Chapter 1
“Isolda! Isolda come here!”
I ignored the shriek and pressed my aching head to the cool tiles on the wall. The blue swum before my eyes.
“Come Isolda! You must dress me now, otherwise we will be late!”
This time I obeyed, drifting down the hall like a ghost. I had been a present for my mistress’s sixteenth birthday. Lady Julia. Her old personal slave had committed suicide.
“The pink one, Isolda.” Julia stretched luxuriously in her room. I was the dirtiest thing there, out of place. I rifled through her wardrobe, my fingers tracing lightly on the smooth silks and satins. I found the gown she had asked for and held it up for her inspection.
“Yes. Bring it over.” I did so. She raised her arms and I put it on her and buttoned up the small pearl clasps. My mistress looked in the clear mirror, smoothing her hair, smiling at herself, a practised, slow smile.
“Your dress looks awfully drab, Isolda.” She smiled at me, not her practised one, but a smirk sharp as glass. “You look like a dead tree.”
“Thank you.” I said flatly.
She smiled again. “A slave does not need to be dressed properly. She needs only to be there.”
“As you wish mistress.” I closed my eyes.
“Do my hair in one of those new twists, you know….” Julia demonstrated vaguely. I took the strands of her dark glassy hair, plaiting it, twining it. Her hair, beautiful smooth and dark. Mine, a snarled mess.
She chattered as I did her hair. “We’re going to the gallows again. I find it awfully boring mostly, but this time, a woman is being hung. An adulteress. It should be quite fun to watch. I like it when they twitch. You? Oh yes. I forgot. You don’t like the public executions.”
“No.” I said shortly.
“How silly. It’s not that bad, really. They would die anyway, you know.”
“Can’t you at least allow them to die in private?” I pulled a section of her hair too hard by accident.
“That quite hurt, Isolda. I shouldn’t wonder that you would like to see me die. You might be free then.”
“Yes.”
“It must be your French blood, I think. That you don’t like the hangings, I mean.”
“Perhaps.”
“And you really shouldn’t talk to me like that, or I’ll have you strung up there one day. But you’re very good at hair.”
I shoved the last pin in her hair.
“Look at these jewels.” Julia let the pearl choker fall casually over her hand. “They’re worth double you, I should think.”
“Yes mistress.” I took the necklace in my hand and fastened it around her smooth neck. Two years of this and all my spirit had been worn down, my dreams turned to dust. Every night as I shivered to stay warm and the glaze of tears clouded my eyes, my heart thumped slowly in my chest. Not free.
Julia pivoted to look at herself in the mirror. She was too young, really for the grown up style of dress she wore, the rouge and the lip stain. The jewels were too rich for a girl barely sixteen. But she was beautiful.
“Julia!” The call came from below. “Coming, Mother.” Julia cast me one last look over her pretty shoulder.
“Aren’t you coming?”
“If you wish, mistress.”
“Good. Bring my furs. It looks like it may be cold.”
“You are excited.”
“Yes.” Julia looked up at me with her big blue eyes. “So?”
“Go to hell.” I knew I would be beaten afterwards, but it was worth it. I left the room.
That night, after my beating I was made to go down to the market to buy vegetables for the evening meal. It wasn’t too far, but would be dark and I decided I should hurry. It was snowing, the air filled with tiny crystals. I smiled up dreamily into the pale sky. The ground was icy and treacherous, but I heard the snow crunching under my feet and I closed my eyes, tilting my head back. Snowflakes fell on my pale hair and lashes and I smiled, wiping them off with my sleeve. The snow here reminded me of home. I did a dreamy little spin, my feet sure and steady. I looked up. The street was almost empty this early in the morning. Except for a man, walking in my direction. He had dark hair and wore hard leather. Too late, I remembered that a slave girl should lower her gaze, but when I saw his face, I gasped and I saw a ghost flit across his face. Black spots swam before my eyes and my legs lost their power. I slipped gently to the ground, head cracking against the ice. My lips were trembling. I was remembering another boy with dark hair, a boy who I would never see again.
The man saw me fall and strode towards me. He had a sweet mouth and a rueful smile. His hair was as dark as mine was pale as dark as the forest at night. One unruly curl fell in the fragile hollow of his neck, dark against the sun-kissed sheen of his skin.
“Are you all right?” He looked down at me unwillingly, then startled as he saw my eyes.
I wiped my nose on my sleeve. “Yes. I- I slipped.”
“You have blood on your head.”
“Yes.” I remembered hitting it against the ice. I touched my hair and my fingers came away bloody.
“You have very strange eyes.” He told me.
“Yes.” I said again, looking down.
His eyes were dark as a stormy sea.
“Let me help you up.” He touched my hand to pull me to my feet. I scrambled away, grazing my bare legs on the ice. “No. I’m all right. I will be fine. Leave me alone.” Tears were starting to pool in my eyes.
“You’re hurt.”
“Please go.” I wiped my eyes viciously. “Please.”
He looked down on me and after a second, turned and strode away. I sniffed again and scrambled to my feet, shoes grating against the ice. I turned to look after him. He was walking away, his boots kicking up snow. My breath misted in the air like gauze and my hand felt as if it had been touched by a red-hot poker where he had grazed it. I felt the blood pulsing in my veins. He rounded the corner of the street and after a second, I turned away and carried on walking, pressing my palm into the weeping gash in my head.
