I wake with a migraine the size of Xom, the purple kingdom, and Lyth itself. The room blurs when the lids of my eyes finally decide to cooperate. Voices are hushed and jumbled in the room I'm in; my room I soon realise. Daina stands at the foot of my bed, a conflicted look and a snarky twist of her lips makes me think she didn't want me alive. Poppy is on my right, assessing the clean bandages around my wound. The General is on my left, a somber expression caressing his soft features.
"You're..." my throat burns, an ache I've only experienced twice from a childhood case of pneumonia. He passes me a glass of water and I drink it in three gulps. Water slides down my chin, my neck. He eyes the droplets as he speaks.
"I'm alive yes. Thanks to you." His eyes slowly meet mine once more, a mutual understanding emanating around the room. I saved his life after I tried to take it. "How are you feeling?"
I lift myself a little, immediately regretting it because of the pain pounding against my skull. "Like I died."
"You almost did." Rider has his arms folded, standing stoutly behind the General. He eyes me wrlyly, and I'm not sure his delivery of news was a good thing to him. When The General grimaces and eyes him coldly, I realise I'm right.
"You didn't die. You were bleeding profusely by the time we reached the house. You passed out before you could make it off the horse." He explains, his tone calming and gentle compared to before. Before at the warehouse. Before when our lives were being held at the tip of an arrow. I shake my head, ridding the image, ridding the question, ridding the thoughts that are bouncing around my brain like demon bunnies on a sugar high. Instead I sigh, and slump into the bed, allowing only one thought to bypass the others. I'm not disturbed by the fact I almost died, and it scares me.
"Your injuries are healed, mostly because you've been asleep for two days-"
"Two days?! How was I asleep for two days?" I shout, regretting the action instantaneously.
"We gave you yellow glass flowers coupled with herbs Daina uses for the Guards' more...major injuries. You needed time to heal." He explains, a hand still on my arm I've realised, checking the bandages. My eyes fall to the faded purple bruises around his wrist and my mind flies to the chains they strung him up with. Briefly, his thumb brushes the skin of my arm and I suppress a shudder. Too cold.
"Thank you... I guess." I mutter under my breath. Daina stares and stares at me, eyes piercing through the thickness of the migraine. Then she just turns and leaves without a second word. "Okay, guess me surviving clearly didn't have the same effect on other people." I say with a chuckle. Poppy smiles with me as she glances at my arm that's covered in bandages.
"Daina is not used to these situations; having someone other than whom she's accustomed to stay at the house. She's adjusting, doesn't mean she wants you dead."
"She hates me."
"You attacked her and stole her clothes, do you honestly blame her?" He chuckles. He chuckles. A beautiful sound that makes my cobwebbed heart stutter and I find myself momentarily confused at the reaction. He clears his throat, sitting straight. He wields authority like a honed blade when he orders the two other persons in the room to leave.
Poppy obliges right away, leaving with a little smile in my direction. I offer one without hesitation. Rider however stands like the true soldier he is, refusing to leave his commanders side.
"Rider, she's injured, she needs space."
"So are you sir, I'm not leaving you." My gaze travels to the General's chest, an image of a bloodied, angry wound spanning his body under the white of his loose sleeping shirt that exposes his bruised collar bone.
"Rider." An order. Rider frowns, eyeing me in distaste before saluting his leader and leaving.
When the room drops into silence, he sighs a hefty sigh, slightly wincing at the action
"You look horrible." I point out, adjusting to the somber silence the room has taken. The sun is halfway through the sky, the sounds of birds flitter through the open window.
"I'm faring. The wound has healed but the pain still comes and goes. Daina makes excellent medicine. It heals like magic. Flowers and pastes from the Green Kingdom."
"I see."
Silence once more. However, I find myself slowly closing my eyes to the sound of his breathing, the warm sun caressing the corners of the room like a loose hug.
"I've decided on something." He starts, my eyes are now closed.
"What's that?"
"I'll make a deal with you." I smile at this, either from newfound determination to complete my mission or from the sadness in his tone as he takes up the role as The Red General once more.
"Oh?" I open one eye. I almost gasp at the way he stares at me. New, hesitant, confused. I do not understand it myself.
"I'll lower your time limit for the trial period; as long as you don't try to stab me through the throat."
"You're really milking that aren't you."
"For a month and a half rather than three. Your current situation stands until that time is up. Rider will remain your guardian as per the rules," he says as if I'm a toddler in need of babysitting.
He has no clue of how the Reaper works. How dangerous the man really is. There is only one way to be protected, and the General's time limit as nothing to do it.
"Come in General, why the change of heart. I'm the bad guy remember?" I close my eyes again, feeling his stare heat the side of my face. He was serious about this and it may just serve me in my favour if I play my cards right.
"Eight weeks." I repeat, humouring him.
"Eight weeks."
"As a prisoner...but with benefits? So technically I'm your prisoner with benefits?" A smile ghosts my lips, to which he simply stares at, eyes dropping ever so lightly as if tiredness is creeping through his veins. I swallow hard.
"Is everything a joke to you?" He asks coyly, and I have every right in my mind to say yes. Instead he saves me the embarrassment.
"Will I be allowed to roam the gardens at least?" I ask instead, staring at his hand near the crook of my elbow. A heat passes through the room, and it is not the carress of the sun. He chuckles again, my heart stutters and I am confused again. But I find myself smirking at the way his mood seems to fluctuate with me.
"Is that the first question that popped into that funny little brain of yours?"
"It is the only question in this funny little brain of mine."
"You really are a woman of mysteries." I don't know if I imagine the softness that rests in his eyes, but he nods and says, "It's yours."
"And what of the men at the warehouse? They've seen your face haven't they?"
"I've decided to send them to Royal Chambers." I repress a shudder, an unknown bout of sadness passes through my warm veins, cooling the blood in my body. "They'll be sent there for the buying and selling of illegal weaponry and drugs, and treason against the Royal Guard."
I remember that Ansel knows my name and it could be a very dangerous game if he decides to tell them. "Have you interrogated them?"
"Not yet. The captain should be here soon. Until then, they will be kept in the dungeons."
I exhale softly, relief flooding me. This means that even if Ansel was to expose my identity, I still have time to make sure he doesn't. How am I going to do that? I have no clue.
I frown, thinking of my crimes as well. I've also been charged for treason. Yet I have a deal with the General and access to gardens rather than my head being severed from my body.
My emotions shine through, I can tell by the way he glances at me carefully, as if hesitant to say something. He says it anyway. "I can hazard a guess at what you're thinking, but it is different for you."
"Why? Why am I different? Why regard me as a servant rather than a killer?"
He leans forward, his breathing a bit heavier now, brows furrowed and serious. "I am the authority of the three cities. It is my duty to make decisions. They're in a jail cell because they have killed multiple innocent people for power; women, children, young men that have just started their lives. Ask yourself if you've done the same thing. Ask yourself; when you had the weapon in your hands, why you didn't kill those people when they were clearly going to kill you."
"He has a family." The words are unintentional, as if it excuses the crimes Ansel has committed. But I think of myself, and I think of Kat and the fact I could've turned into Ansel if given the opportunity.
"We all do." His gaze changes; hardens. His fists clench and unclench in time with his jaw. He knows I would've turned out that way, if given a chance.
He's on his feet now, looming over me, his face a stone pillar under a black sky.
"You are a criminal, and you'll always be a criminal. If you want to sit in a jail cell that is fine by me, but do not question my authority and my decision." His voice is calm, clearly undermining the depths of his actions.
"That did not answer my question." I breathe, eyes blazing.
"I do not answer to you the last time I checked."
The buzzing in my mind prohibits me from thinking, from asking the right questions. It doesn't make sense, yet he is a man whose existence runs around a non sensible kingdom where the underground rules and the kingdom must hide. There is no right question, and confusion looms like a ghost that can't pass to the other world. I come to a conclusion that I don't need answers, the time given is enough. He trusts me enough not to put me through the Rig, I should acknowledge that. Yet guilt burdens me more than I'd like it to.
My silence is more than enough of an answer. He straightens and loosens a tight breath. "Poppy will bring you your dinner, but my men asked that you join us tonight. Just once, if you'd like. You're a soon-to-be house member after all."
My mind whirrs. "Is Rider a part of that oh so wonderful group of men."
His smirk returns, the ghost disappears. "No he wasn't."
"I'd be concerned if he was. The fact that he still thinks I can injure you while I'm bedridden is respectable enough."
He laughs once. I mimic the expression. He turns to leave and the sun kisses the white of his shirt, the brown of his skin revealing itself. Brown and ...red...and purple.
"Hold on." I say so quietly I swore he didn't hear me but he stops and turns tentatively. "What's that on your back?"
He doesn't respond for a moment, I could swear his ghost is talking to me instead. Then he approaches the end of the bed, two arms crossing each other as he holds the hem of the white shirt. I inhale sharply, and forget to exhale. I've seen him shirtless before, but this feels more...vulnerable. More exposed. When visiting some of the hideouts with Kat, the men are always shirtless either from fighting or wetting their shirts with alcohol or spilled blood. But he is not them.
He turns, painstakingly slow. I catch a glimpse of the tattoos lining the middle of his back, then the entirety of his forearms before I see the map of abuse lining his muscular shoulders and the squared length of his back. Red and yellows and purples I've been colour blind to before. I have no words.
I thought the line marring his chest was the only proof of an attack.
"You ask me why they will rot in a prison cell and you don't? This is proof. And you've saved me from what could've been worse." His voice is gentle, soothing, as if trying to coerce me to agree with him, to not ask anymore questions. I don't.
"I don't necessarily like you, and I'm positive the feeling is mutual. We are at an empass for now. Enjoy it while it lasts, girl."
He carefully puts his shirt back on and leaves me to the sound of silence and the click of the lock on the door. The message is clear; I'm still a prisoner. I do have a cell, and it's this room. Maybe it's a good thing. Cell rooms can be shaped and decorated like the inside of the criminal it occupies. Some are dark and dingy, behind metal bars that can mock your soul. Maybe mine is a room with barred windows that allows the sun and stars to accompany my passing days.
•.•.•.•.•
The venture to the dining room is hell. It's on the other side of the mansion big enough to house a family of twenty, I take two stairs and four long corridors before I'm in front of the wide open double oak doors that allow the scent of home and Sunday lunches to pass through. Rider: who has been following me on tiptoes, brushes past me to take his seat. The General's right hand men are on the right side of the table; Kay is the first to see me and waves frantically whilst stuffing a turkey leg dripping in honey sauce into his mouth. My heart warms unknowingly at the sight, reminding me of the church boys my father cooked for on weekends when I was young. On the left; the maids. Daina is assessing me, as is Poppy, albeit in a much nicer manner. I walk in slowly, eyes flitting from one dish to the next, mouth watering from cloves and cinnamon and strong spices I know we can't afford in this kingdom. Most likely from the Xom, known for its many, many luxurious spices and meats rare to any other kingdom because of its climate.
A shock rolls through my body, strong enough to weaken my legs even more than they are. My eyes unwillingly find the middle of the table, not the head; where a child sits instead. The same child that stole bread from the kitchen and patted away on two tiny feet. Her hair is messy, clothes ragged as she knaws on a tough piece of meat while drawing on the wood of the table. My eyes find the person two seats over who watches me intently, watching her. I walk over to the child, the two seats on the left and right are empty. As I place my hand on the back of the chair someone huffs, a warning. I glance over to Daina, staring at me as if I'm holding a knife I've stolen from the dinner table.
"She doesn't like people sitting next to her." She says, although without the malice I thought would be present. I look to the General for confirmation. He props himself on his chin, exuding ease and the lack of authority he possessed this morning. Confident yet cautious. Easygoing yet still on guard. Always on guard. I do not blame him. He glances at me, a slight shrug of his shoulder.
The little girl stops drawing, stares at me but never meets my eyes, knaws on the meat. Her eyes are a subtle tilt at the ends, assessing and narrowed, their colour as black as raven wings; beautiful and deep as the ocean itself. Her straight messy hair sways stiffly along her shoulders as she jumps off of the high chair, feet landing like a cat on soft earth. She looks at the colour of my dress; a brilliant bright blue that Poppy picked out with a knowing smile on her face. She even roams over the slack cuffs holding my hands together as if they were a part of the costume. She never meets my eyes. Instead, she trots over to the seat beside the head of the table, the seat right beside her. She pulls it outward, dragging it towards her own high chair. Pats it once. Twice. Then resumes her place on her own little throne. The place falls silent. Even Kay has stopped laughing to stare at the girl— at me.
"Wow." Rider gasps, blue eyes wide with awe,
although I don't think he meant to say it aloud with the way pink paints his cheeks.
I take a seat next to her, taking the flower paints from her tiny fingers as she holds it out for me. I look at The General, he watches in amusement, a slight tilt to his lips, eyes droopy is both surprise and something like delight.
"What's your name?" I ask her. No response. Instead she changes the colour in her hand to blue; blue as the sky on a bright summer day. Blue as the Forget Me Nots that grow near the edge of the Northern coast in the richer cities of Lyth.
"I like your drawing." I say tentatively, afraid to lose the approval of an eight year old. "It looks like the gardens from my room." She doesn't respond, only takes the yellow from my hand to draw sunflowers. I smile, scenes flashing through my mind; nighttime escapes with Faith, wandering the meadow during early summer mornings when the flowers would bloom and the animals were alive and rampant. Reading poems and reenacting them after lunch to expel our childish energies, then falling asleep under the willow tree, huddled in Matthias' arms whenever he'd take time off from school. I shake my head unconsciously, remembering the way Ramern always scorned hugs.
The conversation around the table begins again, Poppy shoots me a smirk, and I nod my head in thanks. The little girl never allowed anyone at the table to sit by her, but me. She acknowledged me. Poppy picked a dress she knew the little girl would like and I smile at the thoughtfulness behind such a simple action.
The General does not engage in the conversations. Not when Kay and Burkley talk about the woman they'd prefer at pubs; a conversation Daina taps them over the head with a roll of bread for. Rider sits silently, although I've never seen him so content and without lines and a permanent scowl on his handsome face. Daina chats with the old lady I saw on my first day, whose name I still don't know. She plays with her food a bit, staring out at nothing. My heart pangs at such a realisation. The energy of the atmosphere, the easiness of the conversation, the personalities at the table. I think I understand why Daina refused to look after a should-be criminal. Why Rider has such a distaste for my entire existence. It is not because he is a solider, or that she works for a General of Lyth. I look at the little girl, who pulls on my sleeve and shows me her finished drawing.
Her only family in the Garden of Reys; the garden in the middle of Lyth known for mismatched memories and lost smiles.
Another realisation hits me, harder than the first. I miss Kat. I miss my family. I do not belong here, nor would I ever be; as a prisoner or a servant girl. All I ever will be is a would-be criminal who follows blindly to the rule of the Devil. An eight year old girl who's already tittering over the edge of loneliness and spiralling down into the depths of darkness.