Page 43 of A Broken Promise

“Yes, it is, Freckles. You are just an ignorant, self-loathing, weak minded, average human. It’s not that hard. You either give all the credit to the gods—the bad and the good—and float like a leaf down the river hoping you won’t drown. Or you can get your shit together, stop relying on gods or luck or whatever you want to call it. Accept that you do have a say in this life, even in shitty situations and take control of your life. Don’t let the gods define you.” Priya threw another knife at a fake bird target far on the ceiling. “You can wait for Gods to do their justice, or you can become Justice itself. The decision is on you.”

“You are right,” I said to her, aiming for the head of the mannequin.

“I always am, Freckles.” Priya smiled and threw her last dagger.

I took my aim. Shot. Bullseye.

“Finally. It’s about time you start making your shots.” Priya smirked.

I laughed. My aim was never terrible, but I usually took too long to aim, to concentrate. Not like the swift and thoughtless movements that Priya had.

“You might be better suited for the shitty snipers in the Royal army since you clearly have to take five hours to make a shot.”

I showed her my tongue and she flipped me off.

Practice went on for hours. I worked on throwing knives and daggers and sparred with swords. Priya also added an obligatory blowgun practice and by the end of it poor Julio, the mannequin, was left without a single spot unwounded.

Drenched in sweat, we made it to the dining room. The savory, delicious smells made my mouth water. Ratika already had soups and breads, all perfectly lined up, ready to serve. She wasn’t in the room, but I could bet the small cook was behind that tall door, ready to answer any question or demands.

I tried finding some time to come down to the kitchens to help. Ratika never spoke much, even after a month. I wasn’t sure who she was or where she was from, yet I knew she took pride in her cooking. Priya knew that too.

“Food looks delicious, Ratika,” she yelled to the closed door.

“It’s amazing, Ratika!” I added, loading up my plate and heading to the table.

The enormous stone table was decorated with golden statues of Pegasus and ancient warriors.

“Do you ever invite her to the table?” I asked Priya, sitting down at one of the wide, upholstered chairs.

“No,” Priya answered by digging her fork in her dessert first.

“Why not?”

“Why would I? She is a cook.”Obviously.

“Yes, but it’s only us in the house, don’t you think she gets lonely eating by herself all the time?”

“She is a servant. That’s what they do.”

“So, am I,” I earnestly replied. While Priya might have given me a room upstairs, the large piles of laundry and daily chores reminded me that I was, in fact, one of the servants.

I didn’t mind it. Most of the time I enjoyed a chance to work, to earn an honest living. A given purpose. Yet at times, it felt unfair and awkward knowing Ratika never got the same treatment.

“If she wanted to, she would ask,” Priya reasoned.

“I never did.”

“Oh, my gods, Freckles, just get to the damn point.”

“Maybe you should invite Ratika to dine with us one of these times. I think she would enjoy being included. She must get lonely being all by herself each day.”

“Well, I simply don’t care. I for once, want to enjoy peace and quiet while eating my cake. Can I not?”

I nodded, quietly finishing my lunch and made a mental note to check on Ratika again today to see if she would enjoy more company. Priya clearly didn’t. In fact, for the entirety of my living here, we rarely crossed our paths outside training and meals. Even then, I wassure Priya was here just to observe my eating habits to make sure I was still putting on weight.

Priya was content with solitude. A part of me wished I could do that, to be left alone with my thoughts without feeling like I was being swallowed by the never-ending darkness. Without feeling broken with no chance of recovery.

No, for me, solitude was painful.

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