You Are Mine (6 page)

“
You couldn't change it.
When you came home, it was over. And you were happy. You'd never
been like that before. Or since. I didn't want to make you lose
that joy faster than you had to.”

“
Then why tell me
now?”

“
Perhaps I shouldn't have,
but I don't want you going to a place that prevents you from ever
returning home. If you're not careful, you will.”

As if she would know. One week of me
being gone didn't seem to change her behavior any. “Silly frills
and finding a mate are all you ever care about. You have no idea
what it's like to worry.”

“
I worry more than I let
on. But do you know what I do, Serena? I hide those thoughts and
feelings, and move on with my life.”

The impact of her words jerk through
me. If that's really the case, have her big smiles and infatuations
with boys been hiding her worry all this time? She's much better at
it than I am. My guilt builds, yet I can't help but wonder why she
hides it. If she stood up more often, would Father see us as more
than property to be sold? Ridiculous thought. Of course he
wouldn't.

“
I'll try harder.” I rise
and head for my temporary quarters. “See you in the
morning.”

Cynthia follows after me. “I'm sorry,
I didn't mean to upset you.”

“
Don't be. Thank you for
telling me, it's given me something to think on.” Even if I don't
want to think about it. The weight I've always carried for my
sisters seems heavier.

“
I really am sorry. I just
don't want you to go.”

I force the corners of my mouth to
lift. “All will be well. Goodnight.”

“
Night,
Serena.”

I cross into my room, shutting the
door behind me. After a moment, her footsteps recede. I slump
against the wall and slide to the floor. My sisters. I've worked
seventeen years to protect them. Apparently, I haven't been doing
enough. Yet, the little I was able to do, I'll no longer be able to
provide. Marriage will stop me from being with them more than she
thinks. I'll never be more than I am now. Only less. Less able to
help them in anyway. My ability to choose will fade. I'll take on
the role of a breeder.

Or worse. I'll become like that
haunted tarnished. Bald. Inked. Barren. Emotionless. Not worth the
shadow I cast.

***

The week moves in an odd sort of time.
Like at the house when I have to wait for Father to leave for a
meeting or stand at attention while awaiting punishment. Moments
with Thomas are always the slowest. Agonizingly so. When he's not
dueling, he's dragging me from one box to another exclaiming over
his new title and riches. Sometimes people find us, which is only
an improvement because Cynthia is there.

On occasion while Thomas is dueling,
Father leaves to do whatever it is he does. Warlock matters, I
suppose. Whatever it is, he's usually with other old, paunchy men.
During those moments Cynthia and I discuss things with less
restraint, though eyes are still on us and we can't become too
heedless. Several times I have found I'm being watched by various
Chardonians. Other times I just feel it. The Grand Chancellor is
especially unnerving. Why he finds me worth such observations, I'm
unsure. But his son or another warlock usually regains his
attention before it becomes too excessive.

There are eight more deaths. None of
the deceased were as prestigious as Chancellor Jacob. Not even
anyone who was on the Chardonian council. Most were from different
countries. One benefit of having Thomas drag me around was only
witnessing one of them. It was just as horrific as Chancellor
Jacob's death, but easier to turn away from. Or rather, run away
from, to visit the privy. At least that was the excuse I
used.

Cynthia stays. She watches the duels
with eager eyes. No doubt, trying to ascertain who her escape will
be once she's tested. I can't agree with her line of thinking, but
at least she has a plan to get away from it. Even if it's doomed to
fail.

Upon my return from the privy, she
explains that the winner was awarded the dead man's things as has
been done with the others. Whether they are Chardonian or not,
warlocks who enter agree to the terms and thus forfeit their
possessions if killed. Not that a dead man cares. But one of the
losers is already married, and as such, the new widow is set to
become tarnished. That fact gives me more pause than any of the
others she loads me with.

Tomorrow is the last day of the
tournament. I'm aching for my own bed, though it's shared with my
sisters. The bed here is too big and cold. Since we're staying at
the tournament tents while Father and Thomas enjoy the feast,
tonight's bed will be a cot next to Cynthia's. Then once the
tournament is over tomorrow, we'll be back at Thomas's. Despite my
words when I first saw our quarters, I haven't enjoyed having my
own space. Even the cot sounds better.

“
What are you thinking?”
Cynthia asks. “You've gone quiet.”

“
Going home. I miss being
there instead of being stuck with Father here at the tournament. A
whole week of freedom, wasted.”

“
I suppose, but you should
still be discreet with your words.” She returns to watching the
final duel of the day. I try not to think of where our last
conversation that began this way went. Cynthia adds, “And think of
all we'd be missing.”

There's nothing to miss.

Bright yellow flashes and a winner is
called out. The events for the day are finally over. With evening
coming, darkness is falling. Warlocks send yellow sparks across the
field, lighting torches all around. I lean back in my chair,
grateful we're staying here for the night. Maybe I'll be lucky
enough that Thomas will have less interest in me with so many
others about. Then I'd really enjoy the evening.

“
Do we have to wait for
Father to go to the feast?” Cynthia asks.

“
We'll give him a little
while. If he doesn't show, it's probably all right for us to take a
servant.”

In the box next to ours, the Grand
Chancellor stands. I point him out to Cynthia. The crowd goes
silent. A breeze picks up, carrying a scent of bad cabbage with
it.

“
What an impressive
tournament we've had the privilege of observing. As the last rounds
are fought tomorrow, I wish the finalists good luck.”

While he's speaking, a tarnished is
led to a newly placed stone slab in front of the Grand Chancellor's
box. It's the size of my bed at Thomas's, except with bumps and
dips giving it a more ragged appearance. They reach it and stop.
Dressed simpler than usual in nothing but a tunic, it's clear the
tarnished is a woman. Her face is void of emotion.

“
Before we celebrate the
final night of the tournament, we have one last honor to
perform.”

Father appears at my side and
whispers, “This is what happens to some of those who are
tarnished.”

My gaze darts to her. The threat was
clear. That could be me, standing alone, marked as something less
than human. My limbs grow heavy watching her stand without
wavering. What are they going to do to her? This was never covered
in any class or gossip. Tournaments are a place we let our owners
show us off, not watch a tarnished.

The Grand Chancellor leaves his box
and strides forward. He motions to the stone past the lit torches.
Still without any hint of expression, the tarnished lays on it. In
the dim light, she looks like she could be any girl I
know.

“
Sacrifice.” His voice
booms through the field.

The cool night air sharpens. Realizing
what the stone is, I clench my hands together. An altar. His words
make sense. My mouth goes dry. I'm about to witness my first human
sacrifice.

It was talked about. More rumors
flowed about it than I want to admit. Boys bragging they had seen
it done at tournaments. Girls wishing they had. I never wanted to
hear it. Never wanted to pay attention. Never wanted it to be
true.

I thought I could avoid it. Thought
that maybe, somehow, it was a story meant to frighten us and
nothing more. Right now, I wish it was a story. I wish my avoidance
of it could continue. I wish there was some way for me to be
anywhere but here.

Silver light seeps from the Grand
Chancellor's fingers and slithers toward her. It sharpens as it
grows closer to her neck. I tilt my head away from the scene and
squeeze my eyes shut. The silence pulses through me. I breathe
slowly, waiting for a scream.

And wait.

And wait.

I slide one of my eyelids up a touch,
then open them both wide. The Grand Chancellor is glowing. Faintly,
but even with the torches lighting the night, it stands out.
Sometime while my eyes had been closed, his skin became
luminescent. Next to him, the girl on the table lies dark,
unmoving.

Chapter Five

T
he Grand Chancellor claps his hands. Sparks fly from them,
darting through the night sky. “Let the feast begin!”

The memory of his voice continues to
boom against me as the spectators break into a cheer. Father
whoops. My insides hurt. A gnawing, uncomfortable feeling. I force
it to stay inside.

“
You girls make sure
you're in the women's tent before curfew,” he says and steps out of
the box.

No chaperon in public for the first
time. Must be a perk of tournament excitement, not that I'll enjoy
it. Keeping my gaze away from the altar, I try to gather a sense of
normalcy, but struggle. There's nothing normal about any of
this.

Cynthia's pale.

“
Can I get you something?”
I hope she doesn't ask for the calming tea. Mother's forced it on
me so much I've grown to abhor it.

She shakes her head.

Grateful she's strong enough to not
want the tea, but not knowing how else to help, I stay by her side
and try not to think of the sacrifice. I can't help it though. The
few images I saw keep playing through my mind, vivid and life-like.
The tarnished. The altar. Her laying there, almost seeming human
one moment then gone. Just gone.

People drift from their boxes, onto
the field, and to the side where I can't see. The area will have
entertainment and tables laden with food and drink. It no longer
holds any appeal for me. In the growing dark of our box, no one
seems to notice us. The jubilation of the crowd carries, faded by
the distance, and the smell of rotten cabbage
strengthens.

After a while Cynthia says, “I'm not
hungry as I thought I would be, but you can go to the feast if you
want. I think I'm going to lie down early.”

I sigh with relief. “I'll go with
you.”

“
You don't have
to.”

“
I want to.”

She stands and we make our way out of
the box onto the grass. Just a few steps out, someone grabs my hand
and wrenches me away from Cynthia. My chest tightens. I strain
against the cloth covered muscles. The odor of sweat clogs my nose.
Thomas. I stop struggling. A few people stop walking to watch
us.

The Woman's Canon says his closeness
is acceptable. Not only acceptable, but that I must submit to his
wishes. It makes my stomach churn as if I was riding in a carriage.
Despite his arms wrapped around me, holding me flush against him,
the words are law. Shoving him away must only take place in my
imagination.

“
Where have you been?”
Pungent wine is heavy on his slurred words as he dips
closer.

Forget the law. I try to ease away
from him, but he grips tighter.

“
We've been in your box
like we were supposed to be. We just decided to go to the women's
tent for the night.” From the scowl on his face, I know that was
the wrong thing to say. “I want to be rested before your duels
tomorrow.”

“
None of that. Your sister
can go, but everyone will be expecting to see you with
me.”

“
I can come if you'd like,
Serena,” Cynthia offers.

Her color hasn't returned yet. If she
feels as ill as I do, I can't ask for her presence. I fake a smile.
“It's fine. I'll see you before curfew.”

“
If you're
sure?”

“
She said she's fine,”
Thomas says. “Get on with you.”

I give what I hope is a reassuring
smile as he drags me off. Before I can see if Cynthia moves to
follow us or heads toward the tent, we round the corner of the box
stands. I hope she makes it to the tent without me, that no one
stops her. Or that she doesn't get distracted and not make it back
in time. How badly would they punish her for that?

The rotten stench grows, mingling with
roasted meats. The noise increases. People talking, laughing,
singing. A few vomiting. Spell lights flash all around, haphazardly
landing on food, the ground, and people. Everywhere. Nothing is
immune to a burst of color. A turquoise one lands on my shoulder. I
jerk back, but it's already disappeared. Thomas laughs and threads
through the crush. I hope the spell didn't do anything.

After dragging me to the table, he
lets go. I inch to the side and behind him. Close enough he can
find me, but not so easily seen and remembered. Without bothering
with a plate, he grabs whatever food is closest and shoves it in
his mouth like an animal.