I kept looking up at those shells of light in the black sky, begging the goddesses to be born and come to rescue us. To return me to my bed, to my parents, to safety.
They didn’t.
You’d think I might resent the stars for that, but that’s not the case. Because every time I look up, I remember my mother. Or at least, a piece of her. A piece I’ve been desperately trying to hold onto for twenty years.
But memory and time aren’t friends. They reject each other, they hurry in opposite directions, pulling the binding taut between them, threatening to snap. They fight, and we inexplicably lose. Memory and time. Always losing one as you go on with the other.
I can’t recall what my mother’s face looked like. I don’t remember the rumble of my father’s voice. I can’t dig up the feel of their arms around me when they held me for the last time.
It’s faded.
The single star above winks at me, the sight blurred from the water gathered in my eyes. In the next second, my star is smothered by roiling clouds that block it from view, making a pang of disappointment scrape the surface of my heart.
If those stars really are goddesses waiting to be born, I should warn them to stay where they are in the safety of their twinkling light. Because down here? Down here, life is dark and lonely, and it has noisy bells and not nearly enough wine.
Chapter Three
In the morning, I get woken up by the damn bell, a headache bursting to life behind my eyes.
I snap open my crusty eyelids and rub away the blur. As I sit up, the wine bottle that was apparently still in my lap falls onto the gold floor and rolls away. I look around and find two of the king’s guards standing watch on the other side of my bars.
My cage takes up most of the room, but there’s enough space for the guards to walk through all the rooms on the outside when they’re doing their rounds.
I quickly wipe the drool from my mouth and stretch, waiting for the bell toll to stop its incessant dinging, my head tender from the alcohol I consumed before I finally fell asleep last night.
“Shut up,” I grumble at it, my hands swiping down my face.
“About time she woke up,” I hear.
I look over at the guards and notice Digby—the older one with gray hair and a thick beard—standing sentinel by the door. He’s my regular guard, and he’s had this post for years. He’s completely straight-laced and serious, always refusing to chat with me, or play any of my drinking games.
But the guard who talked? He’s new. Despite my hangover, I instantly perk up. I don’t get many new ones.
I study the newcomer. He looks like he’s barely seventeen winters old, still with pockmarks on his face and gangly limbs. He was probably just drafted from the city. All males who come of age are immediately enlisted into King Midas’s army unless they have farming rights.
“What’s your name?” I ask, walking forward to grip the bars.
His eyes shoot over to look at me, and he straightens his golden armor, the bell emblem on the chest plate shining proudly. “Joq.”
Digby cuts him a glare. “Don’t talk to her.”
Joq chews on his lip in thought. “Why not?”
“Because it’s orders, that’s why.”
Joq shrugs, and I watch the whole exchange with budding curiosity. I wonder if he’d ever play a drinking game with me.
“You think she has a gold cunt?” Joq asks abruptly, tilting his head as he looks over at me.
Oookay, so he’s not interested in a drinking game, then. Good to know.
“It’s rude to talk about people’s cunts right in front of them,” I tell him pointedly, and his eyebrows shoot up in surprise at my blunt words.
“But you’re a saddle,” he says with a frown. “Your cunt is what you’re good for.”
Wow, okay. So Joq’s an asshole.
I grip my gold bars as I narrow my eyes on him. “Female saddles aren’t only good for their cunts. We usually have awesome tits too,” I say dryly.
Instead of catching my scathing tone, he just looks excited. Joq is an idiot too, it seems.
Digby turns to him. “Careful, lad. The king hears you speaking about his favored’s body, and he’ll have your head on a gold spike faster than you can say forged fuck.”
Joq’s eyes trail over me like he isn’t listening to Digby at all. “She’s a fine piece, that’s all I’m sayin’,” he replies, clearly not wanting to shut up. “I thought it was a myth that King Midas gold-touched his favorite saddle.” Joq scratches the back of his mussed up, mud-colored hair. “How do you think he did it?”
“Did what?” Digby asks, clearly irritated with him.
“Well...shouldn’t everything he touches turn solid gold? She should be a solid statue right now, right?”
Digby looks at him like he’s a fool. “Look around, boy. The king turns some things solid gold, and other things keep their form and just go golden, like the curtains and shit. I don’t know how the fuck he does it, and I don’t care, because it’s not my duty to care. It is my duty to guard the top wing of the castle and his favored, though, so that’s what I do. If you were wise, you’d do the same and stop yapping your damn mouth. Now go walk your rounds.”
“Alright, alright.” Chastised, Joq sends me one more curious look before he turns away and slips out the door to do his walking rounds of the rest of the floor.
I shake my head. “Young guards these days. Idiots, all of them, am I right, Dig?”
Digby just glances at me before looking away to stare straight ahead in his guardy pose. After all the years of being around him, I’ve learned that he takes his job very, very seriously.
“Best get ready, Miss Auren. It’s late,” he says gruffly.
I sigh, pressing a thumb against my sore temple before I head for the archway that leads to the barred walkway that separates my rooms. I walk through it and go into my dressing room, while Digby stays in the other room to give me privacy.
Some of the other guards like to push the boundaries and follow me in here from the other side. I’m glad to be behind my bars in those instances. Luckily, I do have a golden sheath of fabric draped down from the ceiling. It covers part of the cage so that I can undress behind it without being seen, but I’m pretty sure it still casts off the shadow of my silhouette, which is why those pricks follow.
But I don’t have to worry about Digby ogling my shadow. He’s never tried to be inappropriate or steal looks at me—not like some of the others. Come to think of it, that’s probably why he’s been my guard for so many years, while some of the others haven’t lasted. I wonder if King Midas put their heads on golden spikes.
This morning, it’s dark and dreary in my dressing room. I only have one skylight in the ceiling above, but the window is usually covered in snow, and today is no different. My only other light source is the lantern on the table. I quickly refill it and turn up the flame, and then get started with my morning routine in the soft light. Midas is going to summon me this morning, so I have to be ready on time.
I look around at all the racks of gowns hanging up in the room, my eyes searching through them. They’re all made with gold thread and fabric of course. As Midas’s favored, I’m never seen in anything less.