I can’t stay here with him. He doesn’t even really want me here. But he was right….I know nothing of the world outside the Wall. My escape attempt was made too hastily. I need to figure out how to navigate this world. I need information.
I begin tearing through the chambers again. The first time, I’d been foraging for supplies to aid in my escape. This time, I’m searching for knowledge about this world and the witch I’m tethered to.
My investigations don’t turn up much. There are trinkets and crystals, jars and vials filled with ingredients. They offer me no secret knowledge, no glimmer of understanding. I don’t know what the majority of these items even are. The chest of knives is still unlocked as promised. I stuff one back into my hiding spot between the cushions.
I spy a pile of books on his desk and bundle them into my arms to carry them out into the living room. My breakfast plate has been slid under the door. And next to it lies a bag. I drop the books on the coffee table, scurry over to it and snatch it open. Inside is an extraordinary amount of food and a rope.
She really did it. It’s a comfort to know I have an ally of sorts here. It must’ve taken some serious finagling to get all to fit under the door. The rope is much longer than my hand-crafted one. I carry it out to the balcony to see how far it will go. Not that I intend to use itright nowbut it’s good to know I have the option.
My hands reach forward to toss the rope to the other side of the rail and smack into something hard, smooth and solid. I run my fingers over the invisible wall that now encapsulates the entire balcony.
Damn him.
Slumping back down to the couch, I retrieve one of the books, intending to take my time investigating them. Inside I find page after page of strange symbols. I toss it aside to thumb through the next. “Ugh! They’re all like this!”
Scampering off the couch, I scurry into the bedroom to continue my snooping and find myself back at his desk, unwrinkling wads of paper only to find more…of those goddamn unreadable symbols, this time in his own pen. In his desk drawer is a plain leather bound notebook, each page filled with illustrations of monsters I don’t recognize. Did he draw these? I’m annoyed to admit they’re very good.
I settle in the chair and study each one, wishing he had labeled them so I could learn their names. Are these real? I suppress a shudder. I pause when I land on a sketch of a woman with long curly hair, kind eyes and mouth curved into a warm smile, so at odds with the rest of the monstrous creatures. A past lover? Someone he wished to marry?
Something about her is familiar to me. I lean forward, studying each feature. No, she resembles him. Same mouth, same eye shape. Oh. It’s his mother. What happened to her?
I continue flipping through the pages, more creatures. My jaw drops when I get to the last one. It’s me. A drawing of me shrouded, next to one of my bare face. When did he even have time to draw this? He’s barely even here.
I stare at it for a long time, trying to decipher what it is he’s captured in it. My mouth is pressed into a determined line, yet something in my eyes is sorrowful. I close the book and carefully return it to its place in his drawer, not wanting him to know I’ve discovered it.
Peering around the room, my eyes close in on the edge of a book shoved under his mattress. Has to be important…I pluck the thin book out and almost drop it when I get an eyeful of the colorful illustrations. Naked women and men in all sorts of positions. I quickly shove the book back to its place under his mattress, face flushing furiously and walk away, only getting a few feet before my curiosity gets the better of me and I stop and turn back. I’ve never seen…illustrations like this.
I’ve heard many things and know most of what takes place between men and women from the mouths of handmaidens. It’s not quite the same as seeing it. Once I’ve examined every page solely for the purpose of educating myself, I shove the book back in its place.
I creep back over to the chamber door and twist at the knob even though I know it’s futile. I’d love nothing more than the freedom to gallivant around the castle, discover all of its secret places.
The daemon is undoubtedly worse today, lashing at my limbs like its as desperate to get out of me as I am to get out of these chambers. Which is odd, seeing as usually, when it releases, it tampers down for a good while. I draw a bath to smother it in hot water—a momentary distraction.
Once the water turns cold and my skin prunes, I clamber out of the tub. Hugging a towel around myself, I eye the black cloth hanging against the wall that covers the only mirror in these chambers. Mustering up the courage, I yank the cloth, exposing my toweled, scrawny and dripping form behind it.
The frame is a withered gold, intricately molded with curling vines. Even now, seeing myself casts a swift shock through me. I trail a hand over my face. My arms are still riddled with welts and bumps, but the paste has begun to heal them much sooner than they would otherwise. A couple of scratches decorate my forehead, probably from our tussle in the Blood Wood.
There’s a glimmer of movement, and I take a quick step back with a gasp as my hair magically dries. My hair sweeps behind my shoulders and begins to braid itself.Magic. I should retreat from its clutches. I remain enchanted however as it finishes braiding my hair, dries me, and dresses me in the same dress, seeing as it's now the only one I have, the other sacrificed for the rope.
With nothing else to entertain me, I spend a good deal of time on the balcony watching the bustling kingdom below. I’m starting to notice a pattern each morning of Magi filtering to that strange building with pipes and colored smoke at the edge of the kingdom. It's not until evening I see them filtering back out.
Is this my entire life now? Trapped in these chambers? I weigh my options. I have exactly…none. I am completely at his mercy, and even if he’s not the child murderer I thought he was…I detest that. My anger soars until the daemon is a ball of lightning under my skin. I pace the chambers to tolerate the icy shocks.
He doesn’t return by the time my dinner plate arrives nor when the chambers grow dim with the setting sun. He can’t expect me to live like this. When I finally hear the sound of his boots thumping down the hallway, I’m close to exploding. He must see some of the savagery emanating in my eyes because he moves cautiously—looking like he’s stepped into the cage of a wild animal as he carefully closes the door behind him.
“You might as well have let that Bonewalker eat me,” I snap, throwing up my hands.
He blows out a breath as he unclasps his cloak from his neck and sets it on the table. His eyes are so shaded they appear bruised again. I can’t bring myself to summon up even a twinge of sympathy. He thinks he’s worse than anything I’ve imagined. Well, so am I. I’ll make his life a living hell. “You can’t keep me locked up in here! I’ll go-- fucking mad!”
“There’s no other option.”
“Why?” I’m nearly shouting, and he winces.
“I told you it’s not safe for you here.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
“No, you won’t,” he says firmly.
