Captured: A White Road Tale novella #1

Chapter Three: Mother's Fear

Two months later

Tarek watched his mother's trembling hands knead the dough for her pastries. Her frightened gaze glanced around the vast kitchen, bare of staff at this hour of night. The walls were made of thick stone, just like the rest of the castle that was built right into the side of the mountain. So far, all he'd seen of Racah during the last couple of months was the main floor, the kitchen, and dungeons. His family lived in the servants' quarters, an area of small cottages located behind the castle.

Ma often stayed late to make the pastries served to King Darnel for his breakfast. The king loved the fruit treats and now insisted she personally prepare them for him. Tarek had hoped that with time, his mother would grow accustomed to living here. Instead, her moping and tears had practically driven Olden from their cramped cottage.

"Ma, Pop will return soon. Once they acquire enough game for—"

"Olden is not my concern, Son." She flattened the dough, punching harder than necessary. "He's always been happiest when he's free to roam."

Pop, having won a spot on the Hunting Crew, was now able to go wherever he pleased. Tarek could not wait until he turned eighteen to apply for a place on the crew. For now, he ran errands for the head housekeeper and helped the cleaning staff.

Vesia, being only twelve, was assigned simple kitchen jobs so Ma could watch out for her. Vesia complained about always having to wash dishes and scrub floors. Ma tried to teach her cooking skills, but the girl balked at that as well. Ves loved the outdoors and hated anything that cooped her up inside for too long.  

Tarek took an apple from the sack and began chopping it into small pieces.

"Brie," called Master Cook, a large, grisly man with a spattering of white hair barely covering his head. "Be sure to clean up. I better not find a speck of flour when I start the ovens in the morning." He had a private room behind the kitchen instead of having to live outside in the servants' quarters.

She nodded, but never looked up nor replied to his overbearing command. Ma did everything as expected. Obediently. Methodically. Silently. Yet beneath that silence, Tarek feared the storm of unshed tears brewing in her heart.

Cook stopped by the produce bin, made a count, and wrote the total in a little book he kept inside his shirt pocket. After one more sweep around his domain, he bid them goodnight.

While he and Vesia enjoyed their new home, despite the cramped quarters, Ma silently suffered her captivity in Racah. Tarek now had sturdy leather shoes that fit. Between the foods they swiped from the kitchen and Pop's occasional poaching, they all had full bellies again.

Tarek waited until the door to Cook's room clicked shut. "Everyone knows he can't see more than a foot past his nose. Have you noticed how he squints just to read what he writes on the daily menu?"

Ma's puckered mouth pulled up on one side in a phantom smile. "Why don't you go check on your sister? I'll be done soon."

"I want to stay and help. Vesia is fine. Probably already in bed. If we work together, you'll get out of here sooner."

She finally managed a genuine smile along with an appreciative nod. He wished she would see how much better off they were now. What did she have against Racah, anyway?

A melody came from Cook's room as he played on his pipes, something he often did before retiring for the evening.

Tarek bobbed his head and tapped his foot to the beat. "Besides, I'd miss this evening's musical entertainment, and…" He snatched his mother's floured hands and spun her in a circle. "I'd not get a chance to dance with my favorite partner."

She tried to push him away. Despite her attempts to remain downcast, it didn't last long as he sang silly lines while swinging her around the preparation tables.

"Boy, this isn't getting my work done."

He grinned. "But Ma loves to sing and dance," he sang, swaying them side to side. "It brings a smile to her face when her son makes her stomp and prance."

When she at last broke into reserved laughter, he kissed her cheek and returned to the table. Mission accomplished.

As they worked, Tarek continued singing and kept making up more silly lines, hoping to keep Ma from returning to her melancholy mood. She started to join in, when her eyes widened and singing came to a stop. Ma ducked her head and returned to rolling the dough in silence.

Tarek glanced up to find a girl around his age watching them. Her red-tinted brown curls tumbled down her back and into her face. Her glistening blue gown was too fine for her to be one of the servants. She quickly turned away and headed for the produce cabinets.

Tarek gave his mother a questioning look. Brie glared in response and quickly motioned for him to focus on his work.

He tried, but couldn't break the mesmerizing hold the girl had on him. Tarek watched his mother's fingers form the small pies. He edged closer so he could whisper and not be heard by the visitor examining the fruit baskets. "Who is she?"

At first, Ma didn't seem as if she would answer. When Tarek attempted to ask again, her heel slowly dug into the toe of his boot. "The princess. Now hush and do your work. Do not let her catch you watching her."

He gasped, jerking his foot away. The princess? He had heard rumors that the king had a daughter. But never had the chance to see her.

"Why didn't she ring for service?" he asked, wondering what a princess was doing wandering around the castle at night. Did her father know?

They were far enough across the huge kitchen that the princess either didn't hear, or pretended not to hear. She seemed too preoccupied with examining the bulging bags full of various produce.

Ma shook her head. When the girl took an orange from one of the crates, Brie groaned. "I don't know. But it'll be a servant who is blamed for the missing fruit. Since I'm here late—"

An idea snapped into Tarek's head like a key turning a lock. "Excuse me," he called out, snatching a couple of the remaining apples. Ma made a grab for his sleeve to stop him, but he moved away too fast.

The girl spun around to face him, and Tarek was met with the most stunning golden-hued eyes he had ever seen. They reminded him of a crisp fall day when the sun shone through autumn leaves.

He held out the two apples. "The oranges aren't ripe yet. They're really sour. But I know these are ready. And they're the sweet, juicy kind."

She stared in shock, first at him, then his hands. A slight pink blush colored her pale cheeks. She reminded him of those magnificent white-stone statues that decorated the larger cities. Her slender fingers curled around the orange clutched to her chest. She slowly backed away as if caught in some misdeed.

She was the princess. What an odd way to react. Where was the arrogance? The commanding air like King Darnel carried on his stately shoulders?

Tarek took a step closer. The orange fell from her grasp, hit the floor with a thud, and rolled beneath the cabinet. Great. That would make it harder to put back.

She pressed up against the wall as if faced with a rabid dog.

"It's all right. Here, take them both." He extended the apples toward her.

In one swift motion, she snatched them from his hands and ran away, her reddish curls and blue satiny ruffles trailing behind. He ducked to retrieve the now-misshapen orange and set it back in its place. Turning toward his white-faced mother, he shook his head. "The princess? For real?"

"Don't you ever do such a thing again, understand?" Her fist pounded on the table. "Stay away from that girl! She ain't meaning no harm. Just has a habit of wandering around late at night. Not my business why. Don't even care. Leave her be, or so help me, I'll tell your father. And I'll offer to hold you down while he whips the hide off your backside."

Shaken by his mother's sudden fury, Tarek nodded. "Yes, ma'am. Won't happen again."

At the time, he meant well when he made the false promise.