All the women can talk about is the upcoming celebration they refer to as the snowfast ball. I do not care for the idea, I imagine it will be like my mother’s plays. So beyond latching onto it as a reason there cannot be a war going on, I ignore its approach. Instead, I chip away at Rhone about learning to use the sleds.
One day during lunch he explodes upwards from the bench.
“Okay,” he roars. “I’ll do it. You could fucking convince a stone to give you water. But I’m not teaching you until we leave for the first sector.” He storms out of the room and I do an excited dance. The others chuckle at my reaction. I have never heard Rhone swear, but I do not care because I’m getting what I want. Feeling some emotion will be good for him.
I finish my drink and take Kaura to the nursery for Cameron to look after. She has grown in the last month and she is to my knee now. As Malir predicted, she has become more responsive to my training and she can do many tricks, obeying me to a fault. I do not think this is because I am a good trainer. More because she is loyal to me and I am persistent from having too much time on my hands. I make my way back down to the food hall to meet my friends.
Footsteps echo down the hall.
I look up to see the King striding my way. He doesn’t look happy. I contemplate ducking into another hallway, but he raises an eyebrow as though he knows what I’m planning to do. My hopes he is not angry with me for some reason, disappear when he grabs my arm and drags me into the closest chamber. It is a smaller room with beautiful rugs strung up around the walls.
“What are you doing?” I ask. My immediate thought is he has somehow found out about Jacqueline seeing my hair. My muscles tense with his man-handling, though I do not feel too afraid he will hurt me.
“That is my question for you,” he says, leaning down so his mouth is directly in front of my own. Still gripping my arm, he whips his hand up, causing me to flinch and rips off my veil. The wooden band clangs onto the floor. I glare up at him as my hair loosens from its coil at the back. The braid falls down over one shoulder
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“You want to learn to handle the sleds. Your ribs are not fully healed.” One of his fists clenches in anger. “Do you ever think?”
I’m baffled by his fury. “I do not know why you are so angry. He will just be showing me the basics.”
“I am angry because you obviously expect everyone else to constantly pick you up when you’re injured.”
“I do not-” I begin to respond, pushing him away.
He continues. “Rhone has had a fair few overturns.”
“He has?” I ask, distracted. I cannot imagine it.
“Yes, of course,” he says. “I have come to say you won’t be doing it. I have already told Rhone.” My eyes widen even further.
“What did you say?” I ask in disbelief. Did he really just say that? “It is not your choice as to whether I learn or not!” His jaw clenches and my stomach does the same, instantly knowing this was not the right way to negotiate. He stalks towards me and I step backwards until my back thuds on the wall behind me. I shiver from the cold of the stone which permeates through the thick tapestry hanging over it.
The King brings his hands up to my shoulders. I brush them off with an angry push. He grabs my wrists instead, pushing my hands down by my sides before lifting his hands up to my elbows and lifting me up on the wall.
He brings his face very close to mine, his eyes not leaving my own startled gaze. “Everything you do or don’t do is my decision,” he breathes. “Everything anyone does or does not do, on this world.” His gaze moves down over my face then back up to my eyes before he continues. “Is up to me.” He moves closer still. Our noses are nearly touching.
My own breath catches in my throat as I start to feel closed in, locked away.
“I won’t do it until my ribs are healed,” I say, snapping my mouth shut at his growl. I’m too vulnerable like this. My panic escalates as he continues.
“If I tell someone not to eat for two weeks, then they don’t,” his voice grows louder. “If I want everyone to go without boots for a day, they will do it.” I struggle against his hold. ”And if I don’t want Rhone to teach you to drive a sled, he sure as fuck won’t be teaching you to drive a sled.”
His chest is pushing against my own. His hips push into my upper thighs, pinning me to the wall.
“You will not be doing it,” he says in my ear. I close my eyes as I feel tears start to build. I turn my head from him, but a few tears trickle down each side of my face.
“Please let me go,” I whisper.
I hear a sharp intake of breath. He loosens his hold on my wrists. My legs buckle as I drop down. I lift my hands up to cross my chest as he takes a small step back. I straighten and brush past him and pick up the pieces of my veil. My legs feel like they will collapse any moment.
Turning my back to him, I replace the material and band with trembling hands.
I leave the room without another word.
It is easy to hide my disquiet while I’m with the other women. A large group has gathered at Jacqueline’s today and they all discuss tomorrow night’s ball with excitement. Her home is similar to Fiona’s. The colours are more subdued however and everything is more rigidly placed.
“You need a dress to wear!” Fiona says to me. She starts talking of taking in one of her own for me. I describe the Toga dresses we wear back home and Jacqueline laughs at my description, leaving the room to go get her own dress. While she is gone the women gossip about the ball.
Talk turns to the opening dance.
“The dance is supposed to be opened with the King dancing with the queen, but because Jovan is not married yet, he must dance with the highest ranking female, which is Arla the skank-monster,” Greta, one of the young unattached Bruma says.
Sullen comments fill the room. “No!” Fiona gasps. “She’s not anymore.” She points straight at me. “Olina is a princess. Her rank is higher.” The women in the room squeal and scream. Two of them hold hands and spin in circles. All I feel is horror at having to dance with the King after this morning.
Jacqueline returns and, after jumping up and down at Arla’s supposed downfall, she holds out some strips of material to me.
“Are you part way through making the dress?” I ask Jacky.
Fiona bursts out laughing. “That is her dress. All of our dresses are similar to this.”
My mouth drops open, I grab the dress out of Jacky’s hands and hold it up. The scraps of fabric will cover the main parts, but not much else. I gasp and shove it back at Jacky, who is laughing so hard tears are streaming down her face.
Fiona begins to talk of taking up her dress for me again. I wait for an opening.
“Please don’t worry yourself about it. I don’t think I will go to the ball. It is not for me. But I hope you all enjoy yourselves.”
This is met by firm denial. Jacky will not hear of it, but I’m adamant in my refusal.
“I have a more concealing dress from when I was younger. My father would not let me out of the house in those kinds of dresses until I was twenty.” Greta points at Jacky’s dress.
Though my true reason for not going is to avoid dancing with Jovan, wearing the revealing dress also has me a little worried. I latch onto this excuse. “Thank you, but I would feel vulnerable.”
“You have great boobs and a nice figure. You have nothing to worry about,” Jacky bursts out. I can tell she is becoming a little angry, but I will not be swayed or pressured. I force myself not to cover my chest as everyone stares at it. I mumble an excuse to go to the bathroom to escape.
The servant shows me to the bathroom, and I take my time in there, having no need for the amenities other than using them as an excuse. I sit on the edge of a tub, there are pyope beads underneath it in a stone circle for heating. One of Adnan’s inventions. My gaze travels around the room. There is seat behind a screen over a chamber pot. It is much nicer than the one I use in the castle.
I frown at a twinkling light in the far corner of the room, my heart stops when I realise what it is.
There, over a large shallow washing bowl is a mirror. I know it is a mirror, though I have never seen one in my life. A shiny kind of glass fills the frame and I can see the small window at the far side of the room reflected on its surface. I tremble as my mind grasps the opportunity being handed to me. After a second of hesitation, I stand and step towards it.
My hands drifts to linger at the base of my veil. I toy with the fabric and my stare becomes vacant as I listen to fear battle for control. My hands shake. The fear wins. I lower my hands to my sides and turn my head away. I cannot do it.
A knock sounds on the door.
“Olina. Are you alright?” I hear Fiona’s muffled voice come from the other side.
“Yes. Just fixing my veil,” I say, moving to the door, relying on her avoidance of this topic to save me from too many questions. I open the door and walk out.
“Oh.” Her cheeks are red. “I thought you might have been trying to escape from our attempts to persuade you to go tomorrow night.”
I laugh convincingly. “Maybe that, too.”
The ladies continue to chat into the afternoon. There is no further mention of my attending the ball. I join in occasionally, but cannot stop thinking about the mirror. Each time I do, angry tears threaten. What a coward! No matter how far I get from my mother, she is still able to control me. My fists clench as I imagine her laughing down at me from her viewing balcony in the torture room.
I’m as far from her as I will ever be in my life, but I am still in her prison.