Ascension (18 page)

"What on earth do
you think you are doing, you little imbecile,
”
Mathelda scolded, but mid-scold, she paused and attempted
to reassemble her face into a smile, succeeding in what was best
described as a grimace. "Forgive me," she offered in a voice barely
above a whisper, "I was in the way."

Maybe it was the dumbfounded look on
my face, or the fact that I couldn't utter a single word in
response to this sudden change in character, that prompted her to
continue talking.

"I assume you haven't eaten this
morning. I had the cook save a plate for you." She turned around
and walked towards the kitchen, leaving me standing alone with my
mouth hanging open. Shaking myself out of it, I followed her into
the kitchen, suddenly aware of the grumbling in my
stomach.

Mathelda presented me with a plate
of bread, gruel, and, to my surprise, an apple. Putting my manners
aside, I greedily shoved it all down, half-starved from the day
before. Halfway through, my throat caught as my now-fed brain began
to process what was happening. What on earth is going on? I thought
to myself. Why did Mathelda bother saving me a plate?

Why didn't she
get madder when she fell? I choked on a piece of apple as the
dreadful reality revealed itself. She
’
s poisoned me. That's it. She
doesn't want me around anymore, so this is her way of getting rid
of me. Coughing, I stared at the apple in my hand out of disbelief
that such an innocent fruit could commit such a heinous deed.
Mathelda must have wanted to speed up the process, because she hit
me hard on the back
…
and dislodged the
piece of apple.

I cleared my throat and managed to
say "Thanks" through my coughing, while in my head it occurred to
me that I was thanking my killer. Thinking I might as well get it
out in the open, I asked her why she saved me a plate.

"Well, I just felt like doing
something nice for one of my hardest workers. I thought you
deserved the rest after such a long day yesterday."

"Work? I'm late for work! I need to
go to the stables!" Poison forgotten, I began to stand up, but
Mathelda motioned for me to sit back down. I slowly sunk back down
onto the seat, watching her, waiting for this facade to
break.

"You don't need to work in the
stables any more, my dear. I think we have found your
place."

"What do you mean, 'my place'?'' I
completely gave up trying to figure up what was going on. Nothing
was making sense anymore.

Mathelda forced what I presumed to
be a laugh, which came out as strange, strained sound that seemed
as though it had endured years of disuse. "You are so humble! Well,
if you insist on acting dumb, I may as well tell you. You're to be
a private service. To the Prince." She looked at me excitedly, the
expression sitting awkwardly on her sharp face. When I failed to
reciprocate her excitement, she sighed and explained, "The guard
who dropped you off last night told me of the Prince's orders. He
asked that I put you on reserve. He specifically stated that you
aren't to see any other clients. How, may I ask, did you manage to
catch the Prince's eye?"

"Oh, well, I, uh ... " Slowly,
everything began to come together. Croxley must have made her think
that I was servicing the Prince in the way the merchant hoped to be
serviced last night. No wonder she didn't yell at me! If that were
true, and the Prince was my elite clientele, I'd be making her more
money than all of the other girls combined!

"I, erm, tend to his horse," I
offered as an explanation.

Mathelda replied
wryly, "If that's what you want to call it," and I flushed in
embarrassment as it occurred to me what she thought I meant. "Well,
whatever you
’
ve
been doing, you must have been doing a fine job. Although I can't
say that I approve of the timing, what with his impending royal
marriage and all. Never mind that, I'm not one to involve myself in
castle affairs. I've been pushing my girls towards him all this
time, and to think that he chose you," Mathelda ran her eyes up and
down my figure, as though she was trying to see me through the
Prince's eyes, but by the way she creased her eyebrows together, I
assumed she was having difficulty finding anything that made me
special. She finished her examination with a
“hmph”
and then directed her eyes towards my food,
which I took as an indication to finish my plate.

Once I was done, my stomach more
than satisfied, I awkwardly looked around the room, empty of all
but Mathelda and I. I was unsure of what I was supposed to do next.
Mathelda, on the other hand, seemed to know exactly what she wanted
to do with me, and after calling the cook to come collect my
plates, she motioned for me to stand up.

"Oh dear, I should have warned you
before you finished your meal. You'll probably regret having eaten
so much, but no matter. I'm taking you to the tailor to fit you for
some new gowns. I can't have the Prince see you in these
hand-me-down rags. And afterwards we will get you trimmed and
polished. You could really use some shape to your eyebrows, and lit
looks as if you're hair hasn't had a real brushing for a while,"
she said, holding my knotted hair out and letting it fall against
my back.

I shuddered as the air hit my neck,
its cold fingers brushing over my number. Or maybe it's because of
Mathelda's sickly sweet double personality, I thought to myself as
I followed her out of the dinning room.

E

I sprawled myself out on my bed,
groaning and rubbing my hands over my poor stomach. Like Mathelda
said, I regretted eating so much this morning once I had seen the
tailor. Apparently, Ahrenian fashion demands that your waist is
pulled so tight that your stomach has no place to go, while your
breasts are practically sent plunging over the low neckline. The
heavy skirts just added to the weight, and I felt as if I were
swimming in a sea of fabric with every step I took. Although I
can't complain about the material, I thought, reminiscing about the
feeling of the silk running through my fingers as Mathelda helped
me pick out different patterns and fabrics.

I say help, but it was more like
demand. If I had it my way, I would have chosen only the softest
fabrics in the simplest colors. A rich green that reminded me of
the I first sight I had of the forest, another piece in the same
deep purple of my first handful of berries. The only one I
convinced Mathelda to let me keep was satin of the deepest midnight
blue. Mathelda's eyes practically shone as she held it up to my
face, and when she called the tailor over, they began to jabber
excitedly about different embellishments and jewelry, a language
that I didn't speak, while I just glazed over and absentmindedly
rubbed the fabric in-between my fingers.

Much to my dismay, the tailor was
only the beginning of my worries. After they had finished trying to
squash my ribcage into a "more ladylike physique", Mathelda dragged
me to another form of torture, this one involving more traditional
instruments of pain: hot wax and needles. When they were done
clearing my face, arms, and other sensitive regions of hair, they
allowed my poor, puckered, red body to sink into a soothing tub.
Thinking the worst was over, I allowed myself to settle into the
warm water, a luxury that brought back memories of my journeys with
Croxley.

Before I could slip away into my
revelries, however, the same torturess from before came in and
instructed me me to stand up, exposing my bare skin to the freezing
air, which she then proceeded to scrub raw with a rough rag and
brush. To top it off, by the time I was free to sink back into the
tub, the water had gone cold.

Finally, I was able to step into a
dry, clean shift and simple gown, which hung lightly off my frame,
the fabric caressing my battle-worn skin. The only thing left to do
was try and tackle my hair. I was able to handle this with little
protest. As a child, my mother would braid my hair to pass the
time, finding different ways to keep it up so that it wouldn't
cover my number. Thinking back to those times, I couldn't help but
run my fingers over the brand on the back of my neck, once again
exposed now that my hair was intricately assembled atop my head in
the courtly fashion. After all this, after everything that's
happened, I'm still 923. I wasn't able to decide if that was a good
thing or a bad thing. Either way, I thought, I still miss
home.

By the time I was released, the day
was nearly over. I found myself wondering how Sir Thunder, Sam,
Elana, and all the other horses were doing. I should go say hello
to Heath, I told myself, but the thought made its way to the back
of my mind as my body sunk into the bed and I drifted off to
sleep.

!

"Hey. Fara. Wake up." I awoke to
Jean nudging me awake, the setting sun sending an orange glow into
the room. I groaned and stretched, my body still sore from all the
events of the day.

“
Morning, Jean," I
yawned, propping myself up into a seated position. Jean sat back on
her own bed, looking exhausted. "What's wrong?"

"Oh, nothing. I was just wondering
how you were. I heard about your job yesterday. To be honest, I was
wondering when they were gonna start putting you out there. Most
girls start on the second or third day." Jean looked at me with a
strange mix of compassion and envy.

"Well thanks for warning me," I
said, hurt in my voice. If she knew this was going to happen all
along, why didn't she tell me? Is she jealous that it took so long
for me to meet the same fate as everyone else?

"Hey, don't get mad at me," she
said, her hands up in surrender. " I wanted to tell you, but
honestly, what good would it of done? You would've just been
worried about it, waiting for it to happen. That doesn't help,
believe me. You just have to put it in the back of your mind, don't
think about it until the time comes."

"And just let yourself be violated?
This isn't right!"

"Save it. You've
only had to deal with this reality once. I've been dealing with it
since I got here. We've all been dealt the same fate, so now you'll
just have to get used to it. Besides, you wanted this
life.
”

“
Hey,
that
’
s not
fair,
”
I began to argue, but stopped when
Jean turned her face and wiped her hands under her eyes. "Jean, I'm
sorry. You're right. I shouldn't get mad at you, it isn't your
fault." I got off my bed and patted her shoulder, but she flinched
away. I remembered the many times that she had come home with
bruises and had just waved them off, only telling me they were from
work. In my ignorance, I failed to realize what she was truly
struggling with. Determined now to change that, I pulled her into a
comforting embrace. After a few awkward moments, I felt something
in her break and she melted into my arms, openly crying. Now that I
looked back on it, she wasn't the same joyful, open girl who helped
me get through my first few days here. She seemed jaded, yet
strong. I also felt guilty for her compassion. Nothing had really
happened to me. Compared to her, I've got it made easy. Especially
after today, when Mathelda spent the entire day pampering me. And I
thought to complain because my tailored dress was too tight? Once
again, I berated myself for my weakness. Meanwhile, my motivation
to find freedom was rekindled with an even greater
fervor.

I promise you, Jean, I will find a
way to save us. I sat there, holding her until her tears stopped,
and she pulled away, a gentle smile forming on her tear-stained
face.

“
Sorry you had to see
me like that," she said, as she stood up. "Now, lets grab I some
food," she said, sniffling through the last few tears as she tried
to put a cheerful smile on her face, "I'm starved!"

Chapter
19

The next day, I made sure to wake up
extra early so that I could catch up with Jean and the other girls.
They all treated me differently, aware that I had faced the harsh
reality of life as a slave girl, and although I felt guilty for
their misplaced sympathy, I couldn't afford to tell them the truth
about what had happened.

As we chatted during breakfast, one
of the girls from Mathelda's table approached us. Mathelda dines
with a select group of girls. Most of them are girls who were born
in Ahrenia and somehow made their way into slavery. Whether their
parents sold them to settle a debt or they got themselves into
trouble, nobody knew, but either way, they seem to think that their
heritage trumps their position. Even though we are all slaves down
here, they act as though they have superiority in this subterranean
hierarchy. Among them are the some of the most beautiful girls
here, the ones with the palest skin, the longest hair, the nicest
teeth, and all of them are snobs. For the most part, I've been
lucky enough to avoid them. Make any one of them angry enough, give
them any reason to feel threatened by you, and you'll notice your
life steadily gets worse and worse. And now, one of them was
walking towards our table.

"Fara, Mathelda wants to speak to
you." This girl, Lacy, looked directly at me as she spoke, as if I
were the only one at the table. I looked nervously at Jean and the
rest of the girls, who shrugged, then back to Lacy.