The Raven Girl

Chapter 17

Everything important that the King had been doing had been forgotten in that instant, greeted by a much more fulfilling prospect. Letters and documents crisp with shiny, new titles and rewards for loyal supporters were dropped, melted sealing wax and ink a puddle on the floor.

"For a moment you had me worried, Rickard, for I had indeed thought you were denying me my deserved revenge, but now I see you were right." Eirik stood from his throne, walking forward to greet his brother in a warm embrace, hand resting briefly on his back. "You were right, and you have brought to me a revenge that can last a lifetime."

Rickard stood, shoulders hunched, pressed up against his jaw. He had always hated moments like these, faced with a compliment that had an odd sort of adoration to it, worship so filled with admiring that it seemed more suiting for the gods than himself. He never knew what to say.

"I was just doing as you said." he offered. "You had told me that you wished to take her as a slave, and so I made sure that you could."

"Well, you have my thanks. I am lucky to have you as a brother."

Asta stood, once more, in the King's presence, knowing that all too soon his attention would be drawn to her haggard appearance, one she had not seen or cared about for a long, long time. She smiled grimly at the thought of seeing it once more, completely altered by the sleepless nights and the restless days, torn by anguish and torment, shredded by the Rickard's blades and shattered by Eirik's mocking words.

What a joy that would be, when she was faced with a mirror again, asked to do the impossible with what they had done to her, made to look neat and ready to accept slavery with open arms just as she had been made to accept her brother in a similar manner.

"Asta," he said, turning to her, "do you remember what you were taught?"

Biting her lip, she brushed away the shadowy thoughts of the past, trying to ward off each bad memory, equally horrifying to remember, like a priest would attempt to ward off the demons of the night, completely in vain, of course.

With shaking legs, she lowered her body into a long curtsey, not daring to look up even for a second, waiting with her eyes shielded, gaze directed at his feet. There was no way she would allow herself to slip up now, not when so much depended on this going well, for if she made even one mistake, she was sure she would be sent straight back to the oubliette, and she was sure she would never get out again.

Eventually, he gave her permission to rise from her humiliating bow, a bow which acted as an almost acceptance of her position, a way of admitting her defeat and her submission. She stood, barely able to breathe, her heart race as quick as a deer's running from the jaws of the lynx, and it was all she could do to keep her legs straight.

"So you have learned," he said, smiling, "I was afraid that perhaps you had forgotten in all that had happened, but it seems that it is still fresh in your mind. I suppose you know what is to happen next then, do you not?"

"I am to be a slave." she whispered, bitterly, turning away her gaze.

"Your memory serves you right once again, little raven. Do not think of this as a blessing- the punishment will not end here; it has all but begun, and will continue well after your death." He watched her face, intently, searching for the slight stir of emotion in her gaunt face, but her eyes stayed cold and unaffected, mouth pressed into a thin line.

She already knew this. Whether it was from the countless times he had threatened her, revealing his plans for the rest of her life again and again, each time all the more detailed and all the more gruesome than before, or simply due to a knowledge she kept of the world, all be it second hand and gathered only from books, and how rulers liked to mock their enemies well after their demise, sticking their heads on spikes, stuffing their corpses and mutilating their bodies.

"You will sleep up in the tower, with the other servants, and do as I bid when I bid it done." he said briefly, his boredom catching up on him, wearing his patience thin. "Rickard will take you up to the tower where you may... make yourself presentable. Then you will go to the kitchens."

Yet again, it was Rickard who had been made to cater for the King's prisoner. That was the hilarity in the rather bleak situation she had found herself in: throughout everything, she was still, in their own little way, being waited on, still being provided for. There was no way round it, of course, for then they would be allowing her the freedom that they, of all things, did not want to give.

They left the room fairly quickly after that, Rickard clearly keen to leave the rather exhausting company of his brother. It wasn't that he did not love Eirik, it was just that he found it took much effort on his part to be around him, playing a part he did not want to play.

Swiftly, he walked onwards, Asta trailing behind him, unable to keep up. Grabbing her arm, he dragged her up the stairs, ignoring when she flinched at his touch, terrified that perhaps, in that moment, he would pull out a concealed knife, dragging along her flesh.

Perhaps he had been too rough, too brash, but he needed to clear his head from the stifling atmosphere in his brother's throne room, and the quicker he showed her to the room, handed her an ill-fitting garment and closed the door behind him as he left her to wash, the quicker he could leave the stone walls, allowing him ample time to ride out on his own before joining Eirik and a few lords on their tiresome hunt.

Pushing open the wooden door that led up to the tower, he stopped, letting go of her arm. Asta snatched it away from him, guarding it with her other hand in a tentative manner, waiting for whatever he had to say.

"Up these stairs," he began, gesturing to the narrow stone steps that coiled around each other, snaking up so steep that it made her wonder just how many had tripped on them as they returned, exhausted, from whatever gruelling day they had been put through, "is where you will sleep. You will need to wash, and basin has been filled for you by another. Once you are ready, you must go to the kitchens, as my brother said. If the cook thinks you have taken too long, you will be punished accordingly. If you try to run, you can expect the same outcome."

"And if I get away?" she tried, boldly.

"We will find you." he said, a dark, detached look in his eyes, resembling the one she had seen before he had first hacked away at her skin, a look she had not seen in a long time. "We will find you, and you will find yourself in a place you did not even know could exist, a place that would make the oubliette seem as free as the open road."