In the Eye of the King's Needle

Chapter Seven

I'm searching the guard's body when he finds me. My hands shake. I stop to watch him come down the stairs. I grip the hilt of the guard's sword until my fingers cramp. 

Balsa lingers at the base of the stairs. He looks at all the blood, and he looks at the guard lying still. Then he barks an abrupt laugh, then stops. 

I stand, holding the sword and favoring my shattered leg. I make myself ready for an attack, baring the remaining teeth in my broken jaw. 

Balsa brings his gaze to me. His lips part when he sees my face, brow knitting into an expression that can only be concern. I don't have enough energy left to feed essence into my eyes and know more. 

"What happened to you?" he asks. He steps nearer, and I brandish the sword automatically. He stops. 

I couldn't answer him even if I wanted to. My jaw is ruined. I could fix it, but not right now. Not with him standing there. Not with this exhaustion weighing me down. Living with Mother has made me soft. 

"Why are you all the way down here?" Balsa asks, but he seems to be thinking more than he says. 

I'm still shaking. Why can't I stop fucking shaking? I'll have to kill him. I have no choice but to kill him and run. I have to kill--

"I can fix this," Balsa's saying. He frowns to himself. "You were attacked by a guard. It was self-defense. Someone trying to sabotage me. I--" He stops speaking when he sees me nodding. "Oh," he says. "That's the truth isn't it?"

He casts a glance toward the guard. "He tried to hurt you."

I nod. I still haven't killed him. Even if I do, there's now way I'll be able to make it out of the castle like this. 

"Fuck," Balsa says. He seems unusually discomposed, even for this. 

The dungeon smells like dust and piss. Balsa rubs his hands down his face. He takes a breath. "Alright. I know what to do." He comes forward again, and I point the sword directly at his heart. 

He puts his hands up. "I'm sorry, but I am trying to help you." He licks his lips. "I know I'm the one who brought you here. I wouldn't trust me either, but I can explain all of this. Everything I've done, I can tell you why."

I still feel like I'm on the verge of passing out, but I force my vision to sharpen anyway. 

"This place," Balsa says, "It's hard, but I'm trying to be good." He seems more sincere than anyone I'd ever heard speak before. So sincere it's hard to believe. "I'm trying to be good." Softly, he adds, "Let me help you. This is my fault. Let me help you."

I all hurts so badly. And I want to believe him. 

***

I lower the sword. Just for a moment. Later, it'd be hard to believe.  

As I do, I remember that day in the pine forest. And it was Mother who let it happen. 

The stranger came to the house again. He stood at the end of the garden path while the wind blew through the wildflowers at his ankles. 

He wore a loose white shirt buttoned only halfway up his chest. The elbows and cuffs were stained brown. This time I sat on the porch. I'd been practicing my magic again, but stopped when I sensed him coming. With essence pooled to my senses, I could hear the rasp of his winded lungs and taste the salty tang of his sweat on my tongue. 

I didn't bother asking him what he wanted. I figured he'd tell me if I waited long enough. It normally worked, but this was an unusual man, and he merely watched me back, breathing through flared nostrils.