Ostracized (The Ostracized Saga Book 1)

by Olivia Majors

  “And then – one day – I couldn’t find him. A fellow prisoner managed to tell me that he’d been dragged away by a group of shadows. The next day he wasn’t working with us. Nor the next. I managed to sneak away and find his cell. His back was torn open and bleeding. He was on his stomach. He had a fever. And he wasn’t moving. I spent two days in that cell. No one brought food or water. I managed to get some for him. When he finally woke from the fever, I cried. I thought he’d been about to die. But when he woke up, there was a rage I’d never seen in him. A determination, I thought then. Now I know it was nothing but pure hate. That night, one of our guards disappeared. They found him later at the bottom of a mining pit with an obsidian shard in his neck. Apparently, Illathonian blades aren’t the only thing that can kill them. They didn’t find the killer. I knew who it was, though.

  “Three years passed. We grew stronger. I taught Shade to remain silent. To stay out of their way. It didn’t do much good, but sometimes it was effective. I’ll never forget the morning – or, I think it was morning – when we were walking together towards the mines for another day of labor and he leans over and whispers ‘we’re escaping.’ Not ‘let’s escape.’ Not ‘do you want to escape.’ He just told me we were. No buts. No ifs. No excuses. Throughout the day, whenever we were alone, he’d tell me the plan in snatches. He’d made an obsidian blade from a piece he stole six months ago. And he said with my knowledge of the tunnels and the guard changes, we could make it out. So – for three months – we purposely took more tunnels and more mines further into our area. Until, one day, shadows stopped us at a gate. We didn’t have to understand their language to know what was behind it. A way out.

  “The night came. There were two other boys we knew at the time. Both strong. Both good lads. Shade refused to leave them behind. He’d grown especially close to one of them. They were like brothers. They shared a cell. My cell-mate had been killed a year earlier. The other boy was a lad in the cell next to Shade’s. They were secretive and knew the consequences of letting the information slip. Shade picked his lock with the blade and we crept through the tunnels. It looked like we might make it out. Shade only had to kill one guard. It was a silent death. We reached the gate and killed the guard there too. Shade picked the lock. We opened the gate and smelled salt air. The sea! I’ll never forget the cry of joy that Shade’s neighboring boy let out. That was all it took. A bell clanged. We ran like our lives depended on it. But it didn’t matter. We reached an opening in the caves and when we looked down we were on a mountainside, leaning over the vast sea beneath. We’d have to jump. We made the boy who gave us away go first. I forced Shade to jump next. Then I did. When I hit the water I moved out of the way so Shade’s cell-mate wouldn’t land on me. He never came. We heard a scream. A dreadful, long cry of horror and fright. And then everything was silent. We knew he was dead.

  “The other boy crashed against the rocks within the sea. We saw his blood before the tail of a sea creature headed in his direction. I remember his screams. The fear that clogged my throat as I watched a thousand teeth tear him apart, and the water around me filled with blood. Shade grabbed me and pulled me onto a nearby rock. We hid. Until the water was blue again. Until the body was gone. And we swam. It took a day and a half. We rested on the rocks. Finally we reached land. The sun came out. It blinded us for days. We found a small village and were fed and taken care of. I went searching for Brunt and my sister. Shade followed me. We’ve been together every since.”

  I can’t say anything. I just stare at him as he stares at his hands. His shoulders visibly shake at the memories assaulting him. He looks up, though, and there is no pain on his face. No fear.

  “It took me years to not see those memories at night. Years to push them away. Years to forget what they did to me,” he whispers. “I found River and didn’t feel the need to hold on to that hate – that anger – that drove me to become a warrior. But I felt the need to protect. To make sure River never knew what pain really was. And she hasn’t. I never told her what really happened to us. Only bits and pieces. Enough to make her understand but not understand, if you know what I mean?”

  He shrugs and notices my concerned gaze. “Maybe it’s a bad idea, I’ll admit it. You can’t pull the blanket over a person’s eyes forever. Sooner or later they wise up. At least, that’s what I think happens. One day River will know. Perhaps I might tell her myself when the time is right. But she’s happy. She’s whole. She’s no idea what the shadows really are. She doesn’t wake up in the middle of the night, screaming from nightmares. I would like to selfishly keep it that way for another year – or two.”

  I shake my head.

  “What?”

  “Nothing,” I sigh and look him straight in the face. “It’s just . . . I don’t think you’ll ever tell her. I don’t think you can.”

  “I told you,” he says.

  I nod. “Because, on some level, I’ve seen the nightmares you’re talking about. I’ve faced them myself. But River . . .” I pick at the blanket beneath my hands nervously. “River is . . . is . . .”

  “A child?” Axle offers. I open my mouth to protest but he waves it away with a gentle hand on my knee. “I know. Don’t feel bad about it. That might be the mistake I made. Letting her grow up trusting and naive to the world’s faults.”

  “She’s a kind person.”

  He looks at me, lips slightly upturned in a sad smile. “Kind. Yeah. She is. But you and I both know that kind people . . .well . . . you know?”

  An image of Helena stretched lifelessly across the cobblestones, a hand over the unborn child in her stomach enters my mind. “Yes, I know.”

  “That’s why I’m here. To make sure that kind person doesn’t end up like all the other kind people in our history books,” Axle says. He straightens his vest. “I’ve been doing a good job so far, don’t you think?”

  I nod. “A very good job.”

  His smile falters as he remembers something. “What’s your third question, Kyla?”

  I hesitate.

  “Oh, please, Kyla. I’ve told you the most painful memories I have. There’s literally nothing else you can ask me that would make me feel worse than I already do.”

  I glare at him. “Thanks for that.”

  He shrugs. “It’s the truth, though. So ask while I’m offering the chance.”

  “Do you really believe I belong here? In the Wilds. With you. With Shade.”

  “Yes,” he answers without batting an eye. “I think you do.”

  His answer doesn’t give me the feeling I crave.

  He leans closer and quirks a brow. “But it’s not my opinion you really want on that question, is it, Kyla?”

  I don’t do anything to deny his inquiry.

  He sits back. “Let me give you some friendly advice. Shade and you are of a unique species. To be honest, you don’t need someone to survive. But you need someone to live. That’s the simplest answer to your question that I can give you.”

  “Thank you.”

  He smiles and takes the hand I stretch towards him.

  Loud murmurings from the next room cut into the silence. Something shatters. Squeezing my hand in a silent goodnight, Axle stands and hurries through the curtains.

  I close my eyes to drown the throbbing in my temples. I imagine Shade in the next room, alone and frightened. The white flash I’ve become accustomed to experiencing snaps against my eyelids. This time it hurts more than the previous one, like a thousand needles stabbing me in the face, brain, and neck at the same time. I open my eyes, prepared to see a different interior.

  Shade is lying in his bed, sheets wrapped tightly around him like a cocoon. His face is red and he’s moaning something about “shadows” under his breath. His whole body shakes as he struggles to break free of his blanketed prison. A vein throbs at his neck dangerously.

  Axle appears at the bedside, pulling the sheets away from his friend and tossing them aside. He grabs a glass of water on the nightstand and empties th
e contents over Shade’s head. Shade sits up, sputtering.

  “Sorry, pal,” Axle murmurs and steps aside as Shade swings an awkward, half-asleep punch in his direction. “It’s alright now. You were just dreaming again.”

  “She said something,” Shade mutters, eyes groggy with sleep. Sweat and water plaster his hair to his head like wet paper.

  “What?” Axle asks.

  “I had a nightmare. Shadows were there. And a faceless girl. She said something.”

  The vision starts to slip away, becoming blurry with gray and black colors that dance in front of my eyes. The voices grow distant.

  No! Not yet. Not yet!

  I concentrate and bring up the previous images and thoughts. Pain flowers in the back of my head, spreading dangerous claws towards my temples.

  It hurts too much!

  I only have a few moments. The blurry image becomes clear again for a brief moment, but it is enough.

  “She said ‘thank you.’”

  White flashes blind me and crack against my head, sending me backwards with an almost flying force. My skull cracks against the bedpost, and I fall flat on the pillows. Everything spins in hundreds of different spirals of color in front of my eyes.

  Everything goes black.

  Chapter XXVII

  It is still dark outside when I finally come to my senses and find the sore spot on the back of my head where it struck the bed-post. It’s been a while since one of my visions has thrown me from its interior so violently. I sit up.

  Everything in the next room is quiet.

  The maid from the previous night returns. Dark circles mar her eyes, along with a new purplish bruise on her cheekbone. She says nothing to me. She turns away for a brief second, her hair fluttering against her shoulders. A mark the size of a man’s mouth, teeth included, mars the fragile skin. She flushes and tries to turn, but I have her arm. I grab the ointment River packed for any danger I might meet. The poor girl makes no argument as I sit her on the bed and slowly dab the soothing liquid over the marks.

  For a long time there is silence. The girl stares at her hands. I stare at the mark, disgust curling in my gut.

  “He did that to you, didn’t he? Lucius.”

  She nods.

  My hands curl into tight fists. Bastard.

  “There’s nothin’ you can do, miss,” the girl sighs, hands clasped tightly, her knuckles white. She looks like death itself. Truly, she must want to die. “Once you’re gone, he’ll do it again. And again. Again. Until I’m so marked he won’t like seeing me. Then I’ll be sent to a brothel, or an inn, and less kinder men than he shall have me. Tis my fate to bear.”

  Damn her fate!

  And damn Lucius.

  “Are you sure putting a couple of slices into his loathsome gut wouldn’t change your fate just a little bit?” I intend for the sarcasm to hide the violence simmering on my tongue, but I fail.

  The girl shakes her head. “Don’t tempt either of our fates too much, miss. You’ll be free before long.” Something in the way she says “free” makes me feel as if I won’t really be free at all.

  She helps me into the dress Mama Opal made for me and combs my hair around my face in attractive, glossy locks. She dips low in a curtsy and turns around, heading for the door.

  “Might I have your name?” I call after her.

  She turns around. She smirks. “Celeste. I’m ‘Elaine’ to everyone else. But my name is Celeste. I’ll be damned if they took my name too.” She looks and me and smiles, mysteriously. My throat tightens. “I’m not the only one who’s got secrets to hide.”

  “Celeste . . . ?”

  “Good luck before the king, Kyla. I really, really hope you pass.” Her eyes dart to my neck. When the door clicks shut behind her exit, cold swirls inside of me.

  My scars. She saw the scars!

  Shade and Axle are both waiting for me when I open the door of my room.

  “Breakfast bell rang ten minutes ago,” Axle says. “We’ll be late.”

  “Which means what?” I ask.

  “That we’ll have an audience,” Shade mutters. He doesn’t look pleased by the idea.

  Axle playfully elbows Shade’s arm. “We’ll have an audience anyway. We’re the shadow-killers! Remember?”

  Shade ignores him.

  Axle looks at me and gives me a once-over. “Very nice. Clean. Neat. The king will have no reason to find fault with you.” His eyes rest for a brief moment at the center of my skirt. “And there are no weapons allowed on the premises without the king’s consent.”

  “I know.”

  He shrugs and turns down the hall. Shade and I glance cautiously at one another before following him at a slower pace.

  I can taste the tension between us – not to mention his taste is still in my mouth.

  Our silence continues for six more hallways, and two staircases, before his words finally interrupt our silence.

  “We won’t speak of the other night again.”

  “I’ll wait,” I reply.

  “You’ll what?” He stops.

  I stop, too, and look him in the eye. “I’ll wait until you’re ready to talk about it again.”

  He releases a slow, steady breath from his nostrils and leans back against the wall. He crosses his arms. “Fine, lets talk about it then. You kissed me and liked it.”

  Damn him! He’s trying to make me uncomfortable.

  Well, two can play that game.

  “Yes.” He’s so startled that the mask drops from face, widening his eyes in disbelief. I lean close. “And you kissed me first and liked it too. Who wouldn’t respond to such an action? Tell me, Shade, in your right mind, do you believe I would have kissed you if you hadn’t initiated it?”

  “You weren’t supposed to like it,” he snaps.

  “Well that’s just too damn bad, isn’t it? But it’s not really the fact that I responded that’s bothering you, is it, Shade?” He flinches, but I lean in closer. “It’s the fact that you responded too, am I right?”

  His face reddens.

  I twist the probing knife a few inches deeper with, “Honestly, how long has it been since someone kissed you?”

  He growls, the embarrassment fading. “How long has it been for you?”

  “So we’re going to play that game, are we? Dancing around the subject without . . .”

  “It is not a subject I relish approaching, yes,” he interrupts with a probing stare. “And I find it surprising that someone with traumatic experiences regarding sexual encounters would approach the conversation so lightly. Honestly, don’t you . . .”

  He stops when I hold up a hand. “W-what did you say?”

  “You didn’t let me finish. I was about to say . . .”

  “No. No, the other part. The part about my . . . m-my traumatic experiences. You said . . . what do you mean?” There is heat – so much heat – inside of me. Why is it so hard to breathe?

  “Did you think you could hide the fact that your husband abused you from me?”

  Oh, gods! The hallway spins around me.

  “This is what you’re frightened of,” he’d said.

  This. This. This. What was this? Physical affection. Sex.

  “Kyla . . .” The feral growl in his voice is gone. His hand touches my arm. I jerk away from its unexpected warmth – a warmth that makes my stomach flutter. His eyes narrow. “Kyla, I . . .”

  I shake my head. “I . . . I . . .” I what? I’ve never had a husband? I’ve never had intercourse? I’ve lied to you!

  His jaw hardens. “Or . . . was it him?”

  Aspen. The white lies I’d made up about my banishment are coming back to bite my ass in ways I hadn’t expected. And now – it seems – I have to make some more.

  “My husband and I . . . never consummated our marriage.” The words taste like ash on my tongue. “H-he had a performance . . . issue and he just . . . he just couldn’t . . . uh . . .” At least the flush of my skin is not a lie. I can’t even look him in the eye
s. Instead, I stare at my hands. At the hands that have started shaking.

  Don’t. Don’t lie to him anymore.

  But I have to.

  “His excellence . . . used that to his advantage. Taunted me that I was missing out on the pleasures of life. That life with him would be better. That I should divorce my unworthy spouse and come to his bed instead.” Anger I’d buried for so long reemerges. “He’d treated me like I was a prized possession to be bought and sold for his whims. He’d never asked my opinion. Never cared to hear it. He’d been selfish. He was the Celectate’s son so he could have everything – or so he thought. One day he tried to prove that. All I wanted to do was get away. It hurt. It burned. I knew it was wrong. I knew it was so, so wrong.” I wipe at my lips. At the burn Aspen’s mouth inflicted. “I refused him. And . . . you know the rest.”

  Lies. Lies. Lies.

  I don’t hear any sound, so I look up and find myself resisting the urge to back away in terror. I’ve never seen his face so – so angry. Icy rage chills his eyes and tightens his jaw. I’m pretty sure, behind the contained lips, he’s grinding his teeth.

  “He . . . he raped you?”

  No. Tell him no. “I . . . don’t want to . . . I can’t talk about it.” I stare at my feet. Fist my hands at my sides. A single tear slides down my cheek.

  A firm grip lifts my chin. Forces me to stare straight ahead. To stare at him. “Don’t cry.” His voice is missing it’s usual harshness. “Don’t let that memory break you.”

  If only he knew what the tears were for. Half-truths. Little lies. Always lies between us.

  “And what about you?” I ask him. “The things you’re allowing to break you . . . what about those?” He lets go of my chin. Instantly, I miss his touch.