Page 8 of Maneater

Torhiel, the land of devils, was where my mother had been born. It was a truth I would carry to my grave.

If anyone ever discovered that secret ran through my veins, we’d both be condemned.

I don’t think she ever meant for me to find out.

But during one of her episodes, she began to chant a strange poem in a lilting voice.

She danced barefoot at the edge of the dying forest behind our cottage, her mind lost to something far beyond reach.

The ballad chilled me, every word etched into my memory:

In shadows deep, where ancient whispers roar,

My life, my soul, my spirit, are cursed forevermore.

Home by blood, Mother by oath, her dark secrets are stored,

In death, I return to Torhiel once more, settling her score.

I winced and massaged my temples in slow, steady circles.

The contraceptive tonic from the brewmasters always left me drained, my mind dulled and aching.

After returning from Gadriel’s chambers just before dawn, I’d spent the early chimes pacing my room, turning over every possible angle of his upcoming departure from Hyrall.

His refusal to bring me had become more than a disappointment, it was a deadline, and it loomed closer with every breath.

Still, I tried to see it not as a setback.

The more I thought about it, the more I realized, this was the closest I’d ever been to freedom here.

If I could just convince Gadriel to take me, even under the guise of servitude, I might be able to reach the outskirts, pass through Brier Len, and vanish into the wild.

I’d heard there were places in the woods where no man dared tread.

Hidden places. Free places.

That’s where I’d run first.

I glanced out the window toward the western tower. My day was about to begin, measured, as always, by the ringing of the castle’s bell tower. Each deep chime dictated my schedule: bathing, breakfast, reading, lunch, afternoon activities, supper, the courtesan quarters, service, and sleep.

It only sharpened the edge of the loneliness I already carried.

The next bell was moments from tolling. Soon, the guard outside would arrive to escort me to the dining hall.

In a rush, I reached for an inkwell and a sheet of parchment.

With swift, practiced strokes of the quill, I penned a short note, scanned it once, then folded it cleanly.

I tapped on the door before slipping the note underneath on the stone floor.

Sir Karst’s armor rattled as he crouched to retrieve the note, followed by the crinkle of parchment and a sharp exhale. I pressed my ear to the wooden door and caught the fading echo of his footsteps. Satisfied, I settled into my chair and waited.

Ten minutes later, the door unlocked. A kitchen servant stepped inside, balancing a platter. Her hands trembled as she set it down on the table, eyes fixed on the floor. The staff was still uneasy, likely haunted by my previous guard’s execution months ago.

She left without a word.

I rose slowly and approached the tray. As requested: cured meats, preserved fruits, and a generous loaf of bread. I took a small portion for myself, just enough to satisfy my hunger, then carefully divided the rest. Each piece was wrapped in silk and tucked into a chest, set aside for later use.

Drafting a note to feign stomach illness was easy. The gods knew I’d emerged unwell after an impassioned service more than once. I could likely use that excuse once or twice more before the fortnight ended. Still, doubt crept in, would it be enough?

I shook it off. There would be time to adjust the plan if needed. For now, my focus had to remain on finding a way into Gadriel’s travel plans.

Even the smallest step mattered.

For now, this would have to do.

I could speak to the other courtesans, though I had little desire to.

Consorts and courtesans held an odd place in Hyrall’s order. We were granted rank, but never truly respected. We were close enough to power to unsettle the nobility, yet not far enough removed to be dismissed outright. Some saw us as little more than decoration or tools of the Crown.

Leya, Rosette, and Imogen might say otherwise, but ours was a gilded world. Visible, but never accepted.

Sometimes, I wished that same distance applied to our interactions with each other. It would spare me their jealousy.

“You missed breakfast this morning,” Leya said, her eyes narrowing.

“I did,” I replied.

“Care to explain your absence?”

“No. ”

“I see.” A delicate frown touched her otherwise flawless brow. “Then I can only assume the prince is beginning to tire of you.”

I put down the book that was resting in my palm and leveled my eyes with her own.

“My absence was owed to the demands of a role you’ve yet to achieve,” I said. “The prince is always satisfied, no matter how often he calls for me in a night.”

Leya’s face flushed crimson, her cheeks puffing with envy.

I don’t fault her for harboring resentment toward me. Gadriel hand selected her first out of the four of us, after all. It’s a difficult thing to feel replaced, and that feeling is intensified when you’re constantly measuring yourself against another.

Among all of the prince’s courtesans, Leya bore the closest physical resemblance to me. Instead of my wavy raven hair, she had loose, brunette curls, and her dark, ochre eyes competed with the gleam of my obsidian ones.

Once I escaped this place, I’d gladly pass the crimson tassel to her.

My first week in Hyrall felt like a waking nightmare.

I’d never felt so lost in my life. Leya, a viper in her den, was the worst of it.

There was no shelter from her venomous behavior.

It’s astonishing how Rosette and Imogen still stick close to her despite her cruel nature.

Because, they too, have felt the sting of her white-hot temper.

The look she gave me now was the same one she wore a year ago. I remember it well.

The day after Gadriel dismissed her and the others, Leya cornered me.

She stormed through the courtesans’ quarters, weaving between velvet sofas and lacquered tables with a fury that made heads turn. Her steps were sharp, her focus deadly. When she reached me, I’d just turned from the window, startled by the sound of her heels on the stone. My heart leapt.

She jabbed a manicured finger into my chest.

“You,” she snarled, “you despicable skirts-slug.”

I blinked. “I—I’m sorry…”

“You are nothing but a lowborn, nameless consort,” she spat, twisting the title like it soured her tongue. “What are you hiding from us?”

I drew back slightly, eyes wide. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Leya sneered. “Play the fool if you like, but I see through your dewy act. The prince has never dismissed a courtesan in the middle of service.” Her voice cut through the room. “His Highness has never sent me away.”

Leya seized the sleeve of my dress and yanked, her nails grazing my skin as she tried to rip the fabric from my shoulders. I recoiled instinctively, wrapping my arms around myself as I stepped back, heart racing.

“What witchcraft did you use on the prince?” she demanded. “I’ve heard the rumors about the savagery that festers in the outskirts. Your kind will stoop to anything, no matter how vile, to claw your way upward.”

“You’re mistaken?—”

“Spare me your innocence,” she hissed. “Everyone knows what lives in those twisted woods you crawled out of. The hag who plays with bones and shadows. The one who speaks to devils in the dark. That’s where you come from, isn’t it?”

She must be referring to Mad Mag. The so-called witch of Brier Len.

“That’s absurd,” I managed to say. “There are no devil-worshipers in Brier Len.”

Leya stepped closer, her eyes glittering with fury. “There’s devil-blood in your veins. I can feel it.”

“There isn’t,” I answered, this time more firmly. I lifted my chin. “I’m no different than you.”

She recoiled, disgust rippling across her face. “How dare you compare the rot of Brier Len to the blood of Hyrall? You’re a madwoman.”

I said nothing. My lips stayed pressed together, silence my only defense.

“You’ll regret ever setting foot in this place, slug. You don’t belong here.”

And the truth of it echoed in my chest, hollow and final.

She was right.

I didn’t belong here.

But I didn’t belong anywhere anymore.

“It wasn’t my choice to come here,” I said.

“All the more reason to send you back,” she snapped.

With one last hateful glance, Leya turned and walked away.

My eyes hardened as I stared back out the window at the falling snow. I told myself that it would get better. It would just take time.

And it did get better.

Funny how things change when you find the courage to strike the viper back.

Now, as I watched Leya shrink before me, I wondered if she ever realized her cruelty only sharpened my will to see her fall. I’d made myself a promise a year ago that I wouldn’t be the timid woman I once was.

And I wasn’t. Not anymore.

This transformation came at a price, and only time would reveal the cost of it.

So, I twisted the knife further. “His Highness gifted me another robe last night. ”

Leya’s breath caught sharply, and Rosette’s shoulders quivered. Imogen cowered further behind her book.

“It’s beautiful,” I said with a biting emphasis. “That makes thirteen.”

Leya’s throat bobbed with barely contained rage. “You witch…”

Her tone was thick with both disbelief and hatred.

“I’m no witch, Leya,” I said, tilting my head. “I’m simply better than you.”

Leya clenched the silk fan in her hand so tightly that her knuckles turned white. With a sharp flick, she snapped it open, staring at its embroidery like it might offer her dignity.

“I hate you.”

“That’s irrelevant to me.”

“I know.” Her voice wavered. “But why? What makes you so special? Why does he choose you every night?”

“Only His Highness can answer that.”

Rosette shifted uneasily, her voice barely above a whisper. “Because of you, we’ve been entirely forgotten, not just by the prince, but by all of Hyrall.”

“None of us are acknowledged by Hyrall, Rosette.”

“No, Odessa,” she said, sitting straighter. “You don’t understand. Leya, Imogen, and I… we come from highborn families. We were ladies of the court, daughters with connections, with futures. Becoming royal courtesans was once considered a noble sacrifice. A duty. That was before you arrived.”

I listened in silence as she continued.

“Now we’re nothing more than ornamental pets, forced to live in your shadow. We’re meant to be quiet, beautiful, and obedient, but what use is that if we’re no longer permitted to serve?”

There was no nobility in the life I’d been forced into.

I shifted my stare to Rosette .

“You were aware of the expectations for a royal courtesan before you signed your contract, weren’t you?”

“Yes,” Rosette said through tight lips.

“And you agreed to them. You understood the terms, the constraints, the life you were choosing.”

“I did,” she admitted.

“Then it seems your problem isn’t with the contract. What you didn’t foresee, Rosette, was that a lowborn consort like me would rattle your ranks.” I dismissed her with a wave. “And frankly, I’ve no interest in your complaints.”

“You’re a spiteful bitch,” Imogen spat.

I turned to her. “Think what you like, Imogen.”

Imogen glared. “Go back to your books and keep hiding behind that reclusive act.”

“If that’s how you see it, it makes no difference to me,” I responded.

I closed the book in my lap and rose from my seat. It was a cruel whim of Gadriel’s to force the four of us into these “activities,” so he claimed, to keep us entertained. I would have much rather spent my time alone in the library.

Instead, I was trapped in this room twice a day with the others, condemned to useless tasks, needlework, dancing, flower-gathering, chess, whatever drudgery the court thought suitable for royal consorts and courtesans.

I miss the wild of the woods.

I miss Brier Len.

A sudden wave of longing swept over me, so fierce it stunned me.

I often thought of my life before Hyrall, but never had the pull toward the forest felt so consuming.

It only made my reality feel more suffocating.

Even if I did escape, there’d be no sanctuary waiting for me.

Gadriel would hunt me, and Brier Len would be the first place he’d look.

The other girls had no understanding of the world beyond these castle walls. But I did. I knew what I was after was out there, and I would give anything to reach it, no matter the cost.

“What’s wrong with you?” Imogen’s voice cut in sharply.

“Her mind’s finally rotted from the devil-blood inside her,” Rosette muttered.

Leya gave a quiet laugh, hiding it behind her open silk fan. “It’s only a matter of time before we find out what you’re hiding, Odessa. And when we do, you’ll wish you’d never stepped foot in this castle.”

Too late for that, I already do.

I turned from them without a word and walked away.