance from anyone.”
A moan from Skye put an end to all conversation for several moments, as he was overcome by the pleasurable sensations of his pain being washed away. Though Skye had been hard-pressed to attribute any positive qualities whatsoever to his “hosts,” he could not help but admit that whoever had made the medication had won his good opinion. He had never felt anything so wonderful before in his entire life.
“Where did you get this stuff, anyway?” he finally asked.
“It’s from the healers, I presume.”
“But I thought it was forbidden for the healers to tend to me.”
“It’s a healing ointment; that’s all I know. I have no idea how Princess Tierra managed to obtain it, and I’m not foolish enough to try to find out.”
“I think I’ll just be thankful that she did,” Skye replied.
“Probably a good thing. Just remember that it’ll be too dangerous to repeat this, so make sure it doesn’t happen again. I don’t want to be beaten as well.”
With that, Gusty pulled away and closed the jar, setting it aside on Tierra’s desk. Skye sat up slowly, noting that though the pain was not completely gone, it was now bearable to the point that he could move with reasonable ease. He looked at Gusty and said sincerely, “Thanks for helping me. I know you’re taking a big risk.”
Gusty gave him a small smile. “You are my prince, after all, even if we’ll both never see our homes again. Try to act like you’re in pain at least. My part in this probably won’t ever come to light, but you don’t want to cause the princess any problems after what she’s done for you. And remember—life isn’t too bad in the castle as long as you’re careful.”
Skye shook his head in disagreement, but his voice lacked the heat it would have possessed a few days before. “Life under slavery is never good. But I don’t mind playing the part of the injured slave.” He gave a half-grin. “It’ll let me catch up on my sleep.”
Gusty rolled his eyes and let out a chuckle. “It’s not exactly the method I’d suggest you use to get some rest, but I guess you might as well put a positive spin on it, Your Highness.” He jerked his head toward the door. “Come on. Put on your shirt, and then I’ll pretend to help you to your room. You should probably hide out there for the next few days. It would probably be best if we didn’t put your acting skills to the test by rubbing your miraculous recovery in Her Majesty’s face.”
Skye nodded and grabbed his shirt. But as he slipped it over his head, his brow furrowed. There was something niggling in the back of his mind . . . something about how slaves were not supposed to touch their masters.
And then it came to him—Tierra had put her fingers on his arm. It had been a ghost of a touch, but why had she done it? Had he simply imagined it? Or was the prohibition only against Skychildren touching Groundbreathers?
He shook his head and got to his feet. In the end, it did not matter. He was sure it would not happen again.
Though the dark-eyed Terrain enjoyed many of the things Celesta had created, his jealousy grew in strength, and he became desperate to prove himself greater than Celesta.
When he saw Celesta’s children playing amongst the clouds, crying her name with love, Terrain told his descendants, “Dance once every week when the stars shine brightly so that Celesta can see your joy.”
And his descendants did as he said, howling and thrashing in the face of the moon and the stars. Yet such dances are impermanent and savage; they are not beautiful and lasting like the artistry by which Celesta had created the world.
And Celesta, though disapproving of their writhing, did nothing more than cause the deluge to fall upon them. But Terrain’s people did not understand the warning, and Terrain remained pleased with their contortions.
—The Book of Celesta
CHAPTER
THIRTEEN
Warning
Skye did as Gusty had suggested. He hid out in his room, resting and plotting his next escape attempt. The primary problem he faced was the ground-cursed collar. If he could figure out a way to remove it, then returning to the sky realm would be easy. He had tried to chip away at it with a few different tools, but what would take a Groundbreather an instant to remove would likely take him years. Considering its location around his neck, he had to be careful. His escape plans would be cut short if he happened to bleed out because of a mishandled tool.
Servants brought Skye food a few times, but he had little other contact with the inhabitants of the castle—except, of course, for the in
stance when Gusty came to check on him. Skye wondered whether Tierra had asked the other Skychild to do so, but he did not ask.
Skye used his short break to recuperate his strength and meditate. Unfortunately, it was much more difficult to feel the goddess’s presence on this cursed ground world, a misfortune which he attributed to being surrounded by so many of the heathen Groundbreathers.
Far sooner than he would have liked, he was instructed to resume his duties. He did so grudgingly, though he took care to move stiffly so as to avoid suspicion. It seemed he was not successful in his efforts, as once he entered the princess’s room to clean it, Tierra looked up at him in surprise and some suspicion.
“Are you already healed?” she demanded.
Skye nodded. “Your salve worked wonders. I’m still a bit sore if I move too quickly, but I’m fit for the most part.”
Tierra was doubtful. “The salve is effective, but given the harshness of your beating, I would have expected you to take several more days to heal.”
“I’ve always healed quickly,” Skye said with a shrug.
“Just take care to appear as if you are in pain. It would not do if my mother found out I helped you.”
An odd sort of affection for this young woman welling up within him, Skye nodded and smiled. “I’ll make sure to do that. I have no desire for you to get in trouble with your mother.”
“Thanks,” Tierra said, smiling back at him. “I am glad you are feeling mostly better now.”
“That makes two of us,” Skye said wryly.
* * *
The next few weeks might have passed uneventfully if not for Wisteria. Skye had never liked her, and it irritated him to see how she treated her sister. He knew the Groundbreathers were by and large backwards savages with more cruelty than sense, but he still disliked seeing the evidence of that cruelty. To make it worse, Wisteria’s level of distrust for him surpassed that of what she felt toward the other Skychildren in the castle, as if she suspected he was different from his fellow slaves.
“It appears that my mother was not as thorough as she should have been,” she said to him on one occasion. “If I ever have cause to beat you, I doubt you will be back on your feet before a fortnight has passed.”
Skye decided against responding. He merely shuffled away and tried to avoid her. That time, he was successful in not provoking her further.
Unfortunately, his basic instinct was not one of subservience, and his tendency to look upon his captors as utter scum eventually landed him in hot water again.
He was passing Wisteria in the hallway one day when she snapped at him, “Step aside, slave!”
Skye rolled his eyes, and then—rather than dip his head and avert his eyes, as slaves were supposed to do—he gave an exaggerated bow like those Groundbreathers performed when coming across royalty.
Wisteria saw the mockery in the act and halted in fury. “I see my sister has still failed to teach you how to treat your betters.” She turned to a passing servant. “Fetch a whip and bring it to my sister’s room. It seems she needs another demonstration on how to handle her slave.”
The Groundwalker acknowledged the order and hurried on her way, and Wisteria fixed Skye with a hard gaze. “Follow me, slave.”
While he considered ignoring her order, he knew it would end poorly for him, so he set his jaw and walked stiffly behind her. They went to Tierra’s room, where they found the princess reading a book. As she saw them enter, she set the book aside. Her eyes went to Skye, tightened, and then moved to rest on her sister. “What is it, Wisteria?”
“It seems your slave has not learned his lesson yet. And like a dog that continues to make a mess on the floor, your pet needs to be punished. You could do the honors, but I know you would never teach him properly. You are too weak to be left to your own devices. It is better to make you watch, so you can see how a real dog trainer goes about punishing her pet.”
“The fact that you would deign to treat another sentient being in such a fashion,” Skye said in a low voice, “is simply further proof that the real animal here is—”
“Please, Wisteria,” Tierra said, cutting him off. “Whatever he did, he is sorry. Tell my sister you are sorry, slave.”
Skye snorted. “I would rather eat my tongue than apologize to that b—”
“Skye!” Tierra exclaimed.
He narrowed his eyes, but Wisteria simply laughed and said, “Oh, he has some spirit, I will grant him that. It is a pity he was not given to me instead of you. I would have broken him in a week. As it is, maybe this punishment will serve as inspiration to you and speed up the process. Now, take your shirt off, dog.”
At this point, Skye would have gladly strangled the woman. Not only was Wisteria a generally nasty and borderline sadistic person, but she also had no qualms about treating her own sister in a manner that was scarcely any better than how she treated the servants who cleaned her rooms. Tierra was no friend of Skye’s, regardless of her kindness to him, but Skye could not imagine behaving in such a manner toward a family member. It was especially disquieting because it reminded Skye of his father’s treatment of him. Tempest had never been as openly disdainful as Wisteria had been toward Tierra, but given the way that had all turned out, Skye knew it would behoove him—and perhaps Tierra even more—to keep a close eye on Wisteria.
What followed was, of course, unpleasant, though it could not be compared to what Skye had endured days before. For one thing, Wisteria was unaccustomed to any sort of labor, and she simply lacked the strength possessed by the guard who had originally beaten him. Of course, she made up for some of the lack of power with her sheer enthusiasm and feral enjoyment of what she was doing.
As the whip fell upon him, he tried to ensure that not even a hiss escaped him. Wisteria, even more so than the queen, was not someone he wanted to bring even a hint of enjoyment to.
Perhaps it made his beating take longer—Wisteria no doubt relished in his suffering and would not mind any excuse to lengthen it—but at last she finished and exclaimed, “That is how you discipline a dog.”
From the floor where he lay, Skye could hear her breathing heavily with exertion, but the pain he felt was such that he could not even imagine rising.
“Perhaps if you had informed me of what he had done, I might have been able to handle the situation myself,” Tierra said. But though her words were confrontational, the slight tremor in her voice betrayed her. And if Skye noticed it, then her sister could not have missed it.
“Yes, Tierra, I am certain you would have taken care of it,” Wisteria said. Skye, though still facing down, could almost see the sneer which transformed her face into its usual ugly mask. “You are weak. You cannot even stomach taking your slave in hand and doing your own dirty work. You had better hope that our parents live for a very long time, sister, as you will not like living with me as your monarch.” She let out a laugh and then continued with a flippant tone: “Either way, there will be no recuperation period for your slave this time. I want him back to work immediately. You may even keep the whip here so you can punish him yourself the next time he steps out of line.”
Tierra said nothing in response, and Wisteria dropped the whip on top of Skye and gave him a kick. Then, with a self-satisfied chuckle, she left the room.
“Oh, Skye,” Tierra said, gently removing the whip from on top of him and setting it aside, “what did you do this time?”
“I apparently didn’t show much deference,” Skye said with a low moan. He was not about to admit that he had intended to mock and had been caught doing it.
With a sigh, Tierra went to the cabinet where the salve he had used last time was stored. Skye let out a combination of a groan and a laugh. It was rather prophetic of her to have kept it, he thought. Or perhaps not, given what she knew of his pride.
“You will have to apply this yourself this time,” Tierra said, crouching and pressing the salve into his hand. “I do not want to risk Gusty’s safety by b
ringing him in here again.”
“Trust me, Princess—I don’t either.”
* * *
The next weeks were frustrating for Tierra on many fronts. It seemed that Skye could do nothing right, and he was frequently beaten for it, which meant he shuffled around like an old man almost constantly. Tierra had tried to convince him to keep his head down and escape the notice of those who were watching for any signs of rebelliousness from him. But he was, quite simply, the most frustrating person she had ever met.
In all fairness, she supposed it was not entirely his fault. For some reason, he was held to a higher standard than the other slaves; even a perceived slight could bring out the whip and leave him beaten mercilessly. Of course, Wisteria in particular enjoyed ordering him to be whipped, though Tierra noted with some contempt that her sister did not actually dirty her hands by doing it again herself. But Wisteria was always on the alert, always ready to find some fault in his behavior. In that way, she was worse than their mother.
In truth, Tierra was shocked at both female members of her family. Sequoia had been behaving with even more impatience and anger than normal, and the entire castle was feeling the effects of it. Sequoia had been imperious since Tierra was a child, but lately, she had taken it to new extremes. And while Wisteria had always been disdainful of others, she had never before been quite so sadistic.
The rest of the castle’s occupants had a tendency to steer clear of Skye, except on those occasions when they were forced to interact with him. Tierra could not say for certain, but it seemed as if many people privately disapproved of the treatment meted out to the newest Skychild slave. Of course, nobody would tempt the queen’s wrath by saying as much.
“You know,” River said one day while she and Tierra were chatting in the castle gardens, “you have to admit that your slave has endurance.”
