Chapter Forty-One
Simmer
Demons // Simply Three (Imagine Dragons Cover)
Days later– after meeting the Master and more days laboring in the kitchen—I clean and sort alone as the woman is off completing other household duties. After I finish with the bulk of the organizing, I am brushing the dust out of my hair and off the black dress when the old woman returns. I observe her more carefully than I have before as she carries a plate of bread and cheese, this time a bit of meat alongside. She sets it down on the work surface then passes me and resumes her work.
"Master brought some spoils from the hunt this time. Thought you might want something heartier than cheese."
Looking at the cheese and tasteless bread, a pit of unease builds in my gut. I've been growing angry with her, with Grimhold, and with Nicandros. I am sure he must have had some hand in my confinement. And I'm angry with my father for the lifetime of lies he has surely told. Even with Ellete for not caring a lick about any of this in the first place.
And I am so mad at Drue for leaving just when I had finally found something to hope in.
I turn toward the woman, taking a look long at her head which is still cocked to one side. Her drooping eyes are hidden because of the crook of her neck. I notice the slight tremble in her hands. The dark look I saw in her eyes at the mention of her captivity days before has faded. In fact, it seems as though most of what makes a person who they really are is not present in the person standing in my presence. Her default answer is a shrug. She dismisses almost all mentions of family or friends, people she might miss. No. Standing before me is a woman who seems to be void of any emotion whatsoever.
Does she truly have no memories of her life away from this dwelling? Will I become like her the longer I am here? Will I lose myself in this dwelling? Grimhold assured me I would not, but I'm beginning to doubt.
"What do they call you, other than Woman?" I wonder aloud, quietly.
Her head shakes slightly. "I don't recall any other name. Woman is the name I've answered to for ages...it is all I know."
I spy the bread on the table, once again freshly baked. "You have been the cook and baker, for quite some time, I take it."
She also glances at the bread. "Ah, yes. I cannot help what may be missing from this bread." Her acknowledgment catches me by surprise. "It is no longer mine to give." Her eyes lift back to me. "This dwelling has many costs. The Master takes what he will, gives nothing in return." Her hand touches mine. Her next words are a trickle of sound hardly discernable in the vast cold room. "Careful of the bargains you make with him." Then she turns back to the other room, leaving me in the kitchen once more.
I wonder what her cost has been, what bargain she has made. And more, I wonder what she had to leave behind.
Still clutching the broom, I take a deep breath and circle the kitchen as I have become accustomed to doing in my waking hours no matter which room I am in, with or without the aid of a broom. I pace. I do it now, in this kitchen, to calm my confusion, soothe my distress. I've taken to walking one way and then the next within my small cell to keep moving, keep from losing my sanity locked up like a bird, unable to spread my wings and soar.
My thoughts bring me to a sudden halt in my steps. Because have I ever done that? Soar in life...outside of the confines of the kitchen. To my disgust, I realize I haven't. I've been living in a prison this entire time, trapped and destined to remain unhappy and bitter. Was that what happened to Mother? Was she bitter and resentful?
Gone is my dark sadness over the betrayal I have discovered, the realization of how I've suffered. Gone is the snap and determination I felt when I demanded answers. How long ago was that night? The night I sat by a fountain eating chocolate cake and wondering about life. The memory hits as though a different person altogether marched into that hall then stormed through the solarium doors to confront Nicandros and demand he return the favor he owed. Why was I so certain he would know? I can't even remember anymore.
As I scoff at myself and shake away my thoughts, the Woman returns, walking directly to the storage room I had forgotten to sweep. My mind wandered after meeting the Master, far from the duties expected of me.
"Quite the difference in here since you've arrived. I can never seem to remember where things belong but you have them tidy and easily managed." Her typically thin voice sounds fuller at the moment. She is pleased without being able to truly express the emotion. I walk to the storeroom to find her standing and...admiring it.
"The floors are still a mess," I say as I enter and begin sweeping in one corner.
"All in good time," she answers as she grabs a few supplies.
"Are you baking now?" I pause to ask. My curiosity at her process wins over duty. I must watch as she bakes because I have to figure out what is missing from her recipe.
"Always baking, always kneading. Yes, now and later. Always." Her words are clipped as she speaks in a rhythm, nearly birdsong-like.
I sweep quickly, gathering a small pile of dust and scooping it up into a bin. Then I grab a crate and seat myself in one corner, ready to follow her every move with my eyes. To my delight, the woman continues speaking as she bakes. I take Grimhold's words to heart, to listen without asking.
She begins to measure then sift salt and flour in a large bowl as she talks about her time in the dwelling. "My only memories are from this place, but they seem closer to a dream than reality. The master would return from his travels with others, pets and treasures that he would keep. Some were unusual, some simple forest creatures. Always locked in cages, always kept in cells."
Her words settle as she adds liquid, using her hand to combine the ingredients slowly. "When he returned with his son, the entire dwelling seemed different, lighter."
I want to ask what she means. I want to know how it was he returned from his travels with a son. But I remain quiet while staying on my crate. She begins to knead the dough in her bowl, placing it on the work surface with a dusting of flour. So far everything I've noticed she's done has been perfect. However her work is void of feeling. Her movements are methodical, route. She has them memorized as I do, but there is a spark missing.
"I remember when the boy first came. His son hated to see the cages, the cells. He wanted the creatures to be freed but the master refused. The son grew quiet, brooding. Distant. He seemed as bitter as his father after a time." The woman shook her head. "No matter. He has been long gone for so many moons I am beginning to forget him."
Her story brings so much sadness to my heart. The poor boy, forced to endure life in this dwelling. I wonder how it was that he was allowed to leave? His father, the Master, seems to want all of his belongings locked up.
A voice from the dark hall passage off to the side pulls me from my thoughts. "No need to forget me. Here I am, once again."
My movements still. I stand in place to catch my breath. I know the voice and thus the person to which it belongs. As he steps into the light, my heart races because Nicandros' voice has been in my mind for so long I could never forget his irritating tone. Yet I am shocked and overwhelmed as I realize Nicandros' voice has lost the arrogance I expect, sounding kind instead. What I hear now is not a tone I associate with him, except for one weak moment in the garden...
"Ah, yes." The woman acknowledges the Lord. "You have returned. It has been a long time since you've stood in this kitchen."
For standing before me is the familiar lord, still in his finery, much like his father. The gold stitching and rich fabrics fit right in with this dwelling. And of course, Nicandros eyes are locked on mine, only a hint of his arrogance visible in his demeanor.
"Lissa, I'm glad to see you are well," Nicandros says, speaking to me directly, using the name Drue had called me so long ago.
"But...how?" I ask, even as the truth screams at me.
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