Martyred Soul

Chapter 5

My first sentence in weeks has to be kick-butt. That’s all there is to it. “I can also sing and dance.”

            Peters’ eyes widen before he cracks a smile. “She’s got attitude.”

            I get up and start pacing.

            I need a plan, but before I can escape, I need to raise my stamina and strength back up again.

            I pause in my trail, stiffly turning to where Peters is standing up. “Thank you,” I tell him, very formally.

            He raises and eyebrow at me. “For what?”

            “Exactly.”

            I resume my pacing.

            If I talk to the Prince, will I be able to figure a way out without giving away information about the Revolution? If there is a way out...by knocking through people and running, I’m screwed.

            I need to do push-ups and jog. I need to make up for what I lost.

            I walk up to one wall and start sprinting to the next, back and forth.

            Peters regards me with amusement. “I see you’re feeling better.”

            I am feeling better. Speaking again made me realize that I have more options. I had gotten my head back on again, and I am now in control.

            “Um, can I ask why you don’t sleep?”

            I stop sprinting to face him. “I don’t sleep for the same reason I don’t like to be locked up in all white, padded rooms. It does stuff to me.”

            He gives me a mock stern look. “Now, Miss?”

            I don’t know why I’m doing this, but I answer.

            Maybe it’s because he isn’t really asking. Maybe it’s the way he’s joking around with me, or how he’s looking at me like I’m a human and not some bug. Maybe, just maybe, it’s because—just moments ago—he had sang to me that lullaby while I was crying. “It’s Burelle.”

            He doesn’t even show his surprise at me finally giving away my name. “Now, Miss Burelle, if you would have cooperated from the beginning, we wouldn’t have had to lock you in this room.”

            I put my hands on my hips. “My dear Peters, how could you expect me to blab about my whole life so you could know who I work for—if I do work for anyone—and have Prince Simeon kill me that much sooner?”