Chapter One
The doctor said she died from a cold. Just a regular old cold. It happens all the time. I know a cold when I see one. A cold wouldn’t be able to kill someone most of the time at least. It usually kills the old and the people with weakened immune systems. My mother was not old, she was in her early 40’s. The doctor must have choked on the truth and spit out the first excuse he could. He’s gone now. He vanished into thin air. Not a trace of where he came from or where he is now. I didn’t even know who he was. Like as if he never existed at all, ever. My mother didn’t die from a cold. She went missing. She never came back. Those are the facts I know. This is what makes sense, I never even saw her with symptoms.
It’s been two years since then. My father went crazy and the kingdom has been shot to ruins. He locked me in this cell in this dark prison. I’ve been here for days now. I haven’t eaten or drunk anything. Not that I’d be able to see anyway, there is no light here. No visitors. No guards. Just a cell. A dirty cell. With my.... Droppings and such on the ground in the corner. I can smell them and their scent fills the air. I had tried to hold it as long as I could, but it became painful. No interaction. No sunlight. No light at all actually. This is what bothered me most, to not be able to see. I can’t even see myself or my hands even if they are outstretched in front of my eyes. But I’ve felt every inch of this cell and there’s no way out.
The bars always feel cold and sharp and the wall behind me is always damp like mildew. The floor is just concrete and as cold as the wall. I don’t have a bed or a toilet or a bucket. I’m starving. I could eat anything right now. I’m not used to such little comfort I was always comfortable with plenty of stuff for my needs. Maybe even selfish, I wonder if that was my downfall. I was blinded by having no needs, no wants. God is punishing me. I send a quick prayer up his way, God please don’t let me die here. I want to eat a strawberry biscuit. The kitchen lead Xaria developed the recipe just for me. It was a croissant of sorts, not even much of a biscuit. With real fresh strawberries sliced in the middle of the bread then lightly battered with drizzled butter and powdered sugar. I want to sit on my balcony and watch the sky fall to shades of pink. As the sunsets I want to read my books that lined my room and sit wrapped in my favorite fluffy light pink blanket. But that is very selfish of me. To want my comforts.
I remember the day my father went crazy. It was a month ago. He had just seen a new case of twenty civilians dead on the edge of our territory. That either meant rebels, Pirates, scavengers, gangs or another kingdom. Either way it is the duty of the king to protect his kingdom. As the kingdom’s princess, I should be right alongside him protecting my people. After a week of searching for the attackers there was not a trace. My father got sick with rage. I looked him in the eye and asked him if I could help in any way. His reaction was unexpected. “ I thought you left. GO AWAY. Before she sees you. You are the real monster, not me, don’t you dare tell her….” Fear and hatred filled his eyes as he spat his words at me. He left me stunned, not understanding. He only got worse from then on.
Three weeks later, or a few days ago before I was thrown in here. I visited him because the doctor said he was losing his mind, that he was going to appoint a regent to rule in his place till I am old enough to ascend the throne as his rightful heir. He had no sons, but the court hated me. His advisors hated me. The table of men who ruled beside him, wanted a boy. But I came as my teacher had directed to claim that I was old enough to ascend now, so I could protect my position. So I didn’t get thrown into a battle for my throne. I was 13. Scared and shaking, I went to him in his chambers. Begged him to appoint me, declare it my time. But he didn’t see me, I do not know who he saw. “ You will never get the throne you traitor. Just cause I loved you doesn’t mean you can steal my kingdom. Zariela will ascend.” His eyes were gravely serious but they were clouded, the grey now more whitish, as if he was going blind. Zariela? That was me though….
I came closer and touched his face. “Father, you cannot see me?” I asked softly. I still cared for this man. He looked frightened at me and jumped away backwards from me landing on the ground. Splayed out on the ground he was shaking. His body twitching, tears falling from his eyes filling the cheeks under them. Screams of agony like he was being demolished by a demon internally. God what is wrong with him? I spoke with god often, never has he answered, but it brought me comfort. The guards came running in surrounding the king and me. They blocked me from him, forming a line like a shield. One helping him to his feet.
His eyes black as night he said in a crisp voice not of his own. “ Imprison her. She tried to kill me. A traitor. Like her mother.” Are you joking? I shook my head. What was happening? I didn’t do anything. My mother? What does he mean? But the guards wasted no time. Bashed my head with the butt of his sword handle. The world went black as my fathers eyes had become. Forever in the dark I will see those eyes. Feel that day. Know the betrayal and confusion of a father throwing his daughter away. This was the day I became an orphan even though he lived. The father I knew was gone. My mother vanished and what he said… ’Just like her mother’. I can’t help thinking back to her.
Her lavishly long black hair, that did not match mine, because I looked like my father. Her blue-green eyes, that looked like the earth. Her soft voice was like music to my ears. She was the model of grace and kindness. Always modestly covered up looking like the regent she was. A queen by all rights and looks. They used to call her Astria’s Light. Astria is the kingdom’s name. My kingdom. Liora was my mother’s name, a literal translation, meaning light. Even her name knew her destiny to light up the world and those around her. She brought peace into a room, and kept those around her happy. I never saw her hurting or angry or anything but light, good, and smiling. Except once….
When I awoke a day or two later, I had to come to the realization that my fathers sick mentally. My mothers missing. Someone’s attacking my people. I’m locked in a cell. I’m starving to death or I’ll die of thirst. Ironic, the girl who did as she was told and never asked questions. A traitor. I couldn’t help but laugh at my predicament. “Are you a masochist girl? Do you not know where you are, so that you can laugh?” A raspy voice from a few feet beside me. I felt my way to a bar and realized it was a person in the other cell next to mine. “ You will die here girl.” It was an older lady, a voice I recognized. I gasped. My teacher. Giza. “Don’t be so shocked, I told you to go to him. They imprisoned me for it. I will die before you. When it is your turn do not let them see you cry or falter.” She sounded so hopeless. Set on her fate.
Days later, A soft light I couldn’t see anything still, broke through somewhere. Jingle jingle. Keys. Creaking of a cage door swinging open. “Let’s go Giza, it’s time. Don’t fight.” A guard. How could he be so heartless? Didn’t he know she was 80 and served her king loyally her whole life? I heard scuffling, no response from my teacher before she was led away to meet her fate. Was I really going to be next? I felt for the wall and leaned up against it. I felt around till I reached my nail that had been rolled under the bars by someone or something two days ago and carved another tally on the wall. I had been keeping score of how many times I heard the bell outside ding. Yes. The bell is so loud that I can hear it ding from my cell in the palace dungeon. I felt the tallies. It seems it’s been about five days. I wonder when they will feed me.
Hours later, here we are back in the present. Noises of guards walking and whispering. “Princess, here is your dinner.” Scruffs, something is being shoved under the cage door’s small opening. I crawl towards where the sound came from and my hand hits something squishy and sort of wet. I taste it because I am starving and smell something pleasant. My tongue tastes mashed potatoes. Not good by any means but my body loves it. I devour it with my hands. I lick them clean, not caring about the dirt on them. Every few days a meal that is not exactly yummy but is somewhat edible dinner comes and sustains me. Not enough, but also enough to not die. Maybe I will not be killed, but I will waste away here. Every morning they start to give me a bucket full of water I drink till I cannot anymore, I use whatever is left to clean up around my area, it is hard, i cannot see. But I cannot withstand the smells here. Sometimes I try to rinse my clothes. Sometimes I use the bucket for a bathroom when I know I will survive off what I drank. They take it eventually to give me a new one and never complain and the water they return in another bucket always tastes clean at least.
Every bell was another morning that the sun I could not see rose and the people of my kingdom that I also could not see started work and school. The bell was when my father would wake up and send for breakfast in the hall. Another tally on my wall. The hall was such a beautiful place. I wish I could go back there and dance there when no ones around again. I’d listen to the wind blowing on the trees outside the open windows and the birds chirping away, the soft whistling of nearby guards. It was so peaceful. A moment to myself. A moment of pure happiness. Now I have every waking moment to myself. Moments of pure depression. Now I don’t want to be alone anymore.
I remember the chandelier that my mother helped make. It’s hung up in the hall. My mother went every day to the builder and helped carve every inch of that hall. From the golden columns with detailed art etched into them to the beautiful big windows on two of the walls with massive sky blue curtains flowing down from the ceiling like a waterfall. The ceiling had little stars made out of crystals embedded into it that sparkled and shined like the night sky. A crisp dark blue surrounded them with the chandelier looking like a full moon. The floor is blinding white and reflects everything in the room as if it was almost silver. It was truly a sight to behold. She wanted it to be a perfect place to eat and dance and sing. She wanted to have parties and music and balls. She wanted me to get married in that hall. My younger sister had gotten married to the King of Jarran in that hall. Aria. I missed her. I wondered if my sister thought I was dead or knew I was alive.
After my mother ’passed away’, my father kept the eating part in the great hall. But he forbade dancing and singing in the whole kingdom. Whistling was allowed. Only if you were of high rank though. The knights and guards of the castle could whistle but never anything more. Their faces would cringe every time another villager came into the hall, dragged by his feet by some street watcher, neighbor, guard or knight. They’d be slaughtered on the spot right there in front of the King. The capturer would be awarded. But at what cost? A cheerful, hopeful and music loving person’s life? That’s not a price I would pay.
Dancing in the hall was always a risk. But it was what my mother would have wanted. My father had parties and balls but never singing or dancing. He just snapped when mother died. Music and dancing would remind him too much of his late wife. In the end I think he dragged me down here just because I looked like her. But he called her a traitor? His eyes became unnervingly demonically black. ’A traitor like her mother’. I got my mothers looks and my father despised me for it. Now he throws me here to waste away. He used to love me. Used to dance with me and take me out on horseback with him. Riding through the woods, I had never felt more safe than those moments. Now I’ll never feel safe again. Betrayed. I feel broken.
Every day all I had for him was love and compassion for the person he used to be. When he looked at me he saw a ghost and looked away in disgust and hatred. It’s not that he hated my mother. But he loved her so much that in her absence he blamed her for “dying”. He hated her for abandoning him to the world of the not living. To him it was betrayal. Maybe that’s what he meant by she is a traitor. I’ve tried to tell my father that she’s not dead. He never believed me. But I knew. She abandoned me, she didn’t die. But “She is dead and a good for nothing daughter can not bring the dead back to life. If I did see her again she would be a ghost and I would slaughter that ghost for dying and leaving me here with you,” was always his response. I am not sure when the sun sets only the bell tells me anything. Either way I closed my eyes and drifted into a hard sleep leaning against the wall in a sit up position.
