Chapter 73

TW: Panic attack

Not too many miles away, donning a light coat that covered her maid’s frock, Marie stood at a harbor, the salty wash hitting her smiling face. A paper was clutched to her chest and the middle-aged woman was practically jumping for joy as she waited expectantly with other eager mothers, fathers, wives, and children.

“Quite frankly, I can’t believe that the ship ‘ad the nerve to make a detour before arrivin’. Don’t none of these merchant mongrels realize that the passengers they be helpin’ to transport are more important than some goods?” An old man blowing thick smoke from his pipe scowled as he cursed the ship everyone was waiting for.

“Hon, haven’t I told you not to curse the ship our son is currently on? That merchant ship is the only transport from the north to the capital. It’s already our blessing that they are always willing to take a few passengers with them.”

“Oh, bullocks. It’s a scheme and everyone ‘ere is in on it!” He waved off his patient wife, pointing the chewed on end of his pipe towards the waiting crowd in suspicion.

“It’s here! It’s here! I can see it!” someone cried in excitement, distracting Marie from the old man’s words as they completely slipped from her mind. Her heart felt full, eager to see the nephew that she hadn’t embraced since he was as tall as her knee.

Marie had found that she had come to be quite blessed in her later years, even without a child or husband of her own. From meeting the princess whom she loved like a daughter to waiting for the nephew she hadn’t seen in years finally coming to visit her. But the joy didn’t distract the erratic pulse of her heart, which wished to follow Princess Winter on her harrowing journey. Marie could barely breathe that very morning when Princess Winter had fled the imperial palace. Marie knew that she was a simple woman, but she wasn’t completely stupid.

.....

She had been in the palace for a number of years as her gray hairs served to prove and understood the undercurrents of tension behind the glittering facade. Princess Winter’s appearance had shattered the status quo, the comfortable web the empress had encircled around the imperial family. And now, without any protection, the web circled closer and closer around the vulnerable little girl, forcing her to hold her wits about her as she underwent torment no other child would ordinarily recover from.

But now, the spider was tired of playing games. Or more aptly, no longer willing to. Princess Winter was too tenacious and too lucky, able to emerge from the Empress’ schemes alive and intact, which was more than what most of the Duvernay family’s enemies could say according to secretive whispers she had heard as Marie plunged her hands in soapy water. But the discovery of the princess’ promised child status could not have come at a worse time and the spider couldn’t tolerate the struggling fly shaking its web any longer.

The gangplank banged onto the dock, the crowd surging to meet those who leaped off cheerfully, full of youthful spirit. Those disembarking appeared to mostly be young men, perhaps laborers who traveled to work depending on the season. Marie felt troubled as she suddenly realized she didn’t know what her now-adult nephew looked like and for a moment stood alone, clutching his letter to her chest like a lifeline.

“Aunt M! Aunt M!” a young male voice cried. The crowd suddenly seemed to part and a chipper young man jumping up and down while waving his arms was revealed. He was handsome and bright, a ruddy tan from his days out on the open sea in early summer. His clothes, while not in mint condition were fresh and clean.

“Leif,” Marie crooned, visions of the sweet little boy who stunk of milk merging with the chipper young man before her. Leif rushed towards her and wrapped her in a large hug, a literal breath of fresh air from the stench of fish that the other passengers had. Hot tears pricked Marie’s eyes as she pulled back to laugh at her sister’s beloved son.

“Look at you! You decided to inherit your looks solely from your father, didn’t you? Naughty boy!” She ruffled his shaggy dark hair and took his bag from his shoulders despite emphatic protests.n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om

“Aunt M, that’s because my personality came from Mother’s side of the family. And look, wouldn’t you say I’ve got Mother’s and your eyes?” He shoved his wide-eyed hazel pupils in her face, winking playfully. Despite being 20 years old, Leif could almost pass as 16 with his baby face that made him all the more lovable to kind-hearted Marie, who promptly went to buy her nephew a hearty meal at a pub to fatten him up.

——

I finally understand why some people beat their children.

Seeing Emma bite her lips, her eyes turning red with unshed tears for the first time since I’ve met her, I’m ready to choose violence and teach Jack a lesson he’ll never forget.

“Emma’s past is none of my business. Even if she murdered the old high priest I couldn’t care less,” I say, gritting my teeth as I hold back my hand itching to have a go at his smirking face.

And I’m being 100% honest. I truly don’t care what Emma did in her past as long as she is sincere in her friendship with me. To prove my point, I grab Emma’s hand and we start walking in the opposite direction of Jack and his cronies.

“We can do this on our own, Emma. We don’t need them,” I huff resolutely. But strangely, I’m met with resistance and find myself digging my heels into the earth to push forward with each step.

“Is that so, passenger? Jack meanders closer, his hands lazily roosted in his pockets. “You really expect to make it from here to Belhelm, two itty bitty little girls, all on their own?”

He hits the nail on the head, targeting the one fact that has worried me endlessly since I began this hasty plan to run away. Warning bells go off in my head, as neither Emma nor I have told Jack our destination. Jack must spy the guarded suspicion in my eye as he continues, “Relax, pretty girl. These days, people are paying good money to escape from Belhelm. But if you’re leaving the capital, the south and the east are too far to travel to on your own. But now I’m curious, what business do you have in going to the warfront.”

“None of your business,” I snap mercilessly, crossing my arms defensively.

“Well, now it is. And if you don’t tell me,” Jack throws his hands up helplessly, “My gang and I can’t use our resources to help you get where you want to go.”

We lock eyes, neither kid willing to give up ground. I feel a slight modicum of respect for this brat, although I’d still like to take my mom’s chancla to his butt. He’d have a future as a cutthroat lawyer in my world. Except this isn’t. So I do need his help.

“My... father,” I bit out through a clenched jaw, annoyed to lose a verbal battle to a child much younger than my true age. “He’s at the front. I need to get to him.”

“Eh? Your dear old pops? And why couldn’t you stay home? You seem to be fed decently.” He leans in close and obnoxiously sniffs me like a pitbull. “You smell nice too, a little bit like blood though.”

My tongue stings in reminder of his words.

“My mother... no, stepmother. She wants to kill me,” I admit.

“Oh ho! Murder! How interesting, passenger. You’ll have to tell me more on the road,” he swallows down the last of the pastry and throwing a quick glance over his shoulder, walks down an alley with the practiced ease of a boy who knows the streets inside and out.

“On the road?” I mutter, my weary legs following after him even though I’ve already sat around for the greater part of an hour. Judging from the sun’s position in the sky, I would be turning in for a nap around now. But instead, I’m about to travel cross-country with strangers. If it weren’t for the fact that I’ve already tied myself to this world with the gold threads only Aria can see, I would think that my old foe, Peppermint, was messing with me once more.

“What, did you think you could walk all the way to Belhelm? That would take you two years on those little legs of yours. I’m already looking forward to the good stories we shall all tell on the road,” he finishes cockily, throwing a pointed look at an uncomfortable Emma who shrinks away.

Jack: 1, Winter/Emma: 0.

If I said I wasn’t intrigued about whatever past Emma is hiding, I would be lying. She’s barely 10 after all, I didn’t know anyone could have a ‘past’ at that age. But it wouldn’t be unusual either. Emma is resourceful, not prone to childish behavior, and possesses nimbler hands and feet than any other ordinary girl her age. I can take a few stabs in the dark about what she may have done before, but either way, it doesn’t affect our sisterhood.

To show my solidarity with Emma, I squeeze her hand that I’m holding. But to my surprise, she wriggles out of my grasp and walks a short distance away from us as if we are two separate parties. I had hoped to ask for some background as to how Jack will get us to Belhelm and if he’ll require any payment, but I’m forced to swallow down my burning curiosity and apprehensiveness, placing my fate in the hands of a mouthy kid who thinks he’s clever.

I feel like the only person in the world, small bits of rock and trash crunch under my feet as we leave the demolished corner of the market for untraversed pastures. Even though the palace was more full of danger than a lake of flesh-eating piranhas, I was somewhat used to it. I’ve spent the greater part of my life indoors, with the first 5 quite literally so. In some ways, despite getting a taste of the ugliness of this world, I’ve also been sheltered from the vast majority of it all. And now, after more hours of walking and watching the sun slowly retire for the night, I am forced to confront the ugly underbelly of Radovalsk.

The paint is chipped between these buildings, then the brick lay underneath is fully exposed. A violent fight on a street corner gets broken up by a constable who is a tad too generous with his club. This is Radovalsk, without the exotic goods and lively hawkers. Despite there being no chill, I rub my arms nervously, feeling goosebumps under the sleeves of my dress. I can feel Jack occasionally throwing looks back at me, probably trying to figure me out as I’ve been trying to figure him out. I ignore it and rub the back of my neck, although it does little to dispel the feeling like someone is watching me. I wish I was in my room right now.

Jack, his gang, and Emma maneuver easily around piles of trash, napping alcoholics, and wanderers like ourselves. Yet I trip over odd bits and bobs, gag when the rotting food in the trash suddenly hits, and jump from small noises. A buzz builds in my ears, first a low hum, then slowly getting louder.

I wince and rub my ear as if rubbing it hard enough will make the sound go away, but no one sees since I’m at the back, just like I was in PE class during the mile run. I’m a princess of the most powerful empire in this world, and I can’t stand a little buzzing sound.

A princess, an ugly little voice in my head mocks. Are you sure?

I don’t realize when, but I see that I’ve stopped walking when the trio before me turn around to stare. Their shadowed eyes on this moonless evening are accusing, laughing at me as I slowly curl into myself, my hands over my ears. It’s so overpoweringly loud like a siren, amplifying every other sound around me.

“Get ahold of yourself, Maria,” I mutter shakily in Spanish. Squeezing my eyes tight as I try to countdown and imagine myself in my room not at the Rose Palace, but in the Tower. I imagine the bars on the window and the simple furnishings. I inhale and exhale while holding the image in my mind’s eye.

A weight falls on my shoulder and I crack open an eye to see Emma, her concerned face hovering over mine. She’s saying something, I can tell because her lips are moving, but I can’t hear a thing over the damn buzz. A warm gust of wind tugs at my clothes and I feel utterly naked, the calm, cool, and collected Winter disappearing to wherever the sun went.

“I-I can’t hear you,” I explain urgently to Emma, “I need to go inside. I need to go to my room.” My soul is untethered from my body and I can barely think, barely feel. Hands flutter over me, small ones so they must be Emma, but the only thought I have is to go inside. To go to my room.

Then I can’t even feel Emma’s hands. It’s like I’m alone, in an abyss of my own making. I rub furiously at my arms and ears, but it does nothing, it’s not enough. Somehow, my hands find their way to the back of my calves where the stinging cuts my mother dealt are still healing. When I tear into those and fresh warmth pools at my fingers, I can finally feel something. But someone tears my hands away from the wounds and I succumb to the abyss.

Alone.