Testament

by Katie Ashley

  Heat spread through my cheeks. “Um, thanks.”

  He opened his mouth to say something else but shouting from the dining hall made him close it. “What’s going on now?” he murmured.

  We edged to the doorway. Venessa stood in the middle of the room. Disgust radiated on her face. I immediately deciphered it was directed toward Richard whose blood-red face made him look ridiculous rather than regal.

  He pointed a finger at Venessa. “I asked you to be seated.”

  “And I asked politely to be excused to prepare for tonight’s festivities.” Jerking her shoulders back, she yelled, “Besides, I refuse to prance around like some prize you’ve won!”

  “Man, has she got a pair,” Micah murmured under his breath.

  I smacked him on the arm. “Oh yeah? Well, if you ask me, he’s the one who is out of line. She has every reason to be furious at such a suggestion.”

  Micah snorted. “There you go, rearing that feminist head of yours.”

  Richard grabbed Venessa by the arm, jerking him to her. “You will be obedient!”

  Kellan stepped forward. “Father, you’re drunk and being ridiculous. You don’t know what you’re saying,” he protested.

  Richard sneered at him. “Perhaps you can convince her to join us. It might be nice for you to show a little initiative for once.”

  His father’s challenge sent a red flush creeping from Kellan’s neck up to his face. In a strangled voice he said, “I’ll do nothing of the sort, and I’ll ask that you leave Venessa alone.”

  My breath hitched in my chest as I waited for Richard’s response. Agonizing seconds ticked away as father and son stared each other down. Then Richard stepped forward. “Sit down.”

  All eyes rested on Venessa. Drawing her shoulders back, she defiantly stated, “I will not just be some sexual object for you and your guests to leer at. My appearance is not the reason I would make wife for Kellan.”

  “Then leave!”

  Venessa met Kellan’s gaze and smiled sadly. Then, she turned and fled from the room.

  “Good riddance,” Richard grumbled, ambling back to his seat. Before he sat down, he observed the uncomfortable silence hanging over the room. A forced smile appeared on his darkened face. “I do apologize for that unpleasantness. Please, eat and drink to your heart’s desire. Do not let a rebellious girl ruin your good time.”

  Kellan continued to stand in the middle of the room. When he met his father’s gaze, he shot him a look of disgust, then, fled the room. Without another word, Richard eased down into his chair. Surveying his empty champagne glass, he snapped his fingers.

  “Well, that’s my cue,” I said to Micah. “Thanks again for fixing up my hand.”

  “No problem.”

  As I started out the door, he stopped me. “Be careful out there, okay?”

  I smiled. “I’ll be fine.”

  Once I got home from the insanity at the palace, every fiber of my being just wanted to curl up and die. The lumpy couch, with its long outdated design, seemed to call my name. But I knew what I had to do or fear the wrath that was my older brother, Griffin, or Griff as he was called. He would expect dinner when he came in from working in the fields. And after the craziness of my day, the last thing I wanted to hear was whining.

  So, I grudgingly trudged into the kitchen and started preparing some stew. Just as I finished dumping the vegetables in the pot, a book on the countertop caught my eye. Even though I knew I shouldn’t, I couldn’t help it. My fingers hesitated over the faded cover before snatching it up and pulling it close to me.

  The aged scent of its decrepit binding filled my nostrils. Closing my eyes, I pressed my nose against the yellowed pages and inhaled the sweet, soothing smell. It had belonged to my parents, and it had once sat on a high shelf of the library in our home. It was one of the few possessions of theirs I had left. Reading was something I savored—a connection to the past and an escape of the horrors of the present. But enjoying the contents between book covers had slipped away from me like so many other important things in my life. Or my former life, I should say.

  The clanging of a soup ladle brought me out of my trance. “Dammit, Cadence, look what you’ve done!” Griff shouted.

  I jumped like I had been shot, sending my book clattering onto the stone floor. Meeting his furious gaze, I could only utter, “Huh?”

  He rolled his dark eyes at me. “You burn what little food we have and all you can say is ‘huh?’” he muttered, shoving the pot off the red-hot stove burner.

  When I surveyed the scorched, black mess bubbling in the pot, I finally realized what he was talking about. I’d been so immersed in my imaginary world I forgotten all about the boiling stew.

  “Oh no!”

  He shook his head at me. “At least you’re consistent. I mean, I don’t know what I would do if I came home to find a perfect dinner set out on the table.”

  I squared my shoulders and shot him a look. “Well, if you’re so dissatisfied with the way I cook, you can always pitch in. I work all day just like you, too!”

  “Yes, the truly ironic part is you work in the kitchens at the palace, yet you have no gift for cooking.”

  “I’m a dining hall hostess, brother dear. I don’t actually cook the food. I just schlep it to Richard and his hanger-ons.”

  Griff grunted. “Yeah, well, looks like you’d pick up some skills after all this time. Besides, how are you ever to get a husband if you can’t cook?”

  Bending down, I swept the book off the floor and waved it at him. “It wasn’t like I was ever trained to do this, smartass. Before the Great Fall, Mom never imagined me doing anything like cooking or cleaning for a living.”

  His soulful brown eyes stared at me for a moment, unsure of how to react. I had brought up one of the unmentionables: our mother. It had been over a year since we lost our parents, but the pain still raged within us, so much so we did our best not to talk about them. “Yes, I know all that.” He held up his hands in front of my face. “These hands weren’t mean to work in the fields either.” Sidestepping past me, he plopped down at the table.

  The Great Fall had not only destroyed the world we had known, but in the end, it had started a domino effect which had taken our parents’ lives as well. It killed whatever dream I had of following in their footsteps to become a teacher or professor as it had killed Griff’s of being a doctor. In five years, we’d lost our home, our country, most, if not all, of our physical possessions, yet we still hadn’t lost everything because we were still a family. However, that ended during rebellion.

  I turned my attention back to what was supposed to have been a stew. The top layer was nothing more than a blackened mess, but as I stirred it, I found a bowl or two full that was salvageable. I set one down in front of Griff. He peered warily up at me through a shock of dark brown hair before he finally started eating.

  “You hear what happened at the palace today?” he asked, through a mouthful of stew.

  “I didn’t just hear it; I saw it.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “So, it’s true? Richard actually banished her?”

  I nodded. “I’ve never seen anything like it in my life. She and her whole group fled the palace by the time I left this afternoon.” I thought back to the way Venessa had held her head high and refused Richard. She really had guts.

  Someone pounded on the door. “Probably another person wanting you to interpret their dream,” Griff said, dipping some of the bread I hadn’t burned in the smoky stew.

  “No dreams during dinnertime!” I shouted.

  Griff banged his fist on the table. “What the hell are you thinking? The money we get from those dreams helps put food on our table!”

  “Fine,” I muttered, throwing my napkin onto the table. When I swung open the door, I was relieved to find it was only Micah.

  “Hello again,” he bellowed cheerfully.

  “Evening. I see you’re just in time for dinner.” Micah was known to try to mooch off our table whenev
er he could. It was just him and his mother left at home, and she had suffered a mental breakdown after the Great Fall and barely kept a job.

  A broad smile filled his face as he tried to nonchalantly ask, “Oh, were you guys eating this late?”

  He followed me back to the table. A few sniffs of the acrid smelling air and his smile faded. “You burned dinner again?”

  “I don’t recall asking for your input, Micah.”

  He wrinkled his nose as he eased into a chair across from Griff. “Well, it doesn’t matter because I didn’t come to eat.”

  “Oh?” Griff and I echoed at the same time.

  Micah quickly shook his head. “No, I wanted to know if you guys had heard the news.”

  “Of course we have. You and I were there, remember?”

  “No, no, no,” Micah said, waving his hand dismissively at me. “I’m talking about what happened after Richard met with his advisors.”

  Griff looked at me, and I shook my head. “No, we haven’t heard anything about that.”

  Micah’s full lips curved into a knowing smile. Crossing his arms over his chest, he puffed himself up like he held the keys to the greatest secret in the land. As we sat waiting for him to speak, he took a long swig from Griff’s cup.

  I rolled my eyes. “Oh for pity’s sake, Micah, tell us the damn news.”

  “Well, Richard has decided not to replace Venessa with any of the girls from the neighboring provinces. After her show of defiance, he says he can’t be sure those girls have been instilled with the proper values necessary to be a bride of Kellan.”

  “Ugh, spare me,” I muttered.

  “May I continue?” Micah asked.

  “Whatever.”

  He drew in a dramatic breath. “So, the plan appears to be for Kellan to choose his own bride.”

  “And just how does he plan to do that?” Griff asked.

  “Richard is demanding all the girls of seventeen to be brought to the palace. Once they are there, Kellan will pick by looking and talking to the girls.”

  Griff’s dark brows furrowed. “Why seventeen?”

  “Richard consulted his advisors—”

  “His quack psychics and healers you mean,” Griff interrupted.

  Micah ignored him and continued speaking. “The advisors said, when examining Kellan’s charts, that the numerology is perfect for a girl of seventeen to align with him. So, all that’s left is for him to a pick a girl of seventeen from a group of seventeen.”

  I gasped. “You don’t mean to tell me it’s going to be like one of those beauty pageant things they used to perform?”

  Micah nodded. “Yep, he says he wants Kellan to have the most beautiful girl in the province and one that has a good head on her shoulders.”

  “You mean, one that has absolutely nothing in her head,” I replied.

  “It’s the way of the land now.”

  “It doesn’t mean it’s right. What kind of happiness will it make for Kellan to have a wife he can’t talk to and will only do his bidding like a slave?” I argued.

  Leaning back in his chair, Micah placed his hands behind his head and grinned. “Sounds good to me.”

  I smacked him on the head. “Ugh, you’re just as bad as the rest of the Neanderthal-minded men at the palace! A beauty pageant. What a ridiculous idea,” I huffed, grabbing up my half-eaten stew and taking it to the sink.

  “I imagined it would get those feminist sensibilities all riled up again,” Micah said, giving me a wink.

  “So what if I think the idea is archaic and completely sexist? It’s not any worse than what they’re doing now by having history repeat itself with the children of the CEO’s marrying off just like they were kings and queens.” I leaned back against the counter. “Besides, it’s not like Kellan is asking me.”

  Micah joined me at the counter. “But he might.”

  “Um, I think that’s highly unlikely.”

  “You did share quite the interlude this afternoon,” Micah said, wagging his eyebrows.

  Griff jerked his head up at me. “What’s this?”

  I crossed my arms over my chest and shot a nasty look at Micah. “Oh yes, china ground into my hand by his father’s boot heel sure makes for a romantic moment.”

  “That’s what happened to your hand?” Griff asked.

  I could feel his anger growing. Quickly, I waved my bandaged hand dismissively as if it was commonplace for the ruler of the land to inflict bodily harm on me. “Yeah, but it was an accident. Don’t worry about it.”

  Sensing Griff’s anger, Micah changed the subject. “Well, I still think you have a good a chance as any of the other girls at catching Kellan’s eye.”

  I snorted at the absurdity. “Oh yes, what a cliched romance that would be. I can see the headlines now, ‘Girl from the gutters charms Prince Charming, and they live happily ever after.’”

  Micah stared at me before glancing over his shoulder at Griff. “She just doesn’t get it, does she?”

  Griff grinned and shook his head.

  “And just what, supposedly, do I not get?” I demanded.

  It was Griff who answered me. “How old are you, Cady?”

  “Duh, you know exactly how old I am, brother dearest.”

  Griff raised his eyebrows at me. “So, you’re seventeen—the exact age Richard is requesting for Kellan.”

  “It’s not happening, Griff,” I insisted.

  “It could,” he replied, his voice barely a whisper.

  Micah took advantage of my disbelief to reach around me for my bowl. When he’d stuffed his mouth full, he said, “And I think she has a pretty good chance, don’t you, Griff?”

  “Excuse me?” I demanded.

  Micah drug his shirt-sleeve across his mouth. “Oh come on, Cady, don’t you ever look in a mirror?” He leaned over, his lanky frame towering over me. “Or do you keep that pretty little head of yours in books all the time?”

  I shoved him away. “And just what are you trying to say?”

  Griff leaned back in his chair. “Hell, Cady, stop being such a shrew. Micah’s telling you that you are beautiful.”

  Shaking my head in exasperation, I said, “I must’ve done more than burn that stew because you two are acting positively drunk.”

  Griff grabbed my arm before I could whirl away from the kitchen. “Has it been so long that you’ve forgotten what our father and mother used to say?”

  I bit my lip as the tears stung my eyes. My parents had named me Cadence for the way I reacted to music and singing when my mother was carrying me. As the years went by, they said they should have named me Ashlynn, because in my mother’s homeland of Ireland, it meant beauty. Thinking of my parents sent a jagged knife of pain tearing through my chest.

  Griff was right. Not so long ago, I had been sort of beautiful. I mean, I’d worn pretty clothes and makeup, and my long, auburn hair shone. But all that was gone now.

  When I finally met Griff’s eyes, tears glistened in his. I nodded my head. “That’s ancient history…I’m a mess now.”

  “Shoot, I’d say you’re the most beautiful mess I’ve ever laid eyes on,” Micah said, leaning over me.

  “Oh, please.” Even though I brushed him off, I couldn’t help the hot embarrassment that I was sure colored my cheeks at Micah’s response. For the last few months, it felt like things were changing between us—or at least they were changing for him. It didn’t help matters that behind Micah’s back, Griff claimed Micah didn’t come to the house to see him, but instead it was all about the fact he was in love with me. In the end, I didn’t know how I felt. I’d never had a boyfriend. Lost in the raging storms of loss and grief, I never could shake the dark clouds long enough to find my way to love.

  Sensing the awkwardness that hung in the air, Micah cleared his throat. “It doesn’t matter if you’re a mess now. Richard has offered his finest designers and stylists. You get the works for the pageant.”

  “But what if I don’t want Kellan? What if I want love and roman
ce and not some deranged pre-arranged marriage?”

  “Well—” Griff started to argue, but I quickly interrupted him.

  “And has the whole world gone completely crazy now? Girls used to go off to college at eighteen, not sauntering down the aisle of a wedding chapel to become breeding machines. Does any of that matter anymore?”

  “You know it doesn’t, so why do you ask?” Griff replied, meekly. A defeated look settled in his eyes. It broke my heart.

  “Because as long as we voice why we hate it, we still have a voice—we have a reason to keep going and not accept the change!”

  Without another word, I whirled out of the kitchen and burst through the back door. Racing through the neighbor’s yards, I dodged fresh linens hung on the clotheslines. Washing machines and dryers were a thing of the past for working class people like us. Now, we resorted to a life before all those modern technologies.

  I flopped down on the hillside, overlooking a bleak canyon. Tears that I had been holding back started flowing down my cheeks. I didn’t bother wiping them away. Instead, I let them drop down onto the emerald grass peeking out from my shoes.

  Griff came to find me as soon as Micah left. “We need to talk about this.”

  I wiped my eyes. “There’s nothing to talk about. I won’t do it.”

  “You heard what Micah said. Richard has ordered a decree, so there’s no way of getting out of it, especially with you working at the palace.”

  “Fine. I’ll just quit. I’ll hide out here in the canyons. You can tell everyone your crazy sister, who couldn’t cook, ran away.”

  “It won’t work, Cady.”

  I stared up at him. “This is about more than me being a feminist who doesn’t want an arranged marriage.”

  Griff stared down at his hands. “I know that.”

  “What if they were to find out about us?” I asked, in a hushed whisper.

  “How could they?”

  I arched my eyebrow. “If Kellan were to pick me, he’d eventually have to see me naked. I mean, that’s what husbands and wives do, right? And when he did, he would see the tattoo.” I grimaced, as the symbol on my back seemed to burn suspiciously. It had been branded there almost two years ago—a way to keep track of all former believers. Well, the believers who survived the Second Civil War. There was still the rebellion to come. A cross, a Star of David, and an Islamic moon intertwined on my right shoulder blade. The government didn’t distinguish between denominations or religions—a believer was a believer, and they were branded. It was also intended we be corralled into one province where the government could keep track of us, but many people, like Griff and me, had escaped after our parents were murdered. But if anyone saw the tattoo, we’d be put to death.