Page 6 of Shadows and Roses (The Dark Queens #1)

Three weeks into his new, dread-inducing life, he sat in the gardens with a lovely girl from the House of Light. ‘Lovely’ was too plain a word to describe her: young, lithe, as beautiful as the sunrise. Her skin was honey-gold, her long hair a lustrous bronze. She strummed a golden harp with delicate fingers, the sound drifting gently over a circle of chattering nobles.

Even Castien admired her—professionally, of course. Of the three High Houses in the Night Courts, he found those of the House of Light most soothing. Innocence and beauty were their specialty; Lily was a fine example. They had almost purchased his bond, but decided his disposition, even at a young age, fit better with Shadows. The last House, Twilight, was primarily for those who wanted to share their experiences; they’d spoken with him, flattered him, and found him inexplicably unsuitable. He was never offered to the lower Houses.

Lily was the latest of several House courtesans paraded through the palace since his arrival. A guard hovered near her. Much safer that way. He expected to resent her for the protection, but he was glad. No one should suffer the court’s insanity.

The nobles actually complained to him of his fellow courtesans’ high fees, how their guards never left them alone, and how constraining the unnecessary rules were. The House rules were just fine while within the Houses, but in the palace? Apparently, it offended their delicate sensibilities to relinquish control.

The nobles’ restraint was fraying, and it showed .

Castien sat nearby, accompanying her on a lyre. It was a simple, light instrument that he’d mastered easily. He’d been keeping an eye on the now-drunk lordling who had dropped Lily at the harp earlier in the evening. The man had been emphasizing his words with a small knife for hours and was beginning to glance at the girl.

The noble caught the girl’s eye and gestured. "Come here, Lily. I want to see how you look with short hair." His blade waved unsteadily in the air.

Lily obliged but spoke softly as she bent to kneel before him. "My lord. You asked to be reminded of additional expenses. Damaging or cutting my hair is a hundred gold, my lord."

Flushing a dark red, he hissed, "Shut your mouth, whore!" He slapped her, his knife slicing across her face.

Lily’s guard lunged, deftly grabbing the noble and restraining his knife-hand. The lord grunted and struggled. "Get your hands off of me! Do you know who I am, you useless tinhead!"

The guard didn’t move. "Please drop the knife, my lord."

"I will do what I want! Release me!"

"Her blood fee is a thousand gold. The House of Light thanks you for your donation. Your contract does not permit you to harm her further. Drop the knife, my lord."

Death would be fifty times that, at least. A small fortune for her life, but far from the highest price. His own death fee was five hundred thousand, but he was an exception in the House of Shadows. Most of the higher fees were claimed by the House of Light. Beauty and youth were not things that could be trained.

Lily remained silent and still as a thin trickle of blood oozed from the cut. It appeared shallow and should heal without a mark. Scarring a face like hers was almost as expensive as death. Castien’s cheek was healed, but he wondered if anyone had attempted to collect a blood fee from the Queen.

The noble scowled as he stopped struggling. He eyed the girl, squinting and blinking. "Fine, fine. Just let me go."

The guard returned to his post, but the noble hesitated. He stared at his knife as though not quite certain what he was doing with it. His lips moved, mumbling quietly, "If I purchase your bond, I could do whatever I want."

The girl flinched.

A burst of laughter came from the lady beside him. "Stop talking with your cock, Lord Mardrelan. You don’t have the purse to back it up."

The lord grimaced and his knife clattered to the ground. He waved Lily away.

Was that all that mattered to these people? Lives worth no more than gold. And so those who had no contracts or protection were worth nothing. Would this Lord Mardrelan find a servant girl as his next victim? No one would stop him then.

Castien had been considering passing on a message to the Master of his House. There were still too many questions unanswered, the terms of his contract unheard of, his freedom that should be moons away… A ray of sun caught the knife’s edge, and Castien caught his tongue.

—

The next morning, the dining hall was quiet. Few were the nobles who rose with the sun, though the Queen sat in her usual seat. She seemed to breakfast here a few days a week, always when the hall was half-empty. Often when he was able to steal an early morning, he felt her eyes following him.

Her expression rarely changed. The expressions of her companions were similarly cold and blank. Escorts. He wondered what they were to her. Advisers? There was the council for that. Servants? They held themselves like nobility, not commoners. The stern-faced, armored man always standing behind her was undoubtedly a guard. Then there was the sharp-eyed steward. The rest, he could only guess.

Today, the steward sat with her, an older man whom Castien imagined could have a kindly smile, if he were capable of smiling. He hadn't played the Queen's game while she'd been away. A single death had been met with a public whipping, yet the nobles hadn’t seemed more than superficially annoyed. Whether it was an act of kindness or efficiency, Castien preferred the steward.

Castien quickly filled a plate and found an empty table. Food wasn't allowed in the training area, or he'd eat there. The Courtesan’s Halls only sporadically had provisions this early in the morning. Breakfast was often a rushed affair before he could escape into relative safety. At least the fare was good. Spiced succulent fish with freshly baked bread and watered ale today. Probably more fish for lunch and dinner, but he liked fish, and the chefs' herbs and spices were excellent. Sometimes it was the small things.

Niko sat across from Castien, picking at his bread and flicking a wary gaze to the nobles.

Castien leaned in. "The Escort sitting with the Queen—"

"I told you not to bother with them."

Smiling soothingly, Castien murmured, "I only wish to know his name. That would be good to know, wouldn’t it?"

The man frowned, darted a glance at the Escort in question, and paled. "Count Vern," he whispered. "That’s the count. He served the last Queen, and he’s… You really should stay far, far away from him." Twisting his lips, Niko shook his head. "I’ll see you at the tr aining yard. Don’t want to be late."

Castien glanced over his shoulder. The count’s cold eyes pinned him for a second, then moved on. It was the look of a viper amongst this nest of seething, venomous snakes. Castien returned to his food. The rumors didn’t know what to make of Count Vern. He shouldn’t rely on rumors anyway.

A pair of guards dragged a naked, limp girl into the hall. Her body was splotchy with bruises, and she could barely stand when they stopped before the Queen. Murmurs rose from the nobles after they passed, a few pointing at the girl's back.

One of the guards gave their prisoner a hard shake before speaking. "We found this little mouse sneaking about last night. She tried to stab me, so we questioned her until she showed us this mark on her rump."

They turned the girl around and shoved her to her knees. Seared into her flesh was the image of a blazing sun, its nine points outlined in red.

"A Nadraken spy," one of the nobles hissed.

The girl roused herself and turned her head. "I-I'm not a spy! I was lost… and— and he startled me! I'm sorry!"

The guard holding her down shook her again and snarled, but the Queen interrupted.

"Then what are you? Why do you wear the mark of our sister nation?" she crooned. To an untrained ear, her voice might sound soft and melodious, but he knew better. Cold, distant, uncaring.

For a few moments, the girl only whimpered and cowered. Then she burst out, "I'm a slave! I belong to… a lord. He just purchased me, I don't remember his name. Truly!"

The other guard muttered, "That's not what you told me last night, girl. We don't have slaves in Drantar. Did you lie to me? Or to my Queen? "

The girl shrank as he grasped her chin. Tears began to run down her face and she quivered. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Please," she whispered.

"Tell the Queen why you’re here," he commanded.

She sobbed, gasping out her words. "I'm supposed to… they gave me the knife and said it's poisoned. They said if I… if I just cut a few… children… they'd let my family go. A life for a life… Please!"

The nobles' murmurs gained a sharp, shocked tone. Perhaps there was a line even they didn't cross.

"And what does the poison do?" the same guard coaxed.

"They… they said it's from a snake. And that if I cut myself, I'd wish I was dead long before it killed me."

"Yet you intended to inflict this on children." Hard ice coated the Queen's tone, her nobles glaring and hissing at the girl.

"I-I didn't have a choice—!"

"I've heard enough. Send her back to Nadraken." She took a sip of her wine with a faint look of disgust.

"Alive?" A frown marred the guard’s brow.

The Queen's lips slowly curved but her eyes held dangerously sharp ice.

"Broken."

"No!" Shrieking, the girl twisted in a desperate attempt to escape. The nobles laughed.

A knife flashed, the blade small and oddly curved. The guard holding her struggled to keep her still, but once the girl saw the knife, she flinched and froze. Perhaps she should have tried harder.

The rest of her movements were quickly obscured by a few eager nobles with blades in hand, like sharks drawn to blood.

The Queen beckoned the two guards who had been pushed aside by the nobles. One of her Escorts, the stern-faced man in armor, carefully took the odd knife from the guards. She examined it.

Her voice was quieter, no longer addressing the hall but it still carried; Castien was close enough and the room empty enough. And somehow quiet enough, despite the muffled screams coming from the pile of silks.

"A Nadrakenan knife. Have the venom tested, Captain." The captain bowed and left the hall.

"Well done, boys," she crooned at the two guards, then nodded at a nearby man dressed in silvery white silks and wearing a single bracer. He stepped forward to hand a small jingling pouch to each of the guards.

They bowed deeply before leaving the hall, veering around a slowly spreading trickle of blood.

Castien abandoned his plate. The Queen seemed not at all bothered by the carnage, but he could no longer swallow another bite.

The food did not sit well. Blood may be commonplace at the palace, but he doubted he would ever become hardened to the sight. That night, he dreamed of a girl screaming, her head attached to nothing, and all the pieces of her body scattered around him. Two more sleepless nights passed, his dreams plagued by death and blood and screams.

—

He stayed awake last night to dodge the horrifying images his mind conjured while asleep. His days were no less exhausting. As he stumbled out of his room, the Master of Courtesans happened to glance over. A gasp of horror and he rushed to Castien's side, his fingers dancing over his face, brushing under his eyes. "Oh, no, this won’t do. You must see a healer this instance. Straight to the healer’s hall with you. Go on, before someone sees you."

"I’m fine—"

"Go. Right now!" Marlow glared at him, hand curling on his dagger. Castien sighed and headed toward the healer's hall.

The strong scent of herbs and earth greeted him as he approached the hall. It was surprisingly quiet. He'd expected a constant stream of bloodied and broken bodies, but only a few of the cots were occupied. Perhaps they stumbled or were dragged in later at night, after the nobles fell asleep.

A young woman in blue robes approached, took his name and request, then disappeared behind a side door. Castien sat in one of the several chairs lined up against the wall next to the entrance. Ten cots were arrayed on opposing sides of the room with a red cloth hung over a metal bar separating them. Red to make the bloodstains easier to ignore, he guessed.

Two patients lay next to each other, talking quietly across the opened cloth. One's leg was bound and the other had an arm injury. They seemed otherwise fine; the tone of their conversation sounded casual. Another patient lay on his stomach with strips of cloth across his back. Every few seconds, he shifted and whimpered. Jesamin had been on that cot a few weeks ago.

The woman in blue stepped back into the room and addressed Castien. "Escort Octavius will see you."

"An Escort? For me?" He frowned. Why would one of the Queen’s personal attendants be here?

"Yes. Master Octavius is a good healer. Don’t keep him waiting," she said before moving toward the man on his stomach.

A Master Healer as Escort must be the Queen’s personal healer. Castien would prefer to avoid that pit of poison, but encountering them was an inevitability.

Or perhaps this man was a Master-at-arms. Upon entering the room, Castien recognized the gruff countenance and stout figure that was often present in the practice circles, sparring or training soldiers. Both a warrior and a healer. The military was relatively safe, if overeager in their training methods—perhaps this man was an exception amongst the Escorts.

The Master didn’t look up from the papers in his hands as Castien entered the room. Castien bowed deeply anyway.

"Sit." Octavius' voice matched his appearance in a low, almost angry growl. "Master Marlow sent you here for not sleeping well?"

"That is correct, sir."

"Why?" He finally raised his head, staring directly into Castien’s eyes. The cold frown seemed a permanent fixture on this man’s face. They were also the eyes of a predator.

"I’m… adjusting slowly, I think. The nobles demand more than I’m accustomed to." More than should be allowed.

"Are they harming you? You can walk fine. Any injuries?" Dark eyes briefly flickered over his body in a detached examination.

"No, sir." None worth mentioning. Even in his House, he suffered the occasional scratch.

"Any adverse reactions to the contraceptives?"

"No, they're the same as the Night Courts’."

"Then what is so difficult, boy?" he snapped.

Castien frowned. Was this man somehow oblivious to the court’s activities or so hardened to it that he didn’t find the injuries on his patients alarming?

Octavius thrust out his arm and smacked his bracer. "Do you know what this means? I’m an Escort. I answer only to the Queen. Whatever a noble commands does not apply to me. Talk. "

That hadn't been his concern; he doubted the courtiers cared what he said. Glancing at the bracer, Castien matched Octavius’ irritated stare.

"They butchered a servant in the nobles’ apartments last week. She screamed—did the Queen hear it? Does her death ‘count’? And the slave girl from Nadraken—is she dead as well? Did they tear her apart right there in the dining hall? Why does the Queen—" The words poured from his lips, hot and angry. He stopped as Octavius’ eyes turned cold.

The Master returned to his papers, his tone unbothered. "But you are uninjured."

That’s all he had to say? "Yes."

The man's lips twisted in a grimace. "I can't do anything for the dead, boy, and neither can you. Put them from your mind. Come to me if anyone harms you. The Queen doesn't like her property damaged."

"The servants aren’t her property?"

"No. Servants and courtesans belong to the palace. You're special, Night Court boy. Be glad of it. Now get out."

He was glad to leave this heartless bastard’s presence. Before Castien reached the door, the Escort spoke again.

"Don't spread rumors about the dead girl. The servants don't need more to frighten them."

His fists clenched. Castien turned a glare at the Escort. "Do you somehow think they don’t already know? They probably all know before your precious Queen—"

"Watch your tongue, boy. The Queen won't mind if I strip your backside."

Castien shut his mouth and bowed stiffly.

Halfway to his room, his temper cooled enough to review the encounter. The Escort had not been cruel, only harsh. Perhaps his trade had, of necessity, made him callous to daily cruelty. And not adding to the atmosphere of fear and horror could be a kindness. Wondering why he was justifying the Escort's words, Castien tidied himself up as best he could for the day.