Promises of Glory
Chapter 16

“There’s things we can explain and things we can’t, never mix the two up.”

-Bryce Atwell, Philosopher

Tapping fingers, the oak wood beneath Rhode’s fluttering fingers trembled. A book laid open in front of her, going unnoticed as her eyes were trained on the window, the world beyond it.

How long had it been since she was here? How long was she going to stay a prisoner? Livinus wasn’t coming for her and it was stupid of her to wait for someone to save her. If she wanted to escape, she’d have to do it herself.

Outside the window everything was dark. The cover of night had fallen, taking with it the color.

“Isabelle,” Rhode sighed, “run me a bath.”

The maid bowed and exited the bedroom, leaving through a door that was hidden behind a tapestry. Isabelle had been a help lately, staying up late when Rhode was concentrated and copying letters and pronouncing their sounds. The maid had stepped in as a tutor, helping the girl when she got stuck or when she got something completely wrong.

Rhode sighed again, feeling her soul being sucked out by the pure boredom she felt. Everyday for two weeks, she had been sitting here, painstakingly learning when all she wanted to do was scream.

Scream that everything was wrong. S~ᴇaʀᴄh the Find ɴøᴠel.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

Scream that she shouldn’t be so attached to a place like this. That locked her up and kept things from her. Full of two-faced liars.

Scream that she wanted Livinus.

For a moment, all she could think about was keeping her mouth shut, to shut up and stay focused on the world, on reality. She was gripping her hair with a vice like grip when the door to the bathroom opened. The tapestry was pushed back by the door, Isabelle stepped out, bowing as soon as Rhode turned her lingering gaze to her.

“The bath is drawn.”

The girl picked something out of her teeth, trying to pretend that her mind wasn’t a million miles away, picking up its pieces. “That was fast.”

Not a word.

Rhode huffed, “The least you can do is answer me.”

The maid stepped back and held open the bathroom door. “After you.”

“Right,” she nodded. Rhode got up from her seat, when a light caught her eyes. Her head snapped back to the window. “Do you see that?”

A annoyed sigh, “See what?”

“The light!”

Isabelle joined the girl at the window, “Oh, gods.”

Rhode jumped, “Come on!” She clapped her hands together and then she was out the door.

The walls of pictures flew by, Rhode hopped down the stairs, taking two at a time. “Wait!” Isabelle called from behind her.

The girl laughed loudly, running down the halls and out to the garden.

“Please, keep your voice down. People are trying to sleep.”

Rhode got to the old fountain, its pieces strewn about in haphazard disarray like it had always been that way. But the whole scene was glowing, a bright light coming not from the fountain, but from a small figure.

The figure turns around and Rhode instantly recognized him. “You’re that boy, from when I fainted. You!” Something like anger was stirring in her stomach, lighting her up with emotion when she had been so dead the last couple months. But more than that, there was delight.

The boy, with his pale skin and skinny arm, held his arm out to her. He had a gentle frown on his face, “Rhode.”

A flash and tears ran down his face. Rhode squinted her eyes against the blinding light. “Rhode.” His voice was haunting, like a songbird that knew it was going to die. The girl felt strangely drawn to the boy, as he held out his arms for a hug. He was crying her name, sobbing it. She stepped forward. A hand on her shoulder made her stop.

“It’s not safe.” The maid stopped her. “Let’s go back inside, it’s safe in there. We don’t know what this spirit wants.” The girl’s eyes wandered over to the maid. Again, the Isabelle urged, “It’s not safe.”

Rhode turned back to the boy, “I want to comfort him.”

Isabelle pulled on her more roughly. “I wasn’t kidding. Let’s go inside. We shouldn’t even be out here.”

“Let go of me.”

The girl wretched her shoulder free. She took a slow step towards the boy. “Rhode.” He cried again.

She wrapped her arms around him, holding him close. She used her arm to stroke his hair, the burnt straw color felt softer to the touch than she imagined it did. He blubbered into her chest, and she hushed him gently. “No need to cry, little one.”

“Can I tell you a story?” he asked through tears after some minutes had passed.

Rhode nodded. She felt herself wanting to hear all of his words, like he was the moon and she the sea.

The boy hiccuped, and spoke. “In a far away land,” he began, his voice becoming distant. Rhode raised herself and sat the boy on the fountain’s lip like she had done so many days before. “There was a large castle on a hill.”

The girl blinked, suddenly no longer seeing the garden. Rhode saw the rolling hills, the iridescent light trickling through the tree canopies.

The boy’s voice became an overlay over the ever shifting scene. “And in this castle there lived a sly old woman. The woman was clever, having lived over five thousand years, and played a trick on anyone that came to the castle. To her servants she was a kind old woman that like to knit and garden. To her slaves she was a young seductress that thrived off of torture. Her magic was strong and she used it to disguise herself.”

Rhode saw the woman old, knitting a blanket for a maid’s new child. But she also saw the woman young, whipping a man so barely together it was like he was holding on by a string.

“The old woman would lure the unsuspecting village girls into her home with the promise of something more.”

The girl saw herself, a young girl with a shawl draped over her head. She blinked and everything about the girl changed. It was no longer her and she was no longer alive. Rhode looked on with horror as the girl she had saw moments before was cut apart and spread out among various sized dished plates. The girl wasn’t even cooked.

“The woman would eat the girls to maintain her magic and prolong her life.” The boy’s voice became a whisper, a promise that the horrendous acts she saw coming to life were more than just a story.

There was a pause, a long drawn silence between the ending of the story and her return to reality. The boy raised his arm, pointing to the house. Rhode followed his finger and saw that he was pointing at the attic. “What?” Her mouth gaped for a moment, trying to put together all the information. She looked back at the boy, only to find that he was gone.

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