Mirabel sat down on her bed and gave a yawn. It had been a long and largely uneventful day. Tomas had dragged her all over town, speaking to acquaintances of his from his previous visits to town. But conversation after conversation had led them nowhere.
One acquaintance - unable to read himself - had sent them to yet another acquaintance who, to Mirabel’s great disappointment, was also unable to help. From there, they had traversed the entire marketplace and beyond with hardly any luck.
Mirabel’s feet were, again, sore from all the walking. They hadn’t sat down all day except for to eat lunch. Having been in the marketplace most of the day, they had been constantly surrounded by food, the delicious smells wafting on the breeze and causing Mirabel’s stomach to protest.
Fortunately, it wasn’t long before the smells reached Tomas’s stomach as well. Mirabel had been determined to hold out as long as possible before complaining, but she couldn’t deny being glad when when Tomas suggested they stop for food.
She’d felt somewhat guilty seeing him pull out his quickly diminishing sack of coins to pay. She was a princess; she should be the one paying. She doubted Tomas could truly afford to be spending so much. While he and his family seemed happy, and always seemed to have plenty of food, she knew they were far from rich. She was also sure that the money he was spending was the same money he had earned just a few days previous when selling the goats’ milk in town.
But, unable to protest, or even to offer her own money, as she had none, she’d only been able to watch with a twisting feeling in her gut as Tomas handed over his coins in exchange for the food. She couldn’t help but think that they should have brought more food along so they wouldn’t have to buy as much. Twice so far they’d bought dinner, once breakfast, and once lunch. She hoped desperately that they would not need to buy so many meals the next day. Perhaps they would get lucky and find someone to help them early the next morning.
Of course, she knew that wasn’t likely. They’d exhausted most of Tomas’s connections already. Where would they even begin the next day? Tomas had made an attempt at dinner to act upbeat, but he had no skill in lying. Mirabel could tell he was just as discouraged, if not more, than she was. She had few hopes for the next day. Goatherds were not the sort to have connections that could read. It was a rarer skill than she’d ever thought.
It set her wondering if it was as rare in Lucerne as it was in Pommern. Was the lack of education widespread across the kingdoms, or just something in Pommern? It was something she would have to look into when she returned home. She smiled; ‘when’ was a rather optimistic word in her situation, she thought to herself.
Setting aside her contemplations for the moment, she began to prepare herself for bed. As hard as the cot was in comparison to what she was used to, it seemed incredibly inviting at the moment. Her eyelids were already beginning to close of their own accord.
The flickering light of the candle flame in the small lantern beside her bed was the only source of illumination in the dim room. Through the small window beside her, she could see the stars twinkling brightly in the dark velvet sky. The moon was thin, a claw scratch amidst the pinpricks of light. The view was disappointing to her; it couldn’t compare to sitting out under the sky in the gardens back at the palace, gazing up at the wide expanse. The small patch of darkness in view could in no way compete with the nigh on majestic view she was accustomed to. Perhaps she was spoiled in a way, but she found herself unable to appreciate the view for what it was.
She thought of Tomas then, how he would probably see it as being just as majestic as what she was used to, even though to her it paled in comparison. He always seemed to be able to see the beauty in things. She supposed then that she was spoiled, and that it must mainly be due to the way she was raised. If she had been born to a goatherd, perhaps she would see things differently. Perhaps she would be able to look at the small patch of sky, somewhat obscured by the imperfections of the glass, and think it beautiful and majestic. Perhaps she would be a different person.
The thought scared her the more she thought about it. Who would she be if she hadn’t been born a princess? How would she have coped? Born mute, she doubted she would have been good for much in the world she was discovering. She would never have learned to read, much less to write. She would have been doomed to a life without communication. The thought was terrifying.
But it shouldn’t be, she reminded herself. Perhaps that was what proved her to be spoilt, the fact that losing the ability to write, to communicate, was such a terrifying thought for her. She was sure that there had been children born that way in the past, unable to speak, and never taught to read or write. Surely they managed fine. And yet she was terrified by the notion. It was silly of her. She’d always thought herself intelligent, but she seemed to realize her naivety more and more each day she was away from the palace.
She hoped she would be back at the palace soon. While she couldn’t say she’d had friends there, she’d had books. Books had always been her friends more than humans. Books didn’t require her to talk, or even to do anything really. Instead, they told her stories, fantasies and histories alike. They wove words together in ways she’d never heard from anyone else, capturing her mind and transporting her elsewhere. Even the books that others found boring enthralled her, pulling her into their depths.
Another thought struck her, and she sat down on the edge of her bed once more, torn from the fantasy. She had a wedding. She was getting married. She was going to have to be queen. And suddenly that thought terrified her more than any of the previous ones combined.
Hearing a sound from behind her, loud in the silent night, she turned. The room was dim, though, and whatever had caused the sound was nowhere in sight. Still, it made her uneasy. She reached for the lantern beside her, lifting it in an attempt to cast more light around the room. Perhaps she was being paranoid, though, she thought, still seeing nothing. It had probably come from nothing more than her own tired and terrified mind.
She turned around to set the lantern back on the small wooden table and get ready for bed. She had been up far too long if her mind was beginning to play tricks on her. Her exhaustion was making her paranoid, and after all, she needed to be up earlier tomorrow. Hopefully Tomas would wake her, though, or else she doubted she would be up before noon.
A rough hand grabbed her wrist. She started, her mouth opening in a silent shriek as she whipped around, only to have a familiar feeling of coarse fabric slide over her head. She felt herself freeze in a panic. No.
She began to struggle as she felt herself lifted, rough hands holding her tightly. Not again. Please, not again. She swung her legs wildly about, kicking at anything that gave her purchase. A crashing sound echoed around the small room, the sound of shattering glass, and she stopped in surprise.
The person holding her cursed, and suddenly heavy footsteps resounded as the man - for it was clearly a man - made a mad rush for the door. Her body was jostled as the man ran, seemingly in fear of something, for what else could prompt a kidnapper to make such a loud escape? Her hopes soared for a brief moment that the noise would draw attention and that someone would save her, but that hope was quickly squashed. Everyone was in bed; even if they did hear, they likely would not come out to see why a mad man was running through the halls.
The jostling intensified as the man reached the stairs and began to hop down them two at a time. Her tired body had been frozen before, but now she realized that here she had a chance. She kicked out wildly again, hoping to connect with something, anything. A loud thump proved that she had succeeded. She’d only managed to hit the wall, but it was enough to throw her attacker off balance, sending him careening down the stairs. In his confusion, he tripped, and she found herself flying through the air as he fell down the stairs.
It was an odd moment of freedom, soaring airborne for the briefest moment. But then she slammed into the ground, the breath knocked out of her, just as the man’s tumbling stopped. Surely if anyone was awake they would now come running.
But her hopes were in vain as she heard a groan from the man, and him stumbling to his feet. In a moment of madness, she attempted to regain her own feet before he could, and dash out the door where perhaps she could find help, but it was only madness. The man was up before she had finished the thought, and she was thrown across his broad shoulders again.
Within a moment, they were out the door and into the chill air of the late night. She was sure if she had her head uncovered she’d be able to see the stars overhead, twinkling cruelly at her harsh fate. While her first reaction to her attacker had been fear, she’d been surprised to find that her next emotion was mere exasperation. Exasperation at her fortune, and exasperation at the fact that this was happening over again. Kidnapped twice in a week; surely that had to be a record?
Surprise flooded her mind again, however, as she found herself tossed into the back of a cart, landing roughly. And then the terror returned. It was happening again. It was almost as if she was reliving the terror of that first horrible night, snatched from her reveries and tossed over a man’s shoulder. But the cart was the last straw. She found herself shaking, her eyes tearing in fright as she huddled in the corner of the cart again.
The man hopped into the cart, and she had to close her eyes to block the memories of that night from flooding back. Memories of counting the men hopping in beside her. Memories of galloping horses and bruised limbs. Memories she’d suppressed. But not anymore. Not again. Not again. Not again. Her mind began a mantra, trying to push back the memories, the terror she’d felt. Not again. Not again.
“We need to get out of here. Now,” came the voice of the man who had carried her out of the building. “The brat knocked over the lantern in her room. The whole place is going to be on fire soon, and that’s if the tenants don’t come get us first after all the noise.”
Mirabel’s eyes widened under the sack on her head. That was why he had cursed and run. That was what had caused his carelessness. The inn was going up in flames.
She realized that in her fright, she’d put everyone else in danger. She could only hope they would be able to find and put out the fire in time. The crack of the whip, familiar to her ears, echoed through the night. Her own safety far from her mind, the cart started off without another word from either the driver or the passengers. She’d knocked over the lantern. She’d set the inn on fire. It was her fault. All of it.
A horrifying thought struck her. Not only had she set the inn on fire and put everyone inside in danger, but Tomas’s room was right beside hers. If anyone was in danger, it was him.
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A/N Well, here's the next chapter :3 Hope you're enjoying. I wrote half of this in a notebook during church during NaNo >.< Just to get my word count. It was a pain to type into the computer. I. Hate. Copying. In case you wanted to know x) As usual, I hope you enjoyed the chapter, despite my pains of copying, and please vote/comment! I'll give you an ice cream cone xD