Chapter 3

S omething tickles my arm, like a drop of water trailing its way down my skin, leaving a dampness behind that pulls me from my slumber. Yawning, I open my eyes and stare up at the ceiling. Fatigue pulls at my limbs. I didn't sleep well, dreams of watching the queen's slaughter playing over and over in my head. That sticky wetness tickles my arm again, and I raise it up to see what's causing the feeling, only to jerk back in shock. Scrambling to sit upright, I look at my hand, horrified to find it's coated in dark, sticky blood, clumps of it stuck under my fingernails. I want to vomit, the sensation rising within me as I lean over the side of the bed, retching. My throat burns, my stomach is empty, and my eyes water as I wait for the nausea to fade.

Sitting back up, I use my clean hand to wipe my mouth, my breathing rapid. With dread, I look back at my left hand, the one coated with blood. Movement catches my eye, so I quickly glance to my left, and on the spare side of the bed, staring back at me, is the corpse of Slave 879. I want to scream, but I can't, my throat closing up as I gawk at her body. Her throat is wide open and her blood soaks into my sheets.

This can't be happening. This can't be real.

"You did this,"879 hisses at me, making my terror rise. I must be dreaming, I have to be. This isn't possible.

"It's your fault we're dead," she hisses, moving her body stiffly as she pushes up from the mattress, grabbing my arm.

"It's your fault."

A bang makes me shoot up bed, sleep clinging to me as I look around my room in panic. A dream, it was all a dream. Sobs climb their way out of my throat, and I can't stop them from taking over my body as I try to regain control. The weight of the sheets clinging to me is too much, and I hurriedly push them off, needing to feel the air on my skin. I stumble from the bed, running over to the large windows, and throw them open. The bitterly cold winter wind is freezing against my damp skin, but it helps ground me.

The whispered words of what I now realise was a nightmare are still echoing through my mind, making me feel sick. Standing in front of the window in only my thin nightgown, I wrap my arms around my chest and focus on my breathing. "I'm safe. I'm awake. I'm in Grayson's rooms. I'm safe," I repeat, hoping I'll start believing it the more I say the mantra.

"Clarissa?" Jayne's concerned voice startles me as I spin around, eyes wide. It takes me a couple of seconds to realise it's her, but once my brain connects, I instantly feel better.

"Oh, Jayne, it's you," I ramble, wiping at my face to hide my tears. "Sorry. I had a nightmare. I needed some fresh air."

Her expression turns into one of sympathy as she takes in the state I'm in, seeing right through my attempts to appear in control. I realise then that it must have been her who made the banging noise. Her arms are full of folded sheets and the door is wide open behind her. Grayson placed a spell on my room when he first brought me here so no one can enter without my permission, even him. Jayne is the only person I've given permission to, so she may enter whenever she wishes. After she was used as bait to make me compliant yesterday, the first thing I did when I returned was make sure she had a safe place she could run to.

"Sorry I startled you…" She trails off, placing her bundle of sheets on the edge of the bed before walking slowly towards me, moving unhurriedly as she places a hand on my shoulder. "I was going to ask if you were okay, but I think that might be a stupid question." As soon as she touches me and I feel the warmth from her hand, I know I am awake.

"I had a nightmare."

She nods at my comment, her eyes scanning me as if to check that I'm whole and unharmed, and I get the feeling she's doing it as much for herself as she is for me.

"I don't blame you," she soothes, and I see her blue eyes well with tears. For a second, I'm worried she's about to start crying, but she merely takes a deep breath and continues, "I did too. I dreamt they were taking you away from me again." Her voice hitches and she pulls me in for a tight hug. Usually, hugs make me feel uncomfortable, but right now, I think we both need this. I tentatively lift my arms and place them around her, reciprocating the embrace.

After a couple of seconds, she pulls away to look at me, her hands resting on my shoulders. She seems different now. There's a sharpness in her eyes that makes me want to flinch away. "I won't let that happen again," she vows, anger lining her tone. I don't know how she plans on doing that, she's just a human woman, but then I remember what she said yesterday—that I was the closest thing she had to a daughter. I've seen how women can turn fierce when their child is threatened and learned never to cross a mother. Is that really how she feels towards me? A nobody?

Within the span of a second, her whole persona changes and she's back to the woman I know. "Oh, Clarissa." Her voice is soft, and she smiles gently as if I'm about to break. "I can practically see your thoughts flashing across your face." Her hand comes up and cups my cheek. "I love you like a daughter, and I know you can't say that back to me, so don't feel pressured to," she finishes, as she turns a critical eye on me just as a strong blast of wind comes through the window.

"We need to get you ready. The king has called a meeting, all must attend, even the servants." Her voice is carefully blank as she bustles over to the window, pulling it closed.

Dread lines my stomach, and I have to take a few deep breaths. Can I face the king again after everything that happened yesterday? The faces of the fallen slaves flash through my mind and my heart hardens. Yes, I can and will face the murderers, if only to honour those they slayed.

Something deep inside me pulses as if in agreement, and that rage, my constant companion, burns within, fuelling me and giving me what I need to face the day ahead. I will not fall apart, I will not let them win, not after surviving being a slave against all odds for the last twelve years. I'd worried that being cared for was making me soft, but I will become what I need to, to get through this.

I wash while Jayne prepares my outfit. When I come out, I raise a single eyebrow at her choice of attire, but realise it's fitting for the occasion. She helps me dress in a gown that's in the same dark blue of the magicians' colours, claiming me as one of their own. It's simple in style, with a scooping neckline and long sleeves, and it cinches in at my waist before flaring out slightly as it falls to the floor in precise pleats. There is nothing unusual about it until she reaches the final item—a black cape. It's simple, with a small gold clasp holding it together at my collarbone, and the elegant cut makes it flattering as it drapes around my dress.

It's risky, however, since wearing black signals someone in mourning, not to mention that black was the queen's colour of choice. Wearing this will make a statement.

I look at myself in the mirror as Jayne passes me the silver cuffs. The jewellery covers my slave marks whilst looking like a fashion accessory, but I feel the weight of them today, like they are shackling me just as much as my chains did.

A knock at the door has Jayne bustling over to open it, and I know it's Grayson before I even turn around. Nodding, I give him permission to enter, that pull lessening the closer he gets, easing the small ache in my chest that's always present. It's like the draw I feel towards Vaeril and Tor, but I don't want to think about that right now. Shaking my head, I stare at my reflection in the mirror once again. I barely recognise myself, especially as the sticky feeling of magic settles over me and my long, black hair becomes golden, curling ringlets.

Grayson appears behind me, his expression sombre as he sees what I'm wearing. For a second, I think he's going to tell me to take off the cloak, but he just nods and holds out a hand to me, reminding me of the same gesture he made last night. Accepting his hand, I link my arm with his as we leave the room, Jayne following along behind us. We leave Grayson's quarters, entering the corridor, and start the trek to the great hall. We walk in silence, but the questions I have are burning in my chest and I have to know the answers.

"What happened in the meeting after I left?" I keep my voice low so no one else can overhear us, but he still stiffens at the question, his eyes flicking around the hallway, noting the few people making the same journey as us.

Last night after Grayson had offered me his hand, he led me from the room, explaining that they needed to have a private meeting to discuss their plan, and that they were going to use magic to speak with the other high magicians. I'm not going to pretend that I wasn't hurt…or curious.

"I can't say much," he replies, glancing over at me and seeing my hard expression. "Oh, don't look at me like that. You know I would tell you if I could," he retorts, and I know he means it. However, that doesn't mean I have to like it. I remain silent, looking away from him and focusing on the corridor before us. I hear him sigh, and as his steps slow, he pulls me closer, his voice nearly whisper. "We need to see how much sway the priests have over the royal family, so for now, we just observe."

I'm aware of eyes watching us, so I simply nod as we resume our stroll. I see a few people I know and recognise the closer we get to the great hall.

"Clarissa!" a voice shouts, followed by the sound of heavy footsteps running towards me. Spinning, I just see a flash of dark blue before Wilson throws himself at me, his arms wrapping around me tightly. I choke out a shocked laugh as my arms are trapped against my body, so I am unable return his hug.

"I was so worried about you," he mumbles into my hair, his body stiff with tension. "When I saw you in the courtyard between those guards without your glamour, I knew something bad was happening. When the queen was killed and they lined up those slaves—" His voice breaks and I feel my heart shatter. "I thought you were next, then they dragged you away. I couldn't stop them, and everyone in the courtyard was trying to escape, people were getting crushed, so I was helping—" His voice goes high as he rambles, so I pull away from him and cut him off, resting both hands against his cheeks, cradling his face.

"Wilson. It's okay, I understand." I don't explain or mince my words, and I wait for them to sink in. His eyes well up and he pulls me back into a hug, this one much more gentle than the first. I feel bad that I hadn't thought to seek him out after everything had happened. "I'm a terrible friend, I'm sorry I didn't come and find you."

"I love you," is all he replies with. The words are soft, whispered just for me, but I know Grayson hears them as he stiffens at my side. My heart beats hard in my chest, his quiet confession warming a part of me and soothing a craving I didn't even know I had. I want to say it back, I do, but the words lodge in my throat. I've never experienced love before, is this what it feels like? That warm feeling when I see him, the sentiment that I would do anything, including sacrifice myself, for them?

If Wilson was to die… No, I can't even complete that thought without my heart threatening to break in my chest. I don't feel a romantic kind of love towards him, but I feel the same way about him that I do Jayne, who's watching our interaction with a smile on her face. Pulling away, I laugh to break the tension Grayson seems to be radiating.

"Turns out it takes a lot to kill me," I joke quietly with a shrug, but I am interrupted by Grayson, who pulls on my arm as he starts walking again, tugging me along behind him.

"Don't joke about that," he snaps, not looking at me as he marches forward. The others follow in our wake, Wilson jogging to catch up with us.

"Come on, Grayson, she's just trying to lighten the mood—"

"Now is not the time, we need to go," the high mage states, cutting Wilson off without even glancing at him.

We share a look. Something we said has gotten to him, since he'd been fine previously. Fine, if he was going to be like that, then we'll just ignore him. I glance over at my friend who seems to have the same thought as me.

"Is there going to be food at this thing? I'm starving," Wilson complains loudly, and I can't stop the smile that spreads across my face as other lords and ladies turn to stare at him. We are in the main corridor now, and many other people have joined us in the journey to the great hall.

"You're always starving, you intolerable being," a familiar, lilting voice retorts, and Wilson's face completely changes. He lights up, and I know he's working on his best insults as we reach another hallway. I see the pretty, auburn-haired girl, dressed in her usual colours—a crisscrossing of blues and greens—on the arm of her father. I saw him at the ball with Aileen not long ago, but even if I hadn't, it's easy to tell they're related. He's wearing a smart shirt and trousers, and a large swath of the same cloth as Aileen's dress is strapped across his chest.

"Oh, Lady Aileen, how delightful that you could join us," Wilson greets with what I'm sure is a much more subdued greeting than he was planning. Aileen's father watches him with an amused expression.

"Lord Bastian, it's good to see you again." Grayson steps forward and addresses the man. "Have you met Lady Clarissa of Lake Haven?"

"High Mage Grayson, it's good to see you as well," the tall man replies, his accent thick. "Not personally, but I have heard much from my daughter." He smiles at me before looking at his daughter with open affection. Turning back to the magician, he frowns and quietly asks, "Do you know what this meeting is about?"

Grayson sighs and shakes his head. "No, at this point, you know as much as I do."

We're all silent for a few moments before Grayson gestures for us to start walking again. There's some light talk between everyone, but the tension is obvious, and becomes even more so when we step into the great hall. The tables are arranged as they are during banquets. There are four long rows of tables with plates and food set out as if this is just an ordinary day—except for the presence of all the armed guards who line the walls.

Jayne makes her excuses, and goes to join the other maids and servants who are all standing at one side of the space. I can see that the other three high magicians are already here, sitting at the top of one of the tables. Grayson leads us towards them with Aileen, her father, and Wilson trailing behind us. I remember hearing a phrase once, and I feel it applies in this case—strength in numbers. I hadn't understood before, but here, with them all surrounding me, I realise what it means.

Taking our seats, we greet the other magicians and engage in small talk as everyone arrives. However, I watch those who are entering the hall. The lords and ladies are dressed up in their finery, all chatting with each other as if nothing happened yesterday. I shake my head as that anger tries to build up within me again.

"Don't be mad at them. This is all they know," Aileen tells me quietly, her watchful eyes on me. Arching an eyebrow, I wait for her to continue. "They don't know adversity like we do. They've never had to work a day in their lives. Yesterday was a big shock for them. If they don't have some sense of normality, then they will crack under the pressure of it."

I turn to look at the parading nobility again and notice the signs of strain—the tense smiles and staying together in small groups. Aileen is right. I think back to what she said. I had known she was different than everyone else, but I know next to nothing about her.

"What gives you the impression that I've faced adversity?" I query, careful to keep my face and voice blank, although internally I nervously await her answer.

"You hold yourself completely differently than the others." Panic surges through my veins. If Aileen can tell I'm different, won't the others? I'm supposed to be blending in. I already stand out enough from being new to court, and I don't need something else identifying me as different. "Don't worry, the others wouldn't notice it, they are too self-involved," she quickly reassures me, sensing my unease. "I think, when you've faced death and come out on the other side, it changes you and you learn to recognise it in others."

I think over what she says, and I realise she's right. Turning away from the brightly coloured nobles, I open my mouth to comment when a loud banging fills the hall. One of the priests has mounted the raised platform at the front of the hall where the thrones sit, currently empty as he thumps his staff against the wooden floor. A hush falls over the room as people hurry to their seats, all turning anxiously to look at the priest. He's wearing a smug smile, like he has information we don't and he is loving that fact. He stays silent so long that people start to whisper to each other, confused about what's going on, until he takes a step forward and clears his throat.

"All rise for the King of Arhaven."