Page 21 of A Broken Promise (the Freckled Fate #1)

21

“ S ee you tomorrow!” I waved to the large lady behind the counter. Nadine was one of my favorite vendors, always friendly and helpful; the owner of a well-known butcher shop in Svitar. I wrapped my sack across my shoulders, and I finally strolled back home.

It’d been a month since we arrived in Svitar, walking its white cobblestone streets daily. Smells of fresh laundry and blooming flowers ran through the streets, petting my nose.

The City of Light, Svitar was built on a spacious hill, with the Royal Castle and its golden roof shining at the very top. Limestone townhomes and condos filled the never-ending streets. It took me a few days just to adjust to the sheer brightness of the city. All of the buildings were either made of the white stone or painted white, contrasting with the black doors and window frames, as if the whole city was uniformed. Flower beds lining up their porches and window wells were the only bits of color to the monochromatic palette.

People in Svitar were different too, so unbothered by the realities of the lands behind the city wall. The world was exciting in Svitar.

And I loved it.

I loved visiting the Fashion Corner just to see the outrageous outfits of the fashionistas and the store galleries airing the most dare some clothing. I loved going down to the Wing Market, where you could find any manner of small trinkets and unique objects; to the Artists Hill, where night and day, various artists sat with their brushes and their paints making small strokes on their large canvases, painting the gorgeous view of the city; or the Library of Light that was so quiet yet filled with never ending books; and there was so much more.

I was in love with it all.

I walked up the short steps leading to the bulky golden gates. Sizeable carriages were driving up and down the road. Golden Quarters was the most beautiful part of city; I knew it from the moment I took my first step there.

Priya enjoyed luxury so it wasn’t surprising that she lived in this neighborhood. Unlike the rest of the town made from limestone, the Golden Quarters’ roads were made from pure white marble, scuffed and buffed daily. Narrow townhouses became brilliant manors with large columns and statues, golden fences and exquisite gardens, guards and lackeys always standing watch. Staired sidewalks were perfectly clean, with nicely trimmed trees providing shade from the soft fall sun.

Priya’s manor shimmered past the golden gate. It was made with fluorescent opal material, making it sparkle as if a diamond against the rays of sun. The large columns and wide stairs decorated the front facade. Enormous gargoyle statues guarded the huge, dark, wood double doors.

It was not the largest house on the street, but it had the most land. Perfectly green lawns with precision cut bushes, and full blooming flowers, bird baths and a large fountain welcomed me back. A piece of paradise.

“I’m back!” I shouted, walking in the house and closing the door behind me.

Priya was lounging on a round, bright red couch. Her head on the pillow and legs resting above. Her large, silk robe with peacock feathers wide open, exposing her lacy underwear and skintight cropped shirt. Priya’s long, chestnut locks dangled onto the floor. Instead of sitting up, she just flipped her head upside-down and yelled across the open hall at me .

“Did you get it?” she asked, looking at my sack.

I nodded, taking the sack off my shoulder.

“Oh good! This trashy neighborhood is going to be so jealous. In fact, I am going to send a postcard to that bitch Clara just to let her know.” Priya smirked. Nadine was famous for her tender, marbled, cubed steaks—a delicacy even for the rich.

I was pretty sure that Priya spent an outrageous amount of money bidding on the steaks before the calf was even killed so that her neighbors wouldn’t get them. I had come to learn that Priya highly disliked her neighbors. She highly disliked people in general, but especially the “ rich pricks ” living in these Quarters. Though quite an ironic view, considering she was most definitely rich and also living in these Quarters.

Ratika, an older lady, peaked through the small door leading to the kitchen.

“I heard you got something for me?” she whispered quietly, poking just her head through the door.

“Oh, yes.” I turned to her and handed off the satchel. She nodded in gratitude and disappeared right away.

I liked Ratika; she was extremely quiet, almost like a ghost, but cooked food like a god.

Unlike everyone else in the neighborhood, Priya had extremely limited staff living on site: just Ratika and I. Occasionally she had Ovaya, and a couple of her girls come do the cleaning, and Diego and his crew maintaining the gardens. Yet in this huge manor filled with never ending rooms, all kinds of luxury tapestry, statues and artifacts, it was just the three of us.

“Training room in ten.” Priya finally got up and started walking up the broad staircase, carved out of pure brown marbled stone, covered with thick, plush carpet down the middle. At the top, it split in half, leading to another two sets of the same staircase going up to two wings of the house.

I walked down the stairs leading to the basement. Even though Priya called it a training room , it was so much more than that. A large gymnasium, filled with all manner of equipment, a fighting ring, an armory and its adjoining weapons training area, and even a large dance floor with a ballet bar. The entire left wall of the pavilion was covered in mirrors going all the way to the ceilings. Even though there were no windows, the entire place was well lit by sizable lamps attached to the large wooden fans, slowly cutting through air.

At first, training hurt—pained me to the point of giving up—but day after day, I kept going. Priya pushed me to utter exhaustion each time. But truthfully, I started to enjoy it, curious to see that line, that edge, pushed further and further with each day. I was stronger than I had ever been, more capable and trained. And it felt good. It felt empowering. It felt so damn right.

I smiled, eyeing the sparring mats in the middle, reminiscing on the many times I fell asleep on those mats after deciding it was not worth the climb over three flights of stairs to my room.

We trained here for hours, multiple times a day. Occasionally, Priya would take a day of rest, but on those days I trained alone. There was something primal in me, awakened from the years of slumber. A part of me that was always there but never nourished, never nurtured…not until now. In the moments—when the breaths became shallow and sweat covered my body and each muscle trembled on the edge of collapsing—in those moments, I felt alive.

My body was becoming a well-oiled machine.

My soul might be cracked in pieces, but my body was now my armor.

I looked in the mirror across from me, staring at a figure of a woman so different from how I remembered myself; so different from the previously starved, slave girl. My face was much rounder, my previously sharp cheekbones now smooth and soft; my thin arms were now thicker with a solid layer of fat and muscle going through them—no more bony arms and shoulders poking through my shirt. My legs and hips now were muscled and curved. My no-longer-slim figure now had a hint of femininity to it.

Priya entered dressed in her work-out clothes a minute later, her hair styled neatly in two thick braids with curls poking out on the ends.

“Ready?” she asked, winking at me. I chuckled. It was never a good sign that Priya was deviously smiling at me before sparring. She was going to kick my butt and she was excited for it. But I taunted her back.

“Bring it on.”

We sparred for a while, Priya correcting my moves, knocking the breath out of me with each of her steps. She moved so gracefully. Each move was a calculated motion with a deliberate goal behind it. Even if I managed to throw a move past her guard, she always managed to get me back.

“You miss because you are gloating half the time,” she said while we were getting a drink. “You need to stop being so surprised each time you land a blow.”

She took another sip.

“You need to be more confident. Feel entitled to it.”

“Entitled to break someone’s nose?” I raised my brows at her in amusement.

“Yes, Freckles, entitled to break their nose, smash their balls or tits and make their life a crying hell until they quit it. You are entitled to all of that, so act like it,” she grudged back.

I never felt entitled to anything in my life. Tuluma made it perfectly clear that it was by the grace of gods I was still alive and since I was human filth, I was nothing—entitled to nothing. As a kid, I might have tried to defy that, but Fate had a way to show the truth of that statement.

“It’s hard for me to feel that way.” I laid the truth barren.

“Well, figure that stuff out, Freckles. Life will keep taking from you until you stop giving to it. You will never succeed if you don’t think you deserve it.” She took another sip of water. “So, when you smash my guts next time, remember you earned it, you deserve it, and you keep going until I am dead.” She wiped a few drops of sweat off her brow, both of us burning red from the heat. “You are entitled to feel good in this life, to enjoy it fully. To say, fuck you Fate, I am in charge now.”

That primal, wild part of me roared in agreement with her. I had given up so much with nothing in return, small slivers of happiness and joy ripped from me after only a glimpse.

But how could I ever feel content and happy knowing that while I lounged and ate my weight in divine food each day, slaves were dying, and people were starving?

In the twisted works of Fate, I was here and not with Viyak. I was alive and well, even after I encountered and escaped the Destroyers, the Royals, the Kahors; and I was now training to become an assassin.

I was grateful and humbled to be lucky enough to be free; to be able to run in the mornings and never stop; to be able to sleep in comfort and never worry where my next meal would be; to be able to stroll down to the market and shops and spend money that I now had.

I couldn’t say fuck you all. Not when I believed that most of it was not from my well doing but a twist of luck—a generous gift of Fate.

“Ugh, you are getting lost in your depressing thoughts again,” Priya whined, rolling her eyes. “Let me know when you are done ‘pondering’ and ready to actually do shit.”

She walked down to the large table in the armory. Walls surrounding it were covered in all manner of weapons, starting with small daggers and knives, cross bows of all kinds, axes, swords, bows, and arrows. The armory had it all.

Across the large table was the target wall, covered with a very thick material, in all matter of scars, damaged from so many ruthless practices.

“I wasn’t lost,” I countered. “I was just thinking that I can’t say ‘Fuck you, Fate’ when it was her that brought me to you,” I said, picking up a medium-sized crossbow and loading it with thick arrows.

“You are giving a dead Goddess too much credit,” Priya said, throwing a knife straight into the bullseye.

“But...” I started, but Priya didn’t let me finish.

“The way I remember it, it was you who planned the escape, you who fought the soldier, you who were swimming in the cold river. It was you who survived slavery. I don’t remember Fate doing anything there to help.”

“Yes, but... ”

“Let’s also not forget that Fate was the one who put you in slavery to begin with.” I frowned. She chucked another knife into the male mannequin used as a practice target, launching it straight into his balls. “You are so eager to give Fate all the credit for the good, and yet pin anything bad as your fault. It’s really stupid.”

“It’s not that simple,” I opposed.

“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 was sure 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.

My body might have been becoming an assassin machine, my mind sharp and clear, but my soul?

No.

No amount of food or sleep or training could ever fix that.