The Outside

Emory’s desperate words would not leave me.

    So much more out there that you cannot see….

         The idea seemed impossible. What was there that I – the Princess – did not know? It didn’t matter that I had never set foot outside these walls; I trusted Mother to govern her kingdom right.

         But the pained twist of Emory’s expression had me rethinking. What was it that he had found so appealing? Certainly it was something I wished too to view.

        As I strolled along the garden boxes, the pale moon cascaded over rose petals and tulips; colors became pastel and romantic. Only a slight breeze ran through the leaves and stems, washing with it the floral essence of pollen. I sat on a metal bench, shivering slightly at the cold bite. An obsidian beetle scattered over the smooth surface, its shell gleaming in the pallid light. 

         Your Mother withholds the truth that you must know.

         He was lucid – the perfect reasoning. Why else had the guards been forced to subdue and shackle him? Yes… this made sense.

I sighed, tapping my toes on the consistent cobblestone. I rose, taking a last sweet breath of the air, and stepped forward.

         Suddenly, my foot snapped forward with a harsh snap. The air gasped. Something scuffled, and I made out a vague black shape in the darkness.

         “Stop!” I ordered.

         The gasp came again, faster – shocked. It skidded to a stop in a patch of light and tensed for the final blow.

         With a cautious step, I moved toward the boxy, leggy shape. It was a man dressed in complete black, including his face. But the cloth was dirtied and sewn in uneven strips. The mask especially was loose and flimsy in seam. It was as if he had gathered this black material like one gathered fallen wheat after harvest. He sucked in gulps of air, and the sound was loud and obnoxious.

         “Who are you?” I inquired.

         The man’s breathing calmed until I could no longer hear it, and he turned to me. His eyes were an even green that pooled intense emotion, and he looked as if he were trying to read my mind.

         “Who are you?”

         “Daman Jespersson.”

         My eyebrow rose into a smooth curve. “Well, then, Daman; what business have you traipsing about this hour?”

         His eyes glanced away and then back. “I am out running a message for my master; he wishes not to let it be known that of which I inquire, so he asked of me to create this assemble.” He emitted a soft sound that resembled a swallow.

         I nodded, stepping closer and into the clearer light. “Remove your mask.”

         Daman shook his head, and a wild fear sparked in his eyes when he fully saw me. “Princess! Oh, you’re the princess!” He was quite the opposite of pleased. And he stumbled back when I reached out to grab his face. “Princess, pardon me, but please allow me to keep this secrecy.”

         Frustration welled up in my chest, but I pushed it back and struggled for decorum. “If you must; can you not at least reveal to me whom your master is?”

         Once more, he shook his head. “He would be very sore with me should I reveal his identity.”

         “Is he abusive to you?” I filed in my mind the nobles of whom I suspected of such acts.  Edrolph was among them.

         Daman continued shaking his head, and it was getting desperate. “No, Princess. Please, do not worry yourself over this. ‘Tis nothing of the matter.”

         ‘Princess’ was beginning to grate against my ear. I tried to ignore the building irritation. “Well, then; he must trust you very much. This message of yours must be the upmost of importance.” 

         He nodded. “Aye, Princess, and I be much obliged if you would let me continue with it.”

         And then I thought of something. My arms crossed over my chest and curiosity hummed in my blood like a purr.

         Perhaps… just for a day…?

         Daman began turning on his heel to leave when I called out for him again. He lost his balance mid-stride and fell into the corner of a garden box. Against the black cloth, he gave a muffled cry and clutched his thigh.

         I winced, and then realized he probably would not be much help after all. He was a servant, and, with my luck, had seen as much of the ‘outside’ as I.

         That’s when the chord of ringing metal jostled my instincts. I looked down, and there, rolling on its side, was a solid gold goblet.

         Daman was ice on the ground. His eyes widened at the object that soaked the color of the moon. Then he looked up at me, terror saturating the green rims.

         I picked it up, felt the contours and bends. Cold and weighty. I lifted it towards him. “Care to explain this?”

         He groaned, pressing his forehead into the grainy stone of the garden box. With exaggerated slowness, he meandered to his feet, and I watched as his hand grasped a pouch at his side to keep it from swinging. Its contents protruded the bottom in the shape of coins. Gold coins, no doubt.

         He cleared his throat, and, when he spoke, his voice held depths of sorrow and contusions that pierced my heart. “I stole it.”

         I had a choice then. Turn him in – for he should be punished for petty thievery. 

         Or release him.

          You don’t know what’s out there. The farther you go past the castle walls, the more pain and suffering you shall witness.

         Perhaps this was the proof that Emory was correct. What else but pain and suffering would leave my mother’s own subjects to try and plunder his home?

         And then, I was decided.

         I stepped much closer to him, and when I did, he stiffened and leaned away. I expected him to bolt like a frightened horse.

         “Please,” he said. “I have a little sister that I have to provide for; there is no work for me to earn money for food, and I cannot join the army for fear of leaving her to her death. I watch over an elderly woman as well, and she is crippled. She can do needle work, but we have no more thread and no money to purchase it. Please, Your Highness, have mercy upon me.” His had pinched closed his eyes as if it would suppress the inevitable reality before him and turned his face from with shame.

         “Remove your mask.” I did not order it; my voice remained flat yet confident.

         Daman curled gloved fingers beneath the tattered edges of the cloth and pulled it off and over a honey blonde head. His hair fell into his face, and he pushed it back behind his ear.  He opened his green eyes, and they were wary as they waited, uncertain but fearing my will. He pursed his lips as if to hold off from begging more, and I noticed the pink skin there was chapped and frayed. The cheekbones under his eyes were defined and strong; a smudge of dirt blended in the sandy skin on his left.

         Scruffy and unruly, yet handsome in a roughish way I had not seen before.

         I offered a relaxing smile, but Daman only tensed further. “I will not hurt you, Daman. You have the word of the princess.”

         His mouth parted, eyes gaped.

         “On one condition.”

         He deflated once more.

         “Tomorrow, in the very early morning, you return here and let me come with you.”

         “But–” His voice chocked off with such shock.

         I shook my head. “It will only be for a day. A… friend of mine made me quite curious as to the essence of the very city I live in. Show me where you come from, and I will let this incident of the night slip entirely from my memory.”

         Daman frowned, an ounce of fear trickling in return. “How would you go about unnoticed? You have the serene grace and beauty that is appraised to you only. One needs not to have ever seen a portrait of you to know that you are the princess of Glacivita.” 

         “I have means,” I lied.

         He scrutinized me a moment before sighing and nodding in agreement. “As you wish, Princess, I shall meet you here in the gardens at daybreak. Any later, and we might not make it out quite so smoothly.”          

         “Wonderful; goodnight to you then, Daman.”

         He grimaced and bowed. “Goodnight, Princess.”

                                                                                                ------------------



Evelyn gave a small shriek of fright when I slipped into my bedroom. From her fingers dropped my favored brush, and I noticed the scatter of items on my vanity table. “Gwendolyn! Princess!” She shook her head and attempted a smile. “Where were you? It’s after dark, and you know how your moth–”

         “I was out taking a walk in the gardens,” I said. Then I motioned toward the vanity. “Were you… organizing my things?”

         Her cheeks reddened like a burn of the sun. “I hope mi’lady does not mind?”

         I stroked her soft hair, a soft smile playing on my lips. “Gwendolyn does not mind at all if Evelyn should decide to assist her. Wonderful girl.” I picked up the brush and set it on the table. “Now get me ready for bed; I am quite exhausted.”

         Evelyn’s natural smile returned at the task, and once the routine was complete, I sat in a cushioned chair with Evelyn pulling brush bristles through my wet hair.

         “I have an engagement in the morning, Evelyn, that will take me through the entire day,” I said.

         She nodded in the mirror, copper eyes trained in on the inky locks now as straight and supple as fat thread.

         I continued. “Edrolph, nor Mother is to know that I am gone.”

         “May I ask why?” The girl paused in her draw back.

         “You may, but I will not answer. Rest assured I will return by nightfall.”          

         “As you will, mi’lady.”  She set down the brush and began threading her fingers through my hair. The familiar tug and turn as she braided pulled at my scalp was soothing. “Also, your mother wished to see you before you retire; she–”

          The door swung open, and Evelyn’s fingers stuttered.

         Mother’s face bunched in sharp dives and dragon’s fire, but when her eyes found me in my nightgown, hair partly braided, her frown softened and the fire dimmed.

         “Mother, Evelyn says you wished to speak with me?”          

         She nodded. “Have you heard the news?”

         “No, mother; what news?”

         Mother eyed Evelyn, and the girl shrunk under her scrutiny. She tied a ribbon knot on the braid and excused herself with a curtsy. Once my bedroom door gave a soft click, Mother whisked me from my vanity and to my goose-feathered bed. “Why you still keep that girl, I will never know.”

         I scooted under the heavy covers. “I can trust her, Mother, and we are dear friends.”

         Mother tucked the blankets around me until she was satisfied – the process took around five minutes depending on the night. “She’s barely fifteen; you need a woman whom can discuss with you womanhood and how to deal with a husband.”

         “I am fine, Mother.”

          She shook her head. “Fine, fine; it was not the matter I came tonight to discuss anyhow.” She sat herself beside my shoulder and patted my hair. “Emory has returned. With him reaches news that the rebellion in the south is growing swifter.”

         “Growing?” South – that’s where Emory had said for me to go.

         Mother nodded, frowning as if she had upset me. Her hand brushed the side of my face. “But do not worry, for they will never succeed. Emory tells us their leader was seriously injured in the battle the rebels have just won.”

         I blinked. “How dangerous is it down there?”

         “There, there; do not worry yourself.” Mother removed her hand and stood up. “And before I go, I suppose Edrolph already told you of his new position?”

         “Aye, Mother.”

         “Well, then. I pray that your relationship stays intact with such a development. Good night; I love you.” She leaned down and kissed my cheek.

         “I love you, too, Mother.”





I had trouble sleeping that night. Because of my excitement – or anxiety – I woke up every hour or so, checking the window to see the color of the night. Sighing into my pillow after the fifth instance, I crunched into a ball and sat up in bed.

         I groaned and rubbed the sleep from my eyes. My head buzzed, and my eyes protested opening when it was so black out. The only light was the fraction beaming in from the moon. It cascaded a white, milky gleam over my vanity.

         The hairs of my arms bristled, and I cocooned my blankets around me. Though Urû’baen was not known for extreme winters, the nights still retained a distinct bite to the bones that alleviated the pain in my eyes. 

         Steeling my resolve, I slid out from under the covers and stepped onto the cold floor. The hard surface pained the pads of my feet as I strode to the bureau and opened its dark wood doors. Inside were gowns of many makes and models – ball skirts, puffy sleeves, heart-shaped necklines, graceful, simple. But I ignored these and dug underneath them.

         It has to be here somewhere….

         I groaned in frustration when I realized the cloak was missing. What in Heavens would I have done with it? So far as I knew, I had not touched that piece of gray cloth since I had stuffed it in there my ten and fifth year.

         I looked out the window again and felt the yank of disappointment drag me beneath its waves. With it, a sense of emptiness converged and rankled my ego. On the one hand, Emory had made me so curious to know that of which I did not know. All my life I had been taught how my mother’s rule was going to reshape – redefine – the whole of Glacivita. It was splendorous, a fabled legend come alive to weave itself into the fabrics of reality’s lives. But if what Emory said was true….

         I did not know.

         And yet I had to know.

         I hummed in thought, scraping every last corner of my mind to find where that cloak had gone to. The only other person every really inside my room was Evelyn, but I did not think her brusque enough to simply take an item of clothing of mine without asking. Still, it was a place to start.

         As I walked into the sitting room of my chamber, I lifted my heels from the floor and traversed past the roomy obstacles to the doorway on the left side of the room. Knowing she was most likely asleep, I grasped the door knob with a gentle grip and turned in an effort to keep the mechanism as quiet as it would allow. It emitted creaks of annoyance but otherwise was smooth and agreeable.

           Evelyn’s chest rose and fell to the peaceful lull of her content breaths. Her lean face tilted to the side, leaving me to view only her auburn hair braided to the middle of her parallel back. The sight had me smiling, and I remembered fondly the past five years we had together. 

         Her room was small and clean. The bed was low to the ground and stiffer than my own. There were no personal trinkets to find, and a shabby wooden bureau stood in the corner of the room. At the foot of her bed was a chest that also ran bare expectations in quality and intricacy.

         I kept my feet as silent as shadows – save for the squeak in the wood I encountered twice – and opened the bureau doors. Not much was inside. Three dresses in shades of brown and sheep gray. But the bottom was vacant, and I exhaled sharply.

         The chest was the only other hiding place in the room. When I moved to lift its latch, however, Evelyn groaned in her sleep and rolled to the side. I held my breath, counting to ten before releasing it. Quiet.

         Now, if I could just find that –

         “Gwendolyn?”

         Evelyn sat up in her bed, rubbing her eyes and patting down her hair.

         “Evelyn, deary,” I said, moving away from the chest and standing. My lips fitted into an awkward smile that cracked quickly. I sighed. “I need to know if you know whereabouts of my gray cloak, Evelyn.”

         The girl looked up with sleepy eyes, not comprehending a moment. Then she shook her head. “I have not seen that cloak for some time now.”

         “Please, Evelyn. I am in dire need of it.” Or another one, in the least.

         She wavered; the droopy lines in her face tightened –for only a moment – with fear. “Forgive me, Princess, but I do not know where I have put it.”

         My brain tingled. “Where you put it; last I remember correctly, I was the one who put it away.” And, then, my chest hammered. A sudden weight dropped over me in horror.

         She was lying to me?

         Evelyn scurried out from under her bedcovers and ran to embrace me. “Do not be sore, please! I did not mean you harm!”

         I shushed her harshly. “Quiet, will you? We don’t want the castle to wake up.”

         The girl pressed her solemn, shivering head onto my chest. Her shoulder began to shudder as she mumbled, “It was the only thing I took –I swear it. I only meant to borrow it.”

         I shushed her once more, though more gentle, and my hands brushed her shoulders. “What do you mean now? Borrow it?”

         She nodded into the fabric of my nightgown. “To sneak out.”

         “Sneak… out?”

         Her voice cracked. “Every new moon; I meet a boy from the stables, and we... we…he gives me flowers –and he shows me the horses – and he likes me…!”

         I sighed, feeling absolutely rude towards fate for such a silly game. I smoothed her back, and whispered, “I need my cloak for this day; show me where you hide it.”

         Evelyn nodded, though her eyes still pooled fear that – at this early hour – made me feel guilty. She went, not to the chest, but to a clear section of floor beside her bed. With a lopsided frown, she pressed her fingers under what looked to be a natural concave in the wood board and lifted up a secret compartment the size of a serving tray.

         She peeked a look at me and saw the question in my expression. “It was already here before me,” she said, gritting her teeth and wincing as if she were about to cry.

         I felt strangely bound to where I stood, unable to bend my joints to my will. Still, I managed to ask, “How did you come across it?” The idea of finding these delicacies like a cave pocketed with gold beneath the surface wetted my intrigue.

         What else could be found?

         “I woke up early one morning, and my toe found purchase with the hole. I tripped, and the top jerked up. It was empty when I found it, however.” Evelyn rubbed her eyes, and then reached into the hole to pull out the gray cloak. She kneeled there a moment and folded it into a neat square. Then she stood and offered it to me. “Please pardon my not asking, dear Princess; it shall not happen again.”

         “’Tis of no harm,” I soothed, patting her cheek as I took the cloak and moved to leave. “Sleep now, and an hour later rise. Grace be with you.”

         This calmed the distress marring the girl’s perturbed face, and she agreed with a short, shy nod and a timely yawn.

         

                                                                                            -------------------------------



Returning to my room, I unfolded the cloak like I had seen a servant unroll a carpet after dusting. Its length billowed about my legs, and the fabric retained the subtle shimmer of silver. When I slipped my arms into the sleeves, they held no form, and I frowned at the young woman in the image. The hood pulled over my head did little more than cast a shadow over half my face – from the right temple to the left backside of my smooth jaw. My eyes were soft in the weak hours, the rustic hue intense as my irritation quickened. Inky black were the threads of my head that spilled over my shoulders like heavy drapes. The aligned, pointed tip of my nose cringed at the smell of horse filth and hay that attested to the truth of Evelyn’s words. 

         It would have to do.

         I had a slice of time still to await morning, but I had naught else to do but return to my bed and try to calm my anxious heart. Because my stomach was empty, it gnawed most especially deafening. The sensation was equitable to sickness.

         I did not rise until the pinks of the rising sun reached like infant tentacles to the sky in my window. Only then did I dress myself in the simplest of gowns I owned (which then still retained a dark purple beneath it that was almost black) and slid out of my chamber.

         The corridors that I chose were silent and open. Gratitude warmed like sour milk when I thought of the arrogance of my own mother. While there were plenty guards about the castle, she did not supply them for every inch and shadow and instead concentrated them in specific areas. My rooms were not so fortunate as to receive such splendorous consideration.

          The gardens, I realized with annoyance, were however otherwise engaged with early risers watering the plants, trimming leaves, and moving in such a way as to resemble ants. Nowhere did I see the honey blonde hair of the night before, nor the intense green gaze. Only bobs of various browns.

         “Seems you overlooked the morning activity,” a voice said behind me.

         Gasping, I wheeled around.

         Daman leaned against the wall, appraising the shock of my expression as I attempted to calm myself. He wore a threadbare tunic the color of wood and dark pants. And he looked no cleaner than the night before.

         “I…no….” I shook my head and clasped my hands over the flaps of my cloak.

         He shrugged and motioned me toward the left edge of the garden. No servants were tending the plant life in this section. But we had to be careful about the stretch of space between where we were and where Daman was headed.

         “There is a deformity in the wall structure along that wall there,” he said, pointing to the tall brick construction that was the barrier between the outside world and I. “I noticed it once when I was searching for the simplest entrance in.”

         Daman stopped before a moss vine and pursed his lips at me. The dark fur of his brows clinched in, and the forest beneath his eyes darkened like the night. He reached to the side of my face and tugged on the edge of my hood.

         I flinched with him so near. “This will have to do,” I told him, my voice strained.

         He muttered under his breath. “Stay in my shadow. And pray to the Gods perchance we might have some luck with us today.” Though from the hard bite in his tone, I knew he wished more luck upon himself than on me.

         Daman then turned back to the stretch of green belt along the wall. Pulling back the film like a curtain, he revealed a gouge in the brick work.

         It was in the shape of a cragged triangle, easily wider than and reaching the height my hips. Why it had never been sealed, however, escaped me.

         Daman seemed to understand the uncertainty hovering about me like nuisance insects. “I have no doubt the Queen sanctioned the hole to be filed in, but there is too no doubt in my mind that whoever was given the orders to do so saw the gold in such a slip.”

         “Mother would never be so foolish as to have the wool of a servant pulled over her eyes,” I said.

         Daman let the comment drop. “C’mon, now; there are only so many hours in a day to waste away.” He fell to his knees and crawled through the hole. His shoulders were nearly too broad to fit comfortably in, and he grunted as he pulled through, and the stone grated the skin.

         When he disappeared on the other side, I hesitated to fall after. There was a patch of grass that beckoned to the opening of the outside – taller, almost wilder. 

         I sighed and drop to my knees. I had to push the cloak to my sides to avoid crawling on the fabric as I made my way under the stone.

         Outside.

         Its smell did not differ. I gripped the sigh flowing through my lips and lifted to my feet. The stretch of morning light was lean and flat across the overlay of grass and brought to the eye the points of four towers – tall, lean, and graceful in their starlight gleam. They were not an unfamiliar sight, having seen them numerous times in the frame of windows. But they shot a flush of warmth to erupt in my chest. My heart lurched almost sickly with a solid pound.

         Below the towers were the visible rooftops of buildings. Compared to the edifices that grew above, these stone creations lacked the true elegance and made the whole of the city seem dusty gray. People lived out here, people I had not yet encountered. And, now, so close to this new experience, I faltered in my resolve.

         “Beautiful, isn’t it, Princess?” Daman glanced my way, the dark glint in his eyes further hardening.

         “Where shall we go?” I asked. My limbs seemed to become more aware, and I stepped closer to him.

         The question pinched him in some way. “Where… indeed….” And his voice was hot.

         The trepidation churned its way into my stomach. “Have you not thought of where to take me? Where should I see the best?” I pointed up toward the towers. “Have you not been near those?”

         He was quiet, but there was an undercurrent of soft sound that made me wonder if he were muttering under his breath. Then he cleared his throat of emotion and said outright, “You told me last night you wished to see the essence of this city. If that holds true, that –” he, too, pointed at the towers “– is not where you shall find the true essence.”

         I frowned. “Then where shall we be?”

         Daman grimaced. “Just stay close to my side,” he answered finally and lifted his arm out like a wing.

         An invitation, I noted.

         Slipping my arm into his, we began the trek into the city. Daman’s muscles bunched, as if he felt vulnerable or nervous. He pace quickened, and soon he had to pull me along.

         Then there came the gray buildings. Stone stacked upon stone sheltered with a top of black and a chimney. They were tall at first – though no where near as tall as the towers. But they loomed like dark eyes swollen with anger or judgment. It was as if they knew I was familiar yet an outsider. And they began to emit waking sounds. The hush of the morning was slowly fading into the tune of scuttles and muffled voices.

         I fell closer to Daman’s step as he slowed.

         Though I expected to continue down the colorless street, Daman turned a sharp right and into a black wedge. The jerk on my arm elicited a small squeak from my throat, and the noise returned the taut stress in his arms.

         We were swallowed in the shadows.  The people sounds were louder on either side of us but muffled, and Daman did not seem to be concerned by them. Rather, he moved about in these shadows as if they were lit by the noon day sun.

         He stopped, and I walked into his side. “This will be a tight space,” he warned. “Not many know of these close-knit networks of alley, and I would like to keep it as such.” He unwound our arms and instead gripped my hand. Quiet aired us as he slid further into the unseen.

         It was narrow. I had to waddle sideways to walk comfortably, and I could feel it when my breath bounced in rapid spurts on my chin. The cloak rubbed the stone wall on my back. It smelt… wet. Acidic, perhaps. Not at all what permeated the castle.

         My foot pressed onto something soft and thick, solid and fat, that emitted a freakish squeal and scurried from under my frigid toes. Its warmth had radiated on my arch.

        I felt a hand whoosh to my face and cover my mouth. Daman muffled my screech.

    Why am I… here? My eyes wetted in my surprise.

      Daman hushed me. “We are almost there.” When he took my hand again, he squeezed it, and I thought I heard him sigh (though the sound seemed as wistful as a passing breeze).

      My feet traversed with more care now – to the point I slowed us down. But Daman was patient. It surprised me his earlier annoyance seemed to fade. Or perhaps he did not want to chance me screaming again.

      We turned a handful more of corners, each a varied distant apart and sometimes obtuse or acute. The further we slunk, the damper my back became. The slime was a lotion on my skin. The palms of my hands were hot and sweaty – yet frigid and painful to move. Emory, I will haunt you from the grave, I vowed. Regret slicked down my conscious, and I wondered what had ever possessed me to go beyond the castle walls.

    Mother rubbed sweet oil on my short arms, humming a soft melody I sung in my dreams. Her hand cupped my chin and then smoothed the patch of throat where my voice rested beneath. My lips were pinched, and tears clustered the tight squints of my eyes. Hot warmth was like a fever where Mother touched, sore from protesting and shouting and crying with might. The scrapes on my palms and fingers throbbed.

    “But why can I not go outside and play with the other girls?” My voice burned.

    Mother wiped the tears that dripped down my inflamed cheeks. “Shh, hush, my darling.” She patted my hair.

    “I can find lots of people to sing to in the city, Mother. And they would like that,” I said.

    She took my arm and led me to the rocking chair in the corner. Our feet shuffled on the ornate rug that padded the hard floor. I liked the carpet; it kept my feet from hurting when I played too much.

    When Mother sat in the rocking chair, I climbed into her soft lap and cuddled into her side. Her arms fell over me and soothed the bunching of my back. “You will thank me one day, Gwendolyn, for what I do. I tell you not to go out there for reasons you can not yet comprehend. It is a dark, dangerous land, my dear.”

    Through my tears, I blubbered, “But don’t you protect us?”

    She nodded. “Aye, but even I cannot wipe the world of its sins. Try as I might, there are still bad people who would hurt you to get to me. I want to protect you.”

    “Mary Ann says there’s nothing to be afraid of.”

    “Mary Ann is only eight.”

    I frowned and leaned my head on her collar bone. “But what if the other girls get to go into the city and I must be left alone? What will I do then?”

    “You will come back inside and have Lilyanna entertain you,” Mother said.

    I sat up and grimaced, making a wretched noise. “She’s such a bore!”

    Mother scowled. “She’s your governess. You must speak about her with respect. That is what a lady of Glacivita would do.”

    “What if I don’t want to be a lady?” Turning my head to the side, I glared at the crimson velvet back of a chair that sat the middle of its siblings around a tea table. “Emory is allowed into the cities – and he never goes anywhere.”

    Mother touched my chin and brought my gaze back to hers. Her eyes were like leafy rings, the color of the food on my supper plate that tasted of nothing. “Where did you hear of this?”

    The heat in my skin swelled up past my cheeks and into my temples. My nose burned as if a candle flame. “Nowhere….”

    She let it pass, and her eyes lifted to look at the ceiling. I looked there, too, but it was devoid of anything of interest. It was gray-black, and a small, simple chandelier hung in the center of it.

    “Regardless, Gwendolyn, you are not to go out past these castle walls ever. Do you understand me?” Mother’s grip on my chin tightened, and her frown creased.

    I nodded. “Aye, Mother. I shall not disobey you.”

    She placed a quiet kiss on my forehead.

    The blackness was shifting. An arm of gray reached around the last corner like a ray of sunshine. Daman’s clasp relaxed when we walked into it, and then he let go of my hand.

    We were in the gulp of another alley. But here was not so quiet.

  “Ey! It’s the boy in black!” A shadow called from the ground. When I strained my eyes, I realized it was a man hunched in tattered, holey rags.

    Daman half-smiled and shook his head. “Ye’re goin’ to blow m’ cover, Heckles. Shush it.”

    Heckles chuckled – a raspy, light burst from his gut. “Don’ want people to be askin’ why ye’ve got a pretty lil’ lady with ye?”

    Daman ignored him and wrapped my arm around his like before. I tugged down my hood one last time in an effort to enclose my face.

    Heckles continued to hackle in the dark as we passed his skeletal form. At the mouth of the alley sat another man as well, though he slumped and snored in deep sleep. I could not distinguish if his skin was dirt brown or if his lighter skin was covered by the earthen mud.

    Daman lowered his head and brought it near my ear. “Do not speak up when others call. Do not stray from my side. On the castle grounds, you may be ruler, but here – this is where I am prince.”

    I pursed my lips but nodded. And we swung into the street. The morning sun was lifting now, and early risers were pecking about the gray world. Daman did not reach out to any person, nor did any one stop us.

    A woman tended a garden box the size of a supper plate, in which was planted a green stem shriveled and producing yellow-orange fruits. Her body was covered with a sheep-gray dress that was torn along the edges and thin as my sheer lace. The skin that stretched over her skinny arms was smudged similar like Daman, and her fingers worked among her plant’s leaves with the care and tenderness as a mother delivered to her child.

Another part of the street featured a worn sign, the letters too faded to read. Its entrance had chipped wood, and the ground before it was patted down and hardened like solid floor. The window for this building was somewhat wider than the others, and from inside appeared a wispy-haired man with sunken eyes and fat lips.

    “You lie to me,” I whispered to Daman.

    His mouth tightened, as if to keep from responding.

    We roamed for what seemed to be an hour. So desolate was this area, the color appeared drained from the bodies that lived here.

    No.

    A child scampered into our path, his left leg wrapped in soiled cloth. In his hast to rush into the shallow mouths, he twisted in an awkward step and fell into my side. Daman swung me back to keep me on my feet, but the boy rolled of my legs and onto the arid ground. He began whimpering – eyes pinched and glistened with tears – and gripped his wound.

    “Where is his mother…?”

    Daman gave no answer.

    I tried to lean down to him, but Daman held me back. Shaking his head in a wordless gesture, he pulled me away from the child and farther down the street.

    Then there was the adolescent that hid in the shadows. He did not look at us, but his eyes shone and his mouth widened as his fingers clutched with last reserve to a dirtied pouch. From it, I could hear the faint jingle of coins.

    “There is something I must show to you.” Daman’s soft words coaxed me from my mind, and I looked up to the man with a knitting brow.

    The sun raced us to wherever it was Daman was leading me. It slivered down the street, casting the bright white color onto the blank pallet earth. On either side, the houses seemed to darken. Webs were more common here, and the dust was like a thick layer of cream; it pervaded the air with a stuffy, chilled effect that burned my nose and made it hard to breathe fully.

    My voice clamped to the edges of my throat, fat and clogged. Some ten feet from me was the jagged windowsill of an abandoned shop. Its door sat crooked, the wood splintered and beginning to rot. Daman turned me an obtuse right, and we passed the chips in its brick structure.

    “Why is this place so empty?” I looked up to Daman as I would have my mother. Confused. Curious. Wary.

    He motioned with his arm forward, and my eyes followed.

    There, cragged in the corner and dull despite the rise in light, was a moon-colored stump. It stood taller than mine and Daman’s heights put together, and coated in grim like I wore ballroom garments. The shop building seemed to box it in against the flat backs of other buildings that faced the opposite street.

    “To answer your inquiry,” Daman began, “this place is revered as cursed and haunted. It was once as tall and graceful as its sisters to the south, and the area around it was not left to the merchants for feeding ground.”

    “What happened to it?” I removed myself from his arm and stepped towards the stump.

    “The inhabitants of this city attempted to overtake some of the landlords for an unwanted raise in taxes. After a mob chase, two of the eight landlords were caught here with naught to do but surrender. Unfortunately, some of the mob members were vengeful – the taxes caused a starvation to invade their homes and killed off their youngest children. One man even lost his wife. Another was left with no business and had to beg off the streets for sustenance. They called for the blood of the two landlords and managed to persuade the mob to murder the men not three feet from the base of this tower. Your grandfather received word of this and mobilized group of his most ruthless troops. They fell upon the people who lived in this section of the city and murdered all the children under the age of fifteen. Their blood deadens this earth, and many still can hear their cries into the night as they fell beneath the sword. Ayame says that ever since, the people durst not disturb this sight. The King had the physical carnage erased, but the emotional wreckage marred the minds of all. The houses near here have never been homes.”

    My feet stopped. Surely I would have learned of this in the histories? “Why have you brought me here? Are you not afraid of this curse?”

    Daman grunted. “You do not believe me?”

    “I believe you.” Though… even I knew not if I spoke the truth. “But I see no purpose in it.”

    He was quiet for a time, and I wondered if he heard me. I walked back to him, feeling a rush through my core that unnerved me.

    “This… stump… is your people,” he said finally.

  Improbable. The stump stood silent, shadows sashaying over the gray and filth.

    “Do you mean to insult me?” A rather un-lady-like scoff colored my dark tone.

    Daman gaped, and a sudden fear brightened his eyes. He stumbled back from me, as if I were a poison. “No, I mean nothing by it.” But a brush of courage touched him, and his face hardened. “You wanted me to show you the truth, and I have. Keep thy word and do not have me punished for it.”

    I frowned and crossed my arms. “I will not.” I sighed. Though the early hours were creeping, exhaustion bogged down my limbs, and now I wanted to return, to be warm in my bed – to forget all I had witnessed this day.

    Daman could see the slack in my shoulders and inquired, “Have you seen what you have wished, dear Princess?”

    I nodded. “Would you be so kind as to escort me home?”

    He moved to take my arm again when he stopped – jostled. His eyes focused on the shadows, seeing some deviation I could not.

    “Kharisa?” He sounded irritated yet worried.

    “Who is Kharisa?” I put my hand on his arm and the other over my face.

    Daman growled. “Kharisa, I know you are out there! What is the meaning of this?”

    The shadows shifted, and now I could see the outline of an elongated shadow. From behind a house, a female head peeked around its corner and blinked at Daman. Her cheeks were inflamed, and her eyes were large and bright.

    Kharisa obeyed Daman. Her legs took slim steps and gave little jarring movement to upset the fabric of her brown gown. She pushed back a length of hair the color chestnuts and fisted her palms in nervous repetition.

  His sister, I realized, watching the green rims that made her eyes shiver in their embarrassment.

    “Juju saw you with a young woman, and I wanted to meet her,” said the little girl. But the words were flat and shaky at best.

    Daman shook his head and sighed. “What have I said about following me, Kharisa? Where I go, it is not always safe.” He went to her, leaving me aloof, and kneeled so as to be at her level. His hand curved over the jutting bone of her shoulder, rubbing in a subtle, circular motion. “I want for you to be safe with Ayame. She needs your help.”

    Kharisa turned her nose.  “Ayame needs no more help than a crow. She was napping when I left her.”

    “And now you will go back to her,” Daman said.

    “But Caden, I–”

    His hand clamped over her mouth, and he hushed her – harsh and hurried. “You will do as I say. We will discuss this later.”

  Caden? A family name perhaps?

    The girl peeked up at me, and she shook her head.

    Daman groaned. “What shall I ever do with you?” He removed his hand from her face and stood up.

    “I want to meet her,” said Kharisa with finality.

    My blood stilled.

    Daman tried to engulf her into a hug, but his sister skipped backwards and spun off to the side. Her giggle was like the ringing of a celebratory toast as she danced and dodged her brother. She curved in a spin to where I stood unmoved and wrapped her lanky arms around my waist, muffling her voice into my skirt.

“ Oh dear…!” I looked to Daman for help.

    Kharisa beamed up at me. “Do you like my brother?” She cocked her squared head to the side, and added when I didn’t respond, “Caden. Do you like my brother Caden?”

    “Caden?” I echoed.

    Daman grabbed her and ripped her from my body. She squealed, both of fright and delight, and began kicking at his legs. 

    Kharisa shouted the word Caden again, and it rung in my ears. Caden!

    Aye, I wished to be away from here and to erase such silly notions of this world from my mind.

    “Daman, put her down; I would like to go now.” My impatience led to the sharp inflection in my voice, and Daman’s body followed in snap precision.

    When her feet touched the ground, Kharisa gave me a look of awe and wonder. “Caden! She must meet Ayame. She must! Oh, please say she must!” Her legs pumped her into the air with a young zeal that warmed my heart.

    Daman flashed me an apologetic smile and shook his head at his sister. “My friend needs to be home very soon, and I must take her back.”

Kharisa ran to me and snatched onto my arm like a vice. “Oh don’t let it be so! You must visit with Ayame. She will like you, and she ever so rarely has visitors!”

    This child reminded me of someone, but my mind could not form the correct connection. Irritated, I clasped my hands over the flaps of my cloak and eyed Daman. But he was intent on his sister as she continued to plead for my attendance.

    “Kharisa, you have the mannerisms of a flea,” he said in a low grunt, shaking his head.

    “I must leave.”

    But Kharisa complained. “Just for a tiny minute! And if you get in trouble, you can tell your Mother it was all my fault – cause it really is!” Her nodding bounced her body, and soon she was dizzy. Then she giggled.

    I had resolved to spend a day among the unknown, and I was not lasting past the noon hour. This pricked my conscious and puffed my ego. Surely I will find no harm in appeasing to this sweet – although erratic – girl?

    “Then I will go.” My body stiffened when the girl squeezed me in a tight hug.

    “Then it is so! Then it is so!” she cried and pulled on my hand. “Let us go. I will lead!”

    A curve of worry indented Daman’s brow. He appeared to be battling within himself on the proper course of action. But then he shivered and shook his head, as if dispelling any wearisome thoughts. “We must not make a ruckus in the streets,” Daman warned. 

    “But she is my new friend,” Kharisa said. Her grip on my fingers increased till they were throbbing with lazy thumps. “Juju will wish to meet her. And Chorie – and Marcie – and Pebbles!” Her mouth ran like the steady, consistent clops of horse hooves. And it dragged me with a surprising speed down the abandoned district. Daman’s light footfalls were absolute ghosts, and I had a strong feeling I could hear where he was only because he chose to let me.

    “Please do not run so, little one.” I swallowed back serious emotion in my voice, loath to order Kharisa when she moved in free spurts and aloof of gray and black.

    Her twinkling laugh soothed me some, and I found myself eventually keeping pace with her strides. There was nearly the movement of a true smile emerging. She is happy. Strangely, I liked that thought.

    We closed in on the more populated sections now. Daman overtook us and blocked his sister from darting headlong into the people. “Listen to my friend, Kharisa, and do not wear her so.” He patted her head. “I know you mean well, but please allow us to walk to Ayame?”

    Kharisa had frowned at his initial reprimand, but at the direction of a simple question, her smile glowed, and she had no trouble consenting. “I would enjoy taking a walk with you and your special friend, but I am watching you, Caden! No touching her with your mouth, or I will tell Ayame what a bad boy you are.” Her tone lowered in attempting to imitate maturity and authority. Daman, however, grimaced and glanced at me in the corner of his eye. “I saw Freesia and Gregor doing that at night one time, and Marcie told me only bad people mouth each other. It is like hitting or biting. It isn’t nice.”

    Flames torched the tip of my nose and fanned across my cheeks to the hairline of my temples. “We will be behaved; I assure you.”

Daman grunted and made sure to keep at least a little distance between us after that.

Kharisa strolled – as much as one can stroll when their limbs are jittering with zealous excitement – to a part of the city Daman had yet to show me. It was no better off in physical appearance than the area where the boney woman, the crying, crippled child, or Heckles the beggar lived, but there were more residents mulling about. Although, I supposed, it could have been the later morning hours. The sun was now a quarter stretched into the sky.

    The stone homes contained no deviation from one to the other. Gray encroached over every inch like a fog. For this I was grateful. It further concealed my identity and made the anxiety lax in my stomach.

    “Which house is yours?” I asked Kharisa, stepping around two women whose heads were bent in deep discussion       

    Kharisa moved in decision, without hesitance.  Due to her wide smile and vibrancy, I concluded we were near her home. Daman, in contrast, became increasingly tense. “We do not have a house,” she said.

    “Pardon?” I blinked and sucked in a quick breath.

    Daman explained. “We do not have the funds sufficient to live under the stable shelter of any of these buildings.”

    “Oh.” And I fell silent. No wonder Daman was so desperate as to thieve from my mother.

    He sighed, and his eyes glazed as if he were reminiscent or deep in contrasting thoughts.

    Kharisa turned me to the front of an alley. “This is where I live.” And she coaxed me within.

    Above, shielding from the weather was provided by a tight overhang between two stone houses and a gritty cloth to further cover the gap where the overhang did not reach in full. Little sunlight trickled in through such a roof, and there were no candles lit underneath. The only light was a fraction of sun that stroked the open’s corner and splayed up the wall. Overall, the alley was a small one with a solid, black back and the width of two doors. In the silvery shadows, a sitting woman leaned against the rear wall and cocked her head just so to the side.

    When she spoke – how she could know so readily that we had arrived, I knew not – her voice rasped like wispy smoke and yet was gentle and pleasant. “I knew you were going back when I did not find you at your post in the dawn.” She wheezed a soft laughing sound. “And you brought a girl with you – what a surprise.” Though her tone hinted that – to her – it was of no such thing.

    Strange woman.

    “How does the morning fare with you?” Daman went to sit at an angle beside her. He leaned to her and pressed a kiss upon her white brow.

    “Well enough,” the woman replied.

    “Ayame! I believed you to be asleep!” Kharisa shook her head, and her bottom lip trembled.

    Ayame wheezed more. “I am not so old as to fool you, child.”

    Daman chuckled at this.

    I stood watching their interaction and felt the sudden need to leave – to bury away the conflictions simmering in my chest.

Kharisa urged me closer to Ayame. “Look here, Ayame! See this friend that Caden has found? He showed her the haunted place.”

    “That tower?” I could see vaguely the white shape of Ayame’s chin as she turned to look upon Daman. “Caden, what an intriguing choice to… view.”

    “Caden?” Something ruffled in my brain. Kharisa was not the only one to call Daman Caden, then. The old woman spoke of him as such as well.

Daman-Caden winced and then glared at the wall.

Kharisa giggled. “Ayame, I like his friend. She is so silly.” She turned to me. “Did you not know the name of my brother as he walked with you? Are you a–”

         Daman cut her off. “Kharisa, there is no purpose in insulting the woman. We have discussed your usage of the word in the past, have we not?”

         The girl hung her head. “Aye, brother. But I do not understand.”          

         “Nor I, though perhaps it is becoming clearer,” I said. This man had lied to me in regards to his thievery. Why, then, should he not lie to me about his name?

         Daman-Caden exhaled a long, methodical breath, pinching his eyes closed and then opening them up to look at me. With a sorrowful tone similar to when he had confessed to his crimes and begged for his life, he said, “I was wary, and for that I beg your pardon.”

         “I gave you my word. Think you so little of me?”

         He shook his head. “No, but I was fearful nonetheless.”

        Kharisa fell into her brother’s lap and hugged his chest. “You are the bravest, Caden. You could protect us from the nastiest of beast, I’ll bet.”

Caden chuckled but it was forced and heavy. “Aye, I know you would.” His words dissipated into the air, and the anxious quiet crawled down my spine.

      “Well, enough of this!” Ayame’s chin pointed my direction. “Sit beside me and be not afraid. The past is the past, and we are here now.”

        I consented, however stiffly. My limbs were like sticks the way they would not bend to my will so easily without cracking or snapping. The ground was hard-pressed under my skin, and I in no way relaxed the tension in my face that squinted my eyebrows and flared my nostrils.

      Clearing my throat and clenching my fingers, I decided to ask, “Why is it that you must live like this?” It was the simplest of questions that caused me the least pain and irritation.

      Daman (now Caden, I reminded myself) pursed his lips and pulled Kharisa tighter against his chest. “We do what we must to survive.”

      I said what first entered my muffled mind. “Can you not hunt with bows and arrows? A knife? Why must you steal?”

      The gap between Caden’s eyes constricted as if suspicious of a double meaning behind my words.  But Ayame’s wheezing laughter halted him from responding. “Ayame!”

      Her thin fingers touched my arm, cold and wrinkled. “How would you suppose Caden hunt with a bow when he has no conception of aim?”

      Caden muttered hot retorts, his cheeks blazon like the kiss of the summer sun.

      “Then why not sword or a knife of some sort; I could provide you with such commodity.” The castle was hardly the safest location to thieve and plunder.

      “We do not live beside a forest where such a task is much simpler.” Caden scoffed. “Much less is it within the bounds of this city to leave and return with sustenance for the empty belly. How then would the merchants and the producers receive their wages?” His last statement was edged with bitter sarcasm.

        I bit my lip, feeling as a rabbit on the run from a fox. So much wealth and yet so much poor. I did not like feeling this sudden snap of enclosure that barred me from clarity. Out. I needed to get out. But then was in again. And was I not just as trapped?

        Caden set his sister off his lap and to the side. He addressed me. “I will escort you home.”

        I nodded. “Aye, let us leave.”

        Kharaisa’s lower lip jutted out. “But you have not yet met all of my friends! And I do not know your name. Please do not leave us just yet.” Her arms moved as if to hug me and prevent me from leaving, but her brother snatched her upper arms and held them to her side.

      “We have bothered her enough, Kharisa.”

        A sharp glint smarted her eyes, and I was reminded of a similar spark of the pupils from my younger years – Emory teasing Uriah.

        Kharisa slumped within herself, murmuring a quiet goodbye to me and that she hoped to see me once more. I nodded, for it seemed cruel to twist the dagger already stabbed into her fragile heart.

        Caden motioned me towards the entrance, and we stood in sequence. I was conflicted a moment, whether it was needed that I leave or that I stay to witness the good and the bad in whole. But I shook the thoughts from my mind and focused on the image of my mother.

        Mother knew what was best for me, and she knew what she meant when she told me to stay away all those years. This was not a feeling I understood that pained my heart.

      I took a step out onto the street.

      “Ho there!”

      “Halt!”

      From either side a swarm of black armored men crowded me. One reached his arm around my waist and drew me back from the alley. Caden had no reaction time and was seized by three soldiers.

      A spear was jabbed in threat to his throat, and Kharisa’s squeal of fright pierced the stone air. The soldiers ignored the noise and jerked Caden forward, twisting his arms behind his back.

      “You are hereby arrested for the kidnapping of the Princess – the daughter – of Queen Verdandi,” one of the men sneered.

Caden growled and struggled to free himself. He wrenched free his right arm and swung it at the nearest black helm. His fist hit the metal, and he howled, falling back into the other men.

      “Fighting will do you no good.”

      I shoved at the black armored suit that refused to release me. “Unhand me!”

      The man dropped his arm and fell back a step, though his eyes were conflicted. “We are under direct orders to bring you safely back to the castle, Princess.”

      “Who’s orders?” I imaged strangling Sir Edrolph for such an inconvenience.

      “Queen Verdandi, Princess.”

    Mother.



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