I was in the darkness
--so the darkness I became
The place she had once felt so warm and welcomed was quickly becoming her prison cell.
The smooth stone walls had lost all of their grandeur, after having stared at them endlessly for days on end. At the window, birds trilled outside, seeming to mock her with their endless freedom. She felt like a caged panther, slinking across the room in measured steps, turning quickly as she met the edges of the her confines. Even the food seemed to have lost some of its taste, or perhaps it was only her own misery that was tainting it. Since the raid, she had been placed in her room and kept there, not leaving even to eat. A royal guard stood watch at her door at all times, and any attempt to speak to him was met with a stony silence. When she had arrived, she had been welcomed, adored even. With her lay the possible promise of a marriage; a marriage that would ultimately (or at least, hopefully) include children, and children were the ultimate promise that the royal families reign here would continue. But now she was being treated like some sort of criminal despite what she had done to protect the castle. Bitterness rose in her throat like bile at just the thought. Before she realized it, the book she held in her hands was flying across the room, coming to a quick halt as it slammed into the polished wood of the armoire. It landed in a heap on the floor, several pages torn loose from the binding and looking more dog-earred than it had before. She sighed, slowing her angry pacing and going to retrieve it. If only she could write a letter to her parents; but of course, out going post from the contestants had been forbidden. She was on her own entirely now, with nothing but an iron clad will and remarkable stubbornness to get her through.
Walking across the room she replaced the book on its shelf, setting it beside the few others she had brought with her. As she did so a knock came at the door and Topsail wheeled around, instantly alert and jerked from her personal misery. These knocks came several times throughout the day, and each one meant a chance to pry for some shred of information. Of course, the servants had become as tight-lipped as the guard out front, and even Mrs. Lanham had ceased her motherly chatter. Most of her questions were answered silently, with either a sympathetic smile or a grimace. Sometimes she could squeeze out a “Yes” or a “No” and the occasional “You just need to stay here and rest and heal“, but mostly, silence. Heavy, overwhelming silence. Topsail cleared her throat and smoothed her skirt, eager to make a good impression this time. Not that she had ever been overtly rude to anyone, but the implications were surely there in the icy, clipped quality of her voice. Not this time though. This time, she would put those charm classes to good use and turn it on. A smile here and a tinkling laugh there, even an attractive blush if she could catch the eye on a young manservant. Plan in place she called back “Come in, please!”, waiting patiently with her hands clasped loosely in front of herself. But it was only Mrs. Lanham and another elderly maid who entered and Topsail was hard pressed to suppress a groan. These old hags were much harder to charm something out of than some young, hot-to-trot manservant would have been. Looking back now she considered it a gap in her studies that she wasn’t taught something on how to deal with steely old women. Never the less, she smiled (as was expected), gave them a little bow (as was expected), and all but laid out the red carpet to welcome them into her room. Or prison cell, whichever one preferred. Of course they would call it a room, but she was very quickly learning an entire new view of the place.
“You know, Mrs. Lanham, the weather looks beautiful outside. Only this morning I could hear meadowlarks singing, and my, how I’d like to join them. Might I go visit the grounds, and possibly the stables?” she said, letting a certain sparkle shine in her blue eyes. Mrs. Lanham only smiled that infuriating smile as she shook her head and clucked like a hen. “Now my dear, we’ve been over this. You’re in much too delicate of a constitution to go wandering around out there. If something were to happen to you, it would be my head on the platter, Miss.” she replied. Her words were like salt to a wound and Topsail felt her temper flaring. It was true, the bruise on her face had reached a magnitude of colors, and there were several stitches on her chest. But she wasn’t bed-ridden, for heavens sake! “But Mrs. Lanham…surely, the sunshine would be just the right tonic! Why, I can’t even feel the stitches anymore, and with a certain amount of makeup the bruises aren’t even all that visible!” Mrs. Lanham was quickly loosing her patience, as was evident by the fierce look she rounded on Topsail. “Enough of this discussion. You’re to stay put, and if you try any funny business, the man at the door will put you right back here where you belong.” Topsail wasn’t sure what to say, for she had never seen the kindly old woman look so flinty. The other elderly maid just shook her head, whether at Topsail or Mrs. Lanham, Topsail didn’t know. Clearly, she would be of no help, the dimwit. “Its just as you say, Mrs. Lanham, forgive me. But please, tell me how Francis is. I’ve heard nothing since the attack.” Topsail replied, bowing her head with what she hoped was just the right amount of apology. Mrs. Lanham softened somewhat, and Topsail grew hopeful. It was all for naught, though. “Again, you’re asking questions of stuff you’ve no business knowing. Mrs. Casto has been preparing your bath. Go, get in.” And that was that. Shot down like a duck from the sky. Topsail could actually feel the smile fall from her face, to be replaced with a icy glare that could have moved a mountain from her path. She couldn’t even think of a response. With waves of animosity rolling off of her and one last hateful glare, she went into the bathroom like any good lady in waiting would do.
She flopped down in the water, feeling less like a potential princess and more like a lobster stewing in a pot. It wouldn’t have surprised her in the least if steam were rolling from her ears. These maids were infuriating! What with their carefully crafted smiles and rehearsed answers. They were insufferable, the whole lot of them. She bathed quickly, and before the water had started to get cold she was out and dripping onto the floor. With a grimace she walked over to what was probably a very expensive rug, and took extra care to drip all over that too. By the time she dried off and started getting dressed, she was in a sour mood indeed. After all she had done to help the kingdom, she was being treated like a common criminal! They acted as if she, Topsail, had been amongst the hoard storming up the driveway with torches in their hands and malice in their hearts. As she stepped from the bathroom the team of dressers came forward, already holding out the gown she was to wear. “What a fancy gown! Almost too fancy for a prisoner, wouldn’t you say?” The word “prisoner” came out in a hiss, and the dressers eyed her as they would a poisonous snake. Unsurprisingly, they said nothing, but went about their work hemming and creasing as needed. For her part, Topsail glared at them all, for she was in no mood for these shenanigans. She wanted answers, and not a damn fancy dress to wear while she sat on the bed and stared at the wall. When the hair dresser had coiffed her hair just right and the last stitch had been put in the dress, she was left alone again. Like a zoo animal she began pacing again, though she found the rustle of silk to be most annoying so she plopped down on the window seat instead. A bird landed just outside the pane, staring at her with its beady bird eyes. What she wouldn’t give for a set of wings right about now… Glaring, angry, she barely registered the knock at the door. She didn’t even bother to disguise the rolling of her eyes. Probably one of those dim-witted old bats back to treat her like a child. She didn’t answer, knowing full well they would come in after a moment anyways. But the door remained closed as Topsail glared at it. Finally another knock, and a soft clearing of the throat. Topsail knew that voice, but surely not? “Topsail?” came his voice, Francis’ voice, and all at once the animosity shed from her body like a coat in winter.
She rose from the bed as he opened the door, clearly taking her stony silence as permission to enter. For a moment they just stared at one another, until finally she was finding it difficult to keep her panther-like gaze in place. He was just as handsome as she had remembered. Forgetting daintiness and replacing it with urgency, she flew across the room and into his arms. He smelled clean and of some type of expensive after shave. His chest was warm so she lingered there, content with the feel of his heart beating against her cheek. But wait…pulling back and away from him, she frantically searched his eyes. “I hope I’ve not hurt you, its only that I’ve missed you. No one would tell me anything! You could have been slaughtered like a pig at market, but no one would tell me a damn thing!” she cried, allowing tears for the first time since she had killed the rebel in the hallway. Up until now she had refused to show a single sign of weakness, but under his gaze she found it acceptable. Before he could answer, realization dawned on her and she stepped farther back to take all of him under her gaze. “But you’re not hurt, are you? So why was I kept in the dark? Why was I let to set here and wonder and worry?” She was hurt now, and that pain dried the tears up like a puddle in July. Francis sighed, his own gaze falling to the floor. Not that she could blame him; her time in captivity was ample opportunity for her to work on her best sneer. “You must understand…this wasn’t my choice. But father is rather bullheaded, and he has been doing a thorough investigation of everyone in the castle. From the royal guards to the servants…hell, I think he’s even questioned the man who brings the vegetables. Everyone has passed…so he believes its one of you. The Selected.” he paused, though he still refused to look her in the eye. She was pacing again anyways, and like a panther in a cage, she felt rage blossoming in her chest. “I’ve already sent home three who I was unsure about. The others have all been questioned. Its your turn now. Topsail, you’ve no idea how sorry I am about this, but father won’t be swayed. He insists, and when he insists, we all do as he says.” His face was heavy with emotion, one Topsail couldn’t quite identify. Her own face mirrored his, as the rage was replaced by an uprising of nervous butterflies in her stomach. “What do you mean? What’s going to happen?” she asked, unable to keep the tremor from her voice. “Just do as your told. It’ll all be fine…” he said, and she could hear the lie in his voice. As his voice trailed off two guards trailed in, and it was all she could do to force down the contents of her stomach back into their proper place.
A guard on each side, she was marched from her room. A part of her wanted to look back over her shoulder and plead, wordlessly, for Francis to do something. But that stubborn part of her refused to show him that weakness. He had let them do this to her for this long, so it was clear he was in no position to save her, even if he wanted. The guards at her sides were a quite couple, though more than once Topsail had to stop herself from telling them to get their damn hands off of her. Its not like she was going to make a break for it in her ridiculous silk confection of a dress. But she kept her lips closed tight, giving her mouth an unattractive, pinched look. Through the castle they march, the lady in silk and her “knights in shining armor”. She is led off down a wing she’s never been before, and because of the furious nerves tainting her senses, she doesn’t notice the floor sloping slightly beneath them. Finally, they led her into a small room. It was cool, carved of roughly hewn stone. There were no oriental rugs here; only a rough wooden table, behind which 1 men sat. In the center of the room was a chair, high-backed and equipped with several leather straps. The sight of the chair made her heart race, though she refused to let it show. She wouldn’t have been entirely surprised if her heartbeat could be seen through her dress though, for it was pounding along at a rapid pace. With a start, she realized Francis was at the table. The door she had just entered through swung open again, revealing the King. He was dressed casually, but the crown atop his head was a dead giveaway. She didn’t know the other man and right now, didn’t care to. She gave Francis a nervous, tight-lipped smile. He didn’t return it, which only made her nerves that much worse. “Let us begin…”
Quickly the guards sat her down, securing her to the chair with the straps. They were uncomfortably tight or perhaps it was just her imagination. Having been confined for so long, she was on edge already. Immediately, a light sheen of sweat broke out over her forehead and beneath the leather, which did nothing to settle her down. The king and the unknown man stood in front of her and beneath their heavy gazes she squirmed a bit. “This is the kingdom interrogator. Drink what he offers you, and don’t delay or drag this out. He will be giving you a minor neurotoxin, which will make you easy for hypnosis and as such, truth telling.” she could barely register the kings words as the foul-smelling drink was shoved in her face. She wanted to protest, wanted to wiggle and writhe and refuse to drink it. But what was the point? Not to mention, she had nothing to hide. She had come here with the right intentions, hadn’t she? With a glance at Francis she opened her mouth obediently, gagging as the elixir reached the back of her throat. “Throw up, and you’ll drink it again.” said the unnamed interrogator, unfazed by the tears rolling from the corners of her eyes. Closing her mouth she swallowed hard, taking the entire thing like a drunk would down a whiskey. Immediately, she felt the effects of it. Her vision became hazed, and all of their voices sounded as if they were underwater. Her head lolled about on her shoulders, and Francis’ image became nothing more than a blur. Far off (or so it seemed) she heard the interrogator say to the king “She’s ready. Let us begin.”
All at once, she felt at peace with the world and all of its inhabitants. She was cruising along on the drugs high, unable to even comprehend the notion of the ground, let alone see it. She was vaguely (very vaguely) aware of the interrogator asking her questions, but somehow she answered them. “Where do your loyalties lie, girl?” Was that anger? She didn’t know, didn’t care. “They lie with the kingdom, of course. Here. But I wonder sometimes why our people starve…” she said demurely, her voice trailing off.
Suddenly, she was standing in the palace with Francis. She was the queen to his king. And they lived comfortably, but simply. Excesses were done away with, and as such, the entire kingdom had begun to swell. Gone were the down trodden faces of the poor, who so often went hungry. Only the young and the very elderly were without jobs, as it should be. But the vision changed and blurred, and before long she was visiting what would make her a good ruler. The vision was largely the same; her in a simple gown, him a simple shirt and trousers. Of course, there were plans for economic change, but was there something more? She had a will forged from the strongest iron and a stubborn streak a country mile wide. There was never a fight that she would back down from, even if she had bitten off more than she could chew. But that was all carefully cloaked beneath a porcelain exterior, an exterior that could soothe and relax whereas a man might simply intimidate. Her strength, like a forest fire, was quiet but undeniable. She wasn’t sure if she said any of this out loud, for her head was still swimming several miles above her body. It was all good things though, right? Lolling her head about she tried to focus on Francis, but it was like she was viewing him through a foggy window so she gave up. “What is your fatal flaw? You’re not perfect…where is the chink in your proverbial armor?” came a voice in some distant corner of her brain. Interesting question…she was stubborn, but that wasn’t always a bad thing. Her mind flickered back to her mother, lying on dirty sheets and begging for a doctor they couldn’t afford. She should have stayed home with her, but instead she was here…
(“Mother, I must go! You understand, don‘t you? Think of all the changes I could make!”…“Of course my dear…it would be a shame if you didn‘t. Please, darling, don‘t worry for me.“ Her smile couldn‘t hide her lie, but Topsail pretended not to see it).
She was like a tick on a dogs back, growing fat on the luxuries she was provided here. (She was in a hot, steaming bath, watching her mother wipe herself down with a lukewarm rag. She was eating ham and sausage and steak, while her mother sipped gruel.). Her mother had only crossed her mind a few times, and in her letters she had never once asked her father how her mother was doing. It was easier not to know; to know meant to worry, and to worry meant clouding of her judgment here. Here here here, in the castle. Not in a single room cabin along a dusty road on the outskirts of town.
(She watched through the window as her mother toiled away on her bed made of straw. Meanwhile, she was draped in the finest silk confections the kingdom had to offer. For the greater good, you know.)
“I’m selfish…”
Her lips moved, but the words were far away. Tears followed the words, rolling down her pretty ivory cheeks. “I should have stayed home and cared for her. But the chance to become an heir, why, it was more than I could pass up. There will be other days with her, right? She has made it this long I suppose. Here I can make a real change, for everyone.” A sob sprang from her throat and she was powerless to stop it. “I can’t see past the greater good to ease the suffering of one…” And it was true. That was her flaw. She was so hell bent on helping the masses (not for personal gain, you see) that she had neglected the suffering of one individual. She didn’t know exactly what type of person that made her, but it probably wasn’t a good one. It could be viewed so many ways but by now, she was beyond the point of caring. The high of the elixir had faded into gut wrenching realization, and all she wanted was to lie in her bed and cry.
She was only vaguely aware of the straps being removed from her arms. There was pressure above her elbows, and she stood obediently as the guards tugged. The drugs were fading away but the lingering guilt was enough to make her sick. She couldn’t even look in the direction where Francis had been, not wanting to see disappointment on his handsome face. She had enough of that to deal with, and it combined with guilt were a heavy combination. Slowly the guards led her back to her turret room, and more than once she thought she saw them exchanging glances over her head. It was probably her imagination, which was running rampant thanks to the elixir. Even though the drug had faded from her system, she could still picture her dying mothers face, clear as a bell. finally they reached her room, stopping as the guard on her left leaned forward to open it. She stumbled inside unassisted, making a beeline for her bed. But as she sank into the goose down she immediately felt guilty, so instead she got back up. Sitting down on the hearth, with her back against the rough stone, she was hugely uncomfortable. But it was what she deserved. Tears flowed down her cheeks and she did nothing to stop them, but simply stared unfocused into the distance. Now only time would tell, if she had done any good at all.
topsail