b - l - a - d - e' - s - - e - d - g - e
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For the first time since she'd arrived, Sikeen awoke relatively calmly. It was midday as her eyes fluttered open, and as her vision came into focus she realized she was on the floor. Assuming she must have passed out, she pushed herself into a sitting position to find a velvet robe falling from her shoulders into her lap. What is this? There was a dull pain in her left arm, as well as some stinging in both her palms.
Realization dawned on her. The robe. It was Raistlin's. She froze, staring at the glimmering black fabric. But how? Why? What had happened? The last thing she remembered was playing Coin Toss with Dalamar. She was still clothed… But the robe?
She eyed her palms, closing her hand into a fist. The marks were from her own fingernails. Horrified, she realized she must have become frantic. Something must have happened. Last night left too many questions unanswered, and she had to figure out what happened. She jumped to her feet, hell bent on filling in the blanks. She grabbed the robe off the floor and burst out of her room. On her way up the stairs to Raislin's chambers, she ran into Dalamar again in the dark.
"Sikeen. What happened last night?" he asked, skipping a greeting. She gave him a frantic look and took a deep breath.
"I have no idea."
"I heard you scream for him to get out."
"What?" Horrified, she realized what he was implying. "No. That's not…" Her head spun, and she realized she was monumentally hung over. Shoving past him, she ran up the remaining stairs and all but broke the door on her way into Raistlin's chambers. Raistlin jumped to his feet as the door opened, but she didn't have time to acknowledge him. Flinging the robe onto the carpet, she barely made it to the bathroom before vomiting profusely into the toilet.
"Good morning?" Raistlin's greeting came out sounding like a question. Sikeen heaved several more times, barely registering his presence. When she was done, she forced herself to stand up and somehow found herself in the bedroom, using the wall as support. Somehow, after learning about her childhood, Sikeen looked different to him now. It was impossible to take her at face-value: she was more than a criminal. Beneath it, she was a victim. Something told him it was more than the frizzy black hair and thin limbs that made her seem so broken. Trying to eliminate the sudden sympathy he was feeling, he turned to his desk to shuffle around some papers and inadvertently let out a series of dry coughs.
"Care to explain why Dalamar heard me screaming for you to get out of my room last night?" she demanded, looking a bit green. Raistlin blinked at her, his eyes falling momentarily to where Dalamar's shirt ended and her legs began. She glared, wishing she'd taken the time to change.
He hesitated. This was unexpected. She obviously thought he'd done something much worse than what he'd actually done.
"Do you really want to know?" he asked casually, retrieving his robe from the floor and pulling it on. It smelled like alcohol and remnants of something sweet.
"Why did I wake up with that thing on me?!"
"This thing cost a fortune to be tailored to my exact measurements with the finest fabric available. Consider yourself lucky."
"You have several," said Sikeen, growing dizzier by the second.
"I'm a rich man." He paused, resisting a laugh as she squeezed her eyes shut. "You're extremely late with the tea." Sikeen let out a roar of frustration and sunk to the floor, fingers pressed against her temples. He could have told her he was just taunting her, and that Dalamar had picked up her responsibilities while she'd been asleep, but surely he was still allowed to tease her just a bit? Especially after she'd burst into his room and vomited in his bathroom.
"What happened last night?" she asked again, unable to open her eyes. Raistlin sighed, figuring he might as well tell her if she was insisting. That was what he'd decided, wasn't it? He'd tell her if she insisted. He took a deep breath, knowing it was the right thing to do.
"You told me about your… unfortunate… childhood. Then you passed out from the ale."
Without a word, Sikeen shoved herself to her feet again and ran back to the bathroom, vomiting once more. Raistlin winced, hating the awkwardness of the situation. He'd been counting on her not wanting to know.
Prideful as ever, when she was finished, she marched straight past him toward the door, wiping at her lips.
"Don't pity me." Raistlin nearly told her he hadn't dismissed her yet, but thought better of it.
With that, she slammed the door behind her and retreated to her room, where she sat on the bed for a long while, horrified. She was stuck here for the rest of her life. And now the person she was stuck with knew her secret. How could she be so stupid? He would never see her as an equal now. She was damaged, pitiable, and not to be taken seriously. He would never care for her wishes to escape, no matter how much she pled. If it wasn't hopeless before, it certainly was now.
Feeling violated and miserable, she took a long shower, deducing that she'd missed between two and three tea deliveries. What did it matter? There was no point in trying to appease him now. She put her hair in a braid and pulled on more of Dalamar's old clothes, and made her way to the kitchen, halfheartedly brewing tea as she munched on another slice of bread in an attempt to quell her raging hangover. Slowly, it began to improve. As she sat on the table with her head resting on its cool surface, Dalamar walked in to retrieve his lunch.
"Remember anything yet?"
"He didn't rape me," she mumbled glumly, not caring how crude she sounded.
"Why do you sound disappointed?" asked Dalamar suspiciously, noticing how upset she seemed.
"Leave me alone." He scoffed and rolled his eyes.
"You're never getting out of here." She let out a sound that seemed like something between crying and choking. "Here," said Dalamar, slamming a glass of water on the table in front of her. "And you don't need to bring him tea. I took care of it." She sighed, ignoring the water. The sound of something being fried filled the kitchen.
"Thank you," she said into the table.
"I think it's safe to say I won last night. Water, Sikeen." She wrapped her hand around the glass but didn't lift her head up. "For Gods' sake. Water." Slowly, she forced her head up and brought the glass to her lips. The coolness felt divine, and she drank almost all of it in several large gulps. In seconds, there was a plate with an omelet on it in front of her. She stared at it, not sure how to react.
"Is this for me?"
"No. I've put it in front of you to taunt you with all that you will never have," said Dalamar casually, pouring himself a glass of something suspicious. She pulled the plate toward her and was about to dig in when she noticed what he was doing.
"Is that more ale?" she asked incredulously, disgusted. He raised his glass toward her before taking a sip. She realized then that he was actually drunk.
"You're not the only one with a headache."
"It's morning!"
"It's really afternoon," he said, finishing off his drink and grabbing the tea she'd made from the counter. "Off to Shalafi!" he declared. It was becoming increasingly obvious that he was intoxicated. But just as he was about to leave, a figure appeared in the doorway. Hourglass eyes stared at Dalamar, judging him. Sikeen stiffened, taking a delicate sip of her water. She hadn't wanted to see him again so soon.
"You are truly the worst apprentice I could have asked for," he said, snatching the tea from his hands. Since Sikeen had arrived, Raistlin's life had turned into a series of unpleasant surprises. His apprentice's day-drinking was no exception.
"Shalafi, what're you doing in the kitchen?" asked Dalamar, completely ignoring his master's jibe. Obviously, he was used to the abuse.
"Fetching the prisoner." She wished she could have melted into the floor. The last thing she wanted to do right now was have a conversation with him.
"I don't want to speak with you," she said evenly, staring at her omelet as she poked it with the fork.
"You're a prisoner," he reminded her. Dalamar wished he could have told his master to at least let her finish eating, but it was not his place.
"But you are not my warden," she hissed, glaring up at him. Raistlin rolled his eyes, leaning on the Staff of Magius.
"The Conclave insists otherwise. Upstairs. Now." She didn't respond, glaring down at her omelet, and Raistlin sighed, growing weary.
Relenting, Sikeen angrily shoved her plate away and stormed past them both, marching up the stairs before Raistlin. She was about to push the door open to Raistlin's quarters when the velvet of his cloak brushed against her bare arm. Obviously, it was locked. He pulled the key from a hidden pocket and swept in, silent. She crept in after him with her arms crossed tightly across her chest.
"What is it?" she asked, leaning against the closed door. "Am I about to receive a lecture on how I need to be more obedient or stay out of your way?" Raistlin sighed, leaving the Staff hovering in the middle of the room to take a sip from his tea. He was feeling significantly sicker today.
"On the contrary. I'd like to apologize for forcing you to discuss something you clearly planned to conceal." Sikeen couldn't believe what she was hearing. He watched her over the edge of his teacup as his words sunk in, sipping slowly.
"That's… Alright." The words didn't go together. He could hear that she wasn't saying it was alright, she was merely acknowledging his apology. "Alright," she repeated, unsure of how, exactly, he expected her to respond.
"But someone knows your secret now. Someone knows you were wronged. Perhaps that is some solace to you, if you were to think of it that way." Again, she gaped at him. Receiving no answer, he sighed again and continued. "And I suspect your… unconventional… career choice had something to do with your childhood." There. He'd said it. And he hadn't asked a single question – no prying whatsoever. Satisfied, he sunk into his desk chair and spun it around to face her. It was getting cold and his chest was beginning to ache again. Sikeen, meanwhile, remained still on the other side of the room, shifting uncomfortably on her feet.
How was she supposed to admit to him that he was right? That her life as a contract killer wasn't even because of some deep-seated psychological imbalance, but a direct result of her parents' negligence? How could she admit to him that it had affected her, after years of refusing to admit it to herself?
An unfamiliar swell was growing in her chest as she realized that never before had someone not only discovered her secret, but expressed sympathy for her. All these years, she'd received nothing but harsh scrutiny for her bizarre appearance. And she'd strived to own it, and to turn into a person who was truly deserving of the criticism she was so used to.
Gods, where were the words she was supposed to say to him now?
"Sikeen?" asked Raistlin, his voice notably more hoarse than it had been a moment ago. Heavy silence hovered between them before she replied.
"Thank you," she said quietly. The words barely came out on a whisper. Had he successfully comforted her? Had he revived her pride? He bit back the urge to ask if he'd been right, if he'd pieced together her broken tale of woe correctly. But asking might trigger her again, and he had a feeling having two of her… episodes… within twenty-four hours could not possibly be good for her psyche. She glanced at the wall and then back at him. He didn't miss the look on her face – just as he'd seen her differently in the morning, she was looking at him differently now. Almost with the confidence of a friend, or someone who at least respected him. Gone was the guarded, stony look he'd grown familiar with. "Shall I… ask Dalamar to light a fire?" she asked, itching to change the subject. As if on cue, he let out a series of dry coughs.
"Yes. You may go," he said. They were right back to speaking as they had been the past few days, but something felt different. She shut the door behind her and stopped in the stairwell, taking a moment to process what had happened.
He'd been kind to her. The Master of Past and Present had shown her kindness. Yet somehow, she didn't feel pitied. She felt validated, as if the wounds she'd tried so hard to cover were, in fact, a reasonable thing to be upset about. Aside from that, he hadn't blamed her for what had happened. But he hadn't treated her like a basket case, either. She didn't know it was possible.
When was the last time someone had known about what happened to her and still treated her with respect? She couldn't remember if it had ever happened.
It occurred to her then that Raistlin was not so different than her. He'd sacrificed his appearance, and his health, on his own accord, but that didn't change the fact that after he returned from his Test he was treated differently. Maybe he knew what it was like, then, to be discriminated against for looking unusual.
The thought was comforting. There was someone in the world who understood. But he was also her chief adversary in attaining her freedom. Would he sympathize with her enough, perhaps, to release her?
Despite her generally questionable nature, something felt wrong about thinking like that. Raistlin had shown her that there were people in the world who wouldn't mock her for what she had gone through. How could she even contemplate using his sympathy to escape? But then, there was also the fact that she was locked in this tower for the rest of her life. Wasn't that justification enough to use any means necessary? Why should she feel guilty?
Too much time had passed. She jumped to her feet, ignoring the pounding in her head and all the confusing thoughts clouding her mind. Right now she had to tell Dalamar to light a fire. Then, she could retreat to her room and ponder all she wanted.