Chapter Twenty-Five:Rook to Pawn
The halls of the house were silent as she drew buckets of steaming water for his bath. Regardless, Anna kept one eye upon the two entrances to the kitchens, wary of any approach; namely Kito's. He never appeared, though she did hear the padding footsteps of another down the hall, crossing from one side of the house out to the gardens. Moments later she caught the scent of pipe smoke, then the tell-tale scrape of a stool across stone. On clear nights, her youngest master often sat outside to smoke, especially when he was in a foul mood.
So it was with a good deal of care that she slipped quietly back down the hall to Erik's room, the thought of alerting Kito to her presence an undesirable one. She only gave a soft knock upon the screen before entering. If he was still engrossed in his drawing, he would barely take notice of her entrance as it was. She filled his basin with the hot water, humming quietly in the back of her throat.
Evolving to the darker colors, he used his pinky to spread the shade across the parchment, melding in with the lighter hues until the blending became perfect. So detailed, the wind swept hair of the harem girls almost looked as if one could pass their fingers through. Reza was complete, tiny fingers clutched at his fathers hand as he walked beside him. The last he had seen of the boy he was unable to do so; blind and lame was he.
Gathering the black again, with the sharply pointed tip he added a bit more detail to the joy filled expression of the child. Placing the stick aside he looked upon the drawing slowly, and was pulled from that thoughtful haze by her voice. Raising his head slightly, his dual-colored gaze rested upon her quietly as she hummed.
Removing Erik's soap and oil from the pockets of her trousers, she laid them beside the basin, uncorked the oil, then bent over the basin and poured in a generous amount, then stirred the water with one hand. When a fine film of fragrant bubbles appeared on the surface, she sat up and recorked the small bottle, ceasing her humming and turned to find him regarding her.
Smiling softly, she pressed to her feet, then approached him cautiously. With one hand she gestured to the drawing lying across the desk. "May I take a look?" she asked before stepping to the side of the low desk, resting the tips of her fingers on the surface. "Then I'll leave you so you may take your bath."
Resting his hand against the edge of the drawing, he pressed it over so she'd be able to take a look, then arching his back a grimace passed over his lips as his spine cracked with the changing of position. Breathing out a slow sigh he tipped his head to one side then the other, cracking his neck as well. Stiff, and sore, he didn't think he was going to be able to train with Dakuro tomorrow. Kneading along the back of his neck slowly, he lowered his free hand and pressed to a stand.
A bath sounded absolutely heavenly at this point and time, and he was quite sure that he was going to end up falling to sleep in there. Loosening the obi he folded it up, letting the robe dangle freely from his thin shoulders, and as he walked over toward the divider, he shrugged it off. With a silent hiss, the silk fell along his arms and off of his back, dropping listlessly to the floor before he had vanished behind the screen.
Raising his head slightly he glanced toward it, attempting to see her, but with the way the light was striking, that wasn't possible. Instead of getting undressed the rest of the way, he lowered to a sit along the bath's edge, waiting for her to depart. Longer he waited, though ... the more that water was becoming drawing.
With careful fingers, she slid the drawing toward the lamplight, bending slightly at the waist to have a better look. No detail escaped her notice. Fascinated, she slowly perused the sketch, especially fixated upon the minute details of the faces. Some had more than others, especially a man holding the hand of a small boy, each nuance sketched with such care. These two were important to him...
Straightening, she glanced toward the screen, which he had disappeared behind. Something made her throat tighten, some emotion, sensed and held within that drawing, and suddenly she felt she knew him. But that sensation passed as quickly as it came, and she realized she knew nothing.
Frowning, she bent to retrieve the buckets set by the screen and moved to leave. Turning her head over her shoulder, she spoke softly. "Please find me in my room should you need anything else. Goodnight, Erik."
Glancing to the screen again he nodded faintly, then realizing that she couldn't see the gesture, he lifted his voice. "Good night, An-..." Breaking in the middle of her name with a slow, and powerful yawn, he blinked away the tears. "...-na. Wake me should I not meet Dakuro outside." Tucking his thumbs within the drawn line of the trousers, he inched them down until he was able to escape the silken legs. Tossing them over his shoulder to the robe carelessly.
Finally he slid into the water and closed his eyes as the heat evoked a low pitched groan to his throat. Already he could feel the warmth soaking into his skin and the taut muscles below. His fingers strayed to his mask, but paused and curled his arms around his stomach instead.
Assenting to wake him if needed she turned away, blushing as she saw his trousers tossed to join the robe, she left quickly, making her way back to the kitchens with her buckets. The other occupants lay sleeping about her in their rooms, and she noted with pained relief that Kito's screen was now closed tightly.
The buckets were replaced in the kitchens, and she slipped back to her own room. After changing out of the riding clothes into a night shift and her robe, she paused, biting her lip, then bent down and pulled out from underneath her bed a worn and yellowed book, its covers leather bound and peeling from having no proper place to store it.
Climbing onto the bed, tucking her legs beneath her, she opened it carefully, her small hands gentle upon the pages. She went through page after page of birds, cats, her dog Molly, a favorite doll, until she finally reached a sketch of a man and a woman. It was one that was nearly faded completely from age and the caress of a hand over the features of the couple for year after year. She had drawn it only a week before their deaths, on the long boat ride here. Her father sat, one arm about his wife, her head upon his shoulders, both laughing, both smiling, their hands joined at her mother's throat. Anna stare at the picture until her eyes grew tired and the page blurred.
Blinking, she replaced the book, turned down her small lamp, and laid down. It was a long time before she fell asleep.
Just as he had predicted, the moment he relaxed within the hot water and his eyes closed, exhaustion took over and he fell into a deep slumber. His head rested tipped back against the edge, thin arms laid wrapped around his stomach, and his legs folded comfortably – if that was possible in the small basin – he had been so tired that he had forgotten to remove his mask.
Sleeping had always been considered a waste of time to him, and a time when he was revisited by memories he had rather remained buried within his psyche. It was one of which that had startled him from what was supposed to have been a content sleep; grimy hands reached for his slender throat, squeezing, thumbs pressed deep against his pulse...
Water spilled over the floor as he jerked upward, gasping, his hands immediately going to his neck. Convincing himself that it was only a dream he drug himself out of the water, and without bothering to dry, gathered his robe to place it back on. Lowering to a sit upon his bed roll he rubbed his throat slowly with one hand while the other snapped the latches of his violin's case.
Brushing his fingers along the length of ruddy cherry wood, he collected the instrument and its bow, then tucking the curved belly beneath the jut of his chin he began playing, sealing up the disjointed fractures in his soul, and exorcizing demons that would only return when next he slept.
It was the haunting strains of violin music from deep inside the house that woke Anna from her sleep. For a few moments, she lay quietly, hardly daring to breathe so that no small sound should interrupt what she was hearing. Fingers curling about the soft, worn linen of her pillowcase, she curled her knees into her stomach, the room chilly from the early morning air outside.
As the musician continued to play, scenes from her dream played through her mind, her parents laughing in their cabin on the steamer, the first time she had caught a glimpse of their destination, the sight of mountains rising, strange trees twisting through the air, a foreign language sung all around her.
Eventually the images faded, and the sound of a screen being opened and shut then a voice calling her name in petulant tones interrupted and ruined the simple pleasure of listening to Erik play. For a brief moment, she allowed her self to enjoy the thought of simply ignoring Kito and letting him go hang and prepare his own tonic from a night spent smoking too much opium and imbibing too much sake and wine.
But then he hollered again, adding several insults to calling of her name, and she rose, mumbling under her breath. She dressed quickly and bound back her hair then left her room. He was standing in the hall, his smug broad face quite piggish in appearance. When she glided past him and into the kitchens to do his bidding, she found a certain satisfaction in neither bowing nor lowering her eyes. He can very well sod off!
She would have no such luck. Like a shark drawn by fresh blood, he had seen that flash of defiance and a smug grin passed over his lips. So, she has fire in her tonight. Moments after she had entered the kitchen, Kito's broad shoulders had filled the doorway and he folded his arms across his chest, narrowing his eyes upon her. "Forgetting your place, you ugly little girl? I think that thing is influencing you too much."
Lifting his head he glanced over his shoulder, listening to the music coming from the masked-one's room, and a disgusted sneer crossed over his lips. Music was the pride of the Japanese, just as much as their honor, fighting and sword making. But the music that one created seemed almost ... blasphemous. Turning his head around again, blackish eyes focused upon her. "Maybe you should be reminded that you're only a stupid little servant."
She already had a pan set upon the stove and the gas turned up beneath the burner in order to heat the sesame seeds that would be blended into his tonic to hide the bitter taste of mustard and raw eggs. She was dipping sugar from a small porcelain container into the pan, the sweet crystals hissing on contact with the heat when she realized that he stood in the doorway of the kitchen.
At his insult at her appearance, she didn't raise a brow. Nor did she spare any hurt over it; it was a common enough jab of his. But when he made mention of Erik and the time that she spent with him, she turned, her eyes flying to his, a spark of anger and no small amount of fear shooting through her. It was an old accusation that he had made before, and that she had hoped he had let go of.
But no. He would not be able to resist the temptation to poke fun. But she knew that this time, it was more than just a joke. His hatred for the masked man was no secret. And he had used her in the past as a stand-in.
Swallowing back her fear, she turned back to her duties, her pulse thundering in her ears. "I need no reminder of what I am. I am more than aware of it," she turned back to him, her eyes meeting his for one brief moment, "Master."
"Apparently not aware enough." Moving away from the threshold, he entered the kitchen, drawing close to her. His arms remained crossed over his chest, fingers tapping slowly against a tricep. Close enough where she could smell the sweet scent of poppyseeds, he leaned even nearer where he was almost face to face with her. "Where's your protector now?"
Though the night had been over a week ago, it remained firm within his mind. That thing had the audacity to stop him from punishing the girl, most of all it was that look he recalled. A simple look had his blood run cold through his veins. Kito had feared no one save for his own father, and to fear anyone else over a matter that was normal was a great insult to him.
The strains of violin filtering through to the kitchens were indicator enough of where her protector was ... and Kito knew it. And she was more than aware at that this time in the morning, no one else in the household was up and about, only herself, the man looming over her, and the violinist sequestered in his room.
Swallowing, her hands trembling as she picked up a wooden spoon and began to toast the seeds with the sugar, she did not turn to face him again, but kept her eyes fixed on what she was doing. He was close, so close she could feel the heat of his body and the sweet sickly smell of poppy seeds on his breath. But she suppressed the shudder that wanted to rack her form and thought carefully over her next words.
"He is not my protector. And I should think you know very well where he is at. He is enjoying his new violin, as the last one was damaged." Closing her eyes, she cursed herself for her lack of respect in her tone. She had to remind herself that while Erik had allowed her to speak freely in his presence, she was under no such privelage in the company of Kito.
This was a fact he was going to remind her of very quickly. Provoked by the underlying snappish tone of her voice, he snatched her up quickly by her hair and pulled her away from her task of preparing his tonic. He didn't need it now, he had something else to distract him. Anna gasped as she was jerked roughly from the stove, the wooden spoon falling from her startled fingers with a clatter on the floor. With his thick fingers buried, he gave her a shake and tears smarted her eyes as her hair pulled against her tender scalp.
"He enjoyed that thing, huh? Maybe I should damage something else he enjoys. After all, you've been taking plenty of liberties. Riding Muran without permission..." Now he was just grasping for straws, wanting something else to punish her for beyond her prior insolence and his irritation with the bag of bones. He knew his mother allowed her to ride the mare, but she didn't know that.
As he spat his accusations and threats at her, she reached for his hand, her fingers wrapping about his thick, heavy wrist and tried to claw his hold loose on her, but it was impossible. He outweighed her by far and was heavily muscled despite the layer of indolent fat.
"Let me go!" she gritted through her teeth as he shook her, and she shoved her body at his chest. Fear was now rising swift in the back of her throat, choking her. She had always feared that one day he would do her a serious harm and it now seemed he meant to. For a brief moment her eyes flew to the searing pan, but her common sense won out. Her punishment would be far more severe if she struck him.
She struggled and cast about for an escape but could find none.
Twisting his hand firmly, he pulled her further from the stove, and toward the doorway. He wouldn't be denied; with that taint running through his veins, his strength was a bit more than usual and he was determined to use all of it. Literally dragging her behind him, he gave a yank each time she attempted to get loose, the pinch of her nails into his wrist fazed him none. If anything, it did nothing but spur him on.
Reaching the screen door that would lead him out into the garden, he wrenched it open and shoved her through the door way, but didn't release her. He wasn't going to let her get away so easily.
The sun was just coming over the horizon, dawn was just breaking, turning the blackness into a soft gold, but Anna took no notice of the morning. Gasping the cold, early air into her lungs, she began to struggle in earnest. What is he going to do! What if I can't stop him!
When hot tears began to form in her eyes at the pain of her hair being nearly ripped from her head and the terror building inside her, she cast a desperate look back at the house, but all was silent inside, the only noise the violin still singing hauntingly, now a mere mockery to her.
Kito s face was dark with anger and something else, some sick satisfaction. His eyes were clearing of the influence of the smoke, but the violence afterward would remain. It was his true self; this ugly creature.
She took a deep breath into her lungs, opening her throat to scream as loud as she could.
Only a sliver of the shriek had escaped before his palm clasped firmly against her mouth, his fingers sinking against her cheek and jaw. He gave her another shake, harsher than the previous one as he hissed near her ear. "Shut up!" Glancing over his shoulder to the empty hall, he moved further from the house where he wouldn't have to worry of his parents hearing her.
Once, already, his father had gotten irritated with him for striking the girl. What did it matter anymore? He had fallen out of favor thanks to that creature. It had been well on its way, yes, but Erik was the catalyst. "No one cares what happens to you anyway. No one cares if I beat you bloody, you stupid girl. You're nothing but a servant. A slave."
Her struggles for air were now loud exhalations and gasps against his palm. Fingers were digging deep into the flesh of her cheeks and jaw, bruising the skin. Anna was now crying in earnest, tears rolling down her cheeks and over his hands her sobs wet and choking.
The stables loomed ahead in the lifting darkness of dawn, and she could already hear the stamp and whuffle of a horse.
He's going to beat me. That mantra went through her brain over and over, until she was near hysterical with it. She'd been struck before, yes, even whipped by Kito, the prelude to those punishments had never been like this, never been this terrifying. He was striking out at Erik through her, was going to punish Erik through her, even though the other man was as indifferent to her as Kito himself was.
And he was right. She was a slave! Who would care if they heard her screaming, who would run to help if they even saw him beating her. No one. It was the way of things. The way of things...the way of bloody things!
Desperate and enraged and terrified, she did the only thing she knew to do. She opened her mouth as wide as she could and sank her teeth into his palm. She nearly retched at the taste of blood.
Grunting a yelp, he yanked his hand away at the same time his hand tightened viciously within her hair, wrenching hard enough to bring a sharp pain to the slender slope of her neck. That pain would be nothing compared to the one that had a sudden, splintered burst across her cheek with the strike of his hand. His reaction was swift and unthinking, but the next one wasn't.
Finally releasing her, he did it with a shove, thrusting her in the direction of an empty stall's door once they had entered the stable. Instinctively shaking his hand he brought it up into the scant light that was within the building. Prodding at the bite, he growled and stalked closer to closer to her.
"I'll have your head for that."