Acotar retelling

A Much Needed Nap

I tried not to look at my left arm as I scrubbed at the floors of the hallway.

I dunked the large brush into the bucket the red-skinned guards had thrown into my arms. I could barely comprehend them through their mouths full of long yellow teeth, but when they gave me the brush and bucket and shoved me into a long hallway of white marble, I understood.

"If it's not washed and shining by supper," one of them had said, its teeth clicking as it grinned, "we're to tie you to the spit and give you a few good turns over the fire."

With that, they left. I had no idea when supper was, and so I frantically began washing. My back already ached like fire, and I hadn't been scrubbing the marble hall for more than thirty minutes. But the water they'd given me was filthy, and the more I scrubbed the floor, the dirtier it became. When I went to the door to ask for a bucket of clean water, I found it locked. There would be no help.

An impossible task—a task to torment me. The spit—perhaps that was the source of the constant screaming in the dungeons. Would a few turns on the spit melt all the flesh from me? I cursed as I scrubbed harder, the coarse bristles of the brush crinkling and whispering against the tiles. A rainbow of brown was left in their wake, and I growled as I dunked the brush again. Filthy water came out with it, dripping all over the floor.

A trail of brown muck grew with each sweep. Breathing quickly, I hurled the brush to the ground and covered my face with my wet hands. I lowered my left hand when I realized the eye was pressed against my cheek.

I gulped down steadying gasps of air. There had to be a rational way to do this; there had to be some old wives' trick.

I remembered vaguely that I had been granted help before—though the memory was hazy, clouded over by my bargain with Rhys.

I sat back and avoided the extremely dirty areas and waited.

~~~~~

Eventually a door clicked open somewhere down the hall, and I shot to my feet. An auburn head peered at me. I sagged with relief. Lucien—

Not Lucien. The face that turned toward me was female—and unmasked.

She looked perhaps a bit older than Amarantha, but her porcelain skin was exquisitely coloured, graced with the faintest blush of rose along her cheeks. Had the red hair not been indication enough, when her russet eyes met mine, I knew who she was.

I bowed my head to the Lady of the Autumn Court, and she inclined her chin slightly. I supposed that was honour enough. "For giving her your name in place of my son's life," she said, her voice as sweet as sun-warmed apples. She must have been in the crowd that day. She pointed at the bucket with a long, slender hand. "My debt is paid." She disappeared through the door she'd opened, and I could have sworn I smelled roasting chestnuts and crackling fires in her wake.

It was only after the door shut that I realized I should have thanked her.

I knelt beside the bucket and dumped some of the water onto the floor and watched it wash away the muck.

To the chagrin of the guards, I had completed their impossible task. But the next day, they smiled at me as they shoved me into a massive, dark bedroom, lit only by a few candles, and pointed to the looming fireplace. "Servant spilled lentils in the ash," one of the guards grunted, tossing me a wooden bucket. "Clean it up before the occupant returns, or he'll peel off your skin in strips."

This is Rhys's room, I know for a fact her doesn't take joy in peeling skin.

A slammed door, the click of a lock, and I was alone.