Luminous

59 - Bated Breath

Arinel had always appreciated the value of life—she was well aware that each life carried a different value, and thus could be traded.

The life trade was ever prevalent in her world. As a baby, she was chosen to live at the expense of her mother. As a young girl, she was nourished by the lifeforce of hundreds of peasants who worked her father's land and grew the food that fed her. As a becoming bride, her father had insured her safe passage to Hadrian with twenty guardsmen, of whom fifteen survived, and a band of decoys, of whom none did.

Over the years, as she watched nameless, faceless people parade before her to form a wall of living flesh, protecting her from harm. As she imagined her mother lying serene on a bed of blood, cast aside to die as if she were a mere container for a higher being, she was overcome with uncertainty—Was she really worth all these lives? Had she lived up to the potential these people saw in her, when they drew their last breaths at her father's command?

The answer was no—and never will be. Though life could be traded, life could never be replaced. No matter how much she would contribute to progress in Latakia, how many lives she would go on to better and save, how many dreams she would accomplish in her mother's place, the shed blood of others that flowed within her veins and tied her to life would never be diluted. Not even by a single drop.

And yet, even as she knew her sin could never be undone, nor her guilt forgiven, she couldn't help but try in vain. It was her only way of coping, her only way of living. It was such that Arinel hardly knew, anymore, what it was to live for one's own self. The choice that Zier had always found so simple and inherent to make.

"This is your mother. The mother you have never known and never will know. And you're putting the needs of others above your own? Again?"

As Gretella's rebuking voice echoed in her ears, Arinel burrowed her cheek deeper into her pillow and hunched her shoulders against the chill within her bones, shutting her eyes against the prodding moonlight.

My needs aren't worth considering. Because I'm not worth considering. 

Every sacrifice. Every life lost. Every choice made—have always been for Lady Crosset.

Lady Crosset would know what she wants. But I'm no longer Lady Crosset. 

Now, I'm just Arinel. 

And I barely know Arinel.

Rather, is there even anything to know about Arinel?

The gong of the chapel bell reverberated in the night air, signaling the actual end of first sleep, and Arinel rose thankfully from her down-stuffed four poster, trailing not a remnant of drowsiness. 

Last night was the first time ever since she left Crosset that she slept in a bed. As Meya's maidservant, she was relegated to a hay mattress on the floor, alongside Gretella and Agnes. They were at least given a separate, conjoined room to sleep in, however, which was fortunate, considering the frequency with which Meya and Coris went about their nighttime business.

Beside her on the bed, Gretella lied awake yet unresponsive, her bloodshot, swollen eyes boring holes into the ceiling, and Arinel quickly turned away in shame. Twisting sideways, she noticed Heloise's empty mattress and overturned blanket. Agnes was already up and combing her hair. Fione rubbed the sleep out of her eyes as she struggled to rise, no doubt meaning to go tend to the fire in Meya and Coris's room.