Chapter 16
For all the servants, guards, and royal members of the palace, each stretch of clean stone and barred windows remains empty. Perhaps it's the ghostly nature of the palace attendants; the way they flutter past without a word that makes it so easy to believe I'm alone in one of the largest structures known to Rivian culture.
Cloak is nowhere to be found when I depart his chambers, quietly shutting the door behind me as to not stir the guards. They don't acknowledge my presence, and it becomes increasingly easy to ignore them altogether. As I walk away, their stares remain on my back, but my Luminary abilities cannot detect their thoughts or feelings towards the supposed healer that can't do her job without facing difficulties first.
Every guard I pass maintains the same stoic expression towards whatever they're facing. The liveried servants don't bow down to me, they hardly acknowledge my attendance in the corridors or down empty stairways, but I'm easier to recognize as one of them. I don't take their harsh stares personally; at least I don't possess the possible nature of being cruel without reason. Like I imagine the Raven Queen to be.
I don't know who to ask directions from. I can find my way around Gudgeon Docks with a hand over my eyes; the only questions I ask are whether strangers know where they're going. If they don't, I direct them. Now I'm the one that's lost.
I'm—
Rounding a corner, too sharp and too distracted by incoherent thoughts, I slam directly into something solid. A resounding smash hits the floor, glass shattering, and a wooden crate fumbles in the arms of a creamy blue cervielk. When she stumbles back, attempting to avoid the glass shards littering the stone floor, her droopy, wide ears dance against the sides of her head.
I reach forward, scrambling for something to hold on to and dig my nails into the wooden crate overflowing with empty glass bottles. Similar to the one in pieces on the floor. My boots scrape on the shards.
The young woman steadies herself and blows back a strand of loose, midnight painted hair from where it fell out of the braided crown circling her scalp. Another bottle begins to slip from the rim of the wooden crate and our hands claw for it, fingers slamming together, nails sinking into flesh.
It's not until we find the bottle in both of our grasps that she meets my stare, her thin and twinkling eyes resembling a cut of meadow through a distant tree line.
"Sorry," I blurt to avoid an awkward silence. I pry my hand from the bottle and she sets it neatly back in the crate.
"That's quite all right," she squeaks in a too quiet voice. The smooshed nose on her face is sprinkled with a darker shade of night's freckles, the opposition to stars. Despite her masculine attire—a pair of baggy trousers and a shirt that hangs too loose off her shoulders—she is attractive in an innocent way.
Her broad face counters a small and thin build, like that of a mouse, and the high-bone structure of her face casts a similar shadow to what I've looked at in the mirror all these years. We're two different species, but the similarities extend past the blotchy blue hues.
"I—I should really look where I'm going next time." I extend my apology with words that stop short of being effective. "I'm still new to this palace; I don't know the rules."
She furrows her dark brows at me but paints on a smile for my sake. The same way I would try to make someone else feel comfortable in a new environment.
"Are you a new servant? If so, I can guide you to the passageways."
"No, I'm not a servant." I expose my hands. "I'm a healer, on duty by the queen's orders to heal Jett Terravale."
She purses her lips together and a wave of confusion paints a sheen over her stare. Lost, young, and too afraid to ask the question we're both dying to have an answer for. "My brother isn't injured, at least the last I heard."
"Your brother?" I question. She nods. My mouth opens to spill words, but nothing comes out. The glass bottles, the wooden crate, the shabby clothes—I expected her to be heading towards the workrooms in the lower levels of the palace as she works with the healers. She fits the mold.
This is the Raven Queen's daughter. One of two. Out of the four, she's the one I've heard the least about and don't know the story of. My father never expanded on anything past her specialty in herbs, potions, and poisons.
As if sensing the confusion being tossed back and forth between us, she speaks first. "My name is Setsuko Terravale. I'm the Raven Queen's daughter." She adjusts the crate in her grip and extends out a hand to me. Informal, to say the least. But no one in Gudgeon Village bows in greeting; this is a slice of home without dried scales stuck to my palms.
I blink at her. Jett doesn't possess a similar softness, neither does the queen's personal guard. The only sibling Setsuko can relate to is Gustus, and they're on different spectrums of past life. Gustus found his way by scheming and stealing. Setsuko, I don't know the whole story of. If only my father were here to tell it now.
The corner of her mouth pulls upward, drawing a fluff of air into her high cheekbone. "And you are?" she asks.
Right. My name. "Marie Rithorne of Gudgeon Docks. Pleased to meet your acquaintance." I realize I'm still shaking her hand—slow and dead-like, so I release my grip and return a too-clammy hand to my side.
She laughs under her breath and grips onto the crate for a sense of stability in this conversation. "Is there something about my brother I should be aware of? Do the healers require my assistance?"
I shake my head, sending the strands of my hair into a frenzy. She doesn't look through me like I expect royalty to. My experience so far with Jett leads me to believe that I'm not entirely valuable in their eyes, and I never will be. To Setsuko, I'm just another living, breathing creature that ran into her in the halls. She came from ordinary life, as did the rest of the queen's children. Perhaps that's why she's still able to look at me with a slice of respect.
"No," I finally say. My throat swells with uncertainty. "Your brother is facing mental struggles after what he went through in the war. Your mother sought my services to restore him to his former glory." That's one way to say it. The truth doesn't scratch the surface of what the queen is forcing me to do—and threatening me with—but Setsuko needn't know the extent of my stay here.
"I haven't heard of such an ordeal. Though I suppose Jett has kept himself away from contact over recent weeks." Setsuko looks to the floor for answers. Her large ears follow the train of her head, drooping towards the floor in false melancholy. "My brother can be hard to get along with in times like this; is there anything you need from me?"
I never thought I'd ask a royal for help. Yet, I find it surprisingly easy to muster the ability. "Can you direct me towards the kitchens? I haven't found them since I arrived yesterday."
Her bottom lip balloons into a pout. "Poor girl, no one has bothered to feed you yet. Come with me, I was planning to make a stop at the kitchens on my way to the workrooms, anyway."
She takes careful steps forward, around me and the pile of glass I disregarded underneath my boots. A pair of servants wait at her heel to clean up the mess and with one glare, they shoo me away to follow the princess. Her thin figure holds the weight of the crate easily, but my mind goes back to the possibility that she is struggling like the children of Gudgeon Docks attempting to carry a basket of fish heads back to the water for the gulls.
Would it be wrong to ask if the princess needs help?
Walking at her side is wrong in itself, but miscommunicating the desire to help is another quarrel. I fold my hands into fists and dig my nails into the meaty part of my palm to keep from reaching out to take the crate from her.
Each glass bottle is empty and corked, arranged in as little effort as it takes to organize a mess.
Setsuko keeps her shoulders square and her chin high. I realize I'm staring at the side of her face and force my attention straight ahead, peeling away a focus that may have gone unnoticed. Like me, she doesn't stand very tall but carries her weight elsewhere. Presumably, the chest.
Down a shallow staircase covered in chips and cracks, I flank her carefully and watch the bottles threatening to spill over the side and roll underneath her ankle boot. Once we reach the bottom, she asks, "Is my brother treating you fairly?"
It's such a simple question, but one that stumps my thoughts. "To be truthful, no. He's difficult to deal with." She arches a brow at me, shifting her stare sidelong. "Not that it's a bad thing—he's royalty so he must undergo difficult conditions here at the palace, and after all he has been through—"
"Marie," she interrupts, half-laughing. A crescent white smile spreads onto her face, revealing a mortal set of teeth. Cervielks are one of the few beasts that don't carry the characteristics given to elves, felirams, and anything of the like. Even fladlines protect themselves with a set of claws and fangs. "I do not oppose the truth, nor should you."
"Right." I swallow the dry lump in my throat, but it remains.
"I'll give you a piece of advice." We pass a servant in the hall and she nearly drops to her knees, dipping her head in appreciation and loyalty to the passing princess who doesn't offer her the slightest nod of recognition. "Jett responds well to a firm shove. Serving in the war made it easier to adapt to a rough hand and someone that demands what they want. Along with that, he needs someone there to guide the way, for the dark is hard to see in. Once Jett finds himself in this ordeal, he needs someone to lead him back out."
"What are you saying?" I inquire.
Setsuko reaches around the crate and grasps for a bottle that falls directly into her hand. As if she knew it would fall all along. Instead of placing it back on top of the pile, she hands it to me and turns a sharp corner towards a flight of gold-edged stairs. The stained-glass windows splatter a soft rainbow against the opposite wall.
"I'm saying that you must learn to be the light, but also manipulate the dark." We pass a room cluttered with young women in wide gowns and men in suits. They face an older woman standing at the front of the room, craning her neck to view the sloppy dancing of a pair towards the back. They appear the least interested, and it clicks in my mind that these young courtiers are attending a class to sharpen finery. "This will take time, but Jett has plenty of it."
I wring my hands. "That's the thing. I don't have time. Either I manage to do this in a matter of two months, or your mother will take my head." I bite my lip to keep from venting to someone that doesn't want to hear it. The way she scurried past the ballroom clarifies that Setsuko doesn't wish to be part of anything that resembles a conflict of interest.
As if the effort alone drags her under, Setsuko's shoulders sag when she sighs through her nose. "I wish you the best of luck, Marie. But I should be going."
Before I realize it, we've stopped in front of what appears to be the kitchens. The smell of food is my first indication, as are warm bodies beyond the stone archway leading in. My Luminary senses tell all.
By the time I turn back towards Setsuko, she's not standing there anymore. I look both ways, finding her slim figure scurrying down the halls towards a location I don't recognize. I haven't ventured that far into the palace, and my feet shouldn't explore beyond their means. She rounds the corner without another look back, leaving me utterly alone in the middle of a window-lined corridor.
Voices wander out from the open archway. I peer inside, finding too many unfamiliar faces amongst the round tables covered in white lace cloth. The flower arrangements in the middle of the tables are extravagantly high, almost trees themselves, and covered in teardrop-shaped water, frozen in their spots.
I venture into the room and clutch my hands tight against my body. I long for a friend of any kind, even Cloak would be a suitable member to stand at my side in a moment like this. The palace is large and undiscovered by many, and my experience at Gudgeon Docks cleaning fish for familiar, cranky fisherman, leads me to believe that I don't belong amongst the doublets and velvet gowns.
Opting for a table next to a small window, I pull out the cushioned chair. The servant scurrying around the room, tending to members of royalty underneath nearly a dozen diamond chandeliers, spots me immediately. I don't know where I stand amongst them; if my meal is meant to be attained through opposing hands or that of my own. I consider going to the kitchens, but two servants emerge from a wooden door at the end of the room, bringing a cloud of smoke and steam with them.
Their route swivels around the tables, but neither of them drops the dishes propped onto a flat palm. "Here you are," the youngest servant, a curly-haired fladline, says. The steaming plate makes my stomach leap with excitement, and the cup of tea placed next to it draws even more attention. "Is there anything else you will require from us today?"
I clench down on my jaw to keep from dropping my mouth wide open. "No, that is all. Thank you." I can't meet their eye. That should be me—no one should attend to me with such fear in their bodies that they can hardly stand still without shivering. They must've seen me with Setsuko and know I hold some value to her or someone else in the palace. Otherwise, why would I be here?
The servants scurry back into the kitchens, weaving through the tables like they're made of blades instead of wood. One even gathers a dirty plate without hitching her steps in the slightest.
I don't know what I did to deserve such a luxurious meal, but I'm thankful for it. To finally eat something other than fish, along with a side of steamed carrots with peppers stirred into the thick broth—nothing so delicious has ever touched the interior of my stomach. A slab of pork smothered in a green sauce awaits my fork and knife. The paste leaks along the interior edge of the porcelain plate, soaking into a pile of white, plump potatoes.
Three slices of bread—three—are the perfect boats to soak up what leaks from the pork. That is until I discover they're seasoned in garlic and have a sharp, robust flavor of their own. The best part is: nothing is stale or days old. I didn't catch and clean it myself, nor did I have to put any effort into cooking the meal in front of me. Even the tea, the shade of sunset orange, wasn't crafted by my hand.
I resist the urge to jump for joy and quell my excitement by cutting into the pork. The rest of the world goes on as normal—the other residents in the dining hall continue to gossip about palace customs, and the servants attend to anyone that enters or exits. Glancing out the window, I discover the fast movement of two figures. Both princes. They're locked in training, dancing around each other with the sharp blades of sword catching in a stream of sunlight.
They circle each other, but Cloak is always the first to attack. Gustus pries off each effort with ease and spews what look to be insults at his brother's form. Standing at the sidelines, two figures—one a woman and the other kin to the princes—watch with crossed arms and flat stares. I don't recognize them or their association to the princes but anyone standing that close must be someone of value. Another string of beasts I must meet during my tenure in the palace.
A familiar itch creeps up inside my throat. I glance down at my plate and notice the half-eaten slab of pork and the remaining vegetables. Everything else—the bread and potatoes, even the tea—is gone. I ate it all. Back at home, I became so used to sharing everything with Castiel that I can't stand to let anything go to waste, nor can I shake the feeling that I need to share this with him. The habit continues to rob my soul of a guilt-free experience.
Everything changed the day the Void Queen made it known that she ruled over us in a less official way. If it wasn't for my Luminary power, I wouldn't be here. I'd be sharing a meal with Castiel and gladly giving him everything I don't have the stomach to eat. When he could still walk, he ate everything in sight before I was done with it. Even if I planned to eat it eventually, he always got to it first. I never minded. Castiel eating everything in sight meant he was still alive. After our parents died, I stopped caring about such fickle things.
My world has turned on its head. I miss Castiel and the rest of my family. The hardships they must be undergoing are difficult for me to claim as my own, and it worries me that I'm not there to oversee Castiel's medication maintenance. But I'm certain he's glad to avoid my constant nagging and questions about his pain. I smile down at my plate and imagine the many instances where he rolled his eyes too dramatically so I'd notice.
If he were here, he would tell me to look on the positive side of things. This is my chance to get away from Rylan, to explore a life outside of Gudgeon Docks. Take the advantage and run with it, he'd say. I hear the words clearly, said positively in his voice, yet I wonder if he wants me here at all. If any of them do. Certainly not. If they had their choice, I wouldn't live with Rylan at all or we'd already live in the capital with enough money to access the highest healers in Rivian. It's possible they can heal his spine.
Perhaps this is my life turning around after many years of stress and hardships. After losing my parents that night and dealing with Castiel's condition all in a matter of hours, the Luminary Gods may shine down upon me yet.
The role of being the 'big sister' in the family prevents me from seeing the bright side of things. I must always be the one to worry and think of what we're losing by gaining this experience in the palace. Although I have the chance to change someone's life for the better, my skills are needed elsewhere. At home. Cleaning fish with Chaska and being sure to make Rylan believe our marriage is still profitable. He can make that decision for himself and has frequently.
I shift my stare to the window again and rest my chin on a fist. Cloak rolls his shoulders and drops himself into the ox position. His brother smirks and jerks his chin at his brother's back foot, but Cloak refuses to take advice from someone that isn't his own conscience.
The anger in his movements is more explosive than any I've seen. I see something else, a desperation. A cry for help that, when given the right door, will light a fire into the world.
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