The King's Marked Read online

  The loose-fitting pants and baggy shirt of my future clothes were comfortable and clean, smelling freshly laundered. The material felt sturdy but cheap, thick enough to keep me warm in the winter months. There were no shoes, but Helna had left my worn boots.

  I slipped them on and headed for the door. As I exited, Helna came bustling back, her generous body filling a good portion of the narrow passage. On seeing me, she spun around with a huff, “Follow me.”

  “Helna, there was some salve in the pocket of my dress. I need it for my wound.”

  “I threw them down the chute. They’ll be in the incinerator by now. Can’t have anyone bringing a foreign illness to the city. If you tell me what was in it, I can mix you another. Or I can mix my own. Mind my larder is ill stocked.

  “You understand herb lore?

  “I dabble and the king’s healer sometimes spares me some of his leftovers as I don’t often manage to buy the supplies I need.”

  “I would love to learn what you know.”

  She huffed a loud sound. “Child, what I know the scribes could finish in a few lines.”

  Caught up in our conversation, I’d not kept an eye on where we were going, so when Helna stopped in front of an opened door, I blinked in disorientation.

  “This is you.”

  “My room?”

  “Not so. My instructions were to send you here. When you’re finished, you will be directed to the kitchen. I’ll have a trough of dishes waiting for you.” With that she shuffled past me and headed off.

  I stepped inside and, for the first time since arriving in the city, was treated to something resembling splendor. A window streamed the sun across a large, ornate table in the middle of the room, highlighting the deep blood tones of the wood. A magisterial high backed chair with brass inlay dwarfed the table, but this in turn was diminished by the tapestries woven with deep, rich colors hanging on the wall either side of the table.

  I walked around the room, stopping in front of each tapestry, which depicted scenes of battles, castles and fearsome soldiers dressed in armor. Farther around, the scenes became grim. Black figures with grotesque faces and long, distorted bodies towered over frightened women, while deformed creatures of immense size shredded the men. Gray wool was woven as the backdrop and the trees were nothing but black storks. I doubled back to the other tapestries, not wanting to see the images of the ragool. Below this tapestry were small vertical lines chipped into the stone of the wall, dozens and dozens of them, hanging like a skirt.

  I sensed more than heard someone in the doorway. Cerac strode into the room, his cloak flowing out behind him, revealing his snug tailored uniform, which followed the outline of his broad shoulders, tapering down to his lean waist. My throat squeezed tight so I couldn’t swallow as I followed his fluid movements, the way he unclasped the small brass latch and shed his cloak, with a casual toss across the table. I remained where I stood, in front of a large tapestry of a warrior on a black stallion, as my blood pooled from my head. I was the rabbit caught in a trap. Why was I here? Hadn’t he already seen all he wanted to see of the slaves? We were here alone. He’d wanted to speak with me alone. My fascination in the King’s son dwindled before my racing heart.

  He seated himself on the edge of the table and unbuttoned his sleeve, winding it up a few turns, then proceeded to do the same with the other sleeve, revealing a thick vein that snaked its way up to his elbow.

  My breath hitched upon seeing the mark on the inside of his wrist. The king’s son was a marked. How could the king allow the legends to endure when one of his blood was a person many loathed and feared? But the way he made himself comfortable, exposing his mark without thought or care, made me think the perception the city people held toward the marked was different to that in the country. The idea he should have such a privileged life when children like Peeta were burned roiled my stomach with rage.

  “What is your name?”

  I was surprised by the question as I’d expected anything that came from his mouth to be a command. “Rya.”

  “Where are you from, Rya?” He rolled my name off his tongue with a sensual purr. For the second time today, my mind was thrown into chaos by the warring desires in my heart. I hated him for being marked, for living in such grandeur, but his presence did something else to my insides. The way he nailed me with his eyes, the way his lips curved at the corners like he was about to smile, the casual elegance with the way he rested back on the table and folded his arms, all these things drew my intrigue.

  “The far west.”

  “I suppose you’re tired from your journey and somewhat disoriented. From village to city life can’t be an easy transition.”

  Was he being friendly? I couldn’t tell if this was genuine concern and interest. These pleasantries would likely be short-lived.

  “I’ll make do,” was the only thing I could think to say. I’d never spoken to royalty. I had no idea how to act and if I should say something polite and respectful of his rank on the end of my response.

  “You must be hungry?”

  “I’m sorry”—what do I call him?—“ sir, but I don’t understand why I am here.”

  For some reason, I decided not to give away the fact that I knew his title.

  “I’m merely making conversation.” Now he sounded bored.

  “Have you questioned the others?”

  “They are of no interest to me.”

  And I was? The only comfortable ground I could find for this conversation was to learn my duties. “Will you tell me what is expected of me?”

  “You have not had that conversation with Helna?” He rose and paced toward me, then around me. My senses became attuned to his proximity. I imagined him standing close, felt the imaginary warmth from his body as I listened to the soft footfalls of his boots on the stone floor. When his voice came close to my neck, a shiver shot down my spine. “Your position will be within the arena. You will live here and work here. Helna will see to certain aspects of your training. Any gaps will be filled by Pralovic, the weapons warden.”

  “Am I expected to fight?” I couldn’t keep the alarm from my voice, even though Ryhan had assured me earlier I wouldn’t.

  By now he stood alongside me. I turned my head to the side, my vision filled with his handsome face. I looked away, feeling my world shift and slide.

  “Women are not allowed to fight in the arena. Your duty is to maintain the weapons room and everything in it.”

  “That is all?”

  He strode back to the table. “Helna is in charge of the kitchens. She will show you what is to be done there. Martia deals with the laundry. Fighters’ weapons and armor must be shined, their buckles sown and sandal straps wrapped tight. Helna will inform you of the finer details of your tasks.” I could handle cleaning; after all, these duties filled a villager’s life. “It sounds simple enough.”

  He smiled as he absently rubbed a finger over his mark while staring at me. “Stories have reached my ears of your trials on your journey.”

  I waited for him to elaborate, not sure which part he referred to.

  “You have seen a ragool?”

  “Yes, and I hope never to see another.”

  “It is disturbing news. The creatures have never ventured so far. I believe Ryhan will sing your praise tonight as he drowns his grief in a mug of ale.”

  “I don’t know why.”

  “Captain Barnep says you begged for a knife so that you might fight.”

  “Isn’t anyone’s instincts to survive?”

  “Not all. Most men go mad with fear when they first encounter a ragool. I am intrigued by the woman who held her head enough to face a ragool. Even more so intrigued by a woman who defended her friend in the face of the King’s soldiers and tried and save the life of her captor.”

  This time I found the courage to hold his gaze, hoping to determine how deep the praise went, but he kept his emotions well guarded.

  “I didn’t understand.”

  For a mo
ment, that confident, powerful aura he wore like a cloak slipped as he lowered his head to stare at his boots. I was freed from his eyes, but felt trapped by the sudden change in his visage from domineering to yielding, even his broad bearing appeared to shrink. Dark clouds passed over his expression when he lifted his gaze to mine. “We’ve lost too many. And then we find we end up fighting our own.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  He inhaled and blinked, then refocused on me and rubbed his forehead.

  “I wished to know more about the woman whose courage is on everyone’s lips.”

  I opened my mouth but found myself gaping instead of replying with anything sensical. How deep had he inquired? “You seem to know a lot about me.”

  “Like I said, I’m intrigued. And when that happens, I leave little undiscovered.”

  “I am now a slave—”

  “There is no need for you to use that term. Servant is a better word.”

  “It is a polite word, but not accurate. I did not ask to be here. Your captain Barnep took me forcefully.”

  He stared behind me at the tapestry. “Yes, I know. There are some things that must be done. The safety of the kingdom depends on the wealth of the king. War is expensive. Armies require training, armor and food. Without taxes, the king cannot maintain his army. The creatures of the dead forest will spread throughout the kingdom if not held in check.”

  “But you bleed the villagers dry. If the kingdom is so reliant on its people, then you must support them in all ways. Instead your men take more than the villagers have.”

  By now he’d shifted his gaze back to me. I bit my tongue. I’d just scolded the king’s son. If only he’d return his attention to the wall again, for I was uncomfortable with his eyes pinned on me while I berated him.

  “I was not aware of this.”

  “Of course your captain would not tell you. I suppose he failed to tell you that his men rape the village women?”

  For the first time, Cerac looked uncomfortable.

  “I’m sorry.” And he truly looked sorry. “I’ll have Helna tend to you.”

  “Not me.” I was confused by his apparent concern. “Your concern should be for us all. We are all your subjects.”

  Again he sought solitude with the difficult subject by looking at the ground. His pride I expected to see. Arrogance was also suitable for the king’s son. Callousness and cruelty were the best fit, but not embarrassment, not in front of a servant.

  He stood. “I’ll have someone take you to the kitchen. Helna will find you some food and something to do, no doubt.”

  He strode for the door, not bothering to collect his coat.

  We’d achieved nothing in this conversation. His actions were puzzling. “I still don’t understand why you bothered to speak with me alone.”

  He turned at the door. “I admire courage and loyalty. In a woman or man. So few hold that quality.”

  9

  A gaunt woman, seemingly without the ability to smile, led me to the kitchen, a large, airy place full of bustling women dressed in the same drab clothes as me. The assortment of smells, from freshly baked bread to succulent meat braised with spices, churned my stomach, reminding me I’d not eaten for a long time. Helna stood behind a large wooden table rolling dough. She was covered in flour, including her cheeks, and did not look up when I came in. Duty completed, the gaunt woman disappeared back the way we’d came, leaving me standing in the entrance. Feeling aimless, I headed over to Helna.

  Without looking up, Helna said, “Grab a bowl and a ladle and help yourself to the pot on the stove. You can cut yourself a chunk of that bread too.” She nodded to a loaf at the end of the wooden table. “Most have eaten already, so when you’re done, you can do them dishes.” Again she nodded in the direction she wished me to look. Dishes piled high in a trough at the far end of the room, next to an open door. The light streamed through onto the stone floor, casting a yellow glow halfway across the room. From where I stood, I had a partial view out the door and into a courtyard. Another high stone wall rose up directly opposite, robbing me of any further view.

  “That’s the arena.” I turned to look in the eyes of a young woman about my age. Her blonde hair was piled high on top her head in fat coils like a snake. Flushed, plump cheeks and round brown eyes gave her a welcoming expression. “We’re servants of the arena,” she said, adding a generous smile as she spoke. “That’s what Fednick calls us.” She wiped her hand on her apron and extended it. “I’m Sophren.”

  I took her warm hand. “Rya.”

  “You just arrived then?”

  “A few hours ago.”

  Sophren took a bowl from the stack behind Helna and scooped a ladleful of thick soup. “I hope you’re an early riser.” She spoke as she handed me the bowl.

  “Thank you.”

  She smiled, then proceeded to cut me a thick slab of bread and spread it with liberal amounts of butter. “Get that into you. Let’s see if we can add a few pounds onto your skinny behind.”

  “Don’t spoil the girl,” Helna grumbled, but she made little more effort to stop Sophren’s generosity with the servings.

  “You’ll grow used to Helna at some point,” Sophren said and stuck her tongue out at the older woman, who grunted a huff and kept rolling her dough with her thick arms.

  I wasted no time scooping spoonfuls of the rich, thick soup into my mouth. The spices from the fat chunks of meat burst with flavor. I couldn’t help but close my eyes as I savored every chew. Sophren’s round eyes watched me with wonder. If I wasn’t so hungry I would find it hard to eat under her bold stare.

  “What does it mean to be a servant of the arena?” I said, to shift her attention away from my greedy enjoyment of the food.

  “Finish up and I’ll show you,” Sophren said like it was an exciting secret.

  “She’s got them dishes in the trough to do first,” Helna said, pointing a flour-covered finger in the right direction. “And you’ve got your own work to do.”

  Sophren screwed up her nose at Helna.

  “How many working here come from outside the city?” I said.

  “Not many. City folk are always begging for jobs. Is that where you are from?” Sophren said.

  “Yes.”

  “Geez, you came a long way to get a job.”

  I blinked a few times as I stared at her. Did she really think I’d come here by choice?

  “It must be lovely in the country. All those lovely fields and trees.”

  “And snakes and wild animals,” Helna interrupted.

  “I guess you’d get used to those,” Sophren said, sobering from her dreamy look.

  “I would go back if I could,” I said and took another mouthful.

  “But you only just arrived. You homesick already?” She bent and leaned both elbows on the table, resting her chin in her palms. “I bet you had a man back home.” She gave me a cheeky smile.

  “That’s none of your business,” Helna said, but she gave me a quick look as if checking for my response.

  The ache I’d carried in my heart since departing my village, the one I’d tried to press deep inside so I wouldn’t feel it, rose to cloud all my emotions. I wasn’t ready to talk about Morick. Sophren read it in my expression. She darted a look to Helna. “I’m sorry. That was insensitive of me to pry.”

  “Now I hope you learn to keep your trap shut,” Helna said.

  I stared at my bowl of half-eaten soup, appetite gone, but I scooped up another mouthful to disguise my discomfort. In the company of strangers was not a place to show my weakness. With her bright, open face and bubbly chatter, I’d warmed to Sophren right away. Also Helna, in her sharp way, showed friendship promise. Even so, my heart was in a muddle. I wasn’t ready to open myself to anyone. It brought only pain. Hadn’t these last few days shown me that?

  Sophren stared at the table like she didn’t know what else to say, and Helna separated her dough into bun-like portions, which she laid on a tray, neither willing to c
ontinue the conversation.

  With the sound of footsteps, the other two looked up from what they were doing. Their eyes flared wide and they still in the middle of what they were doing. Helna wiped her hands on her apron and came around the table. “My lord, what can I do for you?”

  My lord. I turned around to see Cerac silhouetted in the doorway. He’d retrieved his black coat and the tails of it wafted in the gentle breeze from outside.

  “I’ve come to fetch Rya.”

  Sophren and Helna stared at me. I could see many questions looming behind their eyes. I returned their surprised expressions. But this was also followed by a tight squeeze of apprehension; the king’s son was seeking me out, again. I was not ready to be alone with him so soon after our first encounter. My mind tumbled on all the reasons why he would want to speak with me for the second time in less than a few hours. A man did not look for a woman’s company as often as this unless his had clear intentions; and those I could not bare to think about. The King’s son, I was a fool to think of anything bar his needing me to complete a task for him and thought it best to direct me himself.

  Helna took the spoon from my hand and nudged me away from the table. “Don’t keep the master waiting, girl. Look lively.”

  My feet carried me across the floor even though my mind yelled for me to back away. This would lead nowhere good. My instincts told me so, and I always believed those. When we had last spoken, I sensed something behind Cerac’s words, a loneliness seeking comfort, but why seek out a poor servant girl, a stranger?

  Cerac’s dark eyes stayed on me as I came toward him, but then he would know he unsettled me. To cover this, I kept my expression passive, eyes on him. Maybe I was not meant to look directly into the eyes of the king’s son. That honor was likely only for a lady, not a servant girl. His arched brow and slow smile told me he was amused by my presumptuous behavior.