Of Soot And Cinders

VII

I barely caught a glimpse of the thing— things— people— before one of their hands was reaching out and taking the rest of my bread from my hands. My stomach growled in protest, but I didn't look up to meet the eyes of the thief, I wasn't looking for more punishment. And I knew the thief— thieves, liked to punish me like they enjoyed fucking any woman who would bed them.

"It's like shit, this bread." The voice rang clear over room and it's silence. "You're lucky we came this morning Soot, or I wouldn't have been able to save you from finishing it off. Surely ingesting that can't be healthy."

"Poor thing looks like he may puke up what he's already eaten. I bet his stomach is already infested with worms brother." A second voice added. "I think you were too late in saving him."

My heart sunk, melting into the acid of my stomach. There weren't many reasons my step brothers chose to visit me, and of the reasons, none of them were anything less than painful.

I could feel them step closer, and those on the bench next to me scoot away.
The groin of one brother pressed into my hunched shoulder, and I fought against flinching. The other didn't come as close but I could feel his hand brush my braid over my shoulder, and trace the devils mark on the back of my neck almost lovingly.

"Are you not thankful for us Soot? For sparing you of that shit they were feeding you?"

I steadied my voice. "Yes, I'm most thankful sirs." I wasn't, it was the first food I had been allowed in a week, and I could feel my bones weakening from the lack of food.

I felt a huff of breath down my neck and fought a shiver. Florence and Nightingale were twins, gorgeous as the sun breaking on the horizon, vile as a witches curse. They were knights of the castle as well, and used their positions to ensure I was followed and tormented by someone else when they were unavailable. I hadn't seen them in nearly three months and had been too complacent in their absence. But I was reminded now of how much they frightened me.

They were so different from when we had been children together, we had played side by side and happy when their father and my mother had first married. But as soon as she died they turned on me as their father instructed. They were the ones who had broken my leg, crushed it with stones as they sat on my back to keep me from thrashing. Who had later come with their new hunting knives and tested the sharpness on my Achilles heel.

Nightingale had been softer in the beginning, stooping to whisper in my ear after they stoned my leg. "I'm sorry." Before leaving me curled in the gravel out behind the slave quarters. 
But puberty seemed to bring out the darker side I saw now, the one he shared with his twin. Where Florence lusted for blood, I thought Nightingale hungered for weakness, for dominance. I felt him lean more into my head, stroking my neck as I held it out in complete submission.

"Your master wants to see you, slave." Nightingale whispered, voice dripping and sultry with the pleasure of humiliating me.

My master—my step father. I nearly collapsed. Fath—he never wanted to see me, kept me hidden in the slave quarters so that he might not ever lay eyes on me. Maybe I had finally been forgiven—I could—maybe... be with Grimm.

I dropped the thought quicker than I could put my hands out to brace myself for a collision with the ground. Nightingale had taken a hand to my hair and used his grip to throw me to the ground. I heard a soft gasp of concern—most likely from Sara—but no one dared argue against the treatment. All in the room respected the Knights more than they did me.
Nightingale's hand fisted in my braid again. I whimpered and I could feel his fingers tighten in glee. He pulled my face, dragging it across the splintered floor. I could feel the little splinters digging into my cheek, my lip, reaching dangerously close to my eye.

My heart was beating too fast to notice when I was lifted from the floor.

——————

Father never touched me in anyway that hurt me. Not that he touched me in comfort either. He kept space between us, like I was with plague. Though in his eyes I suppose I was. The devils mark—which sullied me from my mate—was as bad as a plague.

"Oh child," he whispered. "I came with such good news, and hear you've broken so many rules."

I stood in the middle of the small room annexing the sleeping quarters. A simple wooden stool had been brought for my father to sit on and the small window let in a stream of sad light.

"I'm sorry." I whispered.

My father shook his head. "Ive tried so hard to give you the forgiveness I know your mother would have. But slave," I didn't think he had called me anything but slave or child since my mother died. "You sin as if you want to test me. I'm feeling tested child."

I could only mutter another soft sorry, keeping my eyes down.

He sighed. "I think I've found a way to save you, to remove that mark from your neck. But how could I release you when I'm not even sure you've learned the lesson I intended you to learn when I branded you?"

My heart sped up its beating, pumping like it could bring my other back to life.
My eyes shot up. Begging him to show honesty in his gaze.

A hard force to the shoulders sent me crashing to the floor. I had forgotten my stepbrothers behind me, somewhere Florence had found a club.

I gasped against the locking of my lungs. My shoulders ached and I knew lifting my arms was going to become my worst nightmare.

"You've even forgotten your manners. It's the basics that form good behavior child, I think it time you had another lesson."

I finally got a breath in, flooding into my lungs like water. Bringing with it my stepfathers words. I hadn't ever been taught how to be a slave, there were no lessons. Only consequences for breaking rules of which I wasn't told. I had to learn from my—mistakes or be beat again.
Don't look anyone in the eye
Don't speak unless questioned
Don't engage with anyone
Don't use the well by the kitchens
Don't be late to bed
Don't show resistance

I wanted to tell him, tell him that I didn't understand what I was doing wrong. That finishing late on my chores was not my fault, that I tried so hard to move quickly from the stream to one hearth after another. That I fought the hunger in my stomach and weakness in my limbs so that I might get things done on time.
I knew he wouldn't listen.

"Slave—" Father began.

"He calls himself, Soot, now, Father." Nightingale interjects.

"Finally forgot his name I think." Florence said, dropping the head of the club by my hand.

I had. Forgotten my name, the one my mother gave me. It was my biggest sin.

I couldn't see anything from my place on the floor but I could hear the rustling of clothes. "Naming yourself does not make you human. Slave. You're a sin, an abomination to the goddess, it is shameful that you even try to hide that." Fathers words were soft. I could feel my heart clench in pain.
"Even if I did have a way to remove that devils mark, I'm not sure you are deserving of it."

I couldn't stop the tears which dropped down my cheek full of splinters.