Beneath The Fleece

The Passage

When his pure rage settled onto me I froze. Clearly something was wrong and I felt anxiety grip me. The taste was bitter in the back of my mouth and caused my heartbeat to pick up it's tempo. My mind flitted back to Trinity and I couldn't help but fear why she wasn't here. Realization suddenly dawned over Mykal as his gaze met mine. The sigh that left him was heavy, his shoulder slumped and his chest caved, deflating like a balloon.

"Oh, hello Lyren." His gaze refocusing on me, softening. "If you would just set them over there." He inclines a hand toward a ceiling length rack near the oven on my right.

I pause for a moment taking in his appearance. His brown and gray peppered hair stands on end. It gives me the impression he has been running frustrated hands through it in frequently. Dark circles round his blood shot eyes and I know then without a shadow of a doubt something was troubling this family.

"Yes sir." I nod, moving to place them down on a bare shelf.

Mykal was much shorter than most men, including myself. His bulky, stout frame made him almost seem like the dwarves of stories my father told me as a child. A small bit of guilt crept into me as I slid the large sheets onto a shelf much taller than he was. It would be a pain for him to get them down later, but at this moment I dare not argue with his choice.

By the time I finish and turn back to face him, he had moved from the counter. My gaze wanders about before locking onto him across the room, far to the left. A small stool creaks as he steps up beside a sink. He is has his back to me once again but I can hear the sound of water splashing, giving me the impression he is cleaning his hands. Clearly something is going on with him because his body is still coiled tightly, like a snake ready to strike.

"Say Lyren, how old are you?" He looks over his shoulder at me with a calculating twinkle, before shifting to be able to see me fully.

This time his deep blue eyes sweep over my frame, in an appraising manner. He is oogling me as though I am a prize show pony on display. What he sees, I am not sure, but it sends a wave of nervous prickles throughout me. I know I am on the taller side for a woman, taking after my father but nowhere near as tall as he or Sebastian. My body is lean with muscle, from years of working and training. Yet I am not up to the masculine standard most boys my age are, which is why we lie about how old I truly am.

"I uh, am 17 sir why?" I quirk an eyebrow.

"Damn, you would have been a fine candidate." He grumbles, rubbing his round, clean shaven jaw. "We would have helped provide funds and I know Arthur has you trained well."

"Pardon me sir?" Confusion conveyed in my tone.

His gaze lifts to mine once again and darken, while his face contorts into a look of disgust.

"The Passage." His words flood me with ice. For a moment I forget to breath, shock rocking me to my core.

The Passage is a rite in this country. One that I had escaped, mercifully. It was deemed law by the crown, generations ago. Every spring any and all women of age are gathered, dolled up and sold to the highest bidder. If a woman isn't chosen by the end of ceremony then she is sold to the militia to do with as they please. Profits from the women are divided throughout the province.

It's the crowns twisted way of distributing wealth among the regions. The General's travel town to town in their designated region and oversee all proceedings. Any who refuse the Passage or are caught fleeing from it are found guilty of treason. They are either hung or burned infront of their entire town, assets being sold as compensation.

My mind whirls at his words. Of course with spring approaching the Passage was up coming, but what does that have to do with Trinity. She is only 17, there should be a whole nother year before the family needs to worry about it.