The King's Marked Page 6

  This was not the splendor of stories. There was nothing of beauty to see, but stone dwellings mashed together, piles of waste clumped on the verges, dirty children in tatty clothes and mangy dogs roaming the streets. I felt suffocated by the cries of hawkers, the squeal of children and noisy bustle of street life. The filth of so many people squashed together created a putrefied aroma that turned my stomach.

  We gathered few stares as we passed by. There were perhaps too many passing by on a daily basis, so little seemed unusual. As we wove farther into the city, the streets widened. The dwellings grew in size and height. The clutter from the carts and stall holders disappeared. Above, colorful fabric, suspended from rope strung from window to window, flapped in the gentle breeze. I scanned down side alleys as we passed, eager to learn every nook and cranny, and around Ryhan to see what lay ahead.

  Farther still and the city transformed. We came out into an open square the size of my village. Women in long, flowing gowns of silk with adornments in their hair and men in tailored clothes and finery strolled the cobbles arm in arm. Beyond them, as a stunning backdrop, a majestic palace with spires of gold towered over the city. Alongside the palace, spanning the length of the square, was a huge stone wall. Nothing on the outside hinted at its use.

  Ryhan turned the wagon away from the palace and headed off toward the far end of the wall. He stopped in front of a large metal gate and slid down from his seat. “Stay on the wagon.”

  He pounded once on a side door, sunk into the stone wall. A short, sallow man inched the door open. He glanced once at Ryhan, then to me and the wagon and disappeared back inside, shutting the door behind him without a word. With the clunk and groan of the metal opening, Ryhan returned to the wagon, seeming to find nothing unusual about the man’s behavior. Without a word or glance to me, he took the reins and led the team of horses through the now open gate.

  We entered into a courtyard, with nothing but stone and cobble at our feet. When the door clanked closed behind us, I thought for the first time of prison. I’d not asked anyone during the journey what they planned to do with me. Slave could mean anything. Rumors had abounded back home of village people taken and sold at slave markets by lords for profit so that they might extend their private armies. We’d seen no evidence, but rumors sometimes had a habit of being true.

  “This is where the journey ends,” Ryhan said as he climbed onto the back to inspect the load.

  “What am I supposed to do?”

  “Get down, for starters. Wait by the wagon and someone will come and get you.”

  “What is it that is done here?”

  “You’ll find out soon enough.”

  “Am I to be sold?”

  “You’re in the king’s service now. Unless you displease the master of the arena, who happens to be the king’s youngest son, Cerac, this is your home.”

  I glanced around the courtyard, devoid of anything that would make it attractive and homely.

  “Is this the arena?”

  “Beyond those walls.”

  “What happens in the arena?”

  “People fight, for entertainment, sometimes to the death depending on the king’s mood.”

  “Will I have to fight?”

  He snorted a laugh. “You wouldn’t last past the first blow. That’s hardly entertainment. Spectators place bets on who they believe is likely to win. If you were to step into the arena, it would be a forgone conclusion. The betting master would lose his money on one fight.”

  “Are the people allowed to choose if they want to enter the arena?”

  “That’s a dangerous question you best keep to yourself.” He glanced around him, then leaned over and lowered his voice. “Don’t go thinking anyone here has free choice. We’re all subject to the king’s whims. You keep your mouth shut and do what you’re told and you will survive this place. It ain’t your village anymore. You can’t go saving anyone here. You remember that.”

  He became interested in sorting through the stores, pushing barrels aside and moving the sacks farther to the front of the wagon.

  Before I climbed down, I said, “Thank you.”

  Ryhan wasted the briefest moment with a glance my way before continuing with what he was doing. He spoke as he dragged a sack forward. “Last night was for Doric. Now we’re even.”

  I eased myself down and moved to the wheel, giving Ryhan space to unload the supplies. Last night Ryhan made sure Annabelle, the lord’s healer and kitchen hand, was excused from her duties so she was able to come to the stable and tend to me. She was a red-cheeked, plump woman, with more herbal knowledge than me. She’d sent me off this morning with a salve she’d blended that night, which eased the pain and soothed the bruised muscle.

  I understood Ryhan’s final words. I hated being beholden to anyone. He did not want to be my friend. I did not want to be his friend, but maybe I had an ally.

  A woman appeared from a door in the far corner of the courtyard. She was dressed in plain dark linen clothes. She waved her hand, and although she looked in our direction, I wasn’t sure if she meant me. I stayed put until she shouted across the courtyard, which echoed off the stone wall. “Don’t be daft, girl.”

  I walked over, not bothering to quicken my pace. This annoyed her as she waved her arm impatiently to speed me along. “I’m not standing here for fun, you know.”

  When I reached her, she cast a quick look at my dress. “You’re walking all right, if not for a limp, so I’m guessing all that blood ain’t yours.”

  I shook my head.

  She lost interest quickly after that, turned on her heel and bustled back inside. “You didn’t expect me to come all the way across the courtyard, did you? In future when you’re called, you come right away. There are many in this place with far less patience than me.”

  The top of her head reached my shoulder. Gray strands mingled with her brown hair, which was swept back into a no-nonsense bun. My heart twinged at the memory of Larissa, so far from me. I had many wonderful memories of her, but the only one that seemed to stay was the last time I saw her, her face streaked with tears, her hair pulled loose and her dress torn. I forced that memory into a steel cage to keep it out of my head and heart.

  The door clicked behind us, shutting out the light. I stretched my arms out either side to the cold stone wall as we walked a narrow passage, using the cold on my fingers to keep the cold in my heart. At the other end, we came out into a dank, airless, dusty room. The sun streamed through the narrow windows, high up on the walls, in long columns.

  “You are to stand here.” She pointed to a spot in front of her.

  She disappeared out the door at the other end of the room. Out of the sun, I shivered, so moved to stand in one of the columns of sunlight. The door the woman had disappeared through opened. A group of young men entered. Some darted their eyes around the room in wariness, some hung their heads in defeat, while others entered bright-eyed like the adventure was about to begin. None dressed smart. Some had pockets on their pants or buttons on their shirts missing. For some, their pants hem failed to reach their ankles; for others, the sleeves came down over their fingers. The air of poverty was the commonality between them. All eyes fell to my dress, then the bolder ones scanned the rest of me, while the shy ones cast quick glances before looking at the ground again.

  A man strode through the door where the younger men had just entered, filling the room with a manic energy as he paced toward us, erasing the distance with long, sure strides. His pants and shirt were a matching dark blue, stark against his white hair, his trimmed mustache a shade darker.

  “In a line,” he barked.

  We shuffled around, finding our place, as the man strode up and down before us. As with everyone else so far, his eyes fell to my dress, then darted up to my face, narrowing as they focused close. Flecks of gray radiated out from the center of his irises like lightening. Despite his attention, the man was not interested in conversation, instead lifted his head in dismissal of me and retur
ned back down the line, only to snap to attention when someone else entered the room.

  He entered like a prowling cat, stealthily quiet. His graceful, but purposeful movements mesmerized me, so that, for a brief moment while held captive by his presence, I forgot where I was and why I was here. His distinguished attire, and the way the other man snapped to attention announced him as someone of importance.

  Cerac, the king’s son.

  “My lord.” The man in blue stood tall in acknowledgment of his arrival. “The latest.” He jerked his head toward us.

  As Cerac passed through the shaft of light, the copper streaks in his tidy brown hair glowed like a deep burnished gold. I dipped my eyes from his beautiful face and focused on his polished boots as he came around to stand in front of us. He began at the first man, taking his time, questioning him on where he had come from and what skills he possessed. I tried to shut my ears to the soft lilt in Cerac’s voice, not wanting to find anything about the man fascinating. But it was already too late.

  I stared ahead until I could resist the urge no longer, then I cast a sideways glance at him. His body was hidden beneath a black cloak, which reached to his knees, but his shoulders were broad and his hands big. The authority and power in his bearing rippled through the room, tensing the silence. I felt balanced on a blade, waiting for his arrival in front of me.

  As he neared, I glanced to the front, conflicted with emotions. Curiosity tinged with loathing bubbled inside my stomach. I’d not seen a man so handsome, a face so welcoming for exploration, but he was the king’s son. I did not want to be this close to anyone so intimately associated with the king. My life was spent full of loathing for our sovereign and how he made his people bleed their livelihood into his coffers.

  Through Cerac’s questioning, I learned a few things about the other slaves in the room with me. Many were from the streets of the city, but a few, like me, had come from the countryside. If their fate was like my own, they were here not by choice; however, they did not venture to offer that snippet of information and Cerac had not bothered to ask.

  When his boots arrived in front of me, I raised my head and stared into inquisitive brown eyes framed by the longest eyelashes I’d seen on a man. My heart did a wild swoop as his gaze penetrated deep into my own. No man had ever stared at me like this, Not even Morick, whom I’d known intimately. Cerac’s eyes were a cage, holding me captive while they plunged inside looking for secrets to claim. I tore my eyes away as heat, flared by his haughty manner, twisted up through my stomach into my chest. I would not be diminished by him. Emboldened with the hatred I should’ve felt from the start, I returned my gaze to his and matched his inquisitive stare with what I hoped was a reflection of my metal cold heart. He was my enemy.

  He did not bother to ask me any questions before he moved away. I should feel grateful he’d not bothered to speak with me like he had the men, for it would mean replying to the hateful man. But he’d spent the longest time in front of me, more so than the others, yet found me no more interesting than visual entertainment. I’d been wrong. They weren’t inquisitive eyes at all. They were lecherous eyes. I slowly blew out my held breath as he march away. What I did not want to remember when I closed my eyes was the perfect symmetry of his features and the deep red of his lipsI tore my eyes away as the heat of anger boiled up into my chest. What was I doing to feel this way? He was my enemy.

  He did not bother to ask me any questions, and I slowly blew out my held breath at hearing his boots march away. What I did not want to remember when I closed my eyes was the perfect symmetry of his features and the deep red of his lips.

  “Send them to the baths,” Cerac said with a command both strong and assured.

  Hearing him head for the door, I risked another glance in his direction, craning around the men in the line. The shock of our eyes meeting sent me straightening back in line as a flush rose up my neck and flooded my cheeks.

  I clenched my fists and tapped them on my thighs. This man is your enemy. There was nothing about him that intrigued me in any way.

  8

  The woman who’d shouted at me across the courtyard reappeared as we shuffled in a line out of the room. She caught me as we passed, pulling me out of line and pushing me before her as she drove me in the opposite direction from the men. “You’re not going with them, girlie.”

  We wove down another narrow tunnel plunged in darkness and around too many bends for me to count. I lost bearings minutes after we started, but the woman kept barking at me to continue.

  At the end of our journey, we arrived at a windowless room with a low ceiling, lit only with flaming torches, which danced shadows across the walls and filled the small room with the scent of smoke tinged with animal fat. The room reminded me of our small cottage back home when we shut it up during the long, cold winters.

  Two tubs were the only furniture in the room.

  “Put your clothes in the corner. You’ll not need them again. The water’s cold, but I don’t want to hear any squeals. You’re not in the palace. You take what you get.”

  She jammed her hands on her ample hips and stared at me. I stared back, waiting for her to leave.

  “Are you deaf or dumb?” She heaved a sigh. “Perhaps both.” She crossed to me and fiddled with the top button of my dress. I stepped away from her hands. “I can undress myself.”

  “Oh, she speaks now, does she? Get ’em off and get in the tub. I don’t have all day.” She waved a finger at me. “Don’t go getting all precious neither. This room does the lot of you. Sometimes you’ll have a room full of girls waiting their turn.”

  “How many women work here?”

  “I’ll tell you that once you’re in the tub.”

  She scooped a large block of soap from the wet floor and placed it beside the tub she wanted me to use. Morick, Nellene and my mother were the only people who’d seen me naked. But she was right. That life was long ago. If I was to survive this new one, I would have to get used to the rules.

  I undressed, dropping each item of clothes in a pile where she’d indicated and stepped into the tub. “Lord, you are a thin one. We’ll have to do something about that. I’m sure we can add a few pounds. I guess there was naught to eat all the ways out there in the backcountry.”

  She peered at the wrap of material around my thigh, her lips pursing to a straight line.

  “It’s from a hog’s horn.”

  “No point getting the material wet. Get it off so I can see.”

  I unwound the bandage and she leaned in closer. “Looks clean. You tended to this yourself?”

  “I have some knowledge with herbs.”

  She straightened, her eyes narrowing as she stared at me.

  I warmed to her abrupt, firm, but motherly tone. “What is your name?”

  “Sometimes it’s best not to trade names,” she said with a grim set of her mouth.

  She scooped up the soap and twirled a finger to indicate she wanted me to turn around. I frowned at her but did what she asked.

  “Why is that?”

  Just as I asked my question, cold water hit me in the back. I gasped, my body going rigid. Before I could say anything else, she attacked me with the soap, rubbing it across my back. Next came a rough scourer. She showed no mercy, scrubbing it with vigor until my skin felt peeled back layer by layer.

  “I’ve been washing myself since I remember,” I managed between chattering teeth.

  “Not the way I do it, you don’t. We want clean girls here. No one wants to see chipped nails and dirty skin. It puts them off their food.”

  “Food? What do you mean?”

  “You are an inquisitive one. There will be time enough for all of that when we’re done. Now close your eyes.”

  Knowing what would come next, I did as she asked and shielded my face. The cascade of cold water chilled my head and set my teeth on another round of chatter.

  “Helna.”

  I was about to ask her what she meant, then realized that was her
name.

  “Rya,” I said, my teeth clinking together.

  Helna took the soap and rubbed it through my hair. Once it was lathered, she bundled it all up and scrubbed with vigor, at times tugging so hard it felt like she’d pulled clumps from my head. I bit my lip and endured the pain.

  Helna avoided the wound but brutalized my underarms and down between my legs with the scourer. “Is that necessary?” I said.

  “Clean girls, remember?”

  “Will you be doing this every time I have a bath?”

  For the first time, her lips twitched, threatening a smile. She started to chuckle. Next a loud belly laugh bubbled out of her mouth. I smiled with the snorts and noise of her amusement.

  “There ain’t too many around here that provide me with entertainment.”

  “What does everyone do here?”

  “We serve the master and the king, like a good servant should.”

  “The king? Doesn’t he have servants in the castle for that sort of thing?”

  “Of course, but they don’t stoop so low as to step foot in the arena. This is our place. This is where we stay; this is where we serve. And when the king comes, we serve him too.”

  “We live here, behind these walls?”

  “This is your home now, Rya. Keep your past where it belongs,” she said as she twisted my hair tightly to wring the last of the excess water out.

  “As servants, what do we do in the arena?”

  “Gracious child, so many questions.” She reached for a rag heaped by the side of the bath and threw it at me. “Don’t expect me to dry you too. Finish up. Those clothes on the floor over there are yours. It is all you will wear from now on.”

  I looked to where she pointed and saw a small pile of faded gray material, stacked neatly by the wall.

  “I will leave you to get dressed. You may wait for me in the passage.”

  Without waiting for any reply, she scooped to collect my clothes, then shuffled off across the room and out the door. I stepped out of the bath and onto the cold stones. My body caved inward, warding off the cold as I ran the large rag over my skin, now tingling from the hard scrub. Remembering the salve in the pocket of my dress, I cursed at having lost my clothes. Helna seemed reasonable. If I asked, she’d possibly return it to me.