The Exiles

29b. All is Fair

Yet another girl that was thrown at Rita's feet in as many days as she'd been able to keep track of — which was hard, considering no daylight ever touched the dungeons. The girl lay dying as others had. Girls who had given her scant information, but all Rita's knowledge of happenings up on land came from the women at her feet. That's how she'd been able to tell she'd been captive for more than a month. That war was brewing if hadn't already started. Her husband had declared war. Soon, she could be rescued if she couldn't escape herself. Yet, hope, that fickle thing had waxed and waned since the early days, but it had yet to die. On an ordinary woman, perhaps it would have, but not on Rita. She wasn't an ordinary woman. She was as stubborn as a mule and there was no way she'd give in. He can't break me. He can't break me. I will go free one day. I will go free...

"I wouldn't have to break you if you simply just gave in." Rava's voice floated in the darkness, darkness Rita's hawk eyes had adjusted to. Even without the flicker of that firefly light, she could see figures in the dark. She could read their expressions, the twinkle in their eyes when they were excited, the smile creeping on their lips when they were relishing something, the way their eyes darted away from her face when they were lying — the women, at her feet — and they always lied. And Rava. She could read him, too.

This time, he was not alone. There was another woman with him. He carried a torch for her, its flames leaping into the darkness and stinging Rita's eyes. Too bright. Instead, she thought, "What do you want? Come to gloat with your would-be? Good. Now you'll have no need for me, so I suggest you let me go before too many people die for your childish whims," knowing well he could read her mind.

He chuckled. The woman with him asked what was funny, and he relayed what Rita had said to his guest.

"She has quite a tongue on her," the woman said in her lyrical voice. Once her eyes had adjusted to the flame, Rita could see the woman was young, very young, and familiar. But who? "I was thinking the sharp wit of Lady Rita was a myth."

"Queen Chymer to you!" Rita spat. "That man you stand with, he is no king. Any thief with a snatched crown upon his head does not a king make. Neither will he make you a worthy husband, maiden. So I suggest you find an exit."

Rava's demeanour hardened. Rita hardened her gaze in return. Translate that! She lashed against the restraint. It no longer hurt — the raw and scabbed wounds beneath the iron.

"Now, now, sister. Play nice. Lady Euphim wanted to pay her respects when she heard you were our guest," Rava reproached. "She even has a gift for you. I don't see why she wants to give you anything, but alas, I am not rude to deny her your company."

"Will you open the door for me, Your Highness?" Lady Euphim's voice was cheerful and light. It grated against Rita's ears, for they reminded her of her own beautiful girls: Ursa, Nessa, and Vanylla... I wonder how they are.

To Rita's surprise, Rava opened the door and Lady Euphim glided into the cell as if she were walking on air. She gave a wide berth to the girl dying on the floor, rasping for breath, possibly from broken ribs. When she came close enough to touch, Rita could smell lavender and myrrh, and rosemary. Scents that took her back to the tiny cottage on the outskirt of that odd village on Earth they called home. What she would give to go back there again. At least there she had peace. She had her family.

"Mother always said, never go empty-handed to meet dignitaries. It's an old trinket I had as a child. Even so, it is precious to me..." Lady Euphim brought something out of her pocket, a trinket of sorts. It looked like a copper coin, hoisted on a leather strand. "May I?"

Rita couldn't see how it would matter if she refused. Rava would make her wear it just to impress the young lady. "I'm all yours." She nodded.