My Soul Tattooed In Black- Part 2
Aunt Irene sent me to the market for cloth, and I used the excuse to escape the del Fee Manor for as long as possible. I was avoiding the stares of people who had seen me going through town with my tattooed family guarding me by walking through one of the small alleys surrounding the market district when I ran into a young man. He was half a head taller than me with mussed auburn hair and bottle green eyes that stared at me in alarm surrounded by storm cloud purple bruises.
“I am so sorry, I didn’t see you there,” he stated, bringing his arms out to steady me. It was the first time anyone outside of my family had voluntarily touched me. It left me stunned. “Are you alright, Miss?”
“Fine. Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going.” I pulled my arms from his hands and wrapped them around my body. It was only a matter of time before he realized he had touched one of the ‘curse bringers.’ Not that my family actually brought curses to people, we have no control over what gets tattooed on our skin. I just thank Astridore that I have three more years before I am given my first mission. Not noticing how I am retracting from his touch the man just smiles and continues like nothing out of the ordinary is happening.
“Well then we are both guilty of not paying attention.” He’s grinning at me. He must not be from around here. “Would you like to get a cup of tea with me?”
“You don’t even know who I am. You really don’t want to be seen with me in this town.” I cross my arms, trying to make my body as small as possible. I don’t want the attention walking with this man would bring. I am not interested in getting to know someone who will just run away when they learn I am part of the del Fee family.
“Let’s start again.” He straightens his shirt, folds his left hand behind his back, presents his right hand, and bends slightly at the waist, “Hello, I am Cyrus. It is nice to meet you. I am sorry I ran into you. Can I make it up by asking you to join me for a cup of tea?”
I didn’t know what to do with Cyrus. He was much too personable for someone who had bruises on both eyes, most likely from a recently broken nose. So, I did what I had been trained to do, strategize while keeping Cyrus busy.
“Sabrine.” Instead of taking his hand, I lift my olive skirts and dip into a mock curtsy. If he was going to be teasingly formal, so will I. “It is a pleasure to meet you and while I find discrepancy in your retelling of events I would love to get a cup of tea with you.” That would at least give me time to think of what to do next. In my mind’s eye, I look toward where Astridore’s voice comes from, hoping she will give me some guidance on what to do with Cyrus, but she is noticeably absent. I guess I have to make my own judgments. Cyrus shows no signs of knowing me, no light of recognition and then subsequent aversion that other people show when they recognize me. The grin he gives me stretches his chapped lips taut and causes what looks to be a recently healed split lip to crack and shine the bright red of fresh blood.
“Wonderful,” Cyrus states, he extends his elbow and waits for me to take it. I take his arm and as we enter the main street of the market, I angle us so that I am toward the wall, away from the hustle and bustle of house wives picking up groceries and old men sitting in alcoves away from the streams of people spinning tales about how different Tholos used to be ruled. When the del Fee’s and the Arethusa were two parts of one power, keeping the balance and following Astridore’s plan.
“What did you do to break your nose?” I inquire.
“How did you know I broke my nose?” His arm tenses under my grip and while he still smiles there is a tightness at the corner of his eyes that tells me I hit the nail right on the head.
“Because a broken nose, that has been perfectly reset by the way, is more likely than someone punching each side of your face with the exact same angle and force, unless of course you were tortured.” My eyes shift from his tightening face down to his hands as his fingers tense into fists and relax repeatedly, like he was trying to release stress without alerting the crowd around us.
“Astridore’s Knights had application tests today. I could have broken my nose there,” Cyrus says.
I scoff, “Is that so?”
“Yes. I was there this morning.” Cyrus latches onto the new conversation.
“Really? Were they any good this year?” Most of the Astridore Knights are jokes. They train for a war that will never happen if Astridore has anything to say about it. My family has quite a few missions stopping people planning to start wars.
“I thought so.”
“That means you have gone on other years. Do you apply for the Knights every year?” He looks fit enough but he doesn’t have the arrogance most would-be knights have.
“I never said I was applying. I just said I was there.” So, he doesn’t apply for the Knights but lets himself get voluntarily beaten on. Does he have a death sentence?
“Do you go by choice?” “What do you mean?” Cyrus looks sideways at me.
“Well, you are obviously fit enough to be a Knight. You practice with them. Do you do that by choice or does your family make you.” Cyrus studies my face before responding.
“My family. It’s expected that I have knowledge of physical combat.” His muscles have loosened under my hand. That’s strange; I don’t think familial expectations tend to be secrets. Astridore knows it seems like the whole city knows that I am expected to go blind and tattoo tragedies on my family members skin.
“I can understand that. My family expects it too.”
“You fight?” Cyrus seems to latch quickly onto any personal information I give him. Does he really not know who I am?
“I do quite a few things.”
“I’ve never seen you at the Knights training grounds.” It’s like I can see the wheels turning in his head, trying to find some reference of me in his memory.
“Let’s just say that if you ever want actual training go to the Temple of Astridore. They really get you in fighting shape.”
“My father probably wouldn’t let me. The market is really as far as I am allowed to go.” I don’t know what to say to that. My family is the same way. In the past I was never allowed to roam the city by myself. That changed a few weeks ago when I passed my Uncle Asa’s self-defense tests. After nagging him for years he finally let me prove that I could protect myself in the city. I realized how awkward the silence was and decided to break it.
“So you broke your nose at practice this morning?” Caught off guard Cyrus was forced to tell the truth. If people don’t have time to think of a lie or don’t expect to have to tell one, they immediately spill the truth.
“No. It was broken yesterday.”
“It was broken, as in you didn’t do anything to assist in the breaking?” I’m teasing, I think. Cyrus doesn’t seem to understand that though and his face darkens, like thunderheads rolled right across the sunny skies of his personality.
“I made someone very angry, this was the result.”
“How could you make anyone mad? I’ve just met you and can tell you don’t have a mean bone in your body.”
“I don’t know what I did.” Cyrus’ eyes glass over. I think he was trying to distance himself from a memory before he spoke. “Just some advice. If you are ever in the presence of the king, don’t get him angry. He makes you wish you had never been born.”
“Then came you. You had to know that you wouldn’t get away with trying to stab me in the middle of the ballroom?” King Cadeyrn pulls my small decorative dagger out of his right waistcoat pocket. The needle point blade is five inches long made of the sharpest silver coated steel my family can produce and only as thick as the quill of a swan feather. The sheath for this particular dagger is silver and designed to allow for it to be disguised as a hair ornament with small silver loops that allowing pearl strands to be woven into it, anchoring it into hair. The hilt is short and covered with a deep pine green silk that leads into the silver pommel- shaped like a blooming rose and encrusted with rubies along the edges of the petals. The cross guards at the top of the blade create the illusion of leaves so that when the whole thing is wound into a woman’s hair all you would see is a large hairpin with a ruby-encrusted flower coming out of the top and loops of pearls being wound in intricate styles. It was how women in my family had hid weapons in plain sight for years. “How on earth did you sneak a dagger into the palace anyway?”
“No one accosts a woman, my king, when she is there to attend the prince’s party on personal invitation. I would think you would know this.” I watch as his eyes rake down my body. I don’t know if he is seeing me as I am now or if he is sizing up what kind of woman I must be that I attracted his son. He is probably taking in my now-ragged appearance. My sable hair has reverted to wild curls after being released from the tight coif my aunts had put it in before I left early yesterday afternoon. I had lost an earring somewhere along the way and my scarlet skirt now lay in wrinkled tatters over an equally abused black petticoat, shoes long abandoned from the fight that had resulted when I tried to stab the king on the dance floor.
“What I want to know is how you acquired a personal invitation. You and your family are never at court. If anything, you keep as much distance as possible.” King Cadeyrn was spinning the dagger between his pointer fingers, an intimidation technique I had seen before in my father, who is a much more imposing man.
“You never know who you will meet when you are trying to escape an abusive father.” I brace my right hand on my hip, trying to look as intimidating as I can while still tethered to the wall. The chain rattles and I watch blood creep up his face and his eyebrows pull down over his glaring eyes. His hand, which was previously occupied with spinning the dagger, now clenches around the hilt while the other grasps the blade drawing blood that slowly seeps out of his closed fist. He spat his words through teeth clenched tight enough to turn his gums white.
“I was unaware the del Fee’s had abusive branches of the family.”
“I was unaware you were so obtuse. I know that I was not talking about my family.” I want to see him flounder. I want him to know that the reason I wish to kill him is not because it is tattooed on my wrist for everyone to see but because he has hurt the person I care about more than my own life.