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six

Ill Fated Feather

T he royal entourage arrived in the gloomy library before Uster and Heather’s housing.

She had never been in this room of the castle as an average-sized person.

Rows and rows of rare dusty tomes lined the ill-lit room.

A round table stood opposite a dank fireplace.

Rain pelted noisily against the series of windows on the adjacent wall.

Heather noted that the closest window had a small fracture in the left bottom corner and wondered how it came to be. Perhaps a bird flew into its own reflection.

The grand collection of written word impressed her, but her wonder was overshadowed by sorrow. She would never have the chance to read these treasures. Not as a servant, and certainly not the height of a thumb.

Uster ushered a couple of page boys pulling the dollhouse atop of a janky cart into the room. The dollhouse wasn’t a house, it was a doll castle . It was shockingly large. But mayhap its ostentatiousness and size should have been expected, as a princess’s plaything.

Uster brushed a stack of map scrolls over to the table’s side, freeing up space.

The assembled group watched as the two young boys grappled to place the weighty castle on the round top.

Heather folded her arms, exasperated that no one offered to assist the youths.

The doll castle landed with a thump. It nearly ate up the entire expanse.

From the safety of Jessa’s palm, Heather could see all three stories.

Complete with a fantastic cylindrical tower, and balcony.

The exterior facade was a gray limestone resembling the royal’s home.

Whoever constructed it exhibited immense pride in their work.

Not a single detail was overlooked. The outside was a perfect replica.

Jessa exercised care, holding her palm flush with the miniature great hall floor. Heather walked down Jessa’s fingers as she would a gang plank.

The room was grand with a large rectangular table centered lengthwise along tall arched windows. Curiously, they were paneless, simple openings. Then Heather recalled that she was in a child’s playhouse, it made sense that there was no glass in the casings.

Heather strode to the banquet table. It stood slightly too tall for her, reaching the top of her ribcage.

It was the same for the chair she settled into next.

She had to step up to take a seat and when she sat, her feet dangled in the air.

The doll castle was a scale or two short of perfection.

However, the furniture was a fine piece of craftsmanship.

The castle house was a comfortable fit in the time being.

The alternatives were less attractive. Hopefully, the physician would have success discovering an antidote. And soon.

“There. It will suffice. I suggest we retire for the eve,” concluded the king.

How easily he dismissed Heather’s ruined life. Without fear, she huffed a sardonic laugh, aware the sound was inaudible to him. They departed from the room, but Jessa lagged behind.

“I shall find a way to return to see you,” Jessa murmured discreetly, so as not to be overheard by the royals in the hall. The group retreated, taking the lone lit candle with them.

It wasn’t until the silence surrounded Heather that she realized she missed out on her own dinner. Hunger would be her only companion tonight.

By the light of the moon, Heather oriented herself to her temporary home.

Outside of the great hall was a hallway with a set of wide, spiraling steps.

Exactly opposite was an open doorway leading into a solar.

She’d have a better look in the morn. She ventured slowly up the stairs, her hand trailing along the coarse stone wall to remain steady in the dark.

On the second floor, she made a left and stumbled onto a study and a library.

Heather couldn’t make out much by moonlight.

She followed the partition back out to the stairwell and passed through the door-less opening- recognizing it as a great sleeping chamber.

She wasted no time and found the bed in the shadows.

Heather sat, removed her shoes and her utility belt, and sank into the downy mattress.

Her first full night in the tiny castle was torturous.

But the cozy miniature bed wasn’t to blame.

Her body had sunk into the plush feather mattress.

The pillows and smooth linens were the most wonderful things she ever felt against her skin.

But her mind was fully awake and on high alert.

She trembled in the dark, aching all over, her strength depleted.

The windowpanes had no glass, and the thresholds held no doors. She was wide eyed, missing the advantage of a locked chamber.

Without a barrier to separate her from anyone with evil intent, her thoughts flooded with memories of a month ago, when she was a newly appointed tester.

She was shown her new quarters, a bleak stone room with no windows or hearth. Heather was unaware of the threat the single exit posed the first night she slept there. An eerie creak from the chamber door pulled her from deep sleep.

Her drowsy mind dismissed it as nothing, her eyes drooped back to unconsciousness in the dark interior.

Overwrought from her first taxing day as taste tester, she found slumber with ease.

But she was shocked wide awake when an unwelcome weight bared down on her.

A palm covered her mouth and air rushed from her nostrils.

A clammy hand seized her by the neck. Her senses memorialized the individual’s harsh breathing.

S he could hear it in her ear even now. And feel their hot breath on her face.

She writhed, attempting to break free of their grasp. It happened so quickly.

A hand dug into the soft flesh of her thighs, wrenching them apart.

A cry slipped her throat as her right palm clashed with the surface next to her bed, desperately searching for her garden sickle.

The stranger’s legs tangled with hers as she fought him off.

With a quivering hand she grasped at the attacker’s clothes and marred his skin as her nails clawed into him.

As she frantically searched the floor next to her mat.

At last, her fingers landed on the sickle. She didn’t hesitate to swipe wildly at her attacker.

A rip sounded when her knife struck true. A piece of their clothing, perhaps? The unforgiving grasp on her windpipe tightened, and she shoved the rounded blade up under the hoodlum’s neck.

“Unhand me.” She fought to vocalize, her voice hoarse through their unrelenting grip. Heather pushed the weapon further against their throat.

She hoped she drew blood.

“Get off me, or I’ll sever your head.” She applied more pressure with the cutting edge. Heather hoped they’d heed her warning, not desiring to inflict the violence of her threat.

The coward jumped up, barreled to the chamber entry, threw the door wide, and ran from the room.

She wasn’t far behind, with a shaky hand she slammed the door shut and leaned her back against it, where she dozed until she heard the shuffling of the kitchen crew, signifying dawn.

Her fingers ached from griping the sickle for far too long.

By the light of candle the next night, she discovered remnants of a single yellow feather hidden beneath the edge of her mat.

That damned feather. Yellow remained her least favored color.

The entire backside of the castle was open air, allowing ease for a child’s play. During the extensive hours of the night, she feared something would cause the castle to quake, and she’d careen over the side, asleep. It was akin to slumbering on the edge of a cliff.

She felt the absence of her friend, who habitually slumbered beside her.

Heather barely slept a wink. She grieved their evening ritual of plaiting each other’s hair, and the familiar comfort of her friends’ languid breath.

She scrutinized the underside of the beautiful mint canopied bed for hours.

Observing as moonlight shifted into gentle rays of sun through the scattered rain.

Morning arrived, and her eyes were red-rimmed.

Her limbs were stiff, and she struggled to rise from the opulent bedding.

Heather longed to rinse her face, to help clear her drowsiness, but she had no access to water. She discovered there wasn’t a privy early on, when she rolled from bed, about to burst. She desecrated a fragile miniature urn not long after.

The bedchamber, which she claimed for herself, was lovely. Adorned in mint, cream and gold it was fit for a princess, perhaps even a queen. The immense bed stood lengthwise along the wall. On either side were ornate gold sconces, unfortunately merely ornamental.

An ostentatious cream carpet covered the majority of the floor.

Her feet sunk into the deep treads when she walked across it.

There was a large hearth in the center of the inner partition with a sofa and two oversized chairs.

In the room's center, an open doorway led to a private balcony.

Although her prime view was the dark pit of an unlit fireplace, she knew she would miss it once she returned to her average size.

Under an arched window, a set of drawers stood to the left of the doorway.

On the other side was a writing desk and chair with a matching window above it.

Along the wall with the bed, was a tall armoire.

She was relieved to have a changing screen but was at a loss of where to place it.

Missing walls limited the decent areas to undress.