THE CONFLICT #2

CHAPTER 9

NOVENA

I blink back the drowsiness, opening my tired eyes to beams of bright sunlight streaming through the large radius windows that filled the length of the outer wall. I know I’ve been asleep for some time when my muscles ache and crump as I stretch. Movement to my side draws my attention. I swear, startled as I stare up into green cat eyes. Leaping ungracefully into a sitting opposition, I find that the long-haired tabby cat is not the only intruder. A blonde girl looks up from where she is peacefully reading as she sits on one of the two red and golden antique chairs in front of the windows. We watch each other in silence for more than a few heartbeats before the room starts becoming suffocating awkwardly. I frown at her continued silence.

“Please allow me to speak, Princess Novena?” She finally says.

My brows funnel together before remembering the Werewolves weird social structures and rules. She must consider herself beneath me. I nod quickly, giving her my approval.

She says softly, offering me a warm smile, “I’m in charge of seeing to your needs, Princess. I am sorry if I or Zander have startled you.”

Glancing at the large fluffy cat, I assume that he is the Zander she speaks of. She places the book into her white apron that hangs loosely over her clothes and stands at attention.

“Okay then… Well, I want to see the girl I was brought here with, her name is Emmaline.”

The blonde frowns, her petite features complimenting her golden hair wonderfully, “I mean like if you want food or fresh clothes... maybe a warm bath? That kind of stuff.”

I don’t hide my annoyance. “How helpful you are.” I tell the pretty girl.

I take a closer look at the blonde-haired blue-eyed servant no older than myself. She wears her long hair tied tight and high out of her slim face. Blonde hair? She can’t be a Niveus? Why would a Niveus choose to be a servant? Then the answer dawns on me.

“You’re a human!” I exclaim in surprise.

I can’t believe what I’m seeing, but it’s the only thing that makes sense. Humans live amongst the wolves.

She claps her hands, grinning wildly. “Perceptive.” She smiles in appreciation, “That took you a lot shorter than it did your friend.”

My attention perks at ‘my friend’, “You know where she is? You’ve seen her?”

“Yes, it’s my job to take care of both of you while you stay here. Our Munditia-to-be, wants you to be as comfortable as possible. He hopes that my presence will make you calmer.”

I’m immediately wary. She gives information quite freely to someone the North considers a prisoner. Unless Zelus doesn’t consider it a threat. Doesn’t consider me a threat. Maybe he’s right. What can I possibly do now?

She c***s her head at me, “Aren’t you going to ask my name? Or doesn't the royalty on that side care for the help?”

I’m taken aback by her forwardness. I wouldn’t have guessed a human under the Werewolves rule would be so outspoken. I don’t know what she thinks she knows about my people, but Maddie was so very special to me. She was never just the help. I push thoughts of Maddie away – too painful to bear thinking of. I’ve done a good job of pretending that Maddie’s not dead. When all this is over, I can go home. And Maddie will be waiting with a frown on her crinkling face and her hands on her round hips demanding an explanation as to why I left her. But she won’t be there. She’ll never be there again.

I clear my throat, “Forgive me, what is your name?” I ask, the words sounding as demure as I feel.

“Soraya.” She says plainly.

“Just Soraya?” I prompt.

She gives me a pointed look, as if I should already know. “Soraya Human.”

A flicker of a memory and then I remember. Of course, it makes sense now. In Werewolves society they use their social standing as their last name. I don’t recall them mentioning where humans fit into all of their grand rankings, but I could definitely gamble a guess.

“And what level of social standing is a human on, Soraya?” I ask, wanting my suspicions to be validated.

She smiles rather charmingly in answer instead of words. But I figure that the reason is because humans are at the bottom, below even the werewolves lowest members. Because a human could never equal up.

Suppressed.

Subservient.

Living to please a race that offers them nothing, but false ideologies of past deeds, all but dead. Surviving and living solely in what history books tell us. They are no longer leaders of a race of slaves, fighting for our liberation – they are no better than the Slave Makers that forced my kind to their knees. Looking at Soraya, I find myself wondering how many humans were left behind and suffered for the deeds of their southern brothers and sisters.

“I think I want that bath and fresh clothes now.”