A Burning Sky

Time seemed to stretch on endlessly. It felt like it had been years since I had last seen the knights but it was only days. Days, not years. Days since I'd last seen the knights, days since my last real meal, days since my last full night's rest. Only days, but it felt like years. Days of starvation, days of little sleep, days of working from sun up to sun down and then into the night, days of beatings.

The other girls were cruel towards me, as I suppose they were jealous that I had gotten away for even as little a time. They often cornered me, calling me names and insulting me. Having them bump into me, carelessly push me, even lie about what I'd done to the guards or Grent himself, was my punishment for having a small taste of freedom. It wasn't until my first beating, three days into my return, that the girls slowly realized that they were treated so much better than I. That even though I had tasted freedom, they had not tasted the horrors that I came across daily. After that, they softened and tried to take the blame for anything that I did do wrong, though it rarely worked.

Pain sent stars to my vision making me falter in my walk as I tried to support the basket of freshly washed linens with my injured arm. I wasn't sure it was broken but I would not complain or ask for the house doctor to look at it. As I walked, the dagger patted against my leg from the pocket it was in, a reminder that my time away was real. If the only reminder. I would not use the dagger until I became hopeless and that time had not arrived yet. I still had hope that the knights would find a way to liberate me again.

Stomach knotted in a way that was becoming normal, I made my way to the sitting room where Grent would throw a few insults, a few punches and then I would be allowed to return to my duties. It was routine by now. When I arrived, placing the basket of linens next to the door with an inward wince, Grent was standing watching me like he was the predator and I was his prey. I suppose in a way I was.

"It has been a week, heathen. Tell me, where are your saviors? Have they forgotten you?" I let my body relax, trying to make it as limp as possible to prepare for whatever blows he may lay, whether they be physical or mental.

"You think they would come for you, their Sarmatian whore." Grent had come to the incorrect conclusion that I was I was intimate with one, or more, of the knights. Every insult hurt, but that one struck something different within me. It made me think of Tristan, the absence in my heart where he was held.

The first blow struck my cheek, my head rocking backwards. Grent laughed, a cold imitation of the laughter I was used to. He struck me again, sending another wave of pain through me. As he pulled his hand back, I could see the blood that dotted his fingers. Using my tongue, I felt around in my mouth and held in the urge to be sick at the taste of blood.

Two more painful jabs, to my stomach and then my shoulder as I bent over, and I was allowed to leave. Dismissed. I left the basket by the door, which I was sure would call for another beating. I made my way into the kitchen and waved off Gerta's concern. The dishes in the corner were my duty now, not to be treated as anything more than the slave I was.

A ball of anger was starting to grow in the pit of my stomach. Not at the knights, for I knew they would be trying anything to get me back, but at Grent. What use was I to him, besides something he can beat and order around? It was his ego that made him steal me back, I knew that much. But there was something more to it, there was a more intense hatred in the way he beat me than before the knights liberated. His taunts often included the knights, asking me when they would come for me.

It struck me more painfully than any of the punches, slaps or kicks I had gotten in my days here. That was why Grent was so savage against me, not because I had been taken without his permission and not because he was soothing his ego. He was taunting the knights, abusing something he suspected they were close to. My hand flew to my pocket and I fingered the blade before raising my hands back to the dishes, hoping that the guard hadn't seen. A quick glance told me that he wasn't any more the wiser.

After chores, hours after the sun had disappeared, I crawled back onto my pallet and clutched my hands to my stomach. Gerta promised that the hunger pains would go away, I knew that she was right. My body just had to get used to eating crumbs instead of the meals that I took for granted at the tavern.

One of the other servant girls, I couldn't remember her name, approached me with a small piece of cloth. She motioned to my mouth and I winced, remembering the taste of blood before. I took it, feeling the moisture from some source of water, and scrubbing at the corner of my mouth.

"What was it like?" She was young, probably somewhere near fifteen years old, and looked so innocent. My heart clenched at the thought of her living here, with Grent as a lord. He was nicer to the other girls, only striking them if they severely did something wrong.

"What was what like?" She shifted infront of me, as if contemplating just leaving, but then slowly dropped herself onto the pallet infront of me. Her gaze shifted from me and I followed her sight to the few dresses that I had been allowed to keep, but not allowed to wear.

"Being free." And then my clenched heart broke. Her voice sounded so far away, as if she had no hope for it ever to happen to her. Had I been like that, before the knights came for me? Had I been so broken?

"It was beyond words. Hard to adjust to at first." And then as the other girls slowly approached me, most almost ten years my junior, as I began to tell stories of my time with the knights. They asked questions, clinging to any stories that I could tell as if I was handing them precious stones instead of just stories.

I began passing the time like that, either late at night or even sometimes during our chores. I would repeat some stories, as I would tell one girl the story while folding linens and she would repeat bits to another and I would have to tell it all over again once more people were around. This continued, with me telling all of the stories I could. I kept them light, remembering how I used to be with Galahad, and never spoke of injuries to them. They did not need those stories.

Time started to move normally after that. A day no longer felt like years. However as the days felt shorter, it made me all to aware when the second week passed. Two weeks, fourteen days, of me living in this house and being submitted to beatings. Gerta had taken to doing what Chauce had done, saving me bits and pieces whenever she could, since I was given the least amount of food of the other girls. I shared when I could, affter my stomach stopped hurting so much, with the younger girls.

On the eighteenth day of being there, one of the guards told me that I would stay in the kitchens and turn in to my room early. There was an underlying threat in his voice that if I did not comply, I would pay dearly for it. Sporting a badly twisted wrist from the last beating Grent had delivered me, I nodded and told myself to do just that. However during kitchen duty, I learned the reason that I was to be out of sight.

"This isn't the first time these men have stopped by. Romans, wealthy. They usually stop by for a few nights." Gerta was complaining as she urged the other kitchen workers to hurry up with their cooking. I had paused in my washing before slowly resuming my duties, washing the same plate over and over again as my mind whirled ahead of where I was. Was there any chance I could get to one of the Romans, if they were kinder than Grent, and convince them to take word from me to the knights at Hadrian's wall?

The guard in the kitchen sent me a chilling look, as if he somehow heard the thoughts in my head. I put the plate down and grabbed another one, turning my head away from him as I thought about it. There was no way I could get to the Roman if I was under guard like this. So after the dishes were done, I excused myself to my room until later when I would resume my cleaning. Cradling my injured arm to my stomach, I curled up as small as I could on the pallet. The once too tight gray dress was already starting to hang loose on me, so I curled my legs to myself inside of it to ward off the cold.

The next two nights went much the same, without even the smallest chance for me to see the Romans that were visiting. Finally when I decided that I would tell one of the other girls to give my message to one of them, I listened to Gerta sigh in relief that the rich Romans had finally left.

I had lost my chance to get word to the knights, to let them know that I was still alive and I still had hope. I returned to my pallet after chores were finished and curled into myself again, trying to fight off the pain of being away from my brother. There was not a day that I didn't think of Dagonet or the other knights, but my heart always felt colder when I did think of my brother. He would never forgive himself for letting me be taken away from him again. It would be killing him.

We all shot from our bed as a guard burst into the room. He gazed over us in the dark before settling on me. He grabbed my arm roughly and pulled me up from the floor, yanking me away from the room. I heard a cry from some of the girls, asking where I was being taken, but he did not answer. He didn't need to, we all knew where he was taking me.

Grent was sitting in his chair, twirling one of his rings on his hand. When I arrived, he sent me a cold smile that caused my chest to tighten. He stood and approached me, waving off the guard. As the door shut, his hand struck against my cheek. There was no use asking the reason for this beating. He would make something up. I straightened my back, staring straight into his cruel eyes. He glared at my defiance and struck a blow into my stomach. It knocked the wind out of me, only serving to be worse as he straightened me up and kneeing me in the stomach. I was coughing, trying to regain my breath, but my knees gave out and I lay on my side on the floor.

Grent's sent me a cruel smile before aiming a kick to my ribs, causing me to yell out in pain again. I tried to curl into myself, to protect myself from any further attacks, but bending hurt my abdomen more. How many times had he beaten me since my arrival? I'd lost count of the bruises, of the cuts, of the twists and sprains.

Where was my brother? Where were the knights? Had they stopped looking for a way to free me yet? I refused to think like that, to think that they would ever forget me. They would never stop trying to free me from this.

"I'm surprised that they haven't even tried to come and visit you yet. To be honest, I was hoping they would. It would have given me much pleasure to see the look on their faces at seeing how broken you are." I tried to glare at him but all I wanted to do was to crawl into myself, to just go to sleep. The pain was causing my vision to blur, my head to pound. He nudged me away from him and left the room, slamming the door behind him. I withered on the floor for a few more minutes before slowly pulling myself up, my legs shaking as I tried to make my way back to the slave quarters.

The other girls swarmed to me when I finally made it to the room, letting me lean on their shoulders as they deposited me to my pallet. I waved them off as they tried to check my stomach, to see if I had broken any ribs, and simply curled into a ball and let myself drift into a painful sleep.

Three days later, another Roman arrived. The guards told me to stay out of sight, but as I was walking back from where I had been washing the linens to the kitchen, I heard the Roman and Grent approaching where I was. I quickly turned, knowing that from the back I would look like any of the other girls, and pretended to be cleaning some of the decoration in the hallway.

"I will only be requesting a room for a night. I am on my way to Hadrian's wall on business." The Roman's voice was softer than I was expecting and my chest tightened. He seemed kind, or at least his voice portrayed him as such. This was my chance, another chance. He was heading to Hadrian's wall, I could get word to the knights. Hands shaking as they turned the corner, I headed down the way they had come and disappeared into the kitchen.

As night grew, I approached the girl that so long ago had started my storytelling. She was folding linens and I sat beside her to help, my hands still shaking.

"Maia, can you do me a favor?" Her eyes shot to me and she nodded eagerly.

"The Roman that's staying here for the night. I need you to go to him and plead with him to tell the commander at the wall, Arthur, that Irissa is well and has not lost hope. Please Maia, you must do this for me." Fear leaked into her eyes, fear of being caught, but she nodded and dropped the linens, leaving me alone as she went to give my message.

Later, as I was leaving the washing area and going to my quarters, I watched Maia being dragged from the guest rooms and towards the sitting room where Grent would be. Her eyes met mine and terror raced through me. Had she been caught in the Roman's room? Was something going to happen to her?

I sent up a prayer to the god that Maia believed in, though I wasn't sure he would listen to someone who didn't believe in him, and asked that she not be harmed. However worried that she would be hurt from this, I felt my stomach drop. My message hadn't been delivered.

The next evening, a Roman man rode into the wall. He waved off the guards that offered to help him with his horse, simply dismounting and heading further into the fort. It wasn't long before he ran bodily into one of the Sarmatian knights he had heard of so many times before.

"Knight. My name is Horace, I am a friend of your commander. Can you take me to him?" The knight, who introduced himself as Lancelot, nodded and with Horace following him, made his way towards the meeting hall where Arthur was pouring over maps and letters. He had barely left the room since Irissa had been taken.

"Arthur, a visitor." Arthur turned towards the door, looking tired, but his eyes brightened when he saw his old friend. Lancelot turned to leave the Romans to themselves, but not before hearing Arthur's low question.

"Is there news?"

A/N: I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. For not updating before now. I've been busy, busy, busy and it's been CRAZY recently.
I wrote half of this this morning before my eye doctor's appointment and had to wait almost eight hours before I could finish it because my eyes were all wonky.
So there is chapter 35, with another "not Irissa's POV" section. Hope you're enjoying it.
Thank you, continuously, to my readers, reviewers, favoriters, and alerters.
And to anyone with any plans to email me in the near future, I love talking to people, so don't bother apologizing for potentially "disturbing" me. I wouldn't post my email on my profile unless I wanted people to email me, haha.

Sneak Peak at the next chapter:

I had no idea what was going on, why Grent was yelling at the servants and guards. I could barely understand his barking orders but when I got closer to get a better listen, he spotted me and his eyes narrowed, my heart constricting as if just by his glare he could control it.

"We have guests."