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Chapter 16:
The Sewing Machine
"How do you work this stupid thing?" Thalia grumbled as she and Annabeth sat at the communal loom room. A mound of clothes in need of mending sat before them.
"How would I know?" Annabeth retorted, lifting a brown hunting jerkin from the pile and inspecting it for the rip. The tear extended from the right shoulder, down the seam. "You're the maid."
"I wasn't a sewing maid! I was a prison maid!" Thalia said hotly.
Annabeth dropped her clenched fists to her lap, staring down. "You had a choice to come with me into the tower, and you did so by your own leave. Don't bring this back on me, Thalia."
"If you had just said yes to Luke Castellan's marriage proposal—"
Annabeth stood abruptly. The torn garment fell to the floor. "Don't you dare bring him into this, Thalia!" she shouted, angry tears brimming in her eyes. Oh, I hate how anger makes me weep, she thought. "I was twelve. Twelve, Thalia. Would you have agreed at that age?"
"Yes!" Thalia yelled, standing also. "I would have, Annabeth! There was no need to be rebellious for your own leisure—"
"Now you're starting to sound like Beckendorf," Annabeth grumbled, crossing her arms.
Thalia's raised arms fell limply to her sides. Her mouth opened and closed.
The two girls eyed each other. Thalia then noticed Annabeth's tears. Her face softened and she said, "I'm sorry, Annabeth. I probably wouldn't have accepted a stranger's proposal at age twelve, either. What I said was out of line."
"Yes, it was," Annabeth agreed.
The two sat back down in their seats, still pondering the mystery of how to use the loom.
Page Break
"Come on, Percy," Sally Jackson chided gently to her son. "You have to eat."
Percy continued to gaze out the window, a sullen look on his face. His hair was dishevelled. His skin was pale and sickly. His eyes were hooded and a dark, dangerous green.
"Percy. I know you're in depression about Rachel's death, but she wouldn't want you to chastise yourself forever about it. Please, honey. Eat."
Sally held the bowl of broth and bread out to Percy. He shook his head no, pushing it away. "Don't force me to eat, mum," he said, his voice no more than a hoarse whisper. "I'm not hungry."
Sally sighed and stood, leaving the meal in front of him. "Suit yourself, then," she said and left, throwing one last sad glance over her shoulder.
Page Break
Percy stared out the window. He wasn't staring at anything in particular. Just staring. Until he caught sight of the weaving house. Through the large, bay windows, he could see a blond and a brunette. They appeared to be arguing. Arms flew wild, faces red, chests heaving.
He focused on the blond first. Her hair was long and blond and curly. Like a princess's. And then it dawned on him- this girl was Princess Annabeth.
Looking at the princess, he felt a pang of anger shoot through him.
When Beckendorf had made this argument, Percy had defended her. Now, he only felt fury boiling in his veins.
The princess had denied her duty to the Royal House. She had not married Luke Castellan for a truce to be negotiated between the two lands- no matter how scandalous and disgusting the man had been. A war had started. Bandits had taken advantage of the unstable monarchy. Raiding parties were formed. Murderers and outlaws ran wild.
And because of this, Rachel had been killed.
Percy's knuckles turned white as he clutched the bench in front of him. His dark bangs fell in front of his face as he glared at the princess. His normally pleasant sea green eyes darkened and narrowed to slits.
He couldn't sit still any longer- action had to be taken. He attached Riptide to his belt, stood, and stalked out the door, the image of a golden halo of curls burned into his mind.
Page Break
"I was not the last one to touch the thing! You were!" Thalia shouted.
"No, I was across the room tending to the repaired clothes when it happened!" Annabeth replied tartly, her cheeks reddening with anger. Her golden curls quivered with nervous energy.
"You were not! I saw you- you started messing with the weave on the lots when I warned you—"
"Your eyesight has betrayed you, Thalia. I clearly remember you handling that machine when it happened." Annabeth voice was low and calm. Thalia knew that it was merely the calm before the storm- Annabeth was furious.
And what were the girls arguing about, you might wonder? The loom had ceased to work for some unknown reason. Desperate to not be found at fault when Ella came to check on their progress with the torn clothes, both had been blatantly stating reasons why the other was at fault.
"Girls?" a small voice floated in from the doorway. The red headed, sickly looking servant Ella poked her head in the door. "Is all well?"
"No," Thalia stated darkly, throwing Annabeth a hard glare. "Annabeth has broken the loom with her clumsiness and cluelessness."
"No, Miss Ella, I did not. We are unsure of who it was. Perhaps the loom stopped working because of old age?"
Ella walked forward and inspected the sewing machine. Her brow creased in concern.
"See, look what you've done, Princess Annabeth. Clueless as you are, you can't even work a simple loom without it failing on you," Thalia said snarkily.
Annabeth glanced at Thalia in shock. Her friend had never been so vindictive and spiteful!
"I can't believe you," she whispered, before turning and quickly exiting the room.
Once outside, she realised the sky had darkened considerably.
The scent of fresh rain blew on a gentle breeze, dead leaves twirling, dancing in the gale.
Annabeth threw her arms up in splendour and tilted her head back, relishing in the feel of cold rain water dropping onto her nose, stinging like icy needles. The wind blew harder, more insistently, like it bore bad tidings. Like it carried an unknown taboo. Like it was trying to warn her of coming danger.
Annabeth opened her eyes, an uneasy ball of dread settling in her stomach.
She glanced behind just as a strong arm grabbed her ruthlessly from behind, yanking her back against a solid chest. A sword was pressed against her throat, a hand pressed against her mouth to stifle her cried of protest.
She gasped as the arms tightened about her, unbearably so. The stranger bent down so that cold lips were planted at Annabeth's ear. She shivered- she had never been this close to a human being before.
"Don't scream, please," a soft, low voice whispered. "I am not going to kill you, don't fear. I shall not have your blood on my hands. I just want some answers. Come, we'll go to a deserted place, and there we can talk."
The person's hand was removed from her mouth. Annabeth noticed that the offending hand tasted vaguely like citrus, with a hint of salt.
The princess whirled around and came face to face with none other than Percy Jackson.
Cliffhanger, much? Next chapter should be up soon.
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