story - part 9 - memory two - 1222 words

Seventeen. Quiet and alone. He is afraid of her, but he loves her; she hurts him, but only when he deserves it. These days, he is rarely allowed out of her sight; she sits silently in on his lessons, attentive and thoughtful. Sometimes, afterwards, she will give him opinions, will correct some of what the priests have said, to mold him to her.

He cannot help but begin to feel restless. They have long since run out of new things to teach him, and they seem to believe he will not notice if they repeat themselves. They speak in the same monotonous tone, and he is learning a new skill - he can ignore them, now, nod his head at the appropriate times while staring distantly off into space. He dreams of flying, but he has not dared it again.

She has him wrapped about her little finger. When she orders him to do something, he has stopped protesting or questioning, he merely steps into line. Some of her tasks are pointless, or dangerous, or upsetting, but he does not even wonder at their purpose anymore. What would be the point, if she is always right?

Something has changed, twisted, inside of him, though. It is a stomach-lurching feeling of loneliness and hopelessness. He does not want her to be his only rock in life, he wishes for friends and family, people who he can to go to, who would be willing to protect him. Even the Inspired, in their lonely lives, have positions in courts, or friends, or enemies.

The more restless he gets, and the more timid questions he asks her about his future, the more frustrated she becomes. He is not supposed to wonder, or hurt, or think. He should only obey. She has no patience.

"What do you mean, you want to go into town? Why? You have never wanted to go shopping before." Her voice takes on a sharp edge, eyes narrowing dangerously. He fumbles his way through some half-hearted reply and gives himself away. The more he wants something, the faster he backs out of it.

"You already take classes. Alone. Private classes. Why would you want to be thrown in with a dozen or more other students?" Exasperated, with a roll of her eyes and a comfortable kind of posture. He recognizes the schooling in her expression, and the cock of her hips, as barely-hidden anger. She taught him how to do that, he knows how to see through it, and immediately admits that she is right.

"You want more books? There are hundreds of books, here, and that should be enough. And you have classwork to do, correct? If not, perhaps I should tell your teachers to assign more." Coming out as a hissing threat, that he immediately jumps to shut down, with a shake of his head and the assurance that, yes, he has plenty of work.

Dozens of questions asked, dozens of others he does not dare to voice. He wants to go to the parties, or participate in events. He wants to eat dinner with all the other students, he knows that he is not the only one there. He wants to hold long discussions with other people his age on all these feelings that knot up his stomach.

There are other things that he wants, without even knowing it. He wants to make friends, to tell stupid jokes and laugh at them. He wants to meet girls, to go on long, wandering walks with them, to figure out how they work and how different they are. He wants to know that he can take care of himself, despite all her reassurances that he was only alive because of her. He wants to know if he's ever going to grow up.

"What does the future hold? What do you think it holds? You are going to work in the King's Court, their only priest. They are desperately in need of one who they can trust, who will be loyal - and who would fill the position better than you?"

This one stops him cold. It is something in her voice, something sly and snickering, some edge of satisfaction. She wants him close to the King, because the closer he is, the closer she is. If he ends up in the King's court, he is afraid of what she will make him do.

"I don't want to." Soft and timid. He has never gone against her so completely, so directly before. It has always been in quietly doing something he has been ordered not to, or ignoring her words. In sneaking out late and night to stare up at the sky, or look longingly to the mountain and feel the wind whip about him.

She is suddenly silent and still, blinking up at him with eyes narrowed. Waiting for him to take it back, her arms fold slowly across her chest and one eyebrow inches upward. A well-trained part of him wants to flinch back, to shake his head and say he is only kidding. This one time, however, the rebellious teenager is going to win out.

"I don't want to." More solidly this time. He meets her eyes for a split-second before looking away, but that is a split-second longer than he can usually meet her stare. A nervous shift of weight - he moves unconsciously into an echo of her posture, except the clutch of arms is protective, his expression uncertain.

It takes her a moment to find her voice, to put together the right string of words. He can imagine the thoughts slowly coming together in his mind, he watches her lips twitch. She is imagining the way they will taste, and looking for the most bitter phrase she can come up with.

"You are not a normal child. You have responsibilities, things that you have to do, even when you do not want to. You do not know how the real world works, all you understand is court life, the intricate in and outs of nobles." So far it is nicer, calmer than I expected. None of this is really news, though it still stings some. I begin to reply, something about my ability to learn, but is silenced by a tiny gesture.

"No one else wants you, do you understand that? No, of course you do not." Sharper, with a sudden, deep frown. I blink away from her again, shifting uncomfortably.

"The wingless hate you, because you have wings and they do not. The other priests hate you, because you are noble - royalty - and they are not. The nobles hate you because you hold more power than any of them ever will, and are nothing but a bastard child. Your father hates you, because you were gotten by me."

There is a moment of utter silence, those sharp words ringing in the room, and in my ears. I am still staring away from her, but now her hand comes up to snatch at my chin, to drag my face still around, so that I can do nothing but meet her eyes.

"Everyone hates you but me. So stop whining and do as you are told." As she jerks her hand, throwing my face away from her, and shakes her head in disgust and frustration.