Page 4 of A Broken Promise (the Freckled Fate #1)

4

D imitrii hastily pulled me down a poorly lit hall. Small torches on the walls were now no more than charcoals. I still didn’t dare to fully raise my eyes, only chancing small, hidden glimpses to count the doors and stairs, watch the pathways and listen to the stomping of guards’ boots.

I took a long breath as we finally stopped; the air was heavy and humid. Two maids stood by, close to the wall. One was about my age, tall and slender. Her neatly made bun looked so pristine and clean. Right next to her stood an older lady. Her hair was cut short, down just slightly past her ears. Wrinkles and a cold look covered her face. They both wore the same uniform, with a small, white headband tying it together.

We had arrived at a bathing chamber, I realized, as I noticed a towel in their hands.

We were just a few more steps away from the maids when Dimitrii grabbed my arm painfully tight and whispered into my ear, “Don’t worry, bitch. I’ll come see you later tonight and have you moaning ‘yes, my Lord’ to me.” His mouth stretched into a wicked sneer.

Blood left my face at those words. I glared at him, but he was only delighted at the fear in my eyes. I yanked my arm, but he just held on to it tighter. A rush of adrenaline made my knees shake.

Once. I allowed the wave of panic to run through me for once.

I survived this far, and I will survive more , I assured myself a second later.

How?

I had no answer to that.

I might not be a Magic Wielder, but I had time and I would think of something. I would figure it out. Maybe the maids would help me.

Viyak always said that sometimes support comes from the most unexpected places and I had to believe that now, because I was alone.

So completely alone.

I took a low breath—almost a snarl—and stared at his eyes again. This time, refusing to let fear come to the surface.

Even if Fate decided against me today, even if it deemed me worthy of the punishment. Even then, I would endure.

At the request of the maids, he unshackled the heavy chains around my ankles. I recoiled at his possessive, lingering touch. Thoughts of Dimitrii forcing himself on me, and the impending doom of the night approaching, made me want to puke.

I took a small step and almost fell. For the first time in three-hundred-ninety-six days, I was free of rusty shackles on my feet and wrists. I took another step, this time more confidently. My feet were too light. I felt so unbalanced. My arms flopped around in an odd manner without the heavy weight of iron. The younger maid insisted on taking off the rope from my neck as well, though Dimitrii hesitated at first.

I was immediately grateful for her.

This bathing chamber was different from what I expected. It was on the bottom level of the Rock Manor, with just two small windows. Dim lighting was provided from bronze braziers and a large fireplace. Two bulky, circular tubs stood right next to each other. Clouds of steam piled above one of them and all manner of oils and salts were lined up on the small stool right next to them.

“I hope you don’t have any attachment to these rags you are wearing, because I am throwing them in the fire,” the old maid gently said, pulling my clothes off. I nodded my head in agreement. I knew I shouldn’t, yet as I watched her throw my clothes into the small fire pit not too far from me, my lip trembled as I fought back the tears.

No, I knew the grimy, stiff-from-dirt scraps that I called clothing couldn’t be saved. They weren’t even actual clothes, only two linen cloths tied together in a makeshift dress. It served as the unofficial uniform of the Rock Quarries’ slaves. Stripped upon arrival of all their possessions, slaves were given a pair of thin gray pants and a shirt. After only weeks of working, the clothes ripped, leaving the slave's bodies at the mercy of the harsh elements. With no other clothes available, we were allowed to take old linen sacks used to transport the slop we ate. Year after year, the slaves wore that. I wore that. Viyak wore that. The harsh linen was rough against the skin, but it was thick and kept our bodies protected.

I swallowed a lump in my throat as I realized that those burning threads were the one and only thing I had left connecting me to Viyak; to the last year of my life. I never had many possessions. In fact, I only ever cared about two: a large necklace with the eye-shaped green stone from Tuluma, and the very first copper coin I ever earned myself. It was a mere penny, but it was everything to me. The first money I had ever had. The first feeling of control. I kept it for good luck and as a reminder that I could do something with my life.

Though looking back, clearly the coin was a sham of a Goodluck charm, because it was probably rotting in the pocket of my clothes left back in the Quarries. The necklace was ripped off my chest by a so-called friend right before he chucked me into the slave wagon.

I watched the last of the clothes dissolve into ashes. Warm flames reflected in my moist eyes. Another part of my life burned, destroyed by fire.

Maybe it was for the best, I decided. There was no point in keeping anything, since it all would be taken anyway from me at one point or another.

I wiped away my tears discreetly, but the younger maid still noticed. Her face filled with sadness .

“Oh, dear. I am so sorry. I wish the world wasn’t such a cruel place,” she gently whispered as she gestured to the steamy tub. I didn’t care enough to nod my head to agree.

My heart beat rapidly and tiny beads of sweat pooled up on my face as I obediently followed the maid’s gesture into the tub. My body submerged in almost too hot of a bath. I paused for a minute, letting my body adjust as I slowly sat down.

Each sore muscle eased in the warm water. The delicious smell of oils and soaps now kissed my skin. I could fall asleep so easily right now; close my eyes and dive into the pure abyss.

The exhaustion weighed heavy on my eyes, soothing my racing mind. Close your eyes just for a minute , it purred to me. But each time I closed my eyes, each time I attempted to give in to that call, the terror of the upcoming unknown brutalized me.

“My name is Brita,” the young maid softly said as she scrubbed my back with some salts. I didn’t need to see her face as she paused by my scars, only brushing over them softly. I knew they were gnarly scars; I had seen the same scars on backs of many dead bodies at the Rock Quarry, the torn-out flesh eaten by gruesome infection.

“I am Finnleah,” I quietly replied.

“That’s an odd name.” Brita chuckled. I put on a strenuous smile. I might have hated my name growing up, but not anymore. Not ever again.

I was going to say that it was Elvish. It meant “blonde and courageous.” I often joked to myself that my Elf maid had a weird sense of humor, giving me an Elf name while living in human lands. But instead, I just shrugged back.

“I never had anyone wash me before,” I spat out. Not even sure why. I think I just hated the heavy silence more right now.

“Oh,” Brita awkwardly said, pausing for a moment, scrubbing my hands almost raw. The dirt and the calluses were now a part of me, just as much as those scars.

The old maid came up and pulled my freshly washed hair out of the water. It was so heavy that my neck almost snapped in half.

“We will have to cut this louse infested rats’ nest,” she grumbled, putting the hair back into the water. My head followed the pull until I rested it against the edge. I didn’t mind. Shave it all off, I almost said but paused. The maid chopped off my hair piece by piece until it was just slightly below my jaw.

The old maid took another look at my face and my gangly body. I braved a look back at her but didn’t meet her eyes. Meek and obedient. Still, the maid seemed to be more annoyed than concerned.

“Make sure you trim her nails very short so she can’t scratch, Brita,” she directed.

“Yes, ma’am,” Brita said, nodding. For a second, I contemplated asking her who I would be able to scratch, but I had lived long enough to understand that sometimes ignorance was bliss. Soon enough I’d know, but right now, I wouldn’t spoil the only and potentially last moment of peace.

Brita motioned for me to stand up. I rose, looking at the filthy black water left from bathing me. Notes of disgust and shame played within me. Even after living in filth—being filth—you never quite get used to it.

Wrapped in a plush, white towel, I followed Brita to a room just a few steps down the hall.

“This is going to be your room for the night.” She paused, avoiding looking at me as she added, “Until tomorrow.”

The nice, warm feeling wore off me immediately. I was ignorant long enough, I decided. Already regretting the words coming out of my mouth, I asked,

“Lord Inadios talked about someone coming tomorrow. Who is he?”

“Oh, my dear, you really don’t know?” She sorrowfully looked at me. I shook my head. “You are being gifted to the Destroyer General tomorrow,” Brita replied, almost wincing at a mention of his name.

My heart stopped and my body froze.

Destroyer General.

Destroyer.

General.

Destroyer .

Fate had a twisted sense of humor.

I had hidden and ran away from Destroyers for my entire life, only to be served on a silver platter to their General?

Gifted to the Destroyer General… to be tortured and killed; I finished the unspoken words.

Nobody considered Destroyers part of the Magic Wielders. No, they were brutal, merciless, bloodthirsty warriors, wielding the Cleansing Fire —the never ending flame that destroyed everything in its way.

Flames that burned souls .

Though not a flick of fire was in sight, I could still feel the burning ashes in my lungs, the screams of the villagers loud in my ears, Tuluma’s lifeless body and complete and utter despair.

I might have survived their massacre, but they destroyed a part of me that day.

Brita continued, adjusting pillows on the bunk beds.

“I am so sorry dear, I thought you realized that. Every time he comes, Lord Inadios tries to win him over by gifting him mages. Usually though, he sends over much younger girls and boys.”

My mouth went dry at those words.

No, don’t say it. Don't say it, Brita, my heart begged as she continued.

“We’ve almost always prepped little children for him to take.” She shrank at her own words.

I held onto the towel tighter, my knuckles turning white as I glanced at the room a second time.

The reality crushed me like a tiny bug.

A small, worn-out teddy bear lay on the neatly made bunk beds, a little carved horse right next to it. The narrow beds and the small blankets...

It was all for kids.

Children.

My blood heated like molten lava. Mages didn’t even get their powers until puberty.

They were innocent .

They were pure children, cursed by blood tinged with magic.

I stopped mid breath as the old maid’s request to cut my nails short to stop from scratching replayed within me.

There was no salvation for whoever he was.

I took another look at Brita, my eyes not hiding the shock, begging her to say this was all a lie. But she didn’t return my stare.

No, damn them all. They stood there, complicit, as children were tortured and destroyed? I closed my eyes, summoning the calmness and letting that anger, that hatred, simmer deep in my soul.

Tears didn’t come. They wouldn’t come, because the atrocities didn’t scare me.

They scarred me.

I opened my eyes a second later, replacing shock with determination. In that single blink, I promised myself, the universe, the gods above, and the cruel Lady Fate that I would kill him.

I wasn’t sure how or when, but I would kill the Destroyer General.