The Devil's Smile

Chapter 34

Amina may have thought it all a disturbing nightmare, if not for the handprint on her throat and the new pain searing through her skull. She stood in front of the mirror and examined the purple seeping into her pale skin. Collapsing onto the edge of her bed, she stared at the door, imagining that she was brave enough to leave. She knew she could find the way out. Moras wouldn't follow her. He would just tell the druids to send someone else. But without a withered body lying on the slab outside the cave all of her teachers and friends would know that she had run away. She was trapped here by herself.

Amina lay back on the bed, letting tears stream down her cheeks. Slowly she resigned herself to her existence. I don't know why it's taking so much for me to get used to it all. Didn't they tell me how horrible this was? Wasn't I prepared for being sacrificed for the good of my people? Mostly she was angry at herself for seeing something in Moras Cro that wasn't really there. Just because the man's touch was gentle once and he seemed so… I was wrong. I was just wrong, she thought.

It took some time that night, but she was able to turn her tears off. Amina busied herself by preparing a bath and making plans for what she could do to pass time until Moras wanted another meal. That's all I am. A meal. A well cared for, unwanted, meal. In the end, I suppose, it makes sense. He hates himself. I'm another representation of what he despises about himself. I guess if I were a good person who turned myself into a monster I wouldn't much like the things that reminded me of that either.

Amina soaked in the tub, feeling the warm water sooth the tension from her body. She did her best to remember her lessons and try not to be resentful for all of this. It had been her choice. No one had forced her into this life. Now she would have to adjust to it. The longer she lasted the fewer girls in the next generation would have to be subjected to it. She resolved to look through the library and see if she could find some books on music. Nothing had surprised her more than when she had found the room with all the stored instruments. If she could find some books on how to play one of them, maybe she could teach herself. That would certainly take a great deal of time. Besides, Amina had never liked sewing and there was plenty of clothing. She had only to cook and clean for herself. There were no gardens to tend or animals to look after or children to teach. She had never had so little to do.

Amina eventually got out of the tub, dried herself off, and went to her bed. She wouldn't disobey his rules again.

Moras grabbed his armor off the rack and strapped it on. Choosing one of the more violent looking maces on from the weapons rack, he stepped up to the armored dummy. He roared frustration as vicious blows rained down on the dummy. Sweat covered his face and ran down the back of his neck as he battered the inanimate enemy into submission. When it finally lay in a brutalized mound on the floor he threw the mace across the room with an unsatisfied war cry and paced away from the mess. Air was forcefully drawn into his lungs as he tried to calm down.

"She's right to some extent," he said aloud to himself, a habit he had developed during long hours of silence. "I've shown her no consistency. She has no idea how to behave because I've given her no real direction," he sighed. He wanted to badly to trust her and walk down the hall to spend time near her. He stared at the large double doors and wondered if he had hurt her too badly when he had slammed her against the wall. "Well if she didn't fear me before, she'll be starting to now."

He couldn't decide if he wanted her to be afraid and cut off all chance of resurrecting what had started between them or if he wanted her to continue to challenge him. Moras walked back to his dummy and began to repair the damage he had done with a skillful hand. This wasn't the first time, nor would it be the last, that he had relieved some of his frustration this way.

Amina could hear the echoing sound of metal on metal bouncing off the stone walls in the darkness. She worked her way down the hall until she found the door to the library. She was grateful for the yelling and pounding. He sounded angry and that concerned her, but it also told her where he was. She wasn't nervously wondering if he was watching her from the shadows this way.

The library was well organized and it didn't take long for her to find the books concerning music. The ones she found were mostly books that discussed music or talked about the history of music. Amina looked around the room with interest and found that there were more history books than anything else. "He must be interested in learning about the things that have happened since he was trapped inside this gloom," she said softly to herself.

Amina tilted her head toward the door and listened to the continued hammering of metal on metal. It was getting louder. She sighed nervously, using the sound to break the uneasy feel of her situation, and went back to the music books. She found one that looked simple enough. It was a book that was mostly the history of tin whistles, but there were some pages containing simple chords and a small section on how to read music notes.

Amina left a note for Moras on the desk, letting him know that she had borrowed one of the books and which one. As she headed back toward her rooms, silence descended on the hall. A nervous queasy feeling had Amina watching the light around the doors at the end of the hall as she quickened her pace toward her own rooms. She wasn't doing anything wrong, but she didn't want him thinking she was up to something either. She didn't intend to ever find out how he would "punish" her, if she stepped out of line again.

The heavy wooden door closed behind her with a thud and she felt safe again. Excitedly she ran down her hall. The light helped her feel better as well. Amina wondered if she would ever grow used to the darkness of his halls. She opened the door that led to her music room. It didn't take long for her to turn up a small intricately carved wooden box that contained, what looked to be, a well made tin whistle. It was silver and had a soft red cord with tassels on it tied around the end near the mouth piece. She smiled thinking it was very pretty. Placing the whistle back in the little wooden box she picked up the book and the box then walked out of the music room and down the hall into her bedroom. She placed the box with the whistle on the stand next to her bed and began reading, absorbing everything the book said.

It didn't take long for her to realize that she would mostly have to teach herself how to play it. Amina smiled. "I've got all the time in the world," she said to herself.

In the beginning, Moras had been worried about how she was reacting to what had happened between them. It became evident by her behavior, which changed very little, that she was still the same. She was respecting his space as a result of the attack and staying in her own room. But she was still moving about and doing things to occupy herself. The ones who had given in to the darkness in his home had always taken to lying in bed and sleeping their tedium away or staring blankly at walls for hours on end. The ones he pitied were those who didn't lose their minds and lived every day knowing where they were and what he was.

It was a late night when he walked into his library. There was a tingling in the back of his mind. He wouldn't admit even to himself that hoped she might come here as well. Then he could call it a chance encounter in a small space and neither of them would have to admit to needing the company. Moras was letting his pride rule him and he knew it. He was refusing to go to her and pissed at himself that he had so thoroughly given her the impression that she was not to come to him. "I've no one to blame save myself," he groused as he walked the shelves of books and tried to find one that interested him.

A piece of paper with unfamiliar handwriting, on his desk caught his attention. When he read it a smile cracked his face. She had been here. The muscles in his cheeks balked at the unfamiliar movement and his face fell back to the standard frowning position it was used to. Moras walked out the door and down the hall toward Amina's rooms. His mind was working on some kind of excuse to use for interrupting her solitude. He was curious as to why she had taken the book she had chosen.

Standing outside her door and trying to formulate the thing he would say to make it all right that he was visiting, he heard her wobbly attempt at a scale on the whistle she had found. The laughter started as a muffled chuckle and a grin as he listened to the poor excuse for a scale. Moras hadn't actually thought someone could do that poorly with a tin whistle. It wasn't as if it was a complex instrument. When she stumbled over another couple notes he turned away from the door and allowed the bottled amusement out. She was just plain horrible.

There as an odd sound from the hallway and Amina put the pretty silver whistle down. If she hadn't believed Moras Cro incapable of it, she would have thought the sound to be laughter. She placed the instrument in the crease of the pages of the book and got up to go and see what it could possibly be.

Moras heard the so-called music stop and stepped quickly back into the shadows down the hall. He didn't want her to be insulted. If his laughing had brought her to the door, that would be a great way of getting reacquainted. Hi Amina, I was passing your door and heard this awful sound from inside. When I realized it was you I broke down into gales of laughter. You'll have to forgive me. I didn't realize you could play, his brain said to him sarcastically. Oh that would make her forgive you.

He watched as her door creaked open and her beautiful face popped out the crack. At first it was a small look down the hall in both directions. Then she stepped out. Moras felt as though a vice were being tightened in his chest as he looked at her. There was a wicked handprint shaped bruise on her throat, but her brown eyes were bright and filled with curiosity as she looked up and down the hall. Her hair hung in neatly curled waves about her shoulders. The neckline of the dress she was wearing dipped dangerously low. He wanted to slide his arms around her trim waist, pull her into his arms, kiss the bruise and apologize for all of it. The vice tightened a bit more in his chest.

After a thorough inspection of the hall Amina went back into the room. That's where he told her to stay, wasn't it? Moras stood in the shadows for some time staring at the closed door. "She doesn't belong down here," he said softly. Then he walked back to the library, randomly chose a book from a shelf, laid the note she had left him carefully on the table, and went to his own rooms. This one never should have been chosen for me, he decided as he closed his own door and disappeared into his dark halls.