Page 2 of The Hollow King

Iona

1826

My husband took the pouch of gold coins. His eyes shone with greed as he opened it up to count his earnings. By all accounts from the gossip of his household serfs, I was the cruel old man’s third wife.

Something tugged on the rope around my wrists.

“Move,” he snarled.

“You got a damaged one there. All cut up and mute.”

Someone shouted behind me. I was too busy staying upright as I ran after the cart, the frozen ruts of the road biting through my thin shoes. I was considered so lowly that I could not even sit atop the cart.

“That makes her better to fiddle with,” the man who just bought me shouted back.

My aunt’s cruelty knew no boundaries. I was Iona Borja and one year ago, I lived like a princess. My mother grew sick and weak and by the time she died her younger sister was comforting my father.

Our province was south of Talaksia. None of our people came here for fear of the monster. Yet my aunt married me to a lowly man from this cursed province.

The cart slowed and I touched the jagged scar on my cheek, remembering the pain when my husband sliced me open. It still tingled sometimes, a cold thread beneath the skin. It taught me never to speak again, but it never quite saved me from his cruelty.

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When the cart entered the courtyard, I knew that this was a nobleman’s house. I collapsed on the ground and stared at the grey walls surrounding the house, moss dark in the cracks between the stones. There were guards stood on watch during the day. I glanced at the towers and saw more guards.

Were they keeping people in or out?

A stout woman came and began to shout.

The man who brought me immediately sat up in the cart.

“Where is she? The master wants her prepared.”

She came around the cart and looked me up and down.

“May god have mercy on your soul,” she muttered as she began to untie my wrists. “Thank you for your sacrifice.”

It was the tenth month of the year.

Sacrifice.

The woman dragged me inside and led me into a room.

Servants were bringing buckets of water and soon I was left with instructions to bathe.

The wooden door slammed shut and the thick slat of wood scraped into place ensuring that I could not escape.

They were sending me to the monster’s castle for their annual sacrifice.

The stories were true.

I stared at the steam curling up from the water. After the grisly journey, my muscles needed relief. I removed the scarf from my head and swiftly peeled away the layers of clothing.

My bath passed as if I were in a trance. My mind wandered into darker thoughts.

Mayhap, it was for the best that I joined my mother.

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