Chapter 17

Daelia was dumbstruck. Rouen was a Vitalis? Eliam’s brother?

“How could you possibly be related to those…those…?” She managed in a strangled voice, though the word that correctly described what she thought of Eliam and Livea escaped her. Suddenly she was picturing her friend among those at the feast that evening—a thought she found faintly repulsive.

“They are not my family!” Rouen growled, “They betrayed me—Eliam and my father.”

“Your father? You’ve never mentioned him.”

“Eliam was always my father’s favorite. If he ever did really care for me at all, he certainly didn’t after…” He stopped mid-sentence, “Let’s just say he was all too pleased when I gave him a reason to lock me up and hand the Lordship over to my brother.”

“Your own father locked you up here? I thought that was Eliam,” her head was spinning. What else had he been holding back from her?

“No, my father convinced everyone, even my own mother, that I had gone insane and kept me confined to my chambers for months before I managed to evade the guard posted outside my door. I made it as far as the armory. When they caught me, my father ordered the guard to break my leg to keep me from running again, then he locked me up here.” Rouen shrugged and took his seat again on the bed, “I supposed justice was served in some capacity—he died only a year later.”

“Is your mother still alive?”

“No, she died shortly after my father—after Eliam told her that I was also dead. Ever since he has just made sure that I stay here, so as not to cause him any further trouble.”

Sorrow enveloped Daelia; her heart ached for the betrayal that Rouen had known from his own family. Such a thing she could hardly comprehend what kind of people she had come to be among. What sort of monster would commit against his own son the crimes that the elder Lord Vitalis had been guilty of? Not to mention encouraging his youngest son to do the same. His pain was suddenly her own pain; the injustices they had both faced, though her own paled in comparison, overwhelmed her as tears ran down her cheeks.

She must have sniffed, for Rouen said, “Don’t cry for me; those tears were shed long ago.”

For the first time in a while, Rouen sat perfectly still, buried deep in his thoughts. So many secrets were hidden behind those eyes, too much pain lay masked in their sightless gaze. She looked at him, seeing not the son of a lord, but a man who had lost all that was dear to him, just like her.

Suddenly the room fell away in a familiar cascade of strange half-pictures and whirling colors. No audible sounds were spoken to her mind; instead she could see the words, like verses on a page:

Night nears its end.
One becomes two,
Two shall become three,
Three to secure the freedom of many.

Then those words disappeared and were replaced by:

The exile shall soon be set free,
And shall not die in the dungeon,
Nor shall my provision be lacking.

Though the vision had lasted only a matter of seconds, as the room came back into normal view, the words imprinted themselves in Daelia’s memory. The detail of the vision was far greater than any other she had experienced, and the authority behind the words, though their meaning was cloaked, left a pressing weight on her. Three shall secure the freedom of many…What could it mean?

Trembling a bit from the powerful vision, she left her place on the pew to sit down next to Rouen and took his large hand in hers. Oblivious to what had just occurred, but still solemn, he turned his body to face her, leaving his hand cradled in her grasp.

“Rouen, I care not whether you believe that Deus can help us or not. I know and believe that He will get us both out of here, and when He does, you will know that what I say is true. What you have suffered, what I have suffered, will not be in vain. I cannot say how I know, I just do. You were born the eldest son for a reason, and you have been brought here for a reason. So have I, though I certainly don’t understand the purpose of it yet.”

Night-blue eyes roamed over her face, trying, straining to see what they could not, “When you say that, I can almost believe you.”

“You should. You will.”

His mouth twitched upwards, “You have become quite sure of yourself all the sudden. Are you always this direct?”

“Well…only sometimes.” Then she remembered his position, and in contrast, her own, “I hope you don’t mind me speaking to you as though we are the same.”

“Daelia, how are different? We are both prisoners, trapped behind stone walls, denied the freedom we want by a life neither of us wished for. We are equals—in intelligence, in the desire for knowledge, and in the depth of our loneliness. Now we share a common danger in Eliam, and I would dare say even in Livea.”

She sat very still as Rouen’s free hand raised, hesitating for a moment before gently cupping around her face. Soon the hand she held left her grasp to join the other. Ever so slowly they felt out the lines of her cheekbones, eyes, nose, mouth, and ran over her hair, held up loosely in its combs. After a long moment they dropped back into his lap.

“Thank you,” his voice was just above a whisper.

“For what”

“For letting me see you.” He didn’t mention that it was the first physical contact he’d had with another human being in…well…longer than person should be forced to live without.

She had noticed the roughness in his voice, however, and for a moment was grateful that he wasn’t able to see the blood that had flooded her cheeks at his touch.

“But what do you look like?” she asked teasingly in an attempt to clear the tension, “I can’t tell under that beard! And how long has it been since your hair was cut?”

Hey, everyone. This chapter is pretty short, but when I get to the point of editing the whole book, chapter breaks will probably be re-arranged. Also, I know the chapters are kind of rough...it's because so much time goes by between sections. Just let me know if this scene is believable or if it seems overly dramatic. Thanks for all your patience!

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Chapter 16

“You should have waited until the morning to come here. It’s late and you’re tired—I can hear it in your voice.” Rouen took the basket from Daelia’s hands.

“I know, but I haven’t been able to bring food for several days and the cook’s back was turned as I left the kitchen tonight,” she took hold of his free hand and, in it, placed a clumsy sack, “Here’s also a little wood, though hardly more than sticks.”

“Stealing food from Master to feed a blind renegade…” he let his voice trail off teasingly, but the gratitude was evident.

“I suppose I’m becoming quite the renegade myself then.” Wearily, Daelia sank onto a hard bench.

Rouen’s face turned suddenly sober at her words, the light mood of the moment before disappearing. His look remaining troubled as he sat down on the low bed that sat against the wall, near the fireplace. The tiny fire that burned inside was pitiful and barely cast a flicker of light across the dark chapel and added little in terms of warmth.

After throwing onto the small blaze one of the pieces of wood that Daelia had just brought he sat quietly for several moments, picking moodily at the knotted cloth that held the food.

“What is it? What did I say?”

Silence.

“Well?”

Rouen sighed, long and slowly, “He’ll appear one day, you know, to find my body.”

Daelia blinked once. Twice. Did I miss something? I know I’m tired, but surely I didn’t just hear…

“What are you speaking of?”

“When he finds me very much alive…he’ll discover what you have done for me, and then we will both find our lives coming to a very swift and painful end.”

”Who wishes you dead?”

“Eliam.”

Again she paused, still not understanding, “Why would Lord Vitalis come looking for your dead body?”

“Because he’s trying to kill me.” He said it as a statement of fact.

“I don’t understand, Rouen. What reason could there possibly be for him to kill you?”

He continued as though he hadn’t heard the question, “I suspected it as soon Serina ceased bringing the food, but now I am certain of it.”

Without apparent reason, a violent growl tore from his throat, startling Daelia with its ferocity as he suddenly pushed away from the bed and began to pace back and forth across one side of the chapel.

“I cannot stay here any longer Daelia, do you understand?” He pulled at his hair in frustration as he stalked to the far end of the room. “I must leave this place! He will never have the courage to kill me himself, to plunge the knife with his own hand, but he will see me dead rather than risk losing everything!” The door shuddered as it met with a remarkably well-aimed boot.

“And now I have endangered your life as well. This was my own curse, my own hell, my punishment, not yours! I should never have allowed to you involve yourself!” He picked up one of the wooden pews and hurled it blindly through the air where it met the stone wall and sent fragments of wood skittering across the floor.

The unexpected violence displayed by the usually calm and collected blind man not only shocked Daelia but scared her as well, making her a angry that she still did not understand Rouen’s fear or his sudden loss of temper.

In the few late night conversations they’d had, she had learned a good deal about his personality and his favorite subjects: the history of Parsaena and the political ideals of its founding fathers. He’d spoken of these topics with such passion that Daelia found his excitement affecting. Into the early hours of the morning they had discussed history and politics, philosophy and religion, but nothing of their families or their past—everything and nothing. Suspecting that whatever kept him from revealing too much about his past was the same as hers, she had tread carefully. Some pain was still too near, some stories too long, and some disappointments too overwhelming.

The situation being what it was, however, at that moment sensitivity was not a primary concern. “Rouen, quiet yourself!” As he ranted loudly and angrily at no one, Daelia’s command cut through the din, and the flood of words broke of mid-curse.

“Now, you will explain to me what has sent you into such a passion right now, and no more of your nonsense! By the heavens! One would think I was looking at an ill-behaved child instead of a grown man,” she admonished.

One of the fallen tapestries, long-forgotten on the stone floor, received a brutal kick which sent up a cloud of dust, but he seemed to have gotten control of himself, “Eliam wants me dead because if my presence would become known, he would lose his position as Lord of Caerlock; and believe you me, murder is not beneath him.”

“What kind of threat could you possibly pose to Eliam Vitalis’ position? Who are you to him?”

She hadn’t meant it disparagingly, but the honest question seemed to provoke something in the young blind man.

As Rouen turned in the dim firelight to face her, he drew himself up to his full height and squared his shoulders.

“I am Arasan Rouen Vitalis. Eliam’s older brother, rightful Lord of Caerlock.”

Chapter 15

Aurelian sat down in the heavy wooden chair and stretched out his weary legs appreciatively under the linen shrouded table. The men of the party had returned from a hunt only an hour before, and Aurelian found that his appetite was back to normal after a long day out of doors. Freshly changed but still smelling of sun and pine, he reclined against the chair and breathed in deeply the aromas of freshly roasted boar and stag. Like the previous five evenings, a wealth of food lay out, ready to be consumed by the hungry guests, and still more was being carried in by servants. Elian Vitalis, in his place at the middle of the horseshoe-arranged tables, stood as his sister took her seat as hostess next to him, then turned towards the servants standing on one side of the room and clapped loudly to signal that wine was to be poured. The feast began.

Aurelian filled his plate and began to eat ravenously. It was no wonder really, for he hadn’t eaten much since his first meal at Castle Caerlock. His spirits were oddly high this evening and he had almost enjoyed himself during the hunt, riding hard across the hills and forests outside Parsaena. He had felt a sort of momentary freedom on the other side of the city walls, but perhaps he was just relieved to spend an entire day away from Livea’s ceaseless attentions.

Stabbing a hunk of venison with his eating knife he lifted it to his mouth to take a bite, but then stopped. Across the hall was a young woman, dressed as a servant and pouring wine into goblets as quickly as the guests emptied them. Normally he took no notice of servants, but this one caught his attention, mostly because her appearance little resembled the other servants. Her movements were fluid and graceful, her body rounded and strong, her back straight, and her chin held high. As she worked her way around the long, conjoined tables he continued to eat, but did not take his eyes off of her. Curled, bronze tendrils escaped her maidservant’s head-covering and the simple green garment she wore was too large and draped over her like a mossy robe. She seemed to belong outside among nature and appeared as out of place in the smoky hall as would have a tree.

Determined to examine the girl more closely, he quickly swallowed the contents of his own goblet and lifted it to signal for more. The girl noticed and started toward him, keeping her eyes respectfully to the floor without lowering her chin even a fraction. As she leaned over his right shoulder to refill his goblet with wine he studied her face openly, causing her cheeks to redden. She was embarrassed and this amused him. As she finished her task and began to move away he caught her wrist, causing her to almost drop the pitcher in his lap.

All pretense of servile reticence disappeared in an instant. The girl’s brown eyes suddenly left the floor and glared at him in a mixture of anger, disgust, and fright as she struggled to escape his grasp. Her hand came up as though to strike him, but then stopped as though the girl had realized what she had been about to do.

“Unhand me this instant or you will wish you had!” She hissed quietly so that only he could hear.

Astonished by the ferocity with which she ordered him, he released her wrist and she moved swiftly away from him. Did the foolish girl know that such a reaction to a noble – not to mention the governor’s son – could land her in prison or worse? He was not angered, however, only intrigued. He glanced around to see if anyone had observed the brief exchange, but everyone else was absorbed in either their food or the noisy acting troupe, the first of the evening’s entertainments.

Aurelian wasn’t interested in the play they were performing, he had seen it before. He had seen just about everything before, again and again. Truth be known, he was bored with his life in general. Maybe this was why the strange serving girl interested him; she seemed different than the people who had surrounded him every day of his life.

He sought her out once again. She was halfway down the table, filling goblets. Her hand was unsteady, he noticed, and her cheeks were still flushed. Then he noticed that he was not the only one watching the girl: the young Lord Tanen was ogling her openly from the end of the table where she was pouring him more wine.

The displeasure that he felt was suddenly coupled with a realization of the irony of the feeling. Why should he care? She was only a servant after all. He turned back to the feast and his wine, but his good spirits were dampened as another cloud of frustration overcame him. Though Livea looked displeased when he stood up, after a second serving of wine he abandoned the party for the seclusion of his own chamber and the opportunity to wallow in self-pity.
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The detestable young man hadn’t touched her the second time she approached him to refill his goblet, a service she gave most unwillingly and with no charade of amiability. He had only watched her with some kind of petulant scowl on his face, thrown back his entire goblet of wine in one gulp, and hastily left the hall. Good, maybe she had ruined his evening. He very well deserved worse than that, she thought as she rubbed her bruised wrist.

In the hallway between the hall and kitchen Daelia ducked into a dark corner and flattened herself against the wall, wishing for invisibility. Resting her head against the cold stone she drew a deep ragged breath and tried to relax the death grip she held on the silver pitcher in her hands. Of all the nights for the serving girl to run off with a stable hand…Of course Daelia had been called to fill her spot even though she had no experience in serving. Handing her a simple green garment and head covering, Serina, the head serving woman, instructed her to simply keep all of the goblets filled. Despite the ill-fitting garment previously worn by the run-away serving girl, she had managed to fulfill her duties without mishap—at least until the governor’s son had overstepped himself.

Her heart would not stop pounding even after the young lord quit the hall. She was embarrassed and angry; embarrassed by the attention and the way he had looked at her, angered that her position had prevented her from physically defending herself on pain of death. Even after a year, the helplessness and injustice of servitude rankled her, and it probably always would. The repression of her position was adverse to every instinct and feeling, rebellion always threatening to come out either in her actions or words. The fight against her own pride and stubboness was a daily stuggle, one she was not certain she could win.

When she reached the hot, smelly kitchen Briden was waiting for her by a large barrel of wine. Concern appeared in her eyes when she saw the paleness of Daelia’s face. Taking the pitcher from the white hands, Briden refilled it from the barrel and passed it back to Daelia.

“Are you going to faint?” the young woman asked glancing at the cook who was too busy at the fire to notice them.

“No, I’ll be fine.” But Briden gave her a knowing look and squeezed her arm comfortingly.

“Here, drink of this,” she instructed, holding a jar up to Daelia’s lips.

The watered-down ale helped to bring some of the blood back into her face and the feeling back into her hands.

“Now hurry back to the hall before you are missed. And don’t be fearful of the guests. Just keep your head down and the cups full and they will soon be too filled with wine to do anything but sleep. So go now; the night will soon be over.” She tucked a few curls back under Daelia’s cap and gave her a gentle push towards the door.

***
Daelia uttered an oath under her breath in frustration, something she immediately regretted, and turned her head slightly to be sure no one had heard her. The young lord was staring at her again, watching every move! Fortunately, he had not touched her again as she went about her second evening as a serving girl. Thank Deus, this was the last night of feasting, and all the guests would depart on the morrow. Standing in a corner, she played with rough fabric of her sleeve nervously, trying to ignore the man across the room.

At that exact moment, however, Aurelian was not watching Daelia. Lord Tanen, a young man whom Aurelian loosly considered a friend, was watching her instead. This Aurelian noted with the same annoyance he had felt the night before. He watched Tanen as Tanen watched the serving girl. He didn’t like the look in his friend’s eyes: hungry, but not for food, and almost ravenous when the girl came near. In fact, she had been drawing looks from several of the males in the hall, and this worried Aurelian.

Just then Livea turned to him and began to speak of the ride the whole party had taken that afternoon, speaking in rapturous tones of the speed of the horses, the hot day, and his own skills of horsemanship. He tried for a while to appear as though he was listening. For a moment he envied the serving girl her place so far across the room from the Lady Vitalis

By the gods! Why do I give a second thought about a servant? I must be going mad.

He knew exactly why she had drawn his eye, but the longer he observed her movements, the less he cared about her face and began to wonder about her as a person.

Yes, I am going mad. Without a doubt. Livea was still talking, laughing daintily every once in a while at her own witty comments.

The light of the fire set the bronze of the servant girl’s hair aflame. Her skin seemed to glow from an inner light. He couldn’t tear his attention away from her. He wondered what she was thinking, what she felt behind those dark eyes.

If I am indeed going mad, there’s not much to be done about it. Medically speaking, that is. Father’s brother went mad, began ranting about evil and demons and such, so perhaps it’s in the family. Father certainly shows signs of strange—what the devil am I going on about?

Aurelian shook himself out of his ridiculous thoughts and turned back to Livea, but not before glancing at Tanen whose eyes were still locked on the girl. Somehow he knew there would be trouble, and it would be between the young lord and himself, and it would be regarding the serving girl. He wished he knew her name.

Chapter 14 - Pt. 2

Daelia collapsed onto her bed, not bothering to even remove her dress or shoes. After leaving the chapel that afternoon, she had returned to the kitchen and worked hard through the feast until the early hours of the morning arranging food on platters, stirring pots, washing goblets, and running to and fro completing tasks for the cook. Even now, when she knew that she only had a few hours to sleep, the turmoil she felt gave her no peace and she remained awake for a long time.

Her mind was still reeling from all the things she had learned in the dark shadows of the forgotten sanctuary by the young, blind man who lived as a prisoner but who spoke like a philosopher.

In the chapel when Daelia had first spoken the name of Deus aloud, Rouen had started at the word as though it had bitten him. He had demanded of her that she tell him everything she knew about the God she claimed spoke to her. Astonished at his seeming familiarity with the name of her God, she had stammered, unsure what to say other than, “You know of Deus?”

“Yes, yes, but what do you know of Him?”

I know only what my parents taught my brothers and sisters and I.”

“But what was it?” he said impatiently.

Rouen took the bread and cheese she placed in his hand and began eating as if starved. Meanwhile, Daelia struggled to recall the things she had learned as a child. “Deus is the all-powerful One who created this world…who… loves his creation, and who holds all life. Also, in response to his love and care…we are to live out lives in constant devotion to Him and His will.”

“And what is His will?”

Why was he asking her this? “I suppose…for us to love him, each other…and live as He would have us.”

“How is that?”

Daelia was fumbling about in the limited experience of her faith for an answer to his probing question, “To be…uh…to…” She paused again; Rouen’s dark eyes were piercing through her face as though they looked right past the visible world around him and right into her soul; the feeling unnerved her. “I suppose we are to live our lives in the same love, care, and forgiveness that he shows to us?”

Her answer had come out sounding more like a question. She could almost feel the heat of the fire that suddenly came into his sightless eyes. “And when He shows neither love nor evidence of caring? When you are betrayed by the very one you gave yourself to serve?”

Her heart jumped into her throat, not at the bitterness in his voice so much as the question itself; a question she had never allowed herself to even consider let alone speak aloud.

Daelia was struck silent; she had no answer for the blind young man who sat on the pew in front of her, hurting with a wound deeper than she could understand. She had no words of wisdom or comfort, nor could she scold him for the implications of his. To hear her own insecurities voiced in the cynical questions of a stranger—it frightened her.

As she sat staring at her hands folded in her lap, Rouen turned to feel the pew beside him until his hand came to rest on a small book that he had set there. He picked it up and thrust it in her direction, “This book may be of interest to you. Can you read?”

Understanding the rarity of literate servants, she took no offense at the question, “Yes, I was not always a kitchen maid. What is the book?”

“It is the Liber Veritatis—the Book of Truth—the writings of those who lived long ago, the men who founded this city. Those who held to the principles described in this book were called the Béata—the happy or the blessed. The first half of the book are the writings of the Béata fathers, the last half is a history of Parsaena.

She took the thick book in her hands, admiring the gold designs that covered the ancient leather binding. Her heart pounded and her mind swirled with questions.

“Several generations ago, this book was the most treasured possession in all of Parsaena. Now it is a relic of an age long passed; a collection of beliefs that have been altogether abandoned by her people.” He paused. “I had no idea that there are others out there who still believe in the old ways,” Rouen spoke with wonder in his voice, a thought that echoed Daelia’s own, “I thought I was the only one who remembered that there was ever a God named Deus.”

“And I have never heard anyone outside my own family speak of having similar beliefs,” Daelia added. “Although, when I first arrived in Parsaena and was staying with a baker named Sealen, I was warned by him to be silent about Deus when speaking to others. I asked him why, but he would never discuss it with me. He only said it was dangerous.”

“The baker was right. To speak of any power higher than the governor and his evil master would put your life at risk; for in this city, Severus is god.”

They sat in silence for a moment as the idea slowly sank in. Rouen was staring at her with such intensity that it seemed for a moment that he could actually see her.

“Why are you here?” she whispered.

In response, Rouen lifted his hand and placed it atop the book that she held cradled in her lap. His forefinger tapped gently on the cover as he said, “I am here because of this book; because, at one time, I believed the things that it said and tried to act upon them.”

“But if this book has caused you so much pain, why then do you keep it in your close possession?”

He shook his head slowly, “I don’t know. For some reason I cannot bring myself to part with it. Though I no longer believe in the God of the Beáta, this book contains the plans and rules that Parsaena was built upon. Now, because the teachings of the founders have been ignored for so long, this city has become as dissolute as the men who rule it.”

Suddenly, Daelia began to understand, “And you tried to right things, didn’t you? That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”

Rouen’s face hardened and he sat up straighter, “It accomplished nothing. In the end, they always silence anyone who stands in the way of their plans. You cannot make people hear something who do not wish to know. The nobles of Parsaena chose a long time ago that they would rather have happy ignorance than the responsibility that comes with knowing the truth.”
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Now as Daelia tried to sleep, those words haunted her. She remembered Sealen and Finneas, forced to leave the city because they could not pay the impossible taxes. She recalled the faces of the children and old men in the streets who begged for scraps of food, and of the empty homes left abandoned after the people who lived there were dragged away to work in the governor’s fields or to prison.

Her throat constricted when she thought of the lavish tables, fires, and finery set forth every evening so that the nobles could dine in luxurious comfort. At this rate, the entire city would soon be enslaved, and people like Livea and Eliam Vitalis would continue to feast as Parsaena fell.

Hey everybody. No doubt, by this time you've probably forgotten exactly what in the world my story was about...I apologize for the time gaps between my posts of late. I am in college and working a lot, so I don't have much time for writing, however sorely I miss it. This following post is NOT a complete chapter, but it is all I have for now. Sooooo...instead of keeping it to myself, I am just going to let you see what I have and let you leave your much appreciated comments.

Thank you! --Rachel the Neglectful

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Chapter 14

Aurelian strode through the large wooden doors of the Great Hall along with several other wealthy guests just as the hired minstrels struck up a lively tune. The hall was already crowded and noisy as everyone laughed greeted each other with loud voices and such enthusiasm as to suggest that the wine was already flowing freely.

Pausing in the midst of the gathering to search out the source of this merriment, his quest was interrupted as several young men he knew well descended upon him with greetings and raucous jests. Aurelian returned their hearty welcome with slightly less enthusiasm.

“So, friend, you are to have the Lady Livea for a wife! Well done, I’d say!” one of them, a fair-haired young man, announced rather too loudly, thumping Aurelian on the back.

Aurelian glared at his friend in surprised annoyance, “Quiet, Tanen, lest someone hear you! And where did you hear that I am to take a wife?”

A short, curly headed fellow snorted, “’Tis no secret that your father has made an agreement with Lord Vitalus that his sister will wed you come winter. Honestly, Aurelian, did you think word wouldn’t spread?”

“This is the first I’ve heard of such an agreement!”

“Well, if it was me, I wouldn’t appear so disappointed as you, friend!” the first man laughed out loud as he raised his eyebrow suggestively at his fellows, earning himself some nudges of agreement.

“If you desire her hand so much, take it yourself!” Aurelian growled and stalked away, leaving the young men to bantering back and forth amongst themselves.

Just when I believe you have outdone yourself, father, you surprise me once again. If the thought of wooing Livea Vitalus had disturbed him before, it had never felt less appealing than it did at that moment.

Just as he had relieved a passing servant of a pewter goblet of wine, a woman’s voice over his shoulder again disrupted his attempt to drown his frustrations in Caerlock’s finest.

“So pleased you were able to attend, Lord Aurelian.” Aurelius cringed inwardly as he turned to discover Livea Vitalus smiling alluringly. She was certainly beautiful; the blue velvet gown she wore this evening set off her golden hair and flawless skin perfectly.

He did not dislike her as a person. Aside from her beauty, she held no characteristics to set her apart from the rest of the status-hungry noblewomen who flocked around him constantly, many of whom were guests at the feast. In fact, he had never met a woman who truly interested him. They were all the same: self-absorbed, self-important, and dull.

It was true, however, that he disliked her elder brother. Eliam Vitalus, a greedy, power-seeking individual throughout, had no doubt entered into negotiations with his father strictly because of the status it would bring him.

He pasted a polite smile on his lips, returned some kind of pleasantry, and tried to excuse himself from her presence as quickly and discretely as possible. Livea, not to be dismissed, however, placed a light hand behind his elbow and guided him towards the large table where his place was set conspicuously next to her own. She continued to attempt light conversation with him as the other guests followed their hostess’s example and seated themselves around the elaborately laid tables. Within seconds, servants appeared on every side carrying large platters of every kind of delicacy imaginable, setting them down so that the table seemed to groan under the wealth of food.

The guests feasted heartily on the many dishes, including roasted goose, wild boar, and smoked venison; breads and new potatoes; meat pies and current-honey cakes; and barrel after barrel of wine and ale. During the meal the minstrels in the musician’s balcony continued to play, magicians performed tricks, and late in the evening a traveling bard regaled his audience with tales of ancient battles, heroes, and love.

As Aurelian reclined in the wooden chair, taking in the entertainment, the ceaseless attentions coming from Lady Livea, and countless goblets of wine, other things nagged at the back of his mind. He shifted uncomfortably when the memory of his journey through the North District the day before brought to his attention the growing distress visible all around him. All the time the number of beggars, ragged children, and peasants working themselves to death in his father’s fields grew. Within the walls of the castle, all appeared well—feasting and merriment aplenty; but outside, he knew, the people of Parsaena were being taxed out of their homes, forced into labor, and those who resisted, killed.

Usually he was able to ignore any sense of wrongdoing; a deep-seated sense of entitlement made it easy. For some reason, however, this evening he could not shake the thought; for a while he even forgot about his own troubles.

A vague revelation was forming slowly. The more he mulled it over, the more convinced he became. Something was wrong—very wrong—but what? Surely it was not his father’s fault…perhaps he was not aware of the situation.

Confused and weary of the noise and people, he excused himself from the festivities and stumbled through the halls to his chamber. Perhaps once he had slept off his wine his thoughts would become a little clearer.

Chapter 13

Daelia struggled against her assailant, trying to pry his hand away from her mouth, but he held her tightly against himself. Pushing the door closed, he threw his body against it and suddenly released her. Daelia fell against the opposite wall and gasped for breath in the complete darkness of the stairwell. Panic was welling up inside her in the form of another scream when her assailant grabbed her again.

“Hush! Don’t scream, I’m not going to harm you!” he growled warningly.

Through her hysteria, she recognized the voice, though she had heard it but once before…“Rouen?” she wavered.

The grip on her arm slackened, “Are you the servant girl with whom I spoke the other day?”

“Yes,” His hand dropped away and she rubbed her bruised arm. “What are you doing? You nearly frightened me to death!” she hissed into the darkness.

“I am trying to leave this cursed place! What are you doing?”

“Coming to see you!”

“Oh,” There was a pause before Rouen whispered testily, “Do you plan to tell your master that you saw me escaping?”

Daelia paused herself before answering firmly, “No, I do not. But nor do I plan to allow you to go walking through the halls of the castle in the middle of the day.”

“You cannot stop me if I wish to go; you are but a girl.”

“I am a woman, yes—and you are blind and lame.”

Rouen seemed taken aback by her blunt statement, for he fell silent. Shocked by her own callousness, she tried to amend it by adding, “If you were to walk out there now, you would be seen within moments.”

“I can hide if I hear footsteps. I know these halls better than most.”

Daelia shook her head in the dark. Just like her brother Arnan; counting on courage and sheer good fortune to keep him out of trouble. “There are countless servants in the halls; within minutes every guard in the castle will have you surrounded.”

Rouen let out a frustrated breath and hit his fist against the stone of the stairwell. What else had he expected? Of course they wouldn’t just let him walk out. He had been hoping to avoid the castle’s various workers; hoping for empty hallways; hoping for a miracle.

I should know better than to expect miracle, he thought.

“You haven’t told me yet why you are trying to escape, or why you are even here in the first place. Why would Master Vitalus care if you left this minute?”

Rouen ignored the question, unsure about whether it would be wise to reveal the particulars of his situation to the bold, young servant.

Daelia could feel the man’s distress, but his stubborn silence frustrated her. In fact, the entire situation had her perplexed. “If I assist you in your escape, would you please come back to the chapel and explain yourself? It’s too dark up here to carry on a conversation.”

It made no difference to him how light or dark the stairs were, but he obliged the stubborn young woman by starting back down the steps slowly. He wished he could simply ignore her warning, throw open the door and continue his escape of Caerlock. There was something in her voice, however, that calmed him long enough to realize the truth in her warning. He felt in her an inner strength and conviction that captivated his curiousity. This servant was different than any he had ever met before; and if he was going to make it out alive, he was going to need her help.

Daelia gathered up the bundle she had dropped in the scuffle, and followed him down to the small sanctuary.

Rouen settled heavily onto one of the wooden pews; Daelia sat down on the opposite pew where she could see his face.

She waited for him to speak, but silence stretched on as the man seemed to be in deep thought.
His eyes were sunken and dark, his pale face gaunt.

“I must get back to the kitchen soon,” Daelia prompted.

He sighed. Laying out all the humiliating details of his miserable existence to a servant woman was not something he relished. Could she be trusted?

“How do I know that you won’t go straight to your master and tell him what you know? Or spread it as gossip around the servant’s halls?”

Nearly out of patience, and slightly affronted by the suspicious tone he asked her the questions, Daelia stood to her feet. “Perhaps, sir, you are not quite as desperate for my help as I thought. Since you do not seem to need assistance, I shall return to my work before I am caught.”

As she turned to go, Rouen’s strong hand caught her slender wrist. She whirled to demand that he release her, but she saw the distress on his face; a pleading that even reached his sightless eyes. It pulled at her heart.

A spiral of emotions flooded through her, suddenly all converging somewhere in the back of her mind in a flash of recognition.

Then the words: Help him.

Daelia relaxed her body, and his grip loosened.

He is hungry; feed him.

She blinked, trying to make sense of the directions surfacing in her mind.

Rouen removed his hand from her wrist, “Forgive me; I only wished to stop you from leaving. I am sorry as well that my caution offended you. My only concern is that Elian Vitalus is never made aware of my plans; surely you can understand that.”

She didn’t understand; didn’t understand what the man was so afraid of or why he was there, but, nonetheless, she took a deep breath and sat back down.

“What would happen should Vitalus catch you in an attempted escape?”

His dark eyes almost met hers as he answered in a grave voice, “He would kill me. If he would discover that you helped me, he would probably see that you met with the same fate.”

Daelia knew by his face that what he said was true, and it frightened her. Then the words came back to her: help him.

“I will help you, Rouen, but I want something in return.”

“In exchange for your help, anything.”

“The days of this feast will be especially dangerous ones for someone trying to slip through the castle unnoticed. I will be your eyes and ears, but in return, you must never attempt to leave this chapel again until I give the word, even if you must wait here for another week or more.”

His face relaxed noticeably, “It won’t me easy for me, but I give you my word.”

The other words came back to her as well. “How long has it been since you had food?”

Brow knotted in surprise, Rouen replied, “Nearly three days now. My food and wood for the fire stopped coming. But how did you know I needed it?”

Daelia began untying the bundle she had been carrying, “It’s difficult to explain. Deus reminded me to bring it.”

Thunderbolts exploded in Rouen’s head. Had he just heard her correctly?

Daelia was startled when the young man’s face suddenly appeared right in front of hers, feverish intensity in his voice as he demanded:

“What name did you just say?”

Chapter 12

Aurelian Severus rode stiffly behind the litter that carried his father through the streets of Parsaena’s northern district. The sun was hot and gave him a headache and caused his stomach to churn. He had just watched thirteen supposed criminals hang for various offenses against the governor. Their heads were now on spikes near the city gate to warn others of what happened when one offended the governor. He did not, however, like to think that to be the reason behind the sickly knot in the pit of his stomach. He had witnessed executions before; his father always made him attend executions whether he himself did or not.

“Better to be accustomed to the sight,” he had told his son on numerous occasions, “Some day you will be the one sending the troublemakers to their rightful place.” Aurelian knew that some day the responsibility would be his, but the thought gave him no pleasure.

Perhaps it would have been different to watch healthy people die, but the men who had perished that day had been nothing more than skin and bones. Ten of the criminals had been arrested as thieves accused of stealing food, the other three as rebels plotting to overthrow the governor.

As the litter passed through the streets, accompanied by Aurelian on horseback and a host of soldiers and servants, citizens bowed respectfully in their direction. He noticed there was something different in the way the people in this part of the city, the Northern District, reacted to their presence. The faces of those who bowed as he passed were grave, almost disapproving. They bowed out of fear, not respect.

Two young men who stood near the street did not bow at all. Instead, they stood staring, feet spread in defiance. Aurelian was a little surprised at the show of disrespect, for the governor would have them seized for treason if he saw. Aurelian did not wish to deal with any more peasants accused of treason for that day, so he didn’t call the soldier’s attention to the men.

The next morning he would be leaving for the feast at Castle Caerlock, and though he was not looking forward to this particular event, he was anxious to be leaving the palace. Shifting his weight in the saddle, he recalled the conversation that had taken place between he and his father the night before.

Standing just inside the door of the governor’s chamber, he had made the mistake of, once again, questioning his father on the matter of his marriage.

“I cannot help but wonder, sir, about the reason behind this so-called union between the Lady Vitalus and myself,” he had begun.

“On matters such as these, Aurelian, it is not your place to wonder; only to obey.” Severus was not even looking at his son. He was busy sorting through parchment scrolls and other documents that lay scattered atop the massive wooden table.

Aurelian took a deep breath in frustration. He could never change his father’s mind, but perhaps if he tread lightly, he could get a few answers.

“Someday, Father, I shall be sovereign governor of this city,” Severus harrumphed at that, but did not look up.

“And if I am to know how to rule as you do, I must know the reasoning behind the decisions the sovereign makes. How else will I learn to make them myself?” Severus made no indication that he even heard Aurelian.

“Or perhaps you plan to live forever, Father?” It had slipped out. Why could he never control his sarcasm?

Severus leaped up from the table, “If my imbecile son were half the leader he should be, the dynasty of the Severus reign would be sure! Perhaps if you even pretended to care about political matters, I might deem it worth my time to share with you what you need to know to be as great as I am! But no! You prefer to spend your time at feasts, wining and womanizing!

Aurelian was furious, and his temper rose to meet his father’s, “Who sends me to those feasts? YOU! And who buys the love of the nobles by paying for those feasts? You, Father! Now you send me to yet another feast to woo a lady I care nothing for, and you speak of wining and womanizing!”

“Out of my presence, boy, for you have gone too far!” the governor roared, jabbing a finger, shaking with rage, at the door.

All too happy to oblige, Aurelian turned and stalked out, hand on his sword, muttering oaths against the gods, his father, feasts, wine, and Livea Vitalus.

***

Deep in the halls of Castle Caerlock, amidst the pandemonium of last-minute preparations, the old chapel sat quietly, almost patiently, as if waiting for the day when it might be remembered.
I

n the dusty shadows of this forgotten sanctuary, a man sat just as quietly, awaiting the same. Though the chair in which he sat rested near the fireplace, Rouen could still feel the cold dampness of the stone walls seeping through. He did not, however, get up to put another log on the fire. In truth, there were no more logs. Not only was there no more fuel for the fire, but no food had been sent to him in over two days.

Hands gripping the arms of the chair tightly and brows knotted in concentration, for the thousandth time Rouen thought about escaping.

Since that day eight long years ago when he had first been banished to this part of the castle, he had feared that this day might come. Only seventeen years-old, they had cast him into this black abyss, where night and day were the same, the world was cold, and no one cared.

Oh, he had tried to escape before. Once, in the first few months of his imprisonment, he had made it as far as the armory before being caught. Rouen winced at the memory, and rubbed his left leg. The punishment for running had been severe and effective. After his leg had finally healed, leaving behind a severe limp, the prospect of escape seemed impossible. The day he realized that he would never escape by himself had also been the day he stopped believing.

Since that day he had been waiting.

You thought He would save you. You thought Deus actually cared about what happened to you.

But what were you waiting for? To be forgiven and set free?

Yes, it had been his only dream since that day so many years before. He scolded himself for his naïveté; for now, it seemed, he had only been waiting for the day they decided to let him die.

Rouen jumped out of the chair and began to pace the familiar path from the fireplace, all the way around the tower wall. He carefully exercised his bad leg, as he had been doing faithfully over the last few months. Much to his satisfaction, it was steadily growing stronger, and even the limp had lessened some. To his frustration, however, the last couple days without food had taken its toll, and his strength was not as it usually was.

The time had come. He must make his move now, before he lost yet more of his strength. He would not simply wait here and die; he had waited long enough.

Crossing the familiar layout of the chapel quickly, he took up his crutch and the only possession he valued: a book. The door leading out of the chapel opened easily, behind which lay the narrow flight of steps up to the door to the North Hall. He started up the stairs, the exhilaration of forgotten freedom filling him with new determination.

***

Daelia moved swiftly and silently through the shadows of the North Hall, clutching to her chest a large bundle wrapped in a blanket. That morning she had woken to the thought of the strange man in the chapel, along with the overwhelming feeling that she needed to talk to him again. Unable to get away from Cook’s watchful eye until that evening, she had finally snuck away, taking with her some food and a few other items.

Now, as she rounded the final corner, her heart jumped into her throat as one of the chamber doors opened, and a servant emerged. Daelia sidestepped into a doorway and flattened herself against it as the servant girl hurried by unawares. As soon as she was out of sight, Daelia nearly ran the short distance to the door at the end of the hall. Taking hold of the latch, she pressed down on it forcefully and pulled with all her strength to open the heavy door.

Her nerves were still on edge from the chance meeting with the servant girl in the hall, so when she found herself face-to-face with a man on the dark stairs beyond, her first reaction was to scream. Before the scream had a chance to escape, however, a strong hand clamped firmly over her mouth, and she was pulled into the dark stairwell.