CHAPTER ELEVEN: THE FIFTH DAY
771 Words
Lina came late today. She set a cloth bundle on the chair and didn't sit which was unlike her.
Aria unwrapped it. A different meal Oat porridge it was still warm and a small pot of honey.
"Selene needs me again." Lina said as soon she she dropped the cloth bundle.
Aria dipped the spoon. The honey pooled golden. "For what?"
"For the preparation, you know the ceremony for the new Luna.”
"You've been spending a lot of time with her."
"She's going to be Luna, and everyone spends time with her."
"I don't."
Lina's laugh was short, as she was already at the door. "You're not everyone, Ria."
The door clicked shut. Aria's spoon hovered over the porridge. She set it down, the honey cooled and crusted at the edges.
The laundry water was cold enough to numb.
Aria plunged her hands in anyway. The shock of it sharpened her thoughts. She scrubbed until her fingers turned red, then white, then numb. The rhythm was steady. It asked nothing of her.
Mira came in with an armful of linens. Her cheeks were pink from the cold outside.
"You've been at that for hours."
"There's a lot to do."
"There's always a lot to do." Mira dumped the linens. "Did you hear about the roses? The white ones, From the eastern valley.
“Do that kind of flower grow in mountains. Aria asked her eyes still inside the bowl.
Nothing says power like flowers that shouldn't survive the mountains."
Marta appeared at midday.
A shadow fell across the tub before the voice came. "Eat something."
"I'm not hungry."
"I didn't ask."
Aria looked up. Marta's arms were crossed. Her mouth was a line.
"There's lamb stew in the kitchen. The cooks made extra. Go eat before it’ll get cold.
"Did Lina send you?"
Something flickered in Marta's face. Her jaw tightened. "Lina doesn't send me anywhere. Go eat. That's not a suggestion."
The kitchen was warm. A pot of stew sat on the hearth. Aria ladled some into a bowl and ate standing up. The lamb was tender. The broth was rich with herbs she couldn't name. She ate too fast and Burned her tongue in the process but she didn’t stop.
Through the window, a wagon rolled into the courtyard, With White roses, Hundreds of them. Warriors unloaded crates while servants rushed to carry them inside. The petals caught the almost purple light and held it.
Aria watched until the last crate vanished through the great hall doors.
The afternoon was time for mending.
She sat in the corner of the servants' quarters with a pile of torn tunics with her needle moving in and out. The fabric was rough against her cracked fingers.
Mira sat beside her with her own pile.
"Is it true you were rejected by the Alpha?"
Aria's needle paused. "Who told you that?"
"Everyone knows." Mira's voice was quiet it wasn’t cruel just very curious. "Is it true?"
The needle moved again. "Yes."
"That must be hard."
Aria didn't answer. She pulled the thread tight. The stitch was crooked. She undid it and started again.
Ethan found her in the corridor that evening.
She was carrying folded tunics to the warriors' quarters. Her arms were full and her path was blocked.
"The ceremony is in two days."
"So I've heard."
"You'll stay in the east wing."
"I know as I have no intention of coming out either."
His eyes dropped to her hands. The cracked skin, the crooked stitches. She tightened her grip on the tunics.
"You should eat more," he said.
The words hung between them. She didn't know what to do with them.
"Why do you keep doing this?"
His mouth opened and then closed back. His hand moved toward her elbow then it was quickly withdrawn.
"I don't know," he said. "Maybe because you haven't asked me to stop."
He stepped aside. She walked past him. The space between them was deliberate.
That night, Aria unwrapped her bundle of food..
A baked potato, warm in its skin a batter of butter wrapped in a leaf and a handful of roasted root vegetables there was carrots and parsnips, charred at the edges.
She split the potato open. Steam rose. She spread the butter and watched it melt.
She ate slowly. She saved the carrots for last.
Outside her window, the mountains were black against the stars. The wind had died. Somewhere in the great hall, servants were arranging white roses in crystal vases.
She lay down. She pulled the blanket over her body.
Sleep came to her this night without a fight.
- Writer
