IMMORTAL SECRETS: THE SACRIFICIAL LAMB

CHAPTER ELEVEN - ACCALIA

Being suspicious of Solom's actions, my eyes had cast up while my chin was lowered. All I've wanted was for him to treat me like a daughter, instead of an inconvenience, and here it finally was on my birthday. I was trying not to care, but this was my focal point for so many years.

Seventy-six days until I am rid of you and your whining.

It's not real, the small voice in my head had warned.

Staring at the marble floor, my eyes narrowed farther. For eighteen years, I've searched for decency, for signs he might love ... care about me. Minutes ago, when he was gazing across his magnificent room, I searched again for the truth in his tired eyes – so pale the baby-blue are likened to white with no sign of light – only darkness, evil, soulless. The fire magic he collected was prominent with excitement. I almost felt as if his actions were leading to ... I'm not sure.

Don't trust him, the voice warned. But then, the distrust vanished the moment his arm laid across my shoulders and he brought me into him. This one act pushed years of neglect and abuse into the distance where it almost couldn't be seen. Almost.

Solom had squeezed my shoulder as my cheek was brought to his silk tunic. The arm of his black cloak half fell over my face, as he caressed my cheek before dropping his hand to his side. An awkward gesture but one of tenderness, nonetheless. "Eighteen is special because it marks your first step into adulthood. Your journey from here on out will be of your own making," he had said.

Solom kissed my forehead. When being punched in the heart, your breath is stolen while you choke; this was the opposite. Breath was given back to me forcefully, all at once, leaving me light-headed. Instead of smiling, tears brimmed my eyes from the impact. Feeling embarrassed, I blinked and wiped them then inhaled a breath to steady my emotions. This was the closest we've ever been, and I was afraid of losing it. At that moment, I felt like I'd do anything to keep us this way. I silenced the small voice in my head and all her warnings, pushing them farther, and farther away.

I glimpsed Solom, expecting him to ridicule me for crying. He was looking down with empathy, though. Empathy. "Go," he said, smiling, "enjoy your birthday meal."

All my life, he's torn me down and worn me out emotionally, but, today ... I'm at a loss for words. I decide the reason behind his actions isn't important, because he's giving me what I craved from him all my life, no matter if I had decided to leave his castle or that he said seventy-six days until he was rid of me and my whining. Could this be a change of heart? I wrap my arms around Solom then lean my head deep into his chest, praying for it to be so. A cherished birthday that will be replayed in memory.

Solom kisses my forehead one more time before gently pushing me out from under his arms towards the exquisite meal he had prepared for me. I eagerly walk towards it and settle in the finely carved chair. I gaze out at the table, realizing my plate is the only one. I look back at Solom. "Will you not join me, father." The word father felt foreign.

"No, my sweetheart," Solom says endearingly, "Today is your day, your meal."

A bit saddened he won't be joining but glad for the birthday effort, my attention settles on the food displayed on the table, and I start piling a taste of everything on my plate. I eat and drink for quite some time, until my heart is content and my stomach is overly full.

Sitting back in the chair, I wonder how jealous Nicholas would be, if he were to see the preparations Solom set forth for me. Would he storm to his room and throw things? The thought makes me smile.

Behind me, soft laughter catches my attention. I look towards the doorway where Solom is covering his mouth with the sleeve of his black cloak and laughing to himself. Confused, my attention returns to the food on the table in front of me – but there is no feast. A dead lamb, goat, and cow lie whole on the blood-soaked table. Their insides spilled out crawling with maggots. My plate and fork are stained crimson with their blood. There's a metallic taste in my mouth – but then – it's all gone. The glorious feast I had consumed sits elegantly, partially eaten in fine dishes.