ONC 2024 Shortlister
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Just one week before his marriage with a chief bloodshaman of the Kurat's army, young surgeon Genul sees his wife, Kenit, die under his care after a terrorist attack launched by the neighboring nation.
As o...
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Bangs echoed from the door, and Genul's pulse spiked. This late at night, whatever waited for him behind the door could not bring Genul good news. The regent had finally decided to punish him.
Genul had expected to be handed to the Ash Anash soon after his visit of the imprisoned kuratian spy in the underground of the great palace. To be thrown inside the same hot and mold-infested jail where he would end up begging for death to deliver him. But several days after he arrived in the royal fields of Lomu, the regent had not only let him live— relegating him to the task of a simple Lyr servant in the little palace—but he had not addressed a single word to Genul. And that was torture of its own kind.
In the ample white boubous of the servants of the little palace, Genul had lived long days on edge, jittery in his waking hours as he cleaned vast rooms, haunted and tormented by nightmare demons when he slept.
All the while, he remained alert at any moment, cautious to hide his tattoos, even sleeping in his long-sleeved boubou. The regent knew enough about him to be aware of Genul's past as a bloodshaman. Still, Genul gained nothing allowing others in the main institution of lomuratian politics to know that he had ties with the kuratian army.
Even amid the regent's silence that had stretched for days, Genul knew he was being watched closely. On the few occasions that their paths crossed in the little palace, the regent appeared determined not to acknowledge Genul. He wasn't avoiding Genul— not turning away when they engaged in the same halls. He simply did not acknowledge him. As though Genul had not promised him death three days ago. Such indifference could not be but premeditated.
As a servant, Genul had two main rules to fulfill: to never set foot inside the great palace— his functions only took place in the little palace— and to make sure the regent saw no dirt on any surface of his quarters.
Unlike the Lyr servants, Genul hadn't been called to serve the regent's morning and night meals. He had not been called to fill the regent's bath and clean it after him. And Fate be praised, he hadn't been called for purposes of fulfilling the regent's night necessities, as the rest of the Lyr referred to sleeping with the regent. Yet, Genul felt stifled, imagining the regent working like a spider spinning and tangling its web around him.
The palace had become a prison: the Lyr servants of the regent had no right to step outside the immediate grounds of the little palace, let alone venture into the great dome, and Fate forbid, outside the palace's barricades. Genul was impotent and defenseless, with his belongings still underground inside the bushes.
It wasn't a matter of if but when the regent would send one of his subjects to finally announce Genul's demise. Genul suspected that heightening his anxiety was the point of it all. Some sort of twisted build-up in which the whorespawn took a mad pleasure before inflicting the last blow with grace. This far, Genul knew the regent was that cunning.
