“Really? Woah. I couldn’t imagine spending my whole life here!” she said, and it was obvious the thought of living within the Ardens mansion was not pleasant.
“Me neither,” I replied.
“Yeah,” Abigail said, almost solemnly, and I didn’t like the way she looked at me—like she felt sorry for me, like she thought I might be stuck here forever too.
“Listen, when the weather gets warm enough—before I head home—you’re more than welcome to come with me and a few of the girls on one of our boozy hikes,” she offered.
“Thanks, I’d like that,” I replied. But I doubted Selene would allow me. I wasn’t allowed to drink alcohol.
“I’ll see you around, flower girl,” Abigail said more cheerily, and I smiled and waved at her with my hand still holding my roll.
The room was empty then. Only me and my steaming bowl of stew.
It was only when I sat and looked down at the stew that I realised the lack of a spoon. I looked at the bread roll I held and wondered if I could use it to eat the stew. I really didn’t want to have to walk back to the kitchen to ask for a spoon. I felt an odd mix of apprehension at interrupting the kitchen’s work again—and embarrassment. It didn’t make much sense. What was embarrassing about needing to ask for spoon?
I decided that I was being ridiculous. I couldn’t eat the stew without a spoon, and I was hungry. Embarrassment was a poor excuse to not eat—and how rude would it be if I didn’t eat the stew and the untouched bowl was found later?
I stood from my chair, my nerves wrangled under logical control, and turned towards the door. As I did, three other servants entered the room. Their eyes were instantly fixed on me, and I was filled with a foreboding that made my stomach turn in something far from hunger.
It was the smile of the shortest of the three that scared me. It was eerily reminiscent of the Vouna guard—Rick. I remembered his face. I saw it sometimes in my dreams, only his smile was twisted high at the corners in my dreams, and Remy was lifeless, faceless, bloody, at his feet. I felt my heart race—so fast it was painful—and I clutched my hand to my chest.
“What do we have here?” The leader of the trio asked—‘leader’ because he stood slightly ahead of the two others flanking him. I felt bile rise up my throat and had to swallow down the urge to be sick. The large room felt suddenly smaller, like it had shrunk to only what was directly in front of me, and despite the cold, sweat made my hands clammy.
“A southern bitch,” the one to his right laughed. “Sorry, witch,” he corrected.
The Vouna guard to his left laughed obnoxiously loudly—for a joke that wasn’t even funny.
“W-what do you want?” I asked, surprised I could even find my voice but hating that I stuttered. I looked up, momentarily expecting to find Remy, with his hand on the stalk of a shotgun resting against his broad shoulders. I shook my head. I hadalmost felt his arm around me, pulling me close. But I wasn’t with my friend minutes before his death—I was in the servants’ dining room of the Ardens Estate. Still, something about the trio sent fear pulsing through my veins, like my life was in danger and there was no one to save me.
Rick laughed, his smile morphing to a sneer. “We want the north back,” he spat.
The look on my face must have conveyed my confusion as the leader explained, “Everyone knows you’re the cause of this famine. The reason for the collapse of House Vouna and the death of the true Marquess of Ardens. If it wasn’t for you twisting and manipulating the traitor Selene Borealis, the north would be strong and proud.”
There was a silence then, as if they were waiting for my response. But how was I meant to respond to that? There wasn’t any sense—or even a whiff of logic—in that vitriol. It was like they had decided that I was personally the cause of everything wrong they had experienced. And the absurdity of it—the nastiness emanating from them—somehow pulled me from the river side, plunging me into the cold dining room and the present.
“Are you going to blame me for going bald too?” I asked, finding my voice had strength again.
“What did you say?” the leader asked, screeching in anger.
“You heard me,” I challenged. I widened my stance slightly, mentally preparing for a fight. I wouldn’t go down easily—I decided then, with anger heating my veins.
I was the soul match of Princess Selene Borealis, the strongest vampire and woman in the kingdom. I was a flores witch, and we were more than flower girls—we were sustenance.We were life-givers. And I could do more than give life—I could take it too. I could fell entire groves.
I wasn’t weak. I wasn’t helpless. I didn’t need someone to save me.
Rick’s smile had completely left him, and he stepped forward menacingly—until his leader’s arm shot out to stop him.
“Are you going to let her speak to you like that?” he asked angrily of his leader.
“Of course not. But you got the last one. It’s not your turn to go first,” the leader responded. And without needing any further encouragement, the taller man to his right began to march eagerly towards me, crossing the room in what felt like an instant.
I had stumbled back a step, my hand skimming the edge of the hot stew bowl. As he met me, reaching out, I gripped the hot bowl—my fingers entering the scalding stew—and I swung the bowl and its contents as hard as I could against his head.
Brown, meaty stew covered his face, hair, and shoulders. Chunks and flakes of white ceramic scattered across the wooden floor. A large semi-circular sharp piece of the bowl remained in my hand.
He screamed and stumbled unsteadily away from me, falling to his knees, trying to wipe stew and blood from his eyes.
Rick was suddenly there, swinging a fist that connected with my jaw. It was hard, but it did not knock me down. It didn’t even hurt—it was more like I was aware that I had been hit rather than actually feeling the blow.
