Badlands

2

The air was thick with the musk of old books and the scent of waxed wood as Otto's voice, a low murmur, broke through my thoughts. "Maude, make haste. You're to descend to the chamber of counsel."

His command brooked no argument. I nodded briskly, smoothing my apron before turning on my heel. The descent was familiar—a winding staircase that curled like a serpent into the bowels of the stronghold. As I reached the bottom, the heavy oak door loomed before me.

I pushed it open, the hinges whispering secrets of past councils, and stepped into the cavernous room. Around the mahogany table, a sea of stern faces swam in candlelight, their attention ensnared by maps strewn across the polished surface.

As I moved among them, silent as a shadow, I poured ruby wine into golden cups with practised care. My presence was akin to the flickering candles—necessary for their comfort but inconsequential enough to ignore. None spared me a glance, their minds preoccupied with strategies and alliances, all except one.

Alberon sat there, his brow furrowed and gaze intense upon the unfolding discourse. Yet amidst the fervour of war talk, his eyes drifted toward me. For a fleeting moment, they found the gash. His expression shifted almost imperceptibly, a glimmer of concern betraying his otherwise stoic demeanour.

He swiftly masked it with a return to impassivity, but not before I caught the silent exchange. 

I continued my rounds, refilling cups as they emptied, while around me the men spoke of troop movements and supply lines, through it all, I felt the ghost of Alberon's gaze, a secret sentinel in a room full of blind overseers.

Curiosity gnawed at me, a mouse nibbling through the walls of my carefully constructed indifference. The men's voices crescendo around the word "threat," a term laced with a gravity that could pull the moon from its celestial cradle. What was this 'threat' they spoke of in hushed tones between swigs of wine? My ears strained against the clinking of goblets and the rustle of maps.

"Careful!" The sharp rebuke cut through my eavesdropping. I hadn't noticed Pater's cup nearing the brim. A single drop of red escaped, marring the polished surface of the mahogany. His eyes, like flint striking steel, sparked with disapproval as they met mine.

"Another mark would perhaps teach you the value of attentiveness," he hissed, voice low but laden with threat. A shiver ran down my spine, not from fear—no, fear had long been an old companion—but from the familiarity of his contempt. It mirrored the disdain Theana wore like her finest silk gown.

"Whoever gave you that gash had the right idea," Pater continued, eyeing the wound with twisted appreciation. The corner of his mouth curled into a smirk, a shadow of Theana's own cruel smile.

Hours slogged by, an endless stretch of time where each tick of the clock was a drip of water on stone, slowly eroding my patience. When the council finally adjourned, the room emptied with a flurry of robes and the scrape of chairs. Only Alberon lingered, his gaze briefly catching mine, holding a whisper of something unsaid. But it vanished as Pater summoned him, his voice echoing command even as it faded down the corridor.

And just like that, the hesitant thread between us snapped, leaving only silence. Alberon turned and followed the echo of Pater's summons, his footsteps deliberate and heavy.

The chamber's heavy door thudded closed behind the last of the councilmen, sealing me inside with the ghosts of their deliberations. I stood for a moment in the cavernous room, the mahogany table still reeking of power and portent. The golden cups, abandoned by their influential owners, caught the dimming light as it filtered through the high windows.

My fingers, trembling slightly from the earlier rebuke, reached out to steady a cup as I poured the remnants of the rich vintage into it. The wine, no doubt more expensive than anything I'd ever owned, ran down my throat in a smooth, heady stream. My gaze drifted across the array of untouched bread and cheese at the table's centre, their aroma a stark contrast to the sparse meals allotted to those of my station. I indulged, letting the flavours dance across my palate—soft cheese and crusty bread mingling with the taste of wine—until a dull ache in my belly begged for mercy.