The Destruction of Prince Xavier (Acts of the Witch Queen Book 1)
Page 2
There is always hope, but only if you have the courage.
Fallow’s fingers shook then as Grandmother counseled her. And they shook again, now, in the grip of the man that she had missed. Ached for. Feeling his hand on hers. His voice echoing in her ear. It was as if something that was missing had been returned. Something treasured. She hadn’t known how lonely she was until this moment. But the loneliness poured in on her with a flood of hope.
And then he swung her into the dance, and the lights whirled in her eyes, dazzling her as the two of them wound round and round their neighbors. She danced until her feet pulsed in pain, until the moon set, the sun rose, and her father grabbed her shoulder.
“What,” he roared, “do you think you’re doing?”
Fallow caught the horrified gaze of Linna and the shocked gaze of her partner. Father’s fingers dug into Fallow’s flesh creating deep wells that would leave bruises for far too long. This was the last time, she promised herself.
“I am dancing,” Fallow said. Her hands shook again until she balled them into fists.
Again Grandmother’s voice echoed. There is hope. You must have the courage to fight.
“You are promised,” Father shook her, and her head snapped back and forth.
“I am not promised.”
Father’s only answer was to backhand her. She was on the ground before the pain had registered. Without a thought, her knees curled protectively into her torso. Fallow did not try to twist or crawl away, she had long since learned that fighting was futile.
“A piece of the agreement was neglected.” She strove for a sense of serenity and failed. It wasn’t possible to be calm as she fought her instincts to wrap her arms around her head and wait out the beating.
Is there no hope?
You must have the courage to fight.
“And what was neglected,” Father roared. Spittle landed on her cheeks, her lips, her hair.
You must have the courage to fight.
“My agreement.”
“That,” Father’s fingers dug harder pulling out a whimper with little effort, “can be remedied. You belong to me and I will dispose of you as I wish.” He shook her. And she bounced like a rag doll. Just as she always did.
You must have the courage to fight.
With a huge gasp of air, Fallow screamed, “I abjure thee.”
Her words seemed to echo in the clearing silencing the little conversation that remained. Still horror filled the faces of their audience and seemed to hold the mouths of the audience closed.
Fallow dared to break it as she repeated, “I abjure thee once, twice, thrice. I abjure thee. I am no daughter of thine.”
The ancient words seemed to hover in the air. Almost on wings, darting among the crowd. She heard Linna squeak. A deep long breath from the man whose face she had yet to see clearly. But it was Father who held Fallow’s gaze. Brown eyes met brown eyes. The same earthen color. One set lit with rage. The other terrified.
And then the anger intensified to the point that Fallow was uncertain she’d survive the evening. Her arms lunged for her head, trying to protect her skull, but she was too late. Father had grasped her hair and yanked her up. He let go only long enough dig his fingers into her arms instead of her hair. He shook her. Until her head rolled, her vision blackened, and she could hardly catch a breath.
Her ears begged, pled for a witness but who would face down such a man? At least it would be over once he was done killing her.
“Witnessed,” Linna shouted. “Witnessed. Master Crane, you must let her go.”
“Witnessed,” said the deep voice—only a breath after Linna.
“That is not enough,” Father laughed. He dropped Fallow to the ground, kicked her once, twice. She was back into the ball, hands over her head. Was that a broken rib? Of course.
Father laughed again. A cold, hard dagger of a laugh.
“Not enough,” he growled again and the thump of his boot into her side echoed in her ears.
She moaned. His boot struck her again. Her arm snapped.
She tensed waiting for the next kick. Maybe this one would cave in her chest and let her fade.
But it never landed.
Fallow coughed and tasted blood at the back of her throat. She cracked her eyes, daring to peek, and saw her dance partner holding father back with a firm grip on his throat. Her savior’s eyes were dark shadows in his face, and she could not read them.
In the shocked quiet, another voice said, “Witnessed.”
Her dance partner shoved Father back. The final witnessing voice was the lovely, sweet, husky voice of Harriet, the baker’s daughter.
Who had dared to step between Fallow’s dance partner and Fallow’s father. Harriet faced down the beast that was Fallow’s father and said, “And that is enough. She is no daughter of thine. Thrice she abjured thee. Thrice she has been witnessed. She is not your daughter but she is my friend and you will leave or I will call for the guard myself.”
Harriet stood tall and unafraid in front of Father. Fallow curled into her ribs, clutched her arm with her free hand and watched the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.
Father stepped closer to Harriet. Harriet stepped closer to Father. “I am not your daughter either, Master Crane. And you will not get away with doing to me what you have done to Fallow No-Name.”
Father spat at Harriet’s feet before turning to Fallow and spitting again. Fallow closed her eyes feeling the heavy spray on her forehead.
“Whore,” he shouted, “Whore, betrayer, slattern.”
He spit again, before he spun, facing the crowd of onlookers. He growled, deep and low, staring them down. More than one person stepped back as he thrust his way through the crowd.
Fallow could hear him raging and wondered who he would find to loose his fury on now. Perhaps he would remarry. She hoped no one would be foolish for such a mistake.
She attempted to move, whimpered and Linna was at Fallow’s side. She whispered into Fallow’s hair, wiping the spit from away, crying all the while. Fallow hardly noticed. Not with that last furious glance her father had given her.
She wasn’t free yet.
She remembered that night with her grandmother as she lay curled into the dirt. When they left the crossroads, when the candle had sputtered, Grandmother had asked, “What will you do?”
“What would you do?” Fallow countered, unable to help watching the shadows then and now for the form of her father.
“I would remember that you are not just responsible for yourself. You are responsible for your children.”
Fallow stopped on the path and looked towards the scrawny bones of Grandmother, wrapped in her red cloak, wearing the burden of her age.
Her face was haunted when she said, “I gave this warning to your mother once, but she did not listen.”
A tear slipped down Fallow’s cheek. Then and now.
“Your future would have been so different if Myylin had been willing to consider paths other than the one she wanted.”
Fallow shoved the tear away and dug her nails into the palm of her hand. She had never thought that her mother might have, surely must have, had a similar conversation with Grandmother.
“I will find the courage to fight,” Fallow said.
Get Song of Sorrow now!