Xavier

Fruit

The first time I met Aurelia Oscillius, she’d slapped my hand.

When I was younger, I’d thought she’d done something horrible.

Looking back now, I know that slap had saved my life.

Much like how I had coveted the peach earlier, gazing upon it with hungry eyes, I’d once picked up a plum as a child and, without permission, nearly taken a bite.

The hit was jarring, like a whip. Bruising.

I’d dropped the plum back to the table it had been set upon and found myself staring into narrowed caramel-colored eyes, not so different a shade from my own. “Theft is treason, here,” she’d hissed down at me, voice barely a whisper. “They’ll kill you over less.”

She’d been just a tad taller than me at the time, just a child too. And for some reason, she didn’t punish me for my action. Never snitched.

I wouldn’t come to know why until much later—a whispered revelation from Isaac in a tousled looking barn. He’d been a mess at the time, his shirt torn, hands shaking as he’d clutched his face. He spoke of blood bonds and infidelity. He spoke of my parents, of Aurelia’s. My father was dead, he’d told me. And my mother was a bed slave.

King Oscillius’ bed slave.

Now, turning sharply just before reaching the boarding hall, Aurelia tucked a piece of paper in my hands. “Just in case you ever need me,” she whispered tersely. “Stay away from Ricco.” As was customary, she’d given a sharp warning, very few words, and then she was moving back down the hallway, away from me.

I knew better than to speak up, to speak out.

I wanted to know where she was going, with who. I wanted to know why everyone was leaving me here, all alone, but I knew that my older sister wouldn’t answer me.

It wasn’t safe to acknowledge me.

Just as I was left with nothing but a first name, she was cursed with her title.

“Em?”

Glancing over my shoulder, I crumpled the piece of paper in my fist, careful to keep it out of sight. “Hm?” It was Bianca and Rochelle, two of the younger girls at the boardinghouse, just barely thirteen years old.

“Are you okay?” Rochelle asked.

“How could she be okay?” Bianca muttered. “You saw him.”

Him. They must be talking about Ricco.

“Are you going to become his bed slave?” Rochelle pressed.

“Rochelle,” Bianca hissed, shoving at the other girl.

They were too young to know better than to gossip. They wouldn’t last long here if it kept up. “I’m fine,” I chirped, forcing a small smile. “Just a bit tired.” I was already moving toward the boarding hall, aware of the whispers sounding behind me from the chatty young girls.

The ones not yet broken by the system.

The ones that would no doubt learn the hard way.

Keeping my head down, I knew it would be best to just avoid them.

. . .

There are vibrant flowers in the garden.

They are vibrant because of the young female elf, wearing a collar around her lithe neck, was put in charge of keeping them that way. Her beautiful voice echoed through courtyard as I went, a sad reminder that slaves here come in all forms and species.

Melodic, the tune was in the ancient language.

I didn’t have to understand the lyrics to feel haunted by it.

Head bowed, I tried not to look into her glowing green eyes, not to notice the once mighty tree that had been burned down in the center, forbidden from being resurrected.

It was a scare tactic, a standing threat.

Anything you create here is only allowed to flourish on the whim of the Royals.

If you fail them in any respect, they will literally put a torch to everything you care about.

As I walked, I noticed the white bunny skitter past, headed toward her companion, to comfort her no doubt. It was a wonder that they’d allowed the elf to keep her companion, only choosing to kill the tree she’d grown from seed. Then again, an elf without a companion was more likely to commit suicide. Then who would maintain the gardens?

Walking a little faster, I ignored the feeling of eyes on me, headed directly toward the outer wall. My excuse for being there was that my next assignment was the library. That wasn’t why I went to the stone wall, quickly unlodging one that was strategically placed, sticking my fingers into the c***k Isaac had placed there long ago.

It was a way to pass notes through.

Just a sliver, just enough to stick my fingers in.

No new letters, no news.

Frowning at the empty slot, I lodged the small stone back into place.

It had been two weeks since Isaac had managed to escape and one week since I had last heard from him. On the very last letter I’d received, scrawled in his block lettering and underlined emphatically was the words, “I found someone who can help.” I wasn’t sure what he meant or how anyone could help but I had kept all of his notes for safe keeping, tucked away under a broken corner tile within the last stall of the boardinghouse bathroom, along with the recent one with a phone number that Aurelia had slipped me. It was a common area and the best place to keep contraband—even if it was found, it couldn’t easily be traced back to me.

Quickly stepping away from the wall, I noticed that the elf was closer now, her gaze locked on mine. She was hauntingly beautiful and much too skinny.

Holding her dreadful gaze, I couldn’t remember her name.

I could remember why that tree had been burned down.

She had dared to grow a tree that bore fruit.

It made me think of the taunting peach.

The plum.

Her eyes, I found myself thinking, look just as hollow as mine.

Dropping my gaze, I quickly shuffled away, off toward my next task.