The Painter's Apprentice

Chapter 20

The speed of my fall drags my head under and water enfolds me into cold darkness. I force my eyes open to get my bearings, but all I can see are the billowing folds of my dress. Precious seconds slip by as I paw my skirts aside. When my view is no longer obstructed, I catch a glimpse of the surface. The moon, a glowing pearl, ripples far out of my reach. I must have sunk farther than I thought.

I drag my arms through the water and kick my legs. My movement is slow, but the moon grows ever slightly larger and the water a little colder. When my lungs start to burn, I try not to panic. I claw my way toward the pale light, fighting for every inch. The motions grows more difficult with each pull.

Relief floods me when hands grab me around the waist.

But these aren't the hands of my rescuer. Instead of helping me to the surface, they pull me deeper into the water. I drive an elbow behind me and hit something hard. A stomach? A ribcage?

The hands slip, but they are quick to recover.

Black spots appear in my vision, but I still fight. I fight against my attacker. I fight to reach the surface, but my limbs move slower and slower.

A sadness grows in me when I wonder if this was how Morel felt when he died. Desperate. Fighting till the bitter end.

My lungs spasm and water rushes in when there is no air to be found. I can fight no more. The water has won. Reflexes take over and my hands fly up to clutch at my neck and the wretched choking feeling. My vision fades in and out, but the last things I see is Destan pushing me deeper and deeper into the warm embrace of the water's depths and the glow of the moon getting smaller and smaller behind him.

***

My eyes fly open and my body expels the watery contents of my lungs and perhaps my stomach onto the lawn. When I'm done, I fall onto my back and draw in a rattling breath. A group of shocked courtiers crowd around me. Their faces depict the range of emotions from concern to disgust to entertained and it makes me cringe. The sight of them is nothing compared to the sight of Destan kneeling at my side. Anger and fear roar over everything else in my mind. I swing a fist across my body and clip him square in his perfect jaw.

The crowd gasps in shock and delight. I cry out as pain shoots through my hand. I must have caught Destan off guard to land the blow. He recovers quickly and takes hold of my wrists before I can take another swing at him. If I could I would, but he is out of danger. A single punch was all I had left in me. I fight to keep my eyes open, but an inviting blackness nudges at the corners of my vision. Still, I have enough fire in my belly to fix Destan with a warning glare before I pass out again.

***

The smell of freshly baked bread greets me before I open my eyes. I blink away sleep and take in my surroundings: a spartan room with a sloped ceiling bisected by the wooden crossbeams of a roof. The walls are painted a soft white and display elegant little landscapes in simple wood frames. The glow of morning sunlight fills the room with a warm haze. The peacefulness of it all lasts only a moment before the previous night's events come rushing back.

I startle when I spy Destan seated in a leather armchair. Upon seeing me awake, he jumps to his feet. I attempt to rise, but something holds my hands and feet in place. My breath quickens when I find my wrists and ankles are tied to the posts of the bed.

Destan senses my panic. "Please, Florette. Please calm down."

"What are you doing?" The words come out in a croak. My throat is raw and every grating breath is painful. "Why am I tied up?"

Destan takes a step towards me.

"Get away from me!" I try to yell but the words come out in a bark no louder than a whisper.