Page 22 of A Cursed Son

Otavio smirks, perhaps thinking I’m giving the answer expected of me, which makes sense.

But then, what is it that I seek?

I stare at myself in my vanity mirror as I apply salve on my face, my cheeks warm and red under my fingers. My shame. Otavio warned me that the skin might peel if I’m not careful.

My newly acquired tan means no assignments for me anytime soon—as if they sent me anywhere when I was hiding under the shade. Not much changed.

No. Everything changed, and yet I struggle to pinpoint what everything is.

As I stare in the mirror, something catches my eye. A small bag, sitting on my dresser. The drusils! They don’t tend to go bad, at least not in two days, so they are still a good gift. I hope Tarlia is alone this time.

Slowly, I take the familiar path on the ledge, steadying myself on the stones on the wall.

Tarlia opens the window for me with a smile that gets even wider when she sees the drusils, followed by a grimace. “I fear I’m going to puke if I eat them, but I want to eat them. What do you suggest?” She takes the package from my hand.

I enter her room and say, “They should still last?—”

Tarlia already put one in her mouth.

“Life’s short,” she says while still chewing, then adds, “If I get sick again, at least it’s another day resting.”

I glance at some books on her bed.

“You were studying?”

“Had some catching up to do.” She then turns serious. “You saw me, didn’t you?”

I know what she’s asking. She and Fachin. “I didn’t mean to. I got the drusils for you, and?—”

“It’s fine. Just… can you not tell anyone?”

“I wouldn’t.” I shake my head.

She takes a deep breath. “Do you really think they’ll let us go? One day? Give us a piece of land and our lives back?”

Our lives back. As if there had been anything before this castle and this tower. I know what she means, though: their promise of freedom if we finish our assignments. But then there’s another possibility.

“If Driziely were to marry, as herself, I believe we could be sent as her guards.”

Tarlia rolls her eyes. “As her maids, you mean. I just… I wish I could know. I wish I could have an answer. I can’t ask someone to run away with me, but I don’t want to have just forbidden moments in a bedroom.”

“Are you in love?”

“I can’t, can I?” She closes her eyes.

“We don’t choose.”

“We don’t choose anything, not even what we eat.” She grabs a drusil and smiles. “With some exceptions.” Despite her playful tone, I see a tear rolling down her face. She stares at me. “You like Quin, don’t you?”

I feel naked and exposed, but decide to be partly honest. “I wouldn’t say I like him. I don’t know him well. Of course he’s good-looking, but that’s it. And we don’t know where our lives will take us.”

She takes a deep breath. “Yes, there’s no future. But there can be some joy in the present.”

“I guess.” I smile but feel hollow. I’m not interested in Quin, not really. Not anymore. Maybe too much weirdness numbs one’s heart, or maybe I realized my actions were foolish. I’m wondering about Tarlia now. “If you love Fachin, I think you?—”

“There’s no love,” she interrupts me. “When you have no future, you have no love.” Her words are flat, as if rehearsed.

And yet I feel love when I think about my visions, and I wish I had never met Marlak, wish the visions had remained pure and perfect and comforting. They were everything I had.