story - part 38 - thoughtless - 1568 words

Late at night. I find it difficult to sleep, the past few days, but I refuse to take a sleeping drought. I am not comfortable with the idea that someone might come into my room while I am asleep, I am afraid that I might miss some movement in the game and lose my position, or my name, or my life.

Slow and wandering steps drag me out into the gardens. I spend a lot of time, here, between the wind-bent trees and the hearty flowers that cling to the earth, struggling to keep themselves rooted and alive. I used to come out here when I was young, to sit and work in the sunshine, or to lay flat on my back and listen to the hum and bustle of the castle around me.

I am weary of the attention and of the struggles. I must fight with Tumaire to get him to do his work, to pay attention in lessons - he would rather stare vacantly out the window, and his writings often turn to twisting, twining doodles. I must endure ever curious eyes in the Great Hall during means, or in the rest of the palace during the day. I must watch that new physician treat my Prince, my brother, with an easy competence that drags up some boiling frustration.

It is relieving to escape out into these empty gardens, to settle down in a bench and tilt my head back to stare up at the sky, the spattering of stars. In the Religious Capital, they explained that these are Inspired who have learned how to clear their minds and their hearts, to become light enough that they can fly upward forever. I never believed that, I always imagined them to be something flatter and less mystical, but they are still soothing and comforting.

A rustle in the grass to my right. My face turns just in time to catch glimpse of her before a hand connects soundly with my face, with a dull thud. It comes around a second time, but I catch it before it touches me, fingers tightening vise-like around her wrist, winning a tiny whimper.

I yank her harshly into a small glimmer of light to see who my attack is, and am met with the bright and angry eyes of Amazilia. Her shoulders are twisted upward, her jaw set slightly, and her chin tilted arrogantly. It is a feigned confidence, a challenge, she is daring me to strike back even as she winces about the tight hand about her wrist.

For a moment, I am tempted. All the tiny frustrations and uncertainties are boiling inside of me, and I can imagine how good it would feel to take them out on someone else. To break something, or hurt something. To ruin something beautiful. But instead I slowly loosen my grip on her arm, not quite releasing her, and lock her with a steady stare.

"May I help you?" Dark and mild, daring her to come up with a good explanation for this. Her arm jerks out of my grasp and she rubs at the abused wrist, scowling up at me. There is something young and angry about it, as if I hurt her needlessly and I am the antagonist, as if I attacked her and not vice versa.

"You. You, I hate you. You ruined it for me, you know that? First you gave me something to go with, and you let me get my hopes up and everything, and then you appear and you just steal the spotlight. I planned it out, I was going to make a scene and force him to do something - " Escaping in one long rush, harsh and hoarse. There is no thought in it, it is merely a stream of consciousness, and when she comes to a halt it is only to suck in a deep breath of air.

"And now where am I? Back to where I always was. He hardly even comes by now, you know that? He's too busy thinking about you, I guess, or comforting the Queen." Jaw setting. This has the air of finality, I do not think she is going to continue, but I allow a moment of silence to hang in the air. It serves a dual purpose, gives me time to come up with an answer and gives her time to listen to just how ridiculous she sounds.

"I did not plan anything. You might have noticed that I was chained to a chair for three days, and that now I am just as much a prisoner." I cannot force my voice back into a steady calm, now. There is something twitching and trembling about it, it is rough and crackling. Perhaps I have not realized, before, how trapped I feel. I have been deluding myself, pretending that it is merely a change, that it is not a step backward and downward.

"I would kill to be chained to a chair. Do you think he ever gives me that much attention? He doesn't think I'm that important, I'm just a bit of skirt, like you said." Her own anger has faded away, into something muted and upset. Her eyes are wider and brighter, a glimmer of tears as she sinks down to sit on the bench.

"It just seemed, you know, like he cared for a minute. Like I'd made him angry enough that he was going to actually do something about it. Except then you came in with all your secrets and your broken wings." Trailing off, her hands clenching into tights fists in her lap. She honestly believes that this is my fault, or she has at least talked herself into believing it. So long as she does not have to blame herself, it does not matter whose fault it is.

I struggle, for a moment, trying to find some way to make her understand. I sit beside her, settled as comfortably as I can in the bench, and bring fingers up to my still stinging cheek. I should just let her deal with that hurt and that anger, that bubbling frustration, but I do not want it to come around and bite me again.

"He is not worth it. All he cares about is himself. If you make him happy, and you make his life easier, then he cares about you, perhaps. If you cause trouble, then you have to deal with that sharp stare and that stern frown, the way his voice goes hard as iron and his eyes flash." Dull and flat. I am surprised by my own voice, by the bitterness in my tone. I have been lying to myself as well.

"If you seek his approval, then you are weak and needy, and you do not deserve it. If you do not care about what he thinks, then you must think that you are better than him, and you must be put in your place. If you settle somewhere in between, he ignores you, because you are not important enough to win his notice." Blinking over to meet her startled eyes, my hands twitching and clenching in my lap, a harsh smile tugging at my lips.

"You would be better off packing up and moving out to the country. Find someone gentle and sweet, who can take care of you and who will give you the attention you crave. You do not want to be his gilly girl." It is amazing how hurt and how pitiful she looks, abruptly. A far cry from the angry way she stormed across the gardens to attack me, and the accusation in her expression is gone.

"But I…I can't. I don't want anyone else. I want him to want me, because I want him, and I want him to love me, because I love him." Voice getting softer and softer as she speaks, the last two words barely a breath. It is a great secret, the one thing she has never wanted to admit, not even to herself. A violent flush comes to her cheeks, and her eyes flash away.

I hate him. He does this to people, he wins them over and pretends to care about them, and then drops them in one careless, elegant gesture. I wonder if he will take the new physician to bed, if he will win her over - and I wonder how long it will be before Tumaire is too much of a hassle for him to deal with, and he forgets about his son.

I force myself up to stand, fingers smoothing hair back out of my head and setting cool against my temple, trying to ease away a sudden headache. I do not want to be alone in my room, but I want even less to sit here beside her and worry about her love, her desire, her hopeless life. I need to escape.

"Do not love him. Do not give that to him. He will take it, and swallow it up, and give you nothing in return." For a moment, it looks like she is going to protest. But her eyes go dull and flat, and when she blinks away, I escape back down the path, toward my rooms. Or perhaps to find Calidris, to see if she is awake, if she will smile at me and curl up in my arms.