by Eve Langlais
She expected the second dunking and had her mouth closed and breath held when she went under. She remained there while Josette swished the hair to rinse it. When she rose, she’d barely blinked when water poured over her head. She looked over her shoulder to see Stefany aiming a handheld hose. The mixture of rustic and modern should have been jarring, but she rather enjoyed it.
“Stand,” Josette ordered.
Sofia rose, the hot spray as Stefany rinsed her keeping her from shivering. The towel they rubbed her with fluffy soft. Embarrassed, she tried wrestling a towel free. It resulted in her getting snapped on the butt.
“That wasn’t nice!” Sofia was getting mighty tired of Josette.
“Not for you maybe.”
The pair of women seemed determined to drive her insane. Nice one minute, kind of mean the next. But nothing truly malicious.
Dunking and towel snapping weren’t horrible things, just not something that usually happened in an Enclave-controlled city. She’d also never been taken care of before.
They rubbed lotion on her, brushed and dried her hair, then coiffed it before dressing her. She kept trying to protest their ministrations. She wasn’t sure she liked it. They didn’t care how many times she insisted she could care for herself.
By the time they were done tugging and stroking and even plucking, she appeared as an elegant lady. Someone fancy enough to be mistaken for Enclave.
That couldn’t be good.
“Am I ready now?” she grumbled when they tossed slippers at her.
‘“You’re presentable. Think she’s his type?” Josette asked her friend.
“Maybe.” Stefany canted her head. “Hard to know what his type is. He never seems to pay attention.”
“Tell me about it. Even my brother couldn’t get a read off him, and he tried.”
“With or without his shirt?” snickered Stefany.
“What do you think? If Armand can’t get a rise out of him, then I doubt she can.” The women eyed her and found her lacking.
But she’d finally gotten the gist of their conversation. “I am not going to whore myself.”
Josette snickered. “You should be so lucky.”
A knock at the door led to Stefany announcing, “The guards are here to take the witch.”
Sofia didn’t argue the title. She might need its protection. She certainly wished she was as brave as those she’d read of in books. Her knees practically knocked when she exited into a hall lined with windows overlooking an enclosed courtyard.
Not knowing what to expect filled her with fear, and the guards—older, serious men with weapons prodding her along—didn’t help. The flowing skirt, layers of pink filmy material, kicked out as she went halfway around the circular hall until they reached an elevator.
It sped down a few floors before spilling them into a grand space finished in polished tile, white and gleaming. The walls, plastered over and a pale cream, showcased exquisitely rendered paintings. Although she had to wonder at the subject matter. The images were quite impossible, such as the half-woman, half-fish. What of the beast with the upper body of a man but the hindquarters of an animal?
Perhaps these images were reproductions from ancient times or artifacts themselves. As her guards escorted her across the vast space, she noted giant metal embossed doors, currently open and yet partially screened across with bars, leaving only a narrow entrance. It was guarded by men in breastplates holding large guns with swords strapped to their sides.
If she didn’t know better, she’d think she was in a castle. But only the Enclave lived so grandly. As she kept following, she couldn’t deny the opulence of the finely carved furniture. Real wood, not a hard polymer composite. Its grain gleamed while the seat cushions looked plush.
She was brought to a pair of golden doors twice as tall as her and four times as wide. A grand entrance. Not that they were opened for her. Hidden in the carvings was a smaller door through which her guards indicted she should go.
She balked. “What’s inside?”
“Get in and you’ll see.”
“Why can’t you just tell me?” One of them sighed, and the other yanked on her arm before shoving her through the door.
Stumbling, she recovered quickly enough and eyed the area around her. Golden-hued floor, the shine muted. The carvings in the floor were intricate and darkly lined. The room was rectangular in shape, narrow through the middle but long, an alley leading to a dais. Many tiers rose to a platform and the ostentatious throne sitting upon it.
Once it drew her gaze, she couldn’t look away. It was the biggest chair she’d ever seen. It appeared as a sinuous creature with body twining to form a seat. The head was a vicious, snarling thing with clear stone teeth, a place for the man wearing a simple circlet to rest his hand. As if he petted the carved monster.
The man appeared alone. She’d yet to see another person in the room, just the two of them, and yet, she’d never been more frightened in her life. There was something cold in his gaze. Assessing and predatory as he fixed on her, not speaking a single word.
She tried to root herself. Her feet moved in spite of her wishes. She found herself approaching him, each step making her breath stutter and her heart pound. Attempts to lean back, to pull free, failed. Something pressed on her, a heavy weight that demanded she come.
What if she didn’t want to? She pushed back. Tried to shove the impulse to obey out of her head.
She finally managed to stop as she made it to the bottom step of the dais. She panted as if she’d exerted herself. In a sense she had.
The presence poked at her, trying to find a way to shove her again. She focused her gaze on the stairs in front of her. She was not climbing those stairs.
Nope.
Never.
The onerous weight withdrew, and the low chuckle that followed tickled the skin and raised bumps.
“You are an interesting woman, just like Jakori promised.”
“He might have overstated my finer qualities.” There was no point in ignoring whoever sat on that throne. Angering him might make her situation worse.
“Your Highness.”
“Excuse me?” She finally glanced upward and caught the strong planes of his face. The dark wing of his hair. The gold circlet that rested atop his head was slightly askew. His outfit appeared to be all black. Black tunic. Trousers. Boots. Not a bad-looking man; however, that didn’t ease her trepidation.
His lips twisted. “When you speak to me, I am to be addressed as ‘Your Highness,’ although I will also accept ‘master.’ I should add, failure to do so will result in punishment.”
The cold threat meant her hands trembled as she gripped her skirts and dropped into a curtsy, hastening to say, “So very sorry, Your Majesty.” It didn’t occur to her to push this man. There was something much too deadly about his manner.
“Come closer. Let me see what I’m buying.”
The nonchalance bothered. What would he do if she turned around and marched away?
“Are you deaf?” The words rang, piercing and sharp, causing her to exclaim in pain.
She clapped her hands over her ears and glared. “Are you always this arrogant?”
He eyed her with a gaze that almost seemed amused. The tone was anything but. “Come here before you truly say something I’ll have to punish.”
She pressed her lips to avoid more trouble and climbed to the top of the dais, which had a platform big enough for her to stand a pace away from the man on the monster chair. A big man. He sneered as he looked at her.
“Jakori said you were a healer. Obviously not much of one. Your face is marked.”
“Your skills of observation must be so handy in ruling your kingdom, Your Majesty.” She should have bitten her tongue.
“You are impertinent.”
“Sorry, Your Highness. Being held in a cage does that to a person.”
“If you don’t want a cage, then you need to show you have some worth. Let’s see if you are as talented a
s Jakori claims.”
He snapped his fingers, the sound slight, and yet a door opened and in came two guards holding a man between them. His head was shorn to the scalp, his jaw slack, his body limp.
“Slice him.” The king waved his fingers.
The guard obeyed, a sharp blade slashing across the prisoner’s arm. The blood flowed fast, not that the man noticed. He kept gazing off in the distance.
“Bring him to her.” No need to point.
The guards carried the prisoner close enough to toss by her feet. The injured arm flopped, and the blood pooled. She caught the metallic odor of it. But more than that, felt it calling to her. Tingling against her senses. That was new.
“Heal that man,” the king demanded. “Let’s see what you can do.”
“I can’t.” The king appeared much too cold to trust. The answer as to what she should do became clear. I can’t let him know what I can do.
He leaned forward and said softly, yet firmly enough that she heard him, “Heal that man.”
In her head, she also heard, or else.
She clasped her hands in front of her. “I don’t have any supplies. He’ll need a salve. The fresher, the better. And bandages. Most likely some stitching, which is a task for a doctor.”
“Put your hands on him and fix his wound.”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t have that kind of skill.” She decided in that moment it was better to pretend ignorance. Who was this king? She’d thought she knew the names of all the domains, but she’d never heard of Eden. And a king in the Marshlands? Not something she’d ever learned. Then again, she didn’t know much of anything outside of the Ruby domain.
Could be he truly was a king, and Enclave. In which case, what would happen if she claimed psionic abilities? Would he offer a place in his castle? Ha. The best she could hope for was to be put to death.
“If you don’t heal him, he dies.”
Because the king’s guard had cut deep and true. The man would bleed out. Sofia stood over the stranger, wringing her hands. She had no idea what to do. Where to start.
What she’d done for Gunner in the marsh she’d accomplished out of desperation. Even if she wanted to repeat it, she wasn’t sure she could. This man meant nothing to her. And he meant nothing to the king. Was his life worth hers?
If she did rescue this man, what then? What would this king want of her?
“I can’t help him.” She shrugged. “You should bring him to a physician.”
The king leaned away and smiled. Not reassuring. “So that’s how you’re playing it? Fantastic. Kill him and get him out of here.” The king slashed his hand.
The guards moved in, and she gasped, “You’re not going to even try to save him?”
“Why would I? A convicted criminal is useless to me. He was slated for the fights and, given his skill level, would have died anyhow.”
The callousness appalled. “Why must you kill?”
“Because I will not waste resources and food on criminals. People convicted in my kingdom either earn their keep while incarcerated by entertaining, or they die.”
She didn’t ask what he meant by entertaining because she understood. He had his own version of the Enclave court. “Will you kill me, too, since Jakori lied to you about my abilities?”
“Kill you? My dear Sofia, I have too many uses planned for you.” He purred the words as he descended the steps, bringing a heavy presence with him. It smothered. He didn’t hide his power. He stood on the floor, and yet he towered over her.
She leaned away. “I’m not useful. Not one bit.”
“You better hope you are because the Marsh kingdom has no use for people who don’t provide for the greater good.”
“Doing what?”
“You know what I expect. My kingdom could use more healers.”
“If you bring me ingredients, I can make some salves.”
He snorted. “I don’t need creams. Perhaps you need a little bit of time to think about your decision. I’m going to give you a taste of what life could be like if you choose to be a productive citizen and obey your king.”
“You’re not my king. I’m a Ruby citizen.” Her chin lifted.
“No, you’re not.” His teeth gleamed. The smile didn’t reach his eyes. “You were banished. Tossed out for crimes against an Enclave citizen.”
“I was wronged.” Her lips pursed.
“I don’t doubt you were, but that is the nature of the game. And now you are in a new game. My game. Obey the rules and you will earn privilege. But disobey…” He shrugged. “Try it and you’ll see what happens.” The king looked past her and ordered, “Take her to the pink tower room. Guard her door. Make sure she’s fed.”
A rough grip around her arm saw her high-stepping quickly to follow. They practically dragged her up some steps and tossed her inside a room that was probably nicer than anything she should be enjoying.
The king had called it the pink room because it oozed that shade. From the palest of pink rugs on the floor to the bright pop of it on the massive bed. She’d wager it was soft. There was an oversized window, which she immediately checked out. It exited onto a balcony overlooking a river that wound through the town. An eclectic mix of old and new, the windows of them strung with fronds for curtains, fabric in others. Plaster and stone. Gleaming mirrored surfaces set off by dark and pitted stone. A city reborn it appeared.
And she was in the tower. Gripping the railing, she glanced down. The drop was too far. She wouldn’t be escaping in that direction.
She turned back to the room and explored further, discovering the bathroom with a tub that had faucets running hot water.
Not warm.
Hot.
And on the lip of the tub, scented soaps and lotions. The thought of taking a relaxing soak without someone trying to scrub her tempted.
She bit her knuckles and tried to think of Gunner. She’d just been bathed. Who knew where he was or what he suffered.
Stepping back out into the bedroom, she tried the main door next. No surprise, they’d locked it against her. She ignored the books stacked by the bedside and the carafe and glass sitting on a tray. It didn’t feel right to enjoy the amenities while she didn’t know what had happened to Kitty or Gunner.
The day waned into night, and she stood on the balcony watching as the sun set. The beauty of it actually took her breath.
“Gorgeous, isn’t it? I demanded this view when I had the castle rebuilt.”
Sofia whirled at the voice and beheld the king in her chamber, looking more confident than he had the right to.
“What are you doing here?”
“My castle. I go where I like.”
She stepped back inside. “What if I’d prefer some privacy?”
“That kind of thing is earned. And you forgot to say, ‘Your Highness.’” There was mockery in the words.
“Far be it from me to show disrespect.” The same way she’d once shown it to Citizen Jezebelle. She’d end up beheaded for sure.
He smiled. “Perhaps for this evening, you can call me Roark.”
She blinked in confusion. Was the king flirting with her?
A commotion at the door showed someone wheeling in a cart with several domes sitting on it. The woman pushing it wore the loose belted tunic and trousers that ended at the knee. Her sandals wound up her calf. Her hair was short, too short to even brush. She also kept her gaze down as she uncovered all the dishes.
Sofia couldn’t help but stare at the food. She’d never seen some of the things on the plates other than in pictures. She’d definitely never eaten any of them.
The king waved. “Sit and eat.”
She shook her head.
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t know if Gunner has food. And your friend Jakori said he was going to hunt down my cat and skin it. So no, I am not going to eat your food.” She crossed her arms and turned her head to the side, expecting to feel him pressure her. To use his psionic ability to force the
issue.
“I’ll pay Jakori and his men to not hunt your cat.”
The reply took her by surprise. “You will?”
His lips quirked. “Why not? After all, by agreeing to pay them for prisoners, they no longer eat them.”
She gulped. Perhaps there was something worse than being sold. “What about Gunner? Did you buy him too?”
“I did.”
“Where is he?”
His expression went flat. “He is no longer your concern.”
“What if I insist?”
“Insist and I will remind you who is actually in charge here,” he growled, and the force of his presence bore down on her so strongly she leaned away. “Sit your rear end down and eat.”
“No.” She barely managed to whisper the word.
“Are you going to make me have a guard hold you down while another force-feeds you? Because I will.”
Looking at his cold expression, she didn’t doubt it. She sat down and stared, overwhelmed by choice and guilt.
“Guilt about eating. Because of your companion.” Roark chuckled as he murmured, “I assure you this Gunner you’re so concerned about might not be eating as well as you, but he’s being fed.”
“You know where he is.”
“I do.” The king served himself a variety of items, not just the meat.
She took a small portion of some fluffy white mixture. A piece of battered meat. The food was a medley of color and texture from crispier bits to blue leafy things drizzled in sauce she discovered as she took a bite. The sweet tang and the crunch were delicious. As was the battered meat. The fluffy white stuff was bland, but there was a sauce to solve that and a drink. A flavored water that had a bit of an aftertaste she couldn’t place. But she couldn’t help herself. Once she started eating, she couldn’t stop.
By the time she did, the king leaned back, looking all too satisfied with himself. They’d not spoken much during the meal, but once they were done, he eyed her.
“You were a Ruby citizen.”
“Yes.”
“Ranked as?”
“Apprentice apothecary.”
“We call them druggists here,” he remarked, leaning back in his seat, drinking a glass of red liquid. Wine, he called it. She took a sip and made a face. She stuck to water.
