Chapter 7 7
Narnia's POV
It wasn't the regular guard who had come for me. He was younger, his face unlined, and he looked at me without the anger I’d gotten used to seeing. He also opened the door of my cell stepping aside out of harm’s way.
“You are taken,” he said matter-of-factly.
I glanced back at him, and I braced myself. "Moved where?"
"To the servants' quarters. King's orders."
My heart stuttered. I did not understand. The last time I had seen Elias, I had told him the truth about who I was. I was expecting judgment, not compassion. Certainly not this.
The guard escorted me through the labyrinthine halls of the fortress, up stone stairs I’d never traveled. The air was cleaner, thinner with the scent of blood and hopelessness. Other menials flicked past us in the corridors, eyes growing as they caught sight of me, whispers bubbling up behind me.
At last the guard halted in front of a slender wooden door. He had shoved it open and beckoned me to follow.
The room was small. The room was barely big enough for the single bed that was shoved up against one wall, a wooden chest at its end, and a small window through which pale morning light seeped. But it was clean. The blanket on the bed was threadbare but intact. The floor was swept. There was even a cracked ceramic basin full of water.
It was more than I’d heard all week.
“You will be a maid,” the guard ordered, from the door. "Lady Vaera will be in charge of your service. Clothes are in the chest. "You won't be on your own for an hour.”
He departed before I could inquire of him.
I stood shaking in the middle of that little room, barely able to believe it was truly real. I went to the window and peered out. The room provided a view of the courtyard, where soldiers practiced and servants scurried to their chores. Past the walls, beyond the barriers of trees that lay everywhere green and corruptly dark between me and where I once lived, was the forest.
There was a barely noticeable brush against the inside of me, from my wolf, Eira. She was so long silent that her sudden re-appearance awoke me with a start. I placed one hand on my chest, closed my eyes, and reached for that link. She was feeble, drained of the iron and silver, but she was there.
"Why?" I said, to no one in the room. "Why would he do this?"
No answer came.
I opened the chest and saw plain servant clothing folded carefully within. A gray dress, an apron, sturdy boots that appeared to be my size. I was getting undressed in a hurry, the exhausted fingers of my hands resisting me. The fabric was harsh but it was clean and luxurious after weeks in rags.
When the knock went down, I was prepared.
It was harder work than the pack was.” Lady Vaera insured that.
She was waiting in the great hall when I arrived, her auburn hair braided back into a circlet above her ears, her eyes green and hard. Behind her were the other servants, lined up as if to extend me glance of either sympathy or disdain.
“This,” Vaera said, flicking a dismissive hand at me that made it seem as if she was addressing livestock, “is the wolf girl. You're direct report will be to me. Anything out of order and you will inform me immediately. Is that understood?"
"Yes, my lady," the choir murmured.
Vaera looked at me. “The east wing's floors, you will be scrubbing. You'll be laundering an officers bedding. You'll be serving in the great hall for meals. And you will not gripe about it, nor rest from this task you do. Do you understand, beast?"
I looked her in the eye and made myself nod. "Yes, my lady."
Her smile was venomous. "Good. Get to work."
After that the days ran together. I scrubbed floors until my knees bled through my dress. I carried buckets of water up flights and flights of stairs. I cleaned linens in scalding water until my hands were raw. And the names were with me all the while.
Beast. Vermin. Wolf trash.
The other servants murmured them when Vaera was within earshot, just loud enough for me to catch and soft enough for the murmuring to set an innocent tone. Some looked at me somewhat pityingly, but said nothing; they were all too afraid to draw attention toward themselves. Some just followed suit to be cruel too., as if tormenting me made them more popular.
I put my head down and got to work. What else could I do?
But something odd was happening, and I didn’t know what it was. Occasionally, as I sat in the passageways or the great hall, I would sense a gaze on me. I would look up and see him. Elias. The king. In a doorway or on the landing, looking at me with an expression I could not interpret.
He never spoke to me. Never approached. But he watched.
And every time he came close, Eira seemed to gain in strength. I felt her more palpably, felt her awakening as if from long exhaustion. It made no sense. He was human. He was the enemy. He was the man who for years had preyed on my followers.
Yet my wolf recognized him.
I did not understand it. I didn't want to be understanding about it.
One night, I collapsed.
My back hurt and my hands were shaking, rubbed raw from hours of scrubbing the floor of the great hall. The hall was empty and the torches were flickering out, and I thought to rest me but a little. Just enough time to catch my breath.
I put my head down on my arms and closed my eyes.
I awoke to the sensation of something warm wrapped around my shoulders. I sat bolt upright, my heart racing, and saw that someone had put a cloak over me. It was a thick and rich one, lined with soft fur and emblazoned with the royal badge in silver thread.
Elias's cloak.
On the floor at my side lay a small gourd tied up in a cloth. I carefully unwrapped it, and found a piece of bread, some cheese, and a slice of dried meat. My stomach tightened painfully at the sight. Since morning, I had no food.
I glanced round the empty hall to see who had left this stuff, but there was nobody.
Why would he do this? And how could the king who had enslaved me and tormented my people be kind?
Slowly, I ate the food and drew the cloak more closely round my shoulders. It had a faint smell of leather and pine, but something else I didn’t recognize. Which made Eira purr with contentment.
I attempted to return the cloak the following morning. I folded it neatly and took it to the guards outside of the King’s chambers. But when I described why I was there, one shook his head.
“The king says you should keep it.
I stared at him. "What?"
"His Majesty's orders. She says you are to have the cloak."
I stormed out without a word, cloak in hand, my head reeling. This made no sense. None of it made sense.
That night they put me to work in the kitchens. It was hot, busy work, with the cooks barking orders and the helpers scrambling to prepare dinner. In the corner I stayed, scrubbing pots and attempting to be invisible.
That was when I heard them.
There were two priests at the entrance talking quietly to each other. Their clothes were the black robes of the Guild, their faces concerned.
“The king hasn’t hunted for three weeks! He doesn't go in the armory for cant's sake.”
The other frowned. "That is not like him. He's never stopped being the Guild's greatest soldier.”
"He is sick," the first priest insisted. “At council meetings he hardly says anything. When the night of his return comes, he roams the castle. ‘And he’s been seen watching that wolf girl.”
"The Guild grows wary of us," muttered the second priest. “If he keeps this up, he’s going to lose their confidence. And then they doubt him..."
He never did finish that sentence. He did not need to.
My heart began to pound and I scrubbed again at the pot. Something was happening to Elias. Something that even the priests had feared. And, somehow, I was in the middle of it.
I didn't know if I found that terrifying or hopeful.