The Trials of Sybil

Chapter Eleven

Sybil

By the time we reach the door that opens to a small room, I've lost count of the steps we've climbed. The guard deposits me onto the floor of the chambers. A small wooden tub is nestled against the far wall, barely spacious enough to accommodate a seated person. The aged wood is smooth, with a faint scent of earthiness emanating from its pores. Despite its diminutive size, the tub's presence adds a cozy and rustic vibe, contrasting the cold barrenness of the room. Alice swiftly walks over and pulls on a chain hanging from the ceiling. A hollowed out wooden beam folds out from the wall, and with the tug of a second chain, steaming water pours into the wooden tub. Despite everything that has transpired, my mind fixates on the intricate and fascinating design. How can a place filled with such evil contain such wonder?

"How does it work?" I ask Alice, my voice breaking over the words. I push my body into a sitting position while waiting for her reply. My wrists and ankles are raw from the heavy gold chains, but I'm otherwise intact, aside from my pride.

Alice stares at me with her glassy blank expression before pulling a bar of soap from her apron pocket and a wooden comb. Her eyes remind me of a glass doll; void of emotion or expression.

"The Queen has ordered you bathed and changed." She replies in a monotone voice, standing still as a statue.

"Your queen seems to think a lot of herself. She is not my sovereign and I don't appreciate being bossed around." I push to my feet, and a spell of dizziness overcomes me. Stumbling, I catch myself on the footboard of the double bed. The room is small and round, no larger than twenty feet from wall to wall. Thick burgundy velvet drapes obstructing the view of what I assume is a window. The material looks plush and luxurious to the touch, the color a deep shade of red that catches the eye. I can't tell how long I have been unconscious, but there is no hint of light seeping in from the edges. The air is thick with silence, and the only sound that fills my ears is the sound of my own breathing. Disoriented and confused, my head pounds with a dull ache. Despite the darkness, I can sense the weight of the surrounding space pressing in on all sides. A small fire burns in a fireplace to the opposite wall illuminating the scarce furniture in the room; a small writing desk, a chair, and an empty shelf. The door I now see has a window with thick metal bars.

I'm not in a room. I'm in a cell.

Despair coils like a snake writhing in my stomach. Not only am I hundreds of miles from home, lost my one companion, my magic nearly siphoned dry, but I'm locked in a cell in a tall tower. I dreamed of living an adventure like the heroines in my books, but this was a living nightmare.

I lift my gaze, taking in the sight of Alice as she approaches me, silent on her feet. She grabs my elbow and guides me towards the tub. I wrench out of her grasp and take a few steps back, but she only stares at me with her absent glossy eyes.

"It would not do well to displease her." Her lips press into a thin line of displeasure, the only sign of emotion that I've seen from her yet. I wonder if she's always been this way or if she is under some spell. The queen's magic is not one I have ever encountered or read about before. A chill runs down my spine and the hair on the back of my neck rises at the memory of the way her magic felt. It wasn't right, there was something corrupt about it.

Sighing, I glance down at the bruises forming along my pale skin. The bath at the tavern feels ages ago. Dirt covers my calves and forearms from my struggle to get away from Aramis. I do not want harm to fall on this girl because of my defiance. If I want any chance of escape, I need to be at my full strength.

"Alright, hand me the soap and I'll bathe. Is there at least a gown I can change into when I'm done?" I hold my hand out towards her.

"Yes. When you finish, pull this chain to drain the water." She drops the soap and comb into my hand then gives me a small curtsy before laying a thin cream chemise and gray overskirt on the bed from another pocket. Turning, she leaves the room without another word. The metallic click of a lock echoes in her wake.