A Court of Desires and Darkness

Chapter 1

"Who did this?!" The shrill voice of Lady Stiara rang out in the halls, rattling the artwork along the perfectly painted walls. In the musty room of the manor's stockroom, the other servants froze, their eyes widening with fear. "WHO?!" The sound of her heels clicking on the marble floor jarred my bones with each step.

Milana, the young servant girl began shaking, water splashing out of the ceramic pitcher in her hands. She just started working for the Lord and Lady of this town, the bustling merchant quarter within the Summer court of Prythian. We all glance to her, knowing that she was scheduled to be sweeping today, not helping in the kitchens. Looks of sympathy crossed some of the faces of the servants. 

Lady Stiara entered the dining room, her piercing green eyes wild with fury. Her immaculate blue and gold dress swayed violently with her movements. She held up a dark, polished hand, a broken piece of a painted vase clutched tightly in her fingers. "Which one of you rats broke this?" She spat, her nostrils flaring. When I first arrived here, I thought that she was pretty. Now, all I see is the hateful heart beneath her skin. The anger that comes out when she speaks to us is enough to curdle milk. 

Milana grips the pitcher harder, her entire body shaking as she opened her mouth slightly. No sound came out. 

"I did," I said quickly. The Lady of the manor snaps her head in my direction, then rounds me, her feet stomping on the floor like an ogre. 

She furiously throws the shard of pottery at me. It flies toward me in what feels like slow motion, tumbling in the air. I can see what appears to have been part of an ocean painted on it. My feet itch to move out of the way. And I could...so many times over I could. But, I stand still watching it, letting the sharp edge slice at my cheek as it whizzes by me. Some of the other servants gasped quietly. 

"That cost you your job, rat," she sneers. "That was a family heirloom, and it cost more than you are worth. I should make you pay for it," she seethed. "But I can't stomach having you in my house." Her gaze flicked to the others, her lips curled. Fear for them spikes in my chest, at how she might take her anger out on them once I leave. I've seen it before. In response to her dismissal, I drop the stack of plates I was holding, letting them fall to the ground. They shatter at her feet, pieces skittering in all directions. Had I thought the others would be reprimanded for my actions, I would never have done so. I have worked here for so long, long enough to know that all her anger will be spent on me. The others will gladly clean the mess while I take the brunt of her wrath. 

For that is how it always is. Wherever I go, I make sure those who suffer at the expense of an easier life for others get a reprieve. 

A back handed slap to my other cheek knocks me to me knees, my hands landing on the chips of porcelain. Hands grip either side of my arms, yanking me up. Two guards drag me out of the room and I glance back at the others to see stunned, but grateful looks on each of them. I offer them a smile as we turn the corner, my face still stinging from the hit. I never thought she had the strength for such a solid blow. 

They drag me all the way across the manor to the grass covered cobblestone behind the servant's quarters where two wooden beams stand in the center of a courtyard. It is far enough from the bustling streets that no one can hear what happens. Each window that lines the bare outdoor space has a rusty bed underneath. A servant's bed. The Lady of the house enjoys reminding us what will happen if we step out of line. 

The guards tie my arms to the posts before taking a few steps back. I peer up to my left, toward the windows, where I see familiar, dirty faces. I give them a strong, reassuring smile and a nod. A few bow their heads, a silent gesture of honor. 

"Ten lashes for your disrespect," Stiara says behind me, a smile audible in her voice. I have no doubt she will savor this. "And then I never want to see you in this town again."

"I wouldn't dream of stepping foot in this rubbish place again," I respond, my eyes still locked on to those windows. 

I hear teeth grinding, her arm raising for the first blow. I wrap the rope around my wrists, holding on tight. The whip cuts through the air and the first lash slices at the middle of my back, tearing the thin servant's robe. I do not move, my white-knuckled grip on the ropes the only indication of pain. This must irritate her, because the next few strikes come in rapid succession. 

Still, I do not falter. My back is screaming in pain by the time she hits ten, my limbs shaking, sweat dripping down my forehead. The metallic tang of blood mixes with that of her anger. I know she is not done, regardless of her earlier words. More servants came to the window, some looking to me with sadness, others to her with hatred. 

Five more lashes across my back, the last one hitting just below my neck, and I let out a grunt, my body writhing. Blood trickles down my back, coating my clothing and the stone beneath my feet. 

"Untie her and get her out of my home," she demands, turning on her heels and leaving us. 

The guards do as she says. As my wrists are let free, I drop to the ground. They don't bother helping me up. Instead, they just stand at either side of me, allowing me a moment. Most of the guards here are not as ruthless as their Lord and Lady. A few have even been known to sneak the servants baskets of extra bread or jugs of water. 

My fingers claw at the stone, my breath heavy. I swallow hard and slowly begin getting to my feet. The guard to my right gently grabs my arm to aid me, the other remaining still. I catch my helper's face, concern etched into his soft features, his striking yellow eyes reminding me of the petals of a sunflower. I nod to him when I get to my feet before the other grabs my free arm, hauling me back toward the house. The movement sends electrifying tendrils of pain shooting across my body, but I grit my teeth and continue on, already feeling the wounds healing. 

Somewhere, far, far away, the Cauldron whispers its delight of my strength in my ear, a melody in the wind. And my magic purrs with its approval.