The Raven Girl

Chapter 14

Throughout that long, drawn out conversation that had passed between the King and his brother, Asta had been barely able to stay alert, her body's tiresome screams consuming every inch of her mind, pulses of pain spreading through her head like movement through water.

If it hadn't been for her panic, she would have let herself slip, giving into the screams and listening to every single, agonizing cry as the spikes pierced further through her breath with every breath and every twitch. It was impossible to stay still; her neck ached, almost slumped into her shoulders, her back upright and stiff, resting as lightly as it could on the back.

She hadn't caught every word, for it was as if there was another being stood next to her, head resting on her bruised shoulder, screaming and crying and howling into her ear like a lost, little child. There was nothing she could do to ease its pain and silence its cry, so she tried as best she could to push it to the back of her mind, for if she did not, then she would not know what was next, and the pain they shared would grow all the more intense.

All she knew was that it was not as straight forward as Eirik would have liked, and she could only tell that from his face, which seemed to have that impatient look she'd seen many a time. Not only that, it had an almost stern edge- an angry crease to the brow.

"Brother, must I remind you who is King here?"

"No," Rickard replied, a bitter tone to his voice, "I just don't see what you're trying to do here."

"Taking my revenge and honouring the wishes of our father and our grandfather. Does it mean nothing to you, Rickard? I thought you were with me on this."

"I have no problem with the promise I made to our father, and nor do I plan to go back on it, but you want to take this girl as a slave, do you not? I cannot see your logic in almost killing her, if you do not kill her in the first place. Fire is dangerous, and you may lose control and see her dead before you know to put it out."

Eirik sniffed his disappointment in his brother, folding his arms around his chest, "So, my dear brother, if indeed your knowledge is far superior in this field than mine, what would you have me do with her?"

At that point, Asta breathed her relief, for what she had picked up had given her hope- there would be no fire. Still, the child persisted, annoyed that it was being ignored, that Asta was feeling something other than pain, and the hope she felt was crushed by this, as if it had snatched it right from her mind, jealous that she had something it did not.

"Remove her from the chair before the night draws in and the day is up. I have heard of people living for a day on this chair, two at most, for the spikes limit the blood loss, but you should not take chances." he thought, for a second, knowing what he said would not satisfy the impulsive spirit of his brother, "You will not feel any better for her death, especially not one as brief as this."

"Then you will have your way, for I will always take advice from those close around me." Asta watched him from a tear stricken face. He was clearly battling with his conflicting thoughts, one being to ignore the wise words of Rickard and kill her now, but he pushed them down, though it was easy to tell he was not happy- it felt like he was helping her.

He turned towards the door, pulling out the key he had hidden away from her, but then stopped, "She may sit there until nightfall, and then you, Rickard, will be responsible for cleaning this up. Now, come, for we have business to tend to."

They left, rather abruptly, Asta to her pain, and no longer offered her such distractions as their conversation. She did not know whether to feel her fears allayed or to be even more worried as to what they were to do next, but there was no way she could even hope to dwell on this anyway, for she had a limited concentration when her head was pounding and her limbs on fire, twenty spikes for every joint.

There was nothing to do except to concentrate on keeping her back straight and her head up, staying as still as she possibly could, but even this would not appease the needy screams that made her ears ring. Trembling in her hellish seat, she watched the day gradually grow darker, the hours going by slowly, but dared not look down at the wreck that was her body, molocated and savaged, barely able to piece itself back together each time.

The day turned to night, and she could feel herself almost detaching from her body and her weary mind, exhausted both mentally and physically. She wondered whether it would be okay to close her eyes this time, whether, perhaps, it wouldn't terrify this time, chilling her to the bone and sending her fighting to open her eyes again and get out from that horrible pit in the ground, completely isolated from everybody.

Just as she was about to try it again, letting her heavy eyelids shut, no longer pinning them open, scared that it would happen again just as it had all the other times, she heard the familiar sound of the key in the lock. She looked up, briefly, but almost immediately after her eyelids began to close again, and she didn't try to stop them. After all, what could be worse than this, utterly exhausted, pain washing away all that she knew?

The door opened, and Rickard had indeed returned, just as his brother had commanded him, carrying a candle with which to see by. He pushed the flame up by her face, waking her instantly, heat prickly on her scarred cheeks. Fear flickered in her eyes, lingering as long as the candle remained there, and he recognised it in an instant, moving it away.

"I'm sorry," he said, sounding genuinely concerned, which would've surprised her if she had not just woken to the pain returning at a rapid pace, a pain she'd forgotten about in that brief, dreamless rest. "you don't like fire. I forget."

She watched the flame nervously as he began to undo the restraints on the chair, never taking her eyes off it. It was far worse than Rickard could ever be, and it was so volatile that it could be on her in a second, spreading across the room with ease.

"Don't move," he said as he finished, "you're too weak and you'll lose too much blood."

"Isn't that what you want?" she said, shakily. She had never felt so bad in her life.

He thought for a little while, searching for an answer of some sort, settling for a cold reply. "It does not matter what I want, but what the King wants, and he wants you alive."

Did that mean he wanted her dead? She did not know what to feel about that, for death had seemed a blessing ever since she had entered the stony walls of this castle, and was a far safer option than the unpredictable future King Eirik had in store for her. Brushing away the thoughts like many would brush away the flies and wasps of summer, she sat still, choosing to trust Rickard, though her instinct told her to ignore him.

She just hoped it was the right decision, whatever the outcome.