Dreams Were for the Weak
Itightened my grip on the rope, my hands growing clammy as flashes of lightning streaked across the early morning sky. The tower itself shook as rolls of thunder roared with their displeasure. It was as though Kydona herself was angry with me.
Breathing in deeply, I tilted my head towards the gray sky as large raindrops plastered long strands of hair the color of burning sunsets against my face. The sun was tucked away behind the heavy clouds, its watchful gaze nowhere to be seen as the storm ravaged the land.
A brisk wind swirled around me, causing my already tenuous position to become even more life-threatening. Water streaked down my face, blurring my vision as I tried to look around. Everything was a fuzzy mess. Grunting, I wiped my eyes on my shoulder before continuing my descent down the slippery stone exterior of my prison.
A groaning sound came from above, and my eyes darted up the slick gray walls. My mouth tightened in a straight line as my heart pounded more quickly in my chest. I could hear each beat as I descended slowly.
Thump
Thump
Thump
My heart’s rhythm spurred me on as I lowered myself down the side of the tower. Inch by inch, I worked my way towards the ground.
“Come on,” I muttered as I adjusted my grip on the thick, wet cord. It was slippery in my hands, my fingers unused to what I was asking them to do.
The makeshift bag on my back bumped against me as I shimmied down the wall. There would definitely be bruises on the small of my back tomorrow. If I made it to tomorrow.
My words were little more than pleas, drowned out by the raging storm. “Don’t fail me now.”
The rough, brown rope ran from my hands up the gray stones and through the open window far above me. On the other side, it was tied to the large four-poster bed that took up most of the small space.
Hopefully, the bed frame would hold my weight. I just needed it to last long enough for me to get to the ground. It wasn’t as though there was really anything else I could have used as an anchor. Other than the bed, the only furniture in the circular space was a small wardrobe, a desk, and a chair. That was all.
The entirety of my twenty-three years of existence boiled down to everything in that room.
“Breathe,” I ordered myself as I continued my descent. “Don’t look down.”
As though mocking me for my foolish commands, my treacherous eyes disobeyed me almost instantly. Bile rose in my throat as I took in the distance that lay between the bushes below and my current position dangling against the side of the tower. It hadn’t seemed so high when I was looking out the window, but now it was as though every inch was a mile.
Suddenly, I was regretting the life choices—the few I had been allowed to make, seeing as how being locked in a tower had meant that said choices were few and far between—I had made that brought me to this moment.
A knot formed in my stomach, and my muscles fluttered as my body protested my current course of action. My head pounded as the reality of my current predicament slammed into me like a tidal wave. It crashed against my defenses as I dangled from the rope. My eyes stung, and my vision blurred once more.
“Don’t. Don’t you dare cry,” I commanded myself through gritted teeth. Taking a deep breath, I forced myself to move down another inch. “Keep going. Think about what will happen to you if you don’t make it.”
Visions of red magic and trails of blood flashed before my eyes, and I shimmied down a bit more.
“You can’t let them have you,” I told myself for the hundredth time. “Youhaveto make it down. If you don’t…”
You’ll never escape.
The words reverberated through my mind. I couldn’t let that happen. I wouldn’t. If he got his hands on me…
That thought alone was enough to spur me down the wall.
When I had been five years old, I’d watched a wedding procession. They hadn’t invited me, of course. But I had watched from my window in the tower. I remembered staring so intently that my nose had gotten stuck to the pane of the glass. I had dragged my chair over so I wouldn’t miss a single thing.
The bride had been so beautiful, with her translucent pale pink wings fluttering in the quiet breeze as her white silk gown had flowed all around her. Her groom had been resplendent in black, his dark horns reaching high into the sky as he had led her away from the temple. The path had been lined with well-wishers who had cheered as the couple had taken their first walk together after the ceremony. High King Edgar had even attended the wedding.
Not grasping the severity of my situation, five-year-old me had spent months daydreaming about my future wedding. At the tender age of five, I’d been blissfully unaware of the exact circumstances of my captivity in the tower. I hadn’t known what was coming. If I had, perhaps I would have allocated a little less time to daydreaming and a little more time to trying to escape.
Five-year-old me had imagined that perhaps I would have woken up and eaten a delicious breakfast before having been pampered by my many servants. There might have been a long, hot bath, complete with scented soaps and bubbles. Maybe I would’ve eaten cake for breakfast. There definitely would have been copious amounts of sweet tea.
I had dreamed of the freedom that my wedding would bring me. Of the escape from the circular walls that were my constant companions. Even at that age, I had known exactly how many bricks made up the walls of my prison.