It’s been more than two and a half years since the day he left, and I still couldn’t get used to the stable being this quiet. Except for the last two years, when the first and loudest sound to break the silence came as soon as I entered the stable—Cinnamon’s welcoming nicker, which quickly became my favourite sound. Yet I still couldn’t shake off the absence of Semuel’s and Faern’s laughter. It was a silent and painful reminder each time.
Cinnamon popped her head out above the half door.
“Hello, my sweetest one.” I pecked my heart-shaped lips on her muzzle, then grazed the white diamond between her dark brown eyes, a reflection of mine.
Her ears pricked, and she whinnied as I held out my hand, offering her a carrot. It was that—her excitement—that fuelled me with the courage to every night lift Amfir’s statue and reach for the pantry key, poorly hidden by the cook.
“Come on, let’s go for a short walk.”
I put on her bridle and nudged her, pulling the rope. With small steps, I walked her out of her stall and out of the stable. I could sense the slight hesitation, that uneven rhythm marked by the shortened steps of her left leg. Another person might not have noticed her subtle lameness, but I knew her from before the injury, and I knew this wasn’t her true self.
As it often happened, I found myself clinging to that wicked thing called hope. Sand Priestess Selmira had more than oncetold me that if the Water Priestesses were still at the Healer’s Quarters, she would have taken me there herself, to see if they could heal my head. And now, I found myself in a similar situation with Cinnamon. The Ilman healers we desperately needed were way out of our reach.
My chest tightened as the little voice in the back of my head whispered to me, “But you know there’s another possible way…at least for you.”
No.
Thatother wayshall remain there—hidden in its own darkness beneath a tile. It was too risky.
I shook that spine-crawling feeling away and reached for the broom.
I caught Cinnamon sniffing at my backpack. “Hey! Not yet, you little piggy.” I placed the bag behind the iron bars of the hay bale cage. And as I glimpsed the last few remaining bales, my stomach twisted into a tight knot. A reminder that this would soon become a major problem. And if I weren’t lying to myself, I would have said that this was already a major problem. Perhaps I would have to tell someone soon. Stableman Martin Seid, most likely. He was the only one at my side supporting my throat-aching plea to give her more time to heal. And when the farrier laughed at my suggestion, to wait until the Ilmans—the Water Priestesses—were freed from Naar’s grip, Martin demanded he stop. The farrier tried to convince us that she’d prefer death to chronic pain, but I just couldn’t—I couldn’t let them.
The morning she was scheduled to be put down, I went back to the main stables. I thought it would have looked suspicious if I hadn’t, so I put on the face of innocence, went in, and asked, “Where’s Cinnamon?”
“She’s gone,” was all Martin said.
I lowered my sad face, and that was that. A small part of me wondered if he knew what I’d done and decided not to show it.
She’s gone. Truth. But one that conveyed more than one meaning.
Thanking whichever god that the water connection to Semuel’s stable was never severed, I filled the trough adjacent to Cinnamon’s stall, then added a few drops of almond soap from the vial I managed to slip in my dress pocket the day before. At least I got something out of that godsdamned laundry room.
Slowly, it started to take a toll on me, spending most days, all day, down there. I was sure Mounir knew I loathed that dungeon. The bastard wanted me to crave freedom, like a coneflower craves the sun.
Had I not come here every morning at dawn—glimpsing the sun above the horizon to the east before hurrying back to the castle—it would have meant days with no direct sunlight, no fresh air…if you could call this sweltering air that parches your throatfresh.
Opening the water valve always made me feel like a traitor to my people. And a hypocrite, for complaining about the water ration I conveniently bypassed. Just as the royals and council members did. There was no limit on how much water could be drawn for them—to bathe, to consume, to clean. Every day their spick-and-span floors were washed; every day their clothes were scrubbed clean. Whereas everyone else in Ramel had to ration one bucket of water a day. Half a bucket for children, servants, and other castle workers.
I sank into the water trough.Mmm.
A hypocrite, I know. I used the water valve here on a daily basis, but I always utilised it efficiently, wasting as little as possible. I always reused the water I bathed in to wash my clothes, and the day after, to wash the stable floors.
It was truly a misfortune for us Earthens that after the attack on Ilma, the Wellspring Oasis and the Fount were every day looking less and less like an oasis and more like dwindlingpuddles. The Naaris destroyed the purification mills and the main waterways, leaving us Earthens dry. Well…most of us.
I wrapped a towel around my dripping hair and went into the stall, the one flooded with books. I looked at the remaining small pile of unread ones. Only ten books remained, nine of which I had stacked to the side and referred to as the no-thanks pile. I wasn’t interested inThe Journal of Black MagicorOrigins and Arts of Dark. I wasn’t sure why Semuel had them. Probably they had some kind of weird value and he purchased them impulsively, which was typical of him.
But the last one, the last book, I had been saving that one. The bookseller Semuel had bought it from said that it was nominated as the best book of the year. A love-triangle romance that he often bugged me to read:Love Prevails. Now that, I was interested in. I reached for it and assessed its thickness.
Nice. This should be more than enough for the next three days off.
I grabbed the soft piece of fabric I had once ‘borrowed’ from the seamstress and spread it in the heart of the stable, right next to my girl. She was accustomed to our little monthly routine of cleaning, bathing, snacking, reading, and sometimes…napping.
It was way past dusk when I awoke.
Shit! If Mounir finds out I broke curfew.
I hurried Cinnamon back into her stall, then blindly clawed my hands in search of my bag. I exhaled in relief as I exited the stable and looked up. I thanked Thalassa, goddess of the moon and water, for blessing me with a big, bright silver sphere to illuminate my deserted path.
