Page 26 of The Sanguine Selection
As each glass is set down and the beautiful ones leave, I notice that not a single drop of my blood remains in any glass. Not one drip.
I swallow hard and lick my lips, the other girls noticing as well. Jasper watches all the lords and ladies leave aside from Lords Vikkon and Navar before speaking to us again. “Congratulations to our top five women. A carriage will escort you to Sintara for the next round. There, I will lead you to your rooms for the night. Tomorrow the second round of the Sanguine selection will begin. Please follow Lord Vikkon. And join me in thanking him for his hospitality today.”
We mumble our thanks, unsure of what to say as we file past Jasper and out the door. Through more winding corridors we walk before ending back in the atrium where it all began. Those huge metal doors groan open and a gust of snow filled wind. My feet are already burning from the thought of dredging through snow when we’re all given back the clothes we arrived in. Gratefully I slip on Papa’s coat and my fur boots, relishing the warmth and the smell of them before we’re led outside. At least our ride this time won’t be in a cold, iron bar-lined box. A man wearing a pressed uniform of crimson and gold even opens the carriage door for us and offers us his hand before we enter.
The seats are luxurious, hugging my backside, giving me comfort even as my arm throbs from the knife wound. The man leans in as the last of us sits. “Keep the curtains closed at all times. That is an order.” Then he shuts the door and the distinct click of a lock sounds. None of us attempt to open the door or even speak to each other as the carriage jostles and begins to move.
From the angle of the carriage, I can feel we’re going uphill and the patter of horse hooves strains. The trip isn’t long and soon the carriage comes to a stop. Eyes wide, my lower belly gives an uncomfortable twinge and I brush off the pain as being nervous.
When the door opens, and we exit, I realize we’re not outside anymore, but rather, inside a large, covered space housing a dozen or more horses and a whole fleet of carriages. It smells foul and my nose wrinkles as I wave uselessly at the air before me. The uniformed man appears and mutters, “Follow me.”
A few of us exchange worried glances but hurry behind him, not wanting to be the brunt of his anger should we not obey his commands. Up a flight of stone stairs to a wooden door we’re led. Knuckles bashing against the knotty oak, he knocks four times. A moment later the door swings open and Jasper appears in the threshold, white gloved hands clasped before him. It’s almost a relief to see him, a familiar face amongst all this newness and uncertainty, even if he greets us with a solemn expression and just a hint of a nod. “Welcome to Sintara, a castle rich with history, and the home of our beloved kings. Here you will stay as guests until the Selection is complete. I must warn you to stay within your given rooms. It is not safe for you to wander about the halls while our kings remain…detained. Now, if you would please allow me to escort you through the castle. And don’t touch anything along the way.”
Wrapping Papa’s coat tight around me, I follow after Jasper, the rest of the girls close behind me. The passages we take are much like the other castle, narrow stone walls and high ceilings, though no tapestries or paintings line the corridors here. It’s bare and cold, smelling musky as if fresh air has struggled to find a way in. Torches blaze in sporadic sconces as our footsteps echo loudly, making it sound as if there are many more of us than just five. Well. Five girls, Jasper, and the grumpy servant in the uniform.
My thighs tremble as we’re met with more stairs, worn from the hundreds of shoes which have traveled across them over time. Up and up the spiralizing steps ascend until I’m almost dizzy and sweat coats my skin making me flap Papa’s jacket to get some air within it. Heavy breathing comes from behind me and I know I’m not the only one struggling from exertion. Yet Jasper, old as he appears with his stark white hair, seems unfazed as if he climbs these very stairs routinely.
Perhaps he does. Maybe it was his footfalls alone that wore the stone smooth below my feet. Another twinge deep in my gut has me gripping my lower abdomen and a small hiss escapes my lips. No one seems to notice, for which I’m grateful. I can’t say why but I don’t want to appear weak in this oppressive castle, or injured in any way.
As I ponder the pain, our hike up the stairs ends and we enter a hallway lined with arched doors. But as we walk past the first one, I realize they’re not doors—they’re bars, and they aren’t just rooms behind them, but cells.
I swallow hard, clutching Mom’s necklace in my hand for comfort. Jasper stops at the end and turns to face us. “Your rooms, ladies. Complete with private bathing chambers, a change of clothes, and freshly made beds. An assortment of breads and cheeses are waiting for you as well. As a precaution you will be locked inside but rest assured—though it may appear contradictory to my words, you are not prisoners here. This is for your own safety. Servants!”
As Jasper shouts the final word, a pair of servants appears in each doorway, one man and one woman wearing similarly scantily clad clothes as the servants we saw in the other castle. A pair comes out to greet me and as they link their arms through mine and gently guide me inside a room. I release Mom’s necklace, allowing it to proudly rest against my dress. Jasper’s eyes widen for half a second, locking on the charm but he schools his expression so fast that I wonder if I imagined it. The servants’ grip is surprisingly firm as I’m led beyond the bars and inside the room.
Before me is a bed big enough for two with an iron headboard ornately decorated. Plush crimson bedding smelling of spring flowers perfumes the air, the blankets accompanied by several fluffed pillows. Candles burn atop a bedside table where a tray filled with bread and cheese waits to be eaten.
A fire roars to my left, making the room warm and cozy, and a rocking chair sits in front of it inviting me to enjoy the dancing flames. And spread out, covering most of the stone floor, is an elaborate rug woven in a mix of yellows, reds, and hints of blue.
“This is where you’ll stay,” the woman murmurs, petting my shoulder with her free hand. “And through here is where you’ll bathe and wash to prepare.” They tug me past the bed to another room complete with a washing basin, and to my surprise, a toilet made out of a shiny white material. Much better than the rather smelly one Papa carved from the stump of a fallen tree.
I try not to dwell on my father, to wonder if the sickness has taken him to the world beyond ours or perhaps some place worse. Though it does give me peace to think of him and Mother together again.
The servants release their grip on my arms and begin tugging my coat off my shoulders. “Let us help you relax,” the man croons. But I push away from them.
“I don’t need your help, thanks,” I grunt out, shrugging back into the coat. Unperturbed by my refusal, they simply bow and make their way out, closing and locking the sliding bars behind them.
Leaving me trapped.
I let out a deep sigh and walk over to the bed, flinging myself on the soft blankets, staring at the ceiling. The pain twists in my gut again and I stifle a groan, curling on my side, bringing my knees up to my chest.
What’s happening to me?
Then it hits me…
The full moon.
The tonic…
The tonic! Is this what Papa tried to stave off? Some horrible sickness that comes with the full moon?
Tears blur my vision as I grit my teeth against another wave of pain, and not just the one low in my belly, but the one inside my broken heart. The discomfort travels from to my lower back, and up to my breasts, even my nipples ache as I touch them.
“What is happening to me?” I whisper to the empty room, hugging my knees, wondering with desperation how I ended up here.
Isolated.
Alone.
