The Dancer and the Masks by Bea Paige
Chapter 9
CHRISTY
Sunlight streams through the back of my eyelids, waking me from my troubled slumber. I’ve been in and out of sleep all day, waking up every time my knees gave way and my wrists screamed in pain from having to hold the weight of my body. My arms ache from being held aloft, my wrists are bruised from being shackled so tightly and my fingers are numb. I’m thirsty, hungry, and completely and utterly exhausted beyond anything I’ve ever experienced before.
The only thing keeping me sane, keeping me alive, is my anger. Even when I withstood the storm that flooded this courtyard with rainwater three inches deep yesterday afternoon, rage and the late afternoon sunshine that broke through the clouds before nightfall had dried me off and warmed my body enough to survive the night. The tree itself acted as a shelter of sorts, the slight curve inwards of the trunk that I’m resting against protecting me from the worst of the elements. Regardless, whilst I’m mentally able to withstand a lot, I know that it will catch up with me eventually. My body always pays the price.
Shifting my feet, I push upwards, my back sliding against the rough bark as I stand on the balls of my feet, trying to ease the pressure off my wrists. A sudden jolt of pain causes me to cry out, but I bite it back, swallow it down and concentrate on seperating my physical self from what hurts. Within a minute or two, I’m detached enough from the pain to not let it bother me. I just need to wait this out. Lifting my head to the sky, I look up at the canopy of branches and leaves and try not to think about which branch those poor women were hung from. Instead, I concentrate on the position of the sun and the shadows in the courtyard. At a guess it’s early afternoon. Sighing, I wiggle my fingers and move my body, trying to stretch as much as possible and keep the blood circulating, stopping only when I sense someone else entering the courtyard.
“I’m impressed with your gumption, Nought. Most of the Numbers begged for release within a few hours of being shackled to The Weeping Tree. Yet here you are surviving a whole day and night, not to mention a storm so violent that we lost a few trees in the forest,” Leon says as he steps out from behind one of the stone pillars.
“I don’t care what you’re impressed by,” I reply, eyeing him warily. I probably should be more polite, amenable, but I can’t bring myself to act that way. I don’t have it in me to stop fighting, even if it is only with my words and my attitude.
Leon laughs as he approaches me. He has his hands buried in the pockets of his black slacks and is wearing a white fitted t-shirt that shows off his muscular arms and strange black tattoos that wind up from his fingers, wrap around his biceps, and disappear beneath his top. When I noticed the tattoos on his hands yesterday, they reminded me of reeds in a pond, and that’s exactly what they appear to be. Even his mask matches his outfit, with similar imagery painted across its surface.
“By now you should’ve lost most of the feeling in your arms. It can’t be comfortable.”
“It isn’t.”
“And yet there have been no tears. No calls for help. No cries of pain,” he muses, stepping closer to me.
“Would that have gotten me set free sooner?” I ask, unwilling to hide the disgust in my voice.
He cocks his head to the side. “I guess that would’ve depended on which one of us was tasked with watching you. Konrad might’ve succumbed. Jakub definitely wouldn’t have, but me— well, here I am.”
“You’ve been here all this time watching me suffer like some twisted creep?” I interrupt.
“I made my way back here late last night. Though not before taking my time to shower and changing into something less… wet.” His gaze tracks over my dress, which has dried off now and is fluttering around my legs in the breeze. “That storm really was very unfortunate, but as much as I’m intrigued to know whether this tree will weep for you, I also need you to stay alive. Therefore I stayed with you just in case.”
“Are you expecting thanks, is that it?”
“Not in the slightest, though I was getting bored waiting for you to break.”
“Then it’s just as well you’ve struck up a conversation because hell will freeze over before that happens.”
“Everyone has a breaking point. It’s only a matter of time until we find yours, Nought.”
“Not me. I won’t break. Not now, not tomorrow, not next week or next month. Not in a year's time, not on my goddamn deathbed. I will never break,” I retort vehemently.
He looks from me, and into the branches above, completely ignoring my outburst. “Yesterday, when my brothers were telling you about the story of this tree, they forgot to mention one very important piece of information.”
“And what was that?” I ask, watching him from behind my mask as he steps into a pool of light. The sun catches his hair, the dark strands highlighted with deep brown and mahogany. He has the kind of hair you want to run your fingers through, and the kind of physique that most male models aspire to, but he’s no less a predator. He’s just wrapped up in pretty packaging.
Dropping his gaze back to me, he continues. “Marie’s husband, the rich nobleman, was called Jan Brov. This castle, this tree, their love and her death is a part of our history, our legacy. We’ve all suffered because of her kindness.”
“You make it sound like she was wrong to help that family?”
“Six months after this castle was completed, and three years after her death. Jan died of a broken heart at the foot of this tree,” he says, pointing to my feet. “Right where you’re standing, actually. He couldn’t live without her, so he slit his own throat and fed The Weeping Tree his heartbreak. In the next five years following his death all but one of their five children perished from disease and illness. The only surviving child, Szymon, grew into a bitter, twisted man who eventually bore three sons of his own. He was cruel and heartless, every last ounce of empathy taken from him because of all he’d endured. One craze-filled night, Szymon beat his wife to death here in this courtyard, and murdered two of his sons, leaving his eldest to carry on the Brov name. Every generation has a similar story, all of them cursed by her kindness and brought up with cruelty and savagery. The Brov’s family tree is as twisted as the roots that grow beneath this castle.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“I’m telling you this because kindness, empathy, and love doesn’t exist inside these walls. It has been eradicated from the bloodline wholly and completely.”
“You can’t blame Marie’s kindness for what happened. She helped those people. She saved them.”
“And lost herself and her family in the process. For what? All it’s achieved is a lifetime of suffering. Generations of it.”
“You’re using Marie and the tragedy that befell her family as an excuse for your behaviour. Ever heard of the term, breaking the cycle?”
“Don’t be naive. You’ve not lived in our shoes, you’ve not walked our path or that of the Brov ancestors,” he says, stepping closer.
I laugh, I can’t help it. “Next you’re going to tell me you’re not all bad, that you don’t kidnap, enslave and coerce. That you don’t threaten women with degradation and rape. That you don’t enjoy forcing women to submit to your whims, then hire them out to people who pay to fuck them.”
“Oh, I wasn’t going to say that at all. I’m merely pointing out the truth about us. There’s no way out of this. You’re no more than entertainment to us. You can fight us all you want. You can cry, and you can scream—God, I hope you do—but don’t expect anything other than what and who we are, Nought.”
“I don’t expect anything but cruelty, I don’t see anything other than ugliness, and I don’t feel anything other than rage.”
“You don’t seem like the type of person who is strong enough to last the fight,” he remarks, almost to himself as he reaches for my tangled and matted hair. “But maybe you’ll be the challenge we all need.”
“Free my wrists and I’ll show you just how strong I am.”
Leon tips his head back and laughs, the sound echoing around the courtyard. “I could end this right now with my bare hands around your pretty little throat,” he says, his fingers trailing over the column of my neck.
“Then why don’t you?”
“Because this is way too much fun.” With that he steps back and clicks his fingers, and from the right hand side of the courtyard, Renard and Nala appear. Neither of them acknowledge me other than a cursory glance. He chucks the key to Renard, who catches it. “Get her back to our quarters. Feed her. Make sure she bathes and dresses in the outfit we’ve left for her. Then take her to our library. Jakub, Konrad and I want to see her dance.”
“Yes, Sir. Of course,” Renard replies.
“Oh, and Renard,” Leon says, addressing his butler but looking at me, “If she escapes in your care there will be consequences. Dire ones.”
My heart drops, all thoughts of escape eradicated with his threat. I won’t be responsible for their death. Leon knows that.
“Yes, Sir. Understood.”
With a terse nod of his head, Leon strides back across the courtyard and disappears into the castle.
* * *
“You’re shaking,”Nala whispers, gently pushing my hands away from the mask, and removing it for me. Her face crumples. “You look terrible.”
Over her shoulder I can see my reflection in the bathroom mirror. The foundation I’d so carefully applied has been washed away by the storm, my hair is matted, and dark circles ring my eyes. I’ve not eaten properly in two days, my shoulders and arms ache, and I’m past the point of exhaustion.
“I’ve been tied to a tree for the last twenty-four hours, Nala. I’m not sure what you expected,” I reply, pushing past her and removing my dress. The bath isn’t even halfway filled but I step into it nevertheless, hugging my knees to my chest.
“You didn’t do what they asked…” she says, her voice trailing off when she notices the look in my eyes.
“They wanted to put a collar and leash on me. They wanted to treat me no better than a dog. Should I have obeyed? What’s next, will I need to lick their hand, shit and piss in front of them?”
Tears spring in her eyes and she looks at her feet, her fingertips clutching the mask tightly. “I’ll leave you to bathe. Grandfather has brought you food. It’s in the bedroom. The clothes you need to wear are on the bed,” she says softly, before turning on her feet and leaving the room, closing the door behind her.
The moment she’s gone I allow the tears to fall, sobbing silently into my hands as the water rises up around me. I don’t know how to move forward. When I ran, they chased me. When I fought, they punished me. There doesn’t seem to be any light at the end of the tunnel, only a long, lonely walk of darkness. I don’t know how to fight this. I’ve only been here a couple of days and already I feel my strength waning, my courage slipping. The only thing I can do is fight one battle at a time. They’ll have a weakness, a chink in their armor. When I find it, I’ll use it.
With that thought I feel a sense of calm settle over me, allowing me the headspace to wash myself clean. I use the shampoo that Nala placed on a table beside the bath, and rub a healthy amount into my hair. It smells of roses and jasmine, floral and sweet. When I’m thoroughly clean, I climb out of the bath and wrap the towelling robe around myself, then head back out into the bedroom. On the vanity unit is a bowl of pasta with a creamy sauce and a tall glass of water. Despite hating the fact that I’m beholden to these men, I eat every last scrap, cursing every mouthful for tasting so delicious and for providing false comfort, but it gives me much needed sustenance. I can’t fight if I’m too weak to stand.
Picking up the bottle of foundation, I spread it across my face, working the liquid into my skin until my complexion has been smoothed out. Once I’m done, I comb through my wet hair and towel dry it as much as possible, then turn my attention to the outfit The Masks have left draped over the end of the bed.
It’s not the same dress I’ve been made to wear up until this moment, but a long sleeved, emerald dress with a sweetheart neckline and floaty skirt that falls just below my knee. It’s demure, sophisticated, and not what I was expecting at all. I’ve been left matching satin ballet slippers, but no underwear. Figures.
Chewing on my lip I mull over my options. I could refuse to do as they ask and be punished once again, try to run and risk the lives of Renard and Nala or do as they want. Whilst I’m grateful they haven’t made me dress up in something as revealing as what Four and Eight were wearing yesterday, I’m not foolish enough to think that they won’t ever expect me to wear something like that in the future. It’s only a matter of time.
Picking up the dress, I finger the material wondering how I’m ever going to escape this terrible place. I can’t even bring myself to think about Sandy and Frank, they must be going out of their minds with worry, and Grim… She’ll disregard her own safety to bring me home. That frightens me most of all.
Lost in my thoughts, I don’t notice Nala enter the room until she clears her throat. “You need to get dressed. The Masks are waiting for you.”
I meet her gaze and see the worry in hers. She thinks I’m going to run and whilst I want nothing more than to escape, I can’t be responsible for anything happening to her. “It’s okay, Nala, I’m coming.”
“Thank you,” she murmurs, her voice clogged with tears.
Handing her the towelling robe, I put on the dress, wondering how these men seem to know my size given it fits perfectly, then step into the ballet pointes and wind the ribbon around my ankle, securing it with a bow.
Nala’s eyes widen. “You look beautiful.”
“Shall we go?” I respond tightly.
She chews on her lip, not moving. “They saved me, you know,” she whispers.
“Sorry?” I ask, not sure I heard her correctly.
“They saved me from dying.”
“I don’t understand.”
Nala covers her face with her hands and sobs quietly, her thin shoulders shaking as she cries. I sigh, wanting so badly to hate her, to lump her in with The Masks and Renard, but I can’t. She’s a child. I go to her, placing my arm around her shoulder and guide her to the bed. We sit and I let her cry until her tears dry up.
“You don’t have to tell me your story if it’s too painful,” I say.
“I do. Maybe it’ll make you see them differently. They’re not all bad. At least they weren’t always bad,” she adds quietly.
“The Masks?”
“Yes. Renard isn’t my blood family, but he took care of me and called me his granddaughter when Jakub, Leon, and Konrad asked him to.”
“Why would they do that? How did you come to be here, Nala?”
She turns to face me, grasping my hands in hers. “Jakub found me in the forest as a baby. I was abandoned, left for dead in the roots of one of the trees wearing just a thin babygrow. They can’t be certain, but they think I was five or six weeks old. Jakub brought me back to the castle. He was only eight at the time. Konrad and Leon were thirteen, I think.”
“Nala, I’m so sorry.” I squeeze her hands, urging her to continue.
“For a whole six months they kept me hidden. They looked after me, kept me safe, warm, and fed. They cared for me until one night their father found me in their quarters…” She swallows hard, her eyes brimming with tears. “He wasn’t a good man. Not to them, not to anyone.”
“What happened?” I ask gently.
“Their father was furious. Renard walked in on him trying to take me from Jakub’s arms whilst Leon and Konrad tried to stop him. Renard knew that their father would likely kill me and punish the three of them severely, so he took the blame. He said that I was his granddaughter and that he’d asked the three of them to watch over me. He took the beating from their father, but was allowed to keep me on the proviso that Jakub, Konrad and Leon had nothing more to do with me and I was set to work the moment I could be useful around the castle. I’ve lived here my whole life. I’ve seen many things, and very few of them are good,” she says, swiping at the tears falling from her eyes. “But I’m telling you, they weren’t always this way. They were good and kind. Their father beat the kindness from them. Just like his father before him.”
“I don’t know what to say…”
“I know you hate me for not helping you last night. I know you hate them.”
“I don’t hate you. You’re just a child.”
“But you hate them?”
“How can I like men who treat people the way they do? I'm sorry they’ve had bad upbringings, and whilst that might be the reason why they act the way they do today, it doesn’t excuse them for it.”
“I understand. It’s just…”
“Just what?” I ask.
“They’ve never let anyone aside from me and Renard into their quarters, and they’ve never revealed their true faces to anyone before. I've even forgotten what they look like.”
“That doesn’t mean I’m safe around them. It just means that I’ll never be able to leave here because I know their true identities. It’s another form of control. That’s all it is, Nala.”
“No. I mean, I guess it could be, but I think it’s more than that. You’re special, different, even if they don’t realise that yet. Even if you don’t.”
My skin covers in goosebumps. She doesn’t realise just how different I am. Yet again, I find myself wondering why my path has been crossed with theirs. Why me? Why them?
“What about Thirteen, isn’t she special too? You said she was family.”
“She’s not blood related, at least I don’t think so. I don’t know her story, but I do know that whilst they care for her in their own way, she has never been invited to their apartment and she has never seen their faces. Only you have. That has to mean something.”
“Perhaps,” I concede, though what I’m unsure of.
“I know what they’ve done to you isn’t right. I know that keeping you here is wrong. But they care for the Numbers in their own way. They’re fiercely protective of them. They’ll be like that for you, if you let them.”
“They’re prisoners, Nala. They’re only protective because they’re a commodity.”
“No. You’re wrong. The Numbers are free to leave whenever they want. They choose to stay.”
“Even if that were true, and the Numbers weren’t manipulated into staying here, today Leon threatened both you and Renard. He said that if I escaped in your care there would be consequences. You’re just a child. That isn’t right.”
“They wouldn’t hurt me or Renard, not really,” she says, but I know she doesn’t quite believe it.
“Those boys who took care of you and kept you safe when you were a baby, they’re gone. You even said that they’d kill you if they knew you brought me food and water the first night I arrived here. They’re not good people, Nala.”
“No one can lose goodness. It’s still in them. I know it is. They’ve just forgotten.”
“I’ve seen no evidence to suggest you’re right.”
Nala opens her mouth to respond, but the door to the bedroom swings open and Renard steps in. He flicks his gaze to our clasped hands then looks up at me. “It’s time to go.”