The Dancer and the Masks by Bea Paige
Chapter 5
CHRISTY
“I’ll run you a bath, you can clean up. I’ll ask Renard to bring you something to eat,” Konrad says as he leads me into a large bathroom situated at the far end of a long, wood-paneled corridor. This is the only room Konrad has bothered to show me after unlocking the door into what I assume is The Masks private quarters.
“Who’s Renard?” I ask, knowing full well who he is, and not buying Konrad’s sudden kindness for one second.
“Our butler.”
I nod, watching Konrad warily as he moves about the space gathering towels from a cabinet situated beside another door that leads to God knows where. He moves with confidence, not in the least bit bothered that I might try to attack him and run. Though, I’m not foolish enough to try. Aside from the fact that he stands at least half a foot taller than me, putting him at least six-three, he has wide shoulders, thick arms and thighs that fill out his suit. Konrad is built, intimidating. He’d overpower me in seconds.
“Don’t you have maids who do this kind of thing?” I ask, swallowing hard and wondering how, in the twenty minutes it took us to walk here from the dungeons, I didn’t see another living soul. Nala and Renard had mentioned the ‘Numbers’ but who were they? Where were they? Surely a place as huge as this required staff to run it?
“We have staff, yes, but the majority are forbidden to enter our quarters, or this wing of the castle.”
“Wing?” How big is this place?
“Our home is vast. You could easily get lost in it. There are many hiding places...” His voice trails off as he eyes me. I can’t help but shiver at the implication of his words. He’s already admitted he likes the chase. He wants me to run and hide. The man’s a predator, that much is clear. Swallowing my nausea, I push down the fear I feel bubbling, refusing to give him that. “There are only two other people who are allowed up here. Renard, and Nala. You’ll get to meet them soon enough.”
“Nala?” I ask, feeling sick that a girl as young as her is forced to work for such men.
“Renard’s granddaughter. She grew up here. This is her home as much as it is ours. I warn you though, both are loyal to The Masks. Understand?” I meet his gaze, and there’s a flicker of challenge in them. Little does he know that I’ve already met both. Nala had brought me food and water, her grandfather had helped. Knowing that gives me strength. Perhaps I’ve found allies in them both. “Understand?” he repeats.
Nodding, I look away as he busies himself filling the clawfoot bathtub that sits in the centre of the room. The walls are thick stone, much like the dungeon we’ve just come from, except there’s no mold or dampness in this room. In fact it’s warm, heated by an open fire. There’s a small, arched, leaded window that sits to the left of the room, allowing natural light into the space. I find myself wanting to peer out of it, to know that there’s a world out there, a world where my family is waiting for me.
“The view is quite spectacular,” Konrad says, noticing me staring. “But in case you were wondering about escaping through it, I will warn you that the drop is more than a hundred feet. Not even the moat that surrounds the castle will break your fall. At best you’d break your neck and be paralysed, at worst crack that pretty little head of yours wide open. Both would be a waste.”
Snatching my eyes back to his face, I swallow hard. The thought hadn’t even occurred to me. I have no intention of escaping, at least not today. First, I need to find a piece of paper and a pen so that I can write down all the directions I’ve memorised walking here from the dungeons. I have no idea whether they intend to lock me up in these rooms or allow me the freedom to roam, either way I need to be smart, and writing down everything I noticed on our walk here is the right thing to do.
“I’m not a fool,” I blurt out, before slamming my mouth shut.
“We’ll see,” he replies, and even though I can’t see his face, I know he’s smirking beneath the Mask.
My throat tightens with anger, but I swallow down my sarcastic response. He can goad me all he wants. He can try to intimidate with bloated silence, but it won’t work. I think he’s expecting me to run. I think he expected it the moment he unchained me, but that’s what he wants, and I won’t give him that despite me goading him earlier. Instead, I meet his gaze, the cool blue of his eyes assessing me as he perches on the edge of the bath, waiting for it to fill.
I stare back, refusing to back down.
The silence between us allows me to go over the mental map that has formed in my head, and that’s what I do as he tries to unravel me with his stare. I’ve memorised how the smell of damp and mold of the dungeons made way for the scent of dust and mothballs as we passed through some kind of cellar, the walls lined with bottles and bottles of alcohol. I recall the way the uneven cobblestone beneath my feet had turned into smooth wooden floorboards, as we stepped out of the cellar into a cavernous room that echoed with every step. My stomach grumbles, reminding me of the smell of bread baking in some distant part of the castle as we walked along a dimly lit corridor that was lined with wooden panels, periodically lit by ornate sconces. We passed door after door, most of which were closed, and those that were open were empty of people.
“I think that’s deep enough,” Konrad says, standing suddenly. He cocks his head to the side, waiting.
“Will you be expecting me to strip and bathe whilst you watch, or am I to have some privacy?” I ask.
Konrad’s hand stills over the bottle he’s picked up and is about to unscrew. Presumably it contains some kind of bubble bath, though there’s no label that gives any indication to what the liquid is that’s sloshing around inside. “When we strip you bare for the first time it will be all three of our gazes that drink you in, not just mine. There are rules we have agreed upon, that is one of them.”
“How very noble of you all,” I scoff. “I’m surprised you’ve got the wherewithal to hold back, given all your threats so far.”
Turning my back to him, I grab a glass resting on the sink behind me and hold it under the tap, filling it halfway before lifting it to my lips. The water is cold, soothing, and instantly quenches my thirst. Nala and her grandfather, Renard, might have brought me food and water previously, but that only took the edge off my hunger and thirst. I’m ravenous. My stomach growls once again, reminding me that I have more pressing needs beyond the one to escape this place.
“How irresponsible of me. I never offered you any water. You’ve been in that cell for quite some time. Tell me, Zero, how come you haven’t begged for it before now?” Konrad asks, his tone suspicious as I turn back around to face him.
Remembering Nala’s request to keep her visit secret, I think on my feet. “The stone walls were damp. I didn’t know how long you’d keep me there and I wasn’t willing to die of dehydration. I did what I had to do.”
“So you’re a survivalist? Interesting,” he remarks, uncapping the bottle and pouring the purple-coloured liquid into the water. The smell is heavenly and for some reason it makes my shoulders relax a little as the scent of lavender and bergamot rises in the air.
“You could say that,” I reply, not giving anything away. It’s true that I may know a little about surviving in extreme conditions, but it’s not because I have any experience of it. I just have a healthy thirst for knowledge. It comes with the territory. Not having friends of my own—unless you count the dying—means I have to fill my time with other things. Ballet and reading anything and everything helps me not to feel so lonely. “Besides, I don’t beg,” I add, unable to help myself.
“Is that so?” Konrad removes his suit jacket, chucking it onto a chair situated next to the window. I watch as he unbuttons his cuff, and rolls up his shirt sleeve showing off thick forearms with veins that protrude beneath his skin. He has beautiful arms. Powerful. Lethal.
“I won’t beg.”
“You really are very certain of yourself, aren’t you?” he asks.
“Yes,” I say.
No, I think.
He can’t know I’m struggling to remain strong, to keep my mask in place. What he said earlier, about my ghost eyes… For a moment I’d stopped breathing. It was as though he’d looked right inside my soul and saw who I truly was. No one has ever, not once, looked at me that way and for the briefest of moments I’d felt not fear, but interest… In him. I don’t want to look at him and see anything other than what he is. He isn’t interesting. He isn’t attractive.
He’s a villain. A fiend. A monster.
He locked me up in a cell, for crying out loud.
He’s my enemy.
I finish the last of the water and place it back on the sink behind me, refusing to turn back around. Nothing shows more strength or courage than turning your back on a predator. So I remain facing away from him, using the mirror before me to watch what he does next. His eyes undress me as his gaze wanders over my back, arse and legs. Despite being fully dressed, I feel utterly naked under his slow perusal.
“I wonder, Zero, how much courage will you have when I’m flogging your backside raw, hmm? Will you be as stubborn then?”
My heart ratchets up a notch at the threat and the lazy way he swirls the water. The dark hair on his forearm slicks against his olive skin and I wonder for the first time since waking up who the man is beneath the mask. I suspect he has a beautiful face. The most dangerous people usually do. Those thoughts dance in my head as he straightens up and steps around the bath towards me. My skin prickles as he approaches but I still refuse to turn around and face him.
“Answer me, Zero. Will you refuse to beg for mercy when I’m pushing you to your breaking point?” he insists, stepping up behind me. He’s so tall that I feel dwarfed by him but I don’t let my fear show. “Well?”
“I guess there’s only one way to find out,” I retort, gasping as he presses his chest against my back and grasps the sink on either side of my body, his thick fingers curling over the white porcelain. A waft of his scent washes over me, he smells of leather and metal, spice and musk.
“Oh, believe me. I’m going to enjoy every second of finding out what will make you crack,” he replies, rocking his hips against my back, making certain I know just how turned on he is.
I whimper again, and I hear his soft chuckle. He thinks my reaction is through fear. It’s not. Right now the skin on my back screams with phantom pain, nerve endings that shouldn’t exist are brought to life by the sudden pressure and heat seeping from him into me. I grit my jaw and force myself to focus on my reflection in the mirror, to ground myself like I always do.
“So you keep saying,” I bite out, refusing to give him even the tiniest insight into what I’m trying to hide. Instead, I focus on my appearance before me, the mirror reflecting my position trapped within his arms. For some reason, looking at myself as a reflection allows me to detach from the moment, from what’s happening, from the pain. It’s easier to control how I feel when the person staring back at me isn’t who I truly am. My hair is messy, tangled, my eyes haunted, but it’s my skin that tells the biggest lie. Despite streaks of black mascara covering my cheeks, my foundation is still relatively intact, my birthmark hidden. The slight blush of my cheek could be interpreted as a reaction to Konrad being close to me rather than the truth.
Thank God.
“You really are beautiful,” Konrad says, his voice lowering to a rumble that I feel reverberating down my spine. “It was quite the surprise, honestly.”
For the briefest of moments I wonder about smashing the glass and using a shard to stab him with, then discard the thought. I’m not stupid, I’d be no match at the best of times, let alone weakened by hunger, thirst, and muscle-numbing fatigue.
“Beauty isn’t everything,” I say, my voice tight, disgusted that he’s so enraptured by the lie.
“Says the beautiful woman…” His voice trails off as he steps back, and the breath I was holding releases in a puff. Not wanting to feel him against me again, I turn back around to face him.
“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,” I say firmly, steeling myself, finding comfort in my mother’s words when normally all they do is irritate me.
He scoffs. “Bathe. I will lay out clothes for you on the bed in the room next door,” he says, pointing to the door on the opposite side of the bathroom. “Put them on and wait for us there.”
“Us?” I question, knowing full well who he’s talking about.
“I’ve kept you to myself long enough. It’s time.”
“You’re leaving me alone? Aren’t you worried I’ll try to escape?”
“There is no escape. Even if you were to find your way out of these rooms, through the castle, over the moat, and the forest beyond without being caught, we’re miles away from any form of civilisation. Overnight you’d die of hypothermia before you even stumble across our nearest neighbour. The highlands are not a place for a woman such as yourself. This is your home, for however long we choose to keep you here. Get that through your pretty, little head.”
My mouth opens and closes, uncertain how to take that last statement or even how to respond. What does he mean by saying however long we choose to keep you here? Do they intend on setting me free one day, or is he implying that I’ll never be free, only in death?
“Besides,” he continues, “Now that you’ve seen my face. You’ll never be allowed to leave.”
“But I haven’t seen—”
He cocks his head to the side, then reaches up and unfastens the ties that keep his mask in position. Grasping the front of the mask with one hand, he pulls it free from his face. Showing me who he is beneath the mask.
It’s not what I expected. Not at all.
“You’re…” I begin, my words swallowed down by the tightness in my throat and the frantic beat of my heart pounding inside my chest.
“Deformed,” he spits, his eyes flaring with anger.
“Deformed?” I frown, my eyebrows pulling together as I drink in the sight of him. “That wasn’t what I was going to say at all.” Goosebumps rise across my skin and my stomach flips with both pity, empathy, and beneath it all, a glimmer of... lust. That reaction, most of all, sickens me. I force it away, lock it down. I will not be attracted to this man. No. Never.
“Then what were you about to say?” he asks, misreading my reaction. He thinks I’m disgusted by him. I’m not.
“I—”
“Be careful, Zero... Well?” he insists.
You’re like me.
Those are the words that sit on my tongue as I stare at the thick, red scar that runs from just beneath his left eye, across his cheek and ends up beneath his ear. The skin is raised, puckered and pinched around the scar. In some parts it’s lumpy where the scar tissue hasn’t healed well. It’s a prominent disfigurement, an obvious flaw on an otherwise beautiful face. The wound that caused it must’ve been horrific. What on earth happened to him, and more importantly, why do I even care?
“Someone hurt you,” I find myself saying.
His eyes flash, the blue lighting up like lightning parting the rolling clouds of a stormy sky. “I don’t need or want your pity.”
“Is that why you wear a mask?” I press, unable to hide the compassion in my voice. He’s younger than I thought, no more than his late twenties, and yet that scar and the way he’s looking at me now makes him seem far older than his years.
“I wear a mask because I like it. Nothing more, nothing less.”
“You’re hiding,” I whisper, and I don’t mean his scar. I’m not talking about his predilections either, given he’s so open about those, but something else, something deeper. My skin prickles, telling me I’m right.
For a moment he doesn’t respond, instead we stare at one another as though trying to understand the true depths of the person standing before us. Then his nostrils flare, and before I even know what’s happening, Konrad has my arms gripped in his large hands, his fingers pinching my skin through the hoodie I’m wearing.
“I’m not hiding,” he spits. “You think I care about this scar, or the pity I see in your strange eyes. You think I’m weak for choosing to wear a mask to cover what people find unacceptable, disgusting?”
“N—no, that isn’t what I think,” I retort, flinching as his grip tightens and he lifts me off the floor. My fingers fly to his chest, grasping a hold of the lapels of his suit jacket to steady myself on my tiptoes.
“I don’t hide behind the masks any more than my brothers do. We wear them because that’s who we are.”
“What does that even mean?” I find myself asking. “Who are you, really?”
Pushing me away so that I stumble back against the sink, he snarls at me, his top lip curling. “You don’t get to question me. Get washed, you smell like cow shit.”
With that, he snatches up his mask and walks out of the bathroom, leaving me panting, breathless, and utterly confused by the sudden overwhelming sympathy I feel for him and the desire to truly see the man beneath the mask.