Chapter One

A Chapter by Annabeth

The introductory chapter to my novel.

The cold wind bites my face, making me pull my cotton scarf tighter around myself. The unwavering stream of snow obscures my vision. I can just barely make out the street signs, though I don’t need them to find my way home, I could get to the bakery blindfolded without issue. The rhythmic crunch of snow beneath my leather moccasins is not unordinary, not in the winter anyways.

The scarf is wrapped around my head, covering my auburn hair and the lower half of my face, itches uncomfortably. It’s nothing fancy like the silk scarves worn in the upper class, closer to the peak. Tham is a mountainside kingdom, the higher up the mountain you go, the wealthier the people you meet. And on the mountain’s peak, looking down upon us all, is the palace, where the kind King Cyril lives. His 40 year reign is coming to an end, seeing as his health is failing rapidly. We began noticing approximately two years ago, his monthly walks around the kingdom became less frequent, and when he was seen, his eyes were concealed by dark, tinted glasses and he always hung onto someone’s arm for support.

I peer up at the darkening sky. The shadows of the buildings are getting longer.

My slow pace is replaced by a slight jog.

If I miss the evening meal again, River is going to kill me.

Citizens around the square are also making their way back home in a rush. People are shouting at one another, children weave in between pedestrians playfully, giggling gleefully. The few merchant carts are making their way home before the storm. I feel eyes watching me hatefully, I haven’t exactly made friends. I have this problem, I don’t have emotions. I feel no sympathy for emotional arguments. People don’t quite like logical reasoning being spewed at them while trying to reach my cold heart with a sweet, heartfelt argument. Things would be ten times easier if people thought more like me, and were logical, instead of relying on ‘feelings’ to make their point. I’m not saying I’m a good person, I’m just saying that the world is logical, why shouldn’t we be the same?

I avoid the dark alleyways between buildings, creeps tend to hang out in. I can defend myself well enough, my punch could break a nose, stunning them long enough to make an escape, but I would prefer to avoid any unnecessary conflicts. I take the main roads, crowded with milling humans. In my haste to get home to my mother and brother, I ungracefully slam into a woman holding a crate of apples.

The woman glares at me, “seriously?”

“Sorry,” I mumble, though I feel nothing. Since the death of my father, it seems I have been cursed with numbness. I feel nothing. For two years now, I haven’t felt anything, not joy, not sorrow, not anger. I know I should feel terrible for running into this woman, but I don’t. So I fake that I do.

“Sorry,” I try again, louder this time. I lean over to help her pick up the apples.

Her glare softens a bit, but she still sees it fit to give me a lecture as we pick up the green apples out of the snow. “If you had any common sense, you wouldn’t be sprinting through a crowded street in a blizzard.”

“Of course not ma’am, I’ll be more careful next time,” I place the last apple back into the crate.

I take off running before she can give another comment. I stop abruptly in front of the bakery, a two story brick building, the bakery and my family’s quarters are in the upper part. I slip off my moccasins outside the door, careful not to be too noisy, knowing I’ll wake the sleeping Beast. I crack open the door to look inside. Safe. I go to slowly swing open the door,

when I hear the sound of footsteps. The Beast. Darn it. Maybe she won’t notice I’m here, if I’m really quiet, perhaps. I slip inside, cautious of the creaky floorboards.

I hold my breath. I count to three before taking another tentative step towards the staircase. All clear. I slowly make my way up the steps.

Bernadette isn’t really a beast. It’s the nickname I’ve given her.

Bernadette and her parents moved in about a year ago, they came from some far off place, they look nothing like any of us Thamians. They are all deathly pale, with flat faces, black eyes, and black hair. The first day here, Bernadette came upstairs to our section of the building to introduce herself to us as the new neighbor. I knew she would be trouble the second I heard her stomping footsteps up to our level. Without knocking she had flung open the door and announced herself as Bernadette Rosa Mayton. I politely greeted her with a quick hello and welcomed her to the kingdom. Bernie took to me immediately. She instantly decided that we were best friends, though she was 14, three years younger than myself. The next day she had the audacity to invite herself to walk around with me on my daily errands. Spirits, does she talk a lot. Her ramblings began as a severe annoyance, following me around town.

“You know, I haven’t been listening to you this entire time,” I retorted at about mid day. “I likely won’t ever pay attention.”

“Well at least you won’t interrupt me!” she had laughed.

For about a week I didn’t pay her the least bit of mind, but her spirit was contagious. I found myself listening contently to her chattering. She did have quite a lot to say, not all of it was nonsense, like boys, how odd it was here compared to her own country, the ‘magic’ that was said to reside in Tham, her favorite colors, and other things of the sort. She did have some meaningful

ideas, and it was obvious that she had never kept a secret in her life, even the slightest whisper of a thought in her mind was spoken to whomever would listen - or pretend to listen.

Over time, our relationship has become mutually beneficial, she needed someone to talk to, and I needed her to help me understand emotions, and puzzle people out. The reason for her nickname, ‘the beast’ is because once she gets started orating, the harder it is to get her to stop. You cannot escape once she begins.

I’m so lost in thought that I forget to skip the fourth step from the top. The creaky one. I flinch when I hear the Beast’s delighted squeal.

“Euphrasie!?” Bernie cries, “Is that you!?”

“No,” I say flatly. “I’m the ghost of Euphrasie.”

Ignoring this, Bernie sprints up the stairs noisily and rushes past me to block my way to freedom. “Euphrasie, you would not believe what happened at school today. Toby talked to me!” she squeals loudly and jumps up and down on the step, threatening to fall into me. Her straight black hair is done up in a perfect bun on the top of her head. She wears her usual school uniform, a navy blue wool skirt that reaches down to her ankles, a charcoal gray sweater, and leather moccasins. Her black eyes are wide with excitement.

I sigh. Toby is the boy Bernie has had the biggest crush on since she came to Tham last year. He seems to be the only person she has any trouble talking to, she hasn’t even spoken to him once. I envy him slightly.

I sigh again.

She continues. “He told me good morning! Then I said good morning back!”

I can see the flush rising in her face as she talks.

“Cool,” I say tonelessly, “can I go now?”

She gives me a look, “It wouldn’t kill you to tell me about your day. What did you do today?”

“The usual” I look down at my shoes, this really isn’t a great time to talk about my day, River might eat all my dinner if I don’t get upstairs quickly enough. “Bernie, I gotta go.”

Bernie widens her stance and crosses her arms over her chest, giving me as close as she can get to a menacing look. Despite being two steps above me, we are now at exactly eye level. “No.”

I raise my eyebrows slightly, without smiling I say “Bernie, don’t you have somewhere to be?”

As if on cue, her mother walks to the bottom of the steps, looking up at us. “Bernadette, it’s time to eat.”

Mrs. Mayton is even shorter than her daughter, standing about four and a half feet. Bernie tells me that they are descended from dwarves, which is why they are so small. But I don’t believe in magic.

Bernadette gives me one last burning look of disgust before pounding down the steps to meet her mother. I shake my head at her retreating body. She is literally the little sister I didn’t ask for.

I practically jump the rest of the stairs in my impatience to get something to eat before River makes good on his threat to eat all my food. The hard wood floors are slick beneath my socks, helping me glide easily to the kitchen door. As I pull it open and slip inside, I can already see River and Mama eating stew without me. River’s dark eyebrows shoot up into his messy auburn hair at the sight of me. Mama sighs, still looking down at her bowl of oddly smelling soup. Her golden locks are streaked with gray, pulled back out of her face with a leather strap

across her forehead. The worry lines that crease her beautiful face have grown much deeper over the past year, looking like great canyons across her skin. I have her eyes, a deep lavender color, purple. Her simple brown dress has been the same since Papa died, she hasn’t been able to afford a new one. River and I discussed getting her one for their anniversary this year, we’ve been saving up money.

The look on River’s face tells me I’m about to get scolded. His brown eyes have that sort of irritated fire in them. He is still in his work clothes, overalls covered in soot, his face matching with ash streaks. River is four years older than me, making him 22, we have different birth mothers, but the same father. He is currently a blacksmith’s apprentice down on the lower level of the kingdom. I open my mouth to spew some kind of excuse for my tardiness.

“I-”

“Save it, Euphrasie,” he cuts me off. “I don’t want an ill thought out excuse.”

I huff indignantly, “well then, what kind would you like? Perhaps a tragic tale of my escape from the slave dealer’s marketplace, only to be stopped by the Beast? Or a comedy? Maybe-”

“Euphrasie.”

The sharp tone of his voice shuts me up. It’s best not to argue with him when he’s in a mood.

“I apologize for my lateness. It is inexcusable.” I decide to play it safe, apologizing may save me a good long talking to.

His jaw is tight set, his large nostrils flared even larger. “Euphrasie,” he repeats sternly. “We’ve talked about this, you spending the entire day at the market is intolerable. We don’t know where you are half of the time, nor whom you are spending every fleeting moment with. I expect you to take a day off tomorrow and stay home with Mama and I.”

I swallow the bitter taste in my mouth before I say, “so you don’t trust me?”

He takes a moment to consider before answering, “all I’m saying is that you haven’t exactly told me what you’ve been doing, hanging around the upper parts of the city, supposedly alone.”

“I understand your reasoning, but I must confess that I am indeed alone, I need not a soul to accompany me, I prefer solitude to companionship. My jaunts about the kingdom are spent trying to bargain with traders and auction off my own merchandise.” I try to make myself sound as professional as possible, using my expanded vocabulary to my advantage. Instead of achieving the effect I wanted, River gives me a confused look. River did not attend regular Learning Groups like I did, he chose to go directly into the working field, getting an apprenticeship with a blacksmith.

“To be completely honest with you I didn’t understand a word you just said.” River cracks a small smile, his icy gaze melting a bit.

“In simpler terms,” I say, trying again. “I don’t talk to anyone. I’m by myself. I try to buy things from traders and sell the things I make to them.”

River eyes me suspiciously. “Are there witnesses to confirm your claims?”

I peel off my heavy jacket before answering, “River, I told you already, I work alone. So no, my accusations cannot be confirmed or denied.”

My brother looks enraged, “Euphrasie-”

“Enough,” Mama cuts him off softly, standing to her feet unsteadily. “This is not necessary."

Mama’s emotional state has been fragile since Papa died, she rarely speaks, and when she does, River and I know to listen. “Off to bed. Both of you.”

“Yes, Mama,” River says, his gaze never leaving mine.

I nod curtly in response before saying, “I’ll see you both in the morning.”

I spin on my heel and head to my room. I can go one night without dinner. I refuse to give River the satisfaction of knowing he has control over me. I really don’t care that River scolded me, if I had emotions, I might have felt angry, or hurt that he doesn’t trust me. But I don’t. I feel desensitized. I kind of wish I was like Mama, depressed and fragile, but human. Not this unfeeling monster I’ve become involuntarily. Papa’s death has impacted us all differently.

River took responsibility after Papa’s untimely demise, making it his duty to provide for Mama and I. He didn’t allow himself time to grieve.

Mama is still in shock. She has been, for three years, it seems she is still waiting for him to come home. She cries occasionally, but she won’t let River or I see her do so. The bakery’s business had reduced immensely, so Mama, for the good of our financial situation, closed it down. Now, with nothing to occupy her time with, she has become even more anguished, with nothing to do but think.

I, on the other hand, have become immune to feeling. I don’t feel saddened by his departure from this world anymore. I also haven’t truly smiled since his leave either. I wander the kingdom in my spare time, selling my baked goods to whomever will pay for them. I just exist. The only person able to coax some feelings out of me is Bernie, and that feeling is normally an annoyance.

I enter my room, a simple room, against the back wall is my prized little bookshelf that my father made for me. The walls are painted my once favorite color, for I don’t care about colors anymore, green. There’s a small, oak dresser in the corner, housing all my clothes. My bed is small as well, the tiny mattress is stuffed into the corner opposite of the dresser, giving the room a lopsided feel.

I strip off the rest of my icy attire and throw them in a pile on the floor. I’ll deal with them later. I pull a fleece nightgown over my head, one with long sleeves. I better double check to make sure the window is closed tightly enough, the weather outside is moody enough to turn into a blizzard. Good. I slide into bed and cocoon myself in a blanket. I have a feeling it’s going to be a long night.