Page 11 of The Bone King and the Starling

THE WOUNDED

T he sick feeling in my stomach will not be soothed as one of the king’s warriors closes the distance between us by half. He’s staring at the left side of my face and horror does not begin to touch his expression. Despite my earlier fury, standing beneath this foreign male now, I am immediately embarrassed, ashamed. Even the thralls who’ve taken a hundred times as many lashes as I have looked at me and winced this morning when I stepped into the kitchens.

“Has the king…” His voice gives out. He clutches his stomach like he’s about to be sick.

I momentarily blank, unsure of what he’s asking. “His Highness did not strike my face, my lord.”

His eyes round and he balks, “The king…He didn’t… Of course not…”

Oh. The thought that it would be so inconceivable for the king to strike me fills my stomach with a strange…fluttering. As sorry as they were for me, I don’t think any of my fellow thralls were surprised Rosalind struck me. They wouldn’t have been surprised if it had been Olec or Torbun, either. “I’m so sorry, my lord. I didn’t mean…”

He’s barely listening. He all but shouts, “You said the king did not strike your face — did the king hurt you elsewhere?”

I shake my head, but I…hesitate.

“Where?”

My lips tremble. I bite them between my teeth. I don’t dare answer.

“My lady, I will not be…displeased,” he seems to struggle to speak. “Not with you, but if you are further injured, I need to know where and to what severity.”

“I’m not injured, only…sore…” My voice is scarcely more than a whisper.

“Bruised?”

I nod.

“Severely?”

I don’t know. Perhaps not, but I’ve been forced to work all morning and the pains that might have been soothed with a morning’s rest or a hot bath are aching anew. I bite my trembling lips more firmly between my teeth and shrug.

“Fucking…” He releases a long string of curses before wildly gesturing one light brown hand at my right shoulder. I had recognized that several of the men that traveled with the king were not white, but closer to my color. Seeing one such male now so close to me is surprising. I’ve never encountered anyone who looked remotely akin to me, but here he is, concerned on my behalf. “And what is on your back? There’s blood there. Please tell me that it is not yours.”

I don’t respond, merely stare at the floor.

“Gods be damned. Gods be merciful.” He takes a step towards me and I immediately counter it with one of my own backwards steps. He stops his advance immediately and does not punish me for retreating from him. “Was it an accident or were you injured with intent?”

I keep my gaze rooted to his boots. “May I see, my lady?”

I don’t know what I find more shocking — that he asked me permission, or that he calls me his lady. I recoil straight into the wooden table. It clips my lower back, making me hiss.

He curses. “Apologies. I am so deeply sorry, my lady. That was extremely forward. Our healer will have a look at you — she’s female, if that assuages your concerns any.”

“Oh, I… Please don’t concern yourself, my lord.”

“It is too late for that, my lady. I am already concerned.”

“My friend Ebanora… Her mother can tend to me as soon as we finish preparing breakfast…”

The male scoffs like I’ve said something sacrosanct and comes to me. I have nowhere to go and flinch, fearing his ire, but he simply takes the staff of the large bread turner from my hands, sets it down and leans it against the table behind me.

“If I may be so bold as to ask, my lady, where are your shoes? The frost will catch you if you are walking around the village with bare feet.”

He is not as large a male as the king — I’ve not seen any males so large as he — but he is not a small male, either. Thinner, brawnier with hawkish, deep-set eyes and dark hair pulled back into a braided ponytail that hangs all the way down his midback, he is a fierce male to behold…but not frightening like the king, I realize. It’s because his reactions he wears on his sleeve. I can make sense of them. I know what he’s thinking.

The king, by contrast, reveals nothing. And it’s perhaps for that reason that I say, “You…you can look, if you’d like to, my lord.”

He winces and opens his mouth, but I turn and clutch my arms to my chest and bow my head forward. I shiver as he pushes my hair over one shoulder and tugs slightly on the wide collar of my shift.

He gasps, “You were lashed?”

I nod.

“For what?” He releases me.

I turn back around and hazard a glance at his face. I know better than to reveal anything, so I cryptically say, “For being with the king.”

“He has gone about this all wrong,” he spits, raking a hand roughly over his face, “and now, Ghabari is punishing him for it. And you. And me, too. The gods will have their sacrifice on this day.”

I am not so familiar with the god Ghabari, but from what I know…he collects sacrifices — human sacrifices only because his wife, Raya, does not allow him to touch the softer animals. They fall under her protection. I shudder.

“Who did this to you? We will need to offer them up if the rest of the world is to remain unscathed.”

He watches me expectantly but I say nothing. Because the strangest realization dawns on me in this moment. I may fear the king terribly, and his man here may intimidate me — but that is nothing compared to the sure and brutal death I know I will experience if I name Chief Olec’s most favored Rosalind and offer her up for any kind of punishment.

My fingers move to conceal my swollen cheek and I wince, shake my head and whisper, “You will punish them.”

“Yes. Terribly.”

“But…I’m sorry, my lord. Truly. I do not mean to deny you, but if you punish them…then you will leave. And I will suffer the retaliation. I would rather you let it be. It is not so bad compared to what will happen to me should I offer someone up to the king.”

My gaze has returned to the ground, but I still hear his weary exhalation. The man’s shoulders sag forward a moment before he whispers, “Come. We will have this out with the king now.”

“Please, my lord.” I shake my head and he softens, but only slightly.

“You don’t need to fear me, my lady,” he says.

I glance up as he slips his hand beneath my elbow. I am humiliated and afraid. I can see the other thralls nearby watching us. Elena is closest and she watches our interaction with a bewildered look on her face.

“I am a thrall, my lord. Not a lady. And truly, I’m fine. I appreciate the king sending you to check on me. You’ve been very kind.” I suck in a wet breath that catches in my throat, never making it past that barrier to reach my lungs. My whole body squeezes tight.

“I did not come to check on you, my lady. I came to escort you to the king. He would see you now. And since you are injured, I must insist on carrying you, my lady,” he says loudly, placing emphasis on the term in a way that feels like it’s not only for my benefit, but intended to be heard by everyone in the room. “I will not have you walking any longer with bare feet. I will endeavor to take care with your back.” He does not wait for my reply, but swings me up into his arms awkwardly, supporting only my knees and my side against his chest and my opposite un-lashed shoulder.

“You weigh not near as much as you ought to, my lady,” he mumbles, stomping out of the kitchens into the village square where all eyes are on us. I shiver because of the cold, because I do not know what’s going on… I know only that it cannot end well for me.

I remain curled in his arms as he stomps across the town square. He hails another of the king’s warriors — a woman — as she passes by the fountain. She’s only one of two women that I saw traveling with the king and when she and I accidentally exchange glances, she starts.

“That’s not…” She points at my face.

“It is,” the male holding me says, his eye twitching. I glance at my hands in my lap, trying to focus on keeping my stomach clenched so that I can hold myself upright. It hurts too much as it is to lean all of my weight on his arms. For as best as he attempts to hold me away from him, his arms still occasionally brush my new wounds.

“Gods help us,” she curses. “Have you called Hilde?”

“That’s what I was going to ask you to do.”

“Fuck,” she says and she doesn’t walk away — she runs. The male moves on.

I don’t deign to ask him to explain the female. I am shocked enough by his actions and now hers and pained enough by his arms pressing into all of my bruises and wounds that it is no great burden for me to remain silent as we pass through the open doors of the great hall.

The slightly warmer space envelops us, making me shiver against the contrast. There is a fire pit in the middle of the hall that was overrun by tables last night, but that is now being lit. Rushes are being gathered and pushed back against the walls. Tables are already set up — only four this time, forming a square around the fire pit, as most villagers will take their first meals at home.

The only people in the great hall at this hour are Chief Olec, Rosalind, their two unmarried daughters, Chief Olec’s top men and their families, the king and the fighting men and women he brought with him. Only the chief, Rosalind, the king and five additional men sit, at present, at the high table. They line one side, so it feels like a tribunal as the king’s man carries me to them.

I don’t dare look at the chief or meet Rosalind’s eye, but my treacherous gaze cannot be helped when it comes to King Calai. I glance at his face, feeling so strange being presented before him like this after what passed between us last night. It was so…intimate. A rare glimpse at a man of his power and rank as he became totally and utterly wild.

Now, he has returned to a state of composure. Relaxed back in his seat, a lazy smirk on his face that fades the moment our eyes meet. He’s swirling a pint of something — honey mead, perhaps? — but the motion of his wrist stills as his gaze sweeps my face fleetingly before moving to the male holding me, and then to my outstretched and bare feet.

He sets his cup down on the table, the motion deliberate, careful. His posture remains as it was, easy, not a care in the world. His expression is inscrutable as ever as it focuses on the warrior carrying me. There are muscles laced with tension standing out in his neck.

He does not speak.

“You enjoyed yourself last night then, my liege?” Chief Olec laughs in his deep chortle. I always found it pleasant. I don’t now, and tighten the clasp of my hands in front of my body.

The king still does not speak.

Chief Olec leans in towards the king and speaks in a mock whisper that carries across most of the hall. “I understand if you’d like to forego any favor you intended to bestow on her. It does not seem she was robust enough to withstand your desire. Perhaps we can find you a heartier female to warm your furs tonight.”

Olec’s words surprise me. Not only because they are cruel, but because it seems that he does not share the same designs as his wife to barter me off to the males of the village or, if he does, he does not seem so concerned about the fee that I am alleged to owe Tori. Tori had been…cruel when he came to speak to me of it earlier. I do not look forward to any time Tori and I may spend alone going forward…but, fearing Rosalind’s wrath and the quantity of coin she expects from me, I know better than to try to reject him.

The king still does not look at Chief Olec, but he does finally shift in his seat. He leans back even further, becoming more relaxed. He glances at my face, just once — at my cheek, not at my eyes — and his own expression tightens.

“Puhyo,” he barks, voice harder than I’ve ever heard it. Hard and mean. “Explain.”

“She is injured and she has no shoes. I bring her before you now to get to the bottom of it. My lady fears her attacker and will not name him.”

The king shoves away from the table hard enough that every glass that had been standing falls over. Ale and wine and water pour across the table’s wooden surface. The king, however, remains seated. “Where is Hilde?”

“Coming.”

“Bring my little bird here.”

Puhyo obeys the king’s order and brings me forward around the table, yet instead of depositing me in King Calai’s lap, as I believe the king intended, he sets me down on my feet a few feet away from the king. I cannot muffle my grunt as my feet light on the floor and Puhyo’s arm brushes the back of my shift.

“Apologies, my lady,” the male, Puhyo, says and before I can beg his mercy, he grips me by both shoulders and turns me around so that the king can see my back.

I don’t want anyone seeing what happened to my back. No one but Ebanora’s mother. She will care for it, because she is a good, kind woman with a healer’s gift. She has taught me some, but with the positioning of the wounds in the center of my back, I cannot get to them.

“Your lady?” Chief Olec chortles, his voice surprisingly slurred even though it is early morning yet. “That is quite an exaggeration.”

Both males ignore him. I don’t move. The sudden rush of air around me and the events of the past day — plus, my lack of breakfast — coalesces and makes me swoon.

Puhyo catches my elbow. “She is injured.”

The king says nothing, but I can hear the creak of the chair as he rises. There is a soft tugging on my hair, and another on my shift as the collar is loosened enough for him to inspect me.

“Her face was struck and here, on her back, she was lashed,” Puhyo says softly. “She is sore from your attentions, too. She walks with a limp.”

“A good bedding then! A maiden such as Starling here would undeniably walk askew for a few days after being roughed up by a male like you.” Chief Olec laughs.

Rosalind chimes in, “As my husband said, it is common with virgins. Your concern is honorable, but not necessary, my Liege. She is a thrall and I’m sure her aches and pains are nothing a few days’ time won’t fix, if that is your concern.”

I wince, humiliated. No one comes to my defense, not that I expect any of them to. It’s just…still dehumanizing being talked about like this and I feel that icy anger swirl. My toes bury themselves into the hard, cold ground, and then flex. I glance up at the table. Chief Olec is draining his glass. Rosalind is concentrating on her plate of food. Though I cannot see him from this angle, the king, behind me, seems frozen stiff.

“Who struck you, Starling?” I shiver as his breath caresses the curve of my ear through my hair. The pressure of enormously large, warm hands covers my shoulders — covers my entire upper arms. He squeezes me gently, grounding me and reminding me that he…he knows my name. The bone King of wrath knows of me.

Starling. That he uses it here and now in the great hall before the chief and his family fills me with confusion and a healthy dose of fear. Terrified, my body so tired, my mind drained… I do the only thing I can think to do while faced with a terrible predicament. I shake my head.

“Girl, you dare.” Olec’s voice is a thunder and he is right. To deny the king anything, let alone when spoken to directly as I’ve been, is a flogging offense. But if I name Rosalind, the alternative will be death. “Remove your shift and turn,” he barks. “That will be ten lashes for refusing to speak to the king…”

I make a choking sound in the back of my throat and bunch the fabric of my shift in my hands. “My lord, I…I have untreated lashes already.”

“You think I care about that, girl? You’ve disrespected our king twice now by refusing him. Take off your shift.”

Tears prick the backs of my eyes, but the king’s hands on my arms remain firm. “Starling.” He sounds displeased. His frosty voice is…trembling as he turns me between his hands so that I’m forced to face him. “Look at me.”

I look at him and it takes great strength. A strength I feel unprepared for. My whole body is shaking. I try to keep still but I’m afraid they can all see. His eyes are black and merciless. His expression is stony. I can read nothing but darkness within it and know that I was wrong to fear Rosalind. The king looks ready to hurt me.

“Calai — my lord,” Puhyo barks behind me. And then he lowers his tone and speaks in a hiss only loud enough for the king and me to hear. “Easy.”

Meanwhile, Chief Olec says, “My liege, release the girl and I’ll have her whipped to your satisfaction…” The chief orders one of his men to grab me. Puhyo surprises me by stepping in the young warrior’s path. “Lower your hands if you’d like to keep them,” he whispers. “No one touches the king’s woman while I live.”

The words are startling, but what confuses me even more is the king’s reaction. He doesn’t seem to see anyone in the great hall but me. He hasn’t. He ignores Rosalind and Olec and everyone and everything that doesn’t relate back to…me.

A tear drips down my cheek. I want to wipe it away, but the king beats me to it. His thumb brushes my cheek. “Starling.” He clears his throat, looks at me while I keep my arms tightly wound over my chest, afraid to move them…simply terrified. “Will you sit with me?”

Chief Olec does not say anything more. Neither does Rosalind. The entire great hall has gone eerily silent. All I can hear are the thralls rushing in the distance and the fire crackling just behind us.

The vein in King Calai’s forehead pulses. His skin is flushed red. He inhales and it lifts his whole massive chest, then he exhales softly, “Please.” He clears his throat again and whispers even more softly. “Please.”

Though uncertain of what I’m agreeing to, I nod and let King Calai take a seat at the high table and pull me down with him onto his lap. His gaze rakes over my body, lingering over my feet and face. His expression is tight. Everything about him is tightly clenched. “Where is Hilde?”

“Daneera is searching, but I will assist.”

“No. Remain here. Daneera will not fail in this.”

Puhyo nods.

The king is breathing so shallowly. His expression is troubled and I have the oddest compulsion to reach out and smooth away the wrinkles between his eyebrows. He looks…in pain. “You are cold.”

He lifts my feet up over his thighs so that I’m no longer touching the ground. A shiver racks me as the heat of his chest crashes against my outer arm. I did not realize how cold I was until this moment as he pulls me close, managing not to touch my back. My face is pressed against his chest just under the column of his throat and I feel…so warm. The lie that nothing can get to me here in this place revisits me from the night before. More tears drip down my face. I don’t stop them.

“Shh,” he whispers. He gathers up my hands in his much larger ones and rubs them gently. One of his hands pulls my palms to his chest while the other hand reaches down to touch my feet. I whimper. He hisses, “You left your shoes in my quarters, little bird.”

“Yes, my king.” I gasp, the heat of his hands on my frozen toes painful.

He reaches for the leather buckle on his chest and frees it. His furs fall from his shoulders. “And you snuck out in the night while I slept.”

I don’t answer. I didn’t sneak anywhere, but he isn’t asking me. He pulls me close and I become disoriented by the sudden surprising warmth as he drags his furs over me. The swatch that covered his meaty torso is enough to shield and warm my entire body.

I gasp breathily, my heart pattering in my chest. I wonder if culture in Ithanuir is different than it is here, knowing it must be, because here to use a fur like this is an act of significance. He must not be so daft as to not know what it means and yet, he does not withdraw them.

“Better?” he breathes against my forehead. The furs are so soft that, even against my open wounds, they don’t abrade. I exhale, feeling like I could simply fall apart. I close my eyes, letting the tears fall, wishing that I could just stay here.

“Yes, my king.” I sniffle.

“Calai,” he says in the soft space between us. “If it pleases you.” His rough voice shakes.

I don’t answer him, not sure what to say.

While his right hand continues to massage my cold toes beneath the fur, his left hand kneads the back of my neck. He sighs and his breath smells of honey. His skin smells of the oils he put in my hair the night before. Rosemary and eucalyptus. “Who struck you?”

He is attempting to lull me into releasing the name, I realize abruptly. I pinch my lips together, then offer meekly, “I…am fine, my liege.”

“I want their names.”

“Please.”

“Please.”

“I beg of you, my king.”

“I beg of you, little bird. Tell me.”

“I…cannot say, my king.”

“You cannot?”

“Please do not make me,” I whisper, my voice so soft it could belong to a ghost.

The pressure on the back of my neck increases. “Was it the warrior male who thinks he has laid claim to you?”

My nostrils flare, surprised that he could know of Tori and the bidding when I did not know of it myself. Stupidly, I blurt out, “You know of the bidding?”

“I do now.”

I wince, feeling the fool.

“Tell me of it.” His hands are terrible, first on my neck, then pulling gently on my hair. I’m so tired…so tired. I’ve been bottling everything up as I’ve always done. Just going, ever going, keep going. Ignore the pain. But…right now, right here…I allow everything to hurt while in his care and it feels…too much. Tears wet my face and I cover my mouth with my hand, shake my head again.

“The men of your village bid on your virginity?”

“How did you know that, my king?” My voice is wet. He pulls my hand away from my face and softly, much too softly, brushes his fingers beneath the eye of my too warm cheek.

“Because I know people. And because I know people, I know that you did not orchestrate this bid yourself.”

I don’t respond, but sniffle.

“Who did?”

My breathing is shallow. I reach for words that I cannot grasp.

“Who, sweet Starling?” His voice is shaking. I fear I will succumb to it and to the gentle ministrations of his hand. I cannot think.

“My lord, please,” I say, voice thick with tears, but he misunderstands.

“You will not be punished. Trust me.”

Trust him. What a terrible thing to demand. I would rather offer him my bleeding heart, for that is what his trust would be taking from me.

“Oh for the gods’ sake,” Rosalind crows. “I made the deal with Tori on her behalf, and I struck her this morning, as I would any thrall who disobeyed me or failed to perform her tasks.”

The king presses a dry kiss to the top of my head where my hairline meets my forehead before sliding me off of his lap. He stands and secures his furs around me with the same heavy leather and metal buckle that he used to secure them to his own skin, and then turns me by the shoulders so that I’m facing a beautiful woman with a thick blonde braid hanging over her left shoulder. In her left hand, she carries a large leather box.

“This is Hilde. She will care for you in my chambers, where you will spend the rest of the day recovering and healing before I join you. We will dine privately this evening.”

I’m gestured forward by Hilde, whose severe face brokers no argument. She is shaking her head, glaring angrily past me at someone, but I do not see whom. Instead, I only hear King Calai ask, “And how much was her virginity purchased for?”

Rosalind doesn’t hesitate. “Eighteen silvers and nine gold coins. Twice that for my fee, my liege. I would think it appropriate for you to pay what is owed and then some if you intend to keep her away from her duties and tending to you while you are here.”

“Now, now, my lady,” Chief Olec laughs. “Let’s not be greedy. The king is our guest. He’s brought with him a bounty and is entitled to whatever comforts he likes.”

“The king has deflowered our ward. Now, we will not be able to collect a bride price for her or wed her off. The king could, with his unlimited wealth, at least pay a consolation for that,” Rosalind asserts.

But the king, in what is becoming a predictable fashion, says something else entirely. “Did you feed her before or after you beat her?”

“You think I am in the practice of feeding unruly thralls, my liege?” Rosalind balks. “I think not.”

“So if that is the practice of your little village then, Olaf, when do the thralls eat?” Olaf. He called him Olaf.

Olec scoffs, sounding flustered as Hilde and I walk very slowly toward the throne. My feet pause and I look back to see Olec gesturing wildly with his cup, wine spilling over its wooden edge. “You cannot possibly expect me to believe the thralls of your village eat like kings, my king?”

“You are right. You cannot, for my village has no thralls. We have those that serve and they are paid a wage as well as fed during celebrations. The god Lohr would be displeased with the care you’ve given his servants. They are responsible for the feasts that lead to much of the debauchery and lust he feeds on.” The king has yet to resume his seat. Rather, he sits his hip on the table, his arms hanging casually down at his sides. His gaze no longer returns to me, but is focused on Olec and Rosalind.

Olec swallows, his voice growing shrill. “My wife and I have cared for that thrall as if she were our own, my liege. She’s been fed and clothed and protected, which is more than most orphans can claim. We’ve spent a good deal of our own coin on her. My wife is perhaps a bit bold, but not wrong in requesting fair compensation now that you’ve ruined her.”

“And fair compensation is what you shall receive. Eighteen silvers plus nine gold pieces, times three. Puhyo? Can you prepare this endowment for our Lady Rosalind?” His voice does not shake with them as it did with me. But it holds an edge.

Puhyo’s eyes flare before returning to their typical hawkish prudence. “Of course, King.”

“And please bring it to me. I’d like to provide the offering directly.”

“Of course.” Puhyo leaves. Rosalind and Olec are muttering still. Hilde, behind me says, “Come, my lady. I need to get that looked at and you need to get into a bath of healing salts, bring up that temperature right quick.”

I nod absently, this feeling of betrayal making me feel a little…raw. He plans to pay her after all?

“Don’t concern yourself with those others now. Come with me. We need to focus on your healing. I will have some choice words with our king once he’s finished with those disgusting pigs that run your village.”

My body reacts viscerally hearing her speak of Chief Olec in such a way. And I’m staring at her, shocked still as she leads me to a tub filled with noxious-smelling salts where I’m carefully scrubbed, oiled, slathered in salves and then, once dried off, stitched and treated before I’m put to bed by Hilde and two thralls I recognize — both of whom are rewarded with coins when they are finished. And I am ashamed by my envious thoughts. I was promised rewards…but the thralls who care for me now have more coin than I have. And I owe Lady Rosalind so much…

I’m brought food by the same thralls and Hilde stands over me and ensures that I eat to her satisfaction and drink a thick tea that warms me from the inside. And as I fall asleep, I want to think over the strange, contradictory way the king presented himself today, but furs are draped over the bed now, weighing down my blankets and dragging me to sleep.

And as I sleep, I dream in the violent colors of terrible, terrible screams.