Wrapped in Color and Light

Chapter 16

Joel had walked the walls lining the bailey, the castle's outermost walkway, every day since falling through Captives. Four days later, and he'd yet to find a way out. The guards at the gate wouldn't let him go because no one had ever left the castle without Lord Axeforth's permission, and he was traveling, so Joel was trapped.

Under the guise of retrieving water from the well, he'd searched for ladders, holes, and cracks, but he'd found nothing. In this last lap, he felt his feet had turned to bricks, the mission to escape and find a way home going nowhere.

He approached a woman who'd exited the keep with a bucket in one hand and a mop in the other. Joel was about to ask if there was a way out when the woman poured the water into the alley, the stream of liquid transforming into a colony of rats that scurried as though fleeing from fire. For a second, Joel's knees weakened at the shock of it. Then, the rats crossed his path, and he jumped in place, trying desperately not to land on any head, body, or tail but failing miserably as little squeaks burst from the ground. A rat bit Joel's ankle, and he swore before kicking the small beast halfway across the path.

"Little fuckers," Joel said when they were finally gone, hiding behind stone and piles of hay.

Some, however, slithered into a small hole at the base of the castle's outer wall, and Joel imagined them running free on the other side, far from Lord Axeforth's grasp.

"There must be a way out," Joel whispered as he took hold of his own bucket and headed toward the well.

After he filled the bucket and dumped it into Master Pippery's barrel, Joel went inside and grabbed the canvas and needle that Master Pippery had given him to practice his stitch. The calluses on Joel's fingers had yet to grow hard enough to prevent the painful stabbing that came from working a needle through thick fabric. He tried not to wince, but it was difficult. As he worked, focusing on keeping his lines straight and stitches small, there was a knock on the door.

Constance, who'd been kneading bread, answered it and grabbed a large stack of leather from the messenger. She dropped it onto the table. "A new jacket for the lord. What a surprise." She tossed her hair behind a shoulder, her skirt swaying as she went back to kneading, her muscles straining to soften the dough.

He'd never known a girl as strong. She was like silk, a fabric known to withstand gunshots. She could've been torn in two, given how hard she worked and how little she received. But silk could not be torn, so Constance lived in one solid piece, comforting those who needed her the most.

"Does your dad make a lot of clothes for Lord Axeforth?" he asked.

"It seems like new fabric comes every week." She slipped the dough into the oven and added a log to the fire. She kept her eyes on the blaze, poking the wood into place.

"They must be close."

Backing away from the heat, Constance pulled out the chair next to Joel and sat, wiping her hands on her apron, leaving flour in their place. "It's true. Papa spends a lot of time with the lord and pretends to be his friend. But, in reality, Papa likes him just as much as the rest of us."

She placed her hand on top of the fabric lying on Joel's thigh. The touch was calming in the way a mother cooed at a baby, and at the same time, it was arousing, like heat and energy wound into one.

Joel shifted in his seat.

Constance, her eyes still and focused, studied him. "Joel, you must pretend to like the lord, too. Please, do that for me."

"Okay." He stood, her hand falling awkwardly from his leg.

She stayed where she was, watching him walk to his cot in the back of the cottage. "I'd kill him if I could."