Princess Awakening: Tower of Sand

Lotus in the Bog

Aurelie listened to the hard click of the lock signaling that she had kept her part in their unspoken agreement.

She had locked herself inside her own prison.

A strangled sob tore from her throat. Tears stung her eyes. She balled her hands into fists and slammed them against the door. The hard, wooden surface didn't budge, but her hand ached, a small, focused refraction of the blaze of internal pain, and another sob wrenched from deep within her guts. Her fists moved from pummeling the door to pounding and slapping against her own head and face.

"Stop it," Sera cried, leaping up.

"He's gone," Aurelie said, tearing at her coiled hair. "He left. He couldn't stay with me for even one day. No one can."

"He'll come back," Sera said, jumping to catch the younger woman's arms. "If I know anything about your father, he'll come back."

"No, no," Aurelie said, weeping. "He's not coming back, and it's my fault. I upset him. I asked too much. I always upset him."

Sera caught her arms, but Aurelie pulled free. She yanked the iron key from the lock and smashed it against her own fingers—living flesh and bone connecting with hard, unfeeling, unyielding metal. She cried out, dropping to her knees with the pain. Sera pulled the key away and shoved it into the pocket of her apron. Then she knelt and wrapped her arms around Aurelie, crumpled on the floor.

"It's all right," Sera said, stroking her hair and picking at the braid around her head. "It's not your fault. You shouldn't hurt yourself."

Aurelie shook her head, pressing her palms into her eyes. "It doesn't matter," she said. "You know the bruises don't show on my skin."

"It matters if you spill your own blood," Sera said. "It matters if the people see a tortured and broken princess tonight. You have to look your best—to be your best—for them and for your own pride. And what would the bishop say? You need to calm yourself now. You need to remember who you are."

Aurelie moaned. "I am Aurelie, Princess of the Free Country," she said. "I am Aurelie, Princess of the Free Country." She broke into a wild laugh and pushed Sera away. "Some princess I will make, half mad, unable to move more than ten paces from the tower without panicking. Even my own father says I seem part fay."

"Hush now," Sera said. "That's not important. What's important is your hair." She traced the crown of braids around Aurelie's head with her fingers. "Anyway, haven't you noticed? I am here with you. I haven't given up on you. Isn't that something?"

Aurelie took in a ragged breath. "It is," she said, "unless she comes here today. And then, mon amie, it only means that we are both doomed to annihilation."

Sera clicked her tongue. "Have a little faith," she said. "And for now, let's fix what we can. Like this hair. You have to look like a flower tonight, remember?"

The church bell tolled, and Aurelie submitted. There was nothing else to do. Sera went to work with powerful, deft fingers, finally releasing the pressure on Aurelie's brain, and Aurelie sat still, taking shuddering breaths and letting her sobs subside. The pain she felt inside remained, but the headache lessened.

After Sera finished, Aurelie's hair billowed in dry, frizzy kinks, a bit like an angry cloud of bees, and Aurelie's heart sank with the realization that she would not look well among the other noblewomen. But she wiped her eyes and pushed away the thought. She had bigger concerns today. "I shouldn't have broken like that," she said. "I need to be stronger."

"It's all the same to me, mon chou," Sera said. "It's a hard day for both of us—no matter if you want to dance or cry about it."

Aurelie moved to the fireplace and sat on that spot of the sandstone floor that had been worn smooth by so many years of sitting. She pushed a fresh peat log from the stack over into the embers and blew, watching the flames revive and slowly brighten as the peat caught. The fire released a faint, sweet scent of burning earth, and the dry heat soothed her aching face. Sera sat down beside her, on another smoothed divot, and she scratched absently at her pouchy wimple, which was knotted several times about her face. She took a bite of cheese and offered the platter to Aurelie.