Etta

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve

Etta stood outside, in the courtyard, her bow clutched in one hand. She fiddled with an arrow, placing it between the wood and string. 

Her feet edged a little way from each other, making tiny footprints in the dirt beneath her. She twisted her body so she could see the target. 

A round red dot in a sea of white. 

Fingers curled around the string, she pulled back slowly, her elbow to her eye. Her breath beat against the outside of her thumb, flooding all around it. 

One, and in, two, and out. 

She flicked her fingers up. 

The arrow shot through the air, piercing the air with a soft swoop. It hit the red dot right in the middle. Right where she thought it would. 

Her palm stung and she brought it up to her face. The stitches that the medic had been forced to apply stretched across her skin. It'd been four days with hardly any improvement. It didn't rip apart when she drew back her arrow anymore. But it didn't go a couple of hours without bleeding either. She swallowed. 

A slow clap erupted from behind her, and she turned to see it was the slaves. Four of them watching from the bars, their claps in unison. 

Etta narrowed her eyes, letting her bow fall to her side. 

She rolled her eyes, not wanting to look at them any longer. They were so skinny and titch. One of the girls didn't look older than twelve, yet she was holding a sword in one hand, and her other arm was bruised. To the point where it seemed to take over her skin. 

She had to get away from them. 

Etta found herself running, the bow still clutched in her good hand. She went for the kitchens, hoping that the cook would be able to cheer her up. Frederich was singing again, stirring yet another big pot of something, but with a boy in tow. The boy seemed to be sprinkling dried herbs into the mixture. It was Matilda's friend. Etta stopped herself just before the kitchen entrance, and took a moment to peer at them.

They were both so happy, the corners of their mouths pulling up into grins. She couldn't remember the last time she'd smiled like that. 

The door creaked and Frederich's eyes whipped up. The boy looked too but no ounce of happiness could be seen in his face. 

But he didn't say anything to her. Not like he would had she caught him on his own. He didn't respect her, that much was obvious, but he wasn't stupid enough to call her out in front of a paid worker. 

She was in charge there. He knew that. 

'What can I do for you, Miss Etta?' Frederich's bright red cheeks wobbled as he spoke. 

The boy stared down into the pot. 

'Nothing.' Etta looked from one to the other. She turned to go but a voice stopped her. 

'She didn't deserve it.' 

'Gorj...' Frederich growled. 

She span back around. Gorj still hadn't looked up but she knew it was him who spoke. 

'Ruth.' She didn't need to question it. She knew that was who he was talking about. He nodded.

She didn't wait. Her hand flew to his throat and she slammed him against the kitchen wall. He yelped and her insides curled. 

'What?' She squeezed. 

'Etta, leave him.' Frederich's rough hand touched her wrist. If it had been anyone else, they would've seized it. But he didn't. He just touched, lightly, like she was made of gold leaf, that ingredient that sometimes sprinkled her cake. She looked across to him and let go, and Gorj sank.