Tattered Souls - Into Darkness Part 3

The late morning sun beats down on the villa's courtyard, but, mockingly, it offers little heat. Immalaine shivers beneath the thin fabric of the simple maid’s garment that’s all Sallastin allows her to wear. The dress’ thin cotton has already been soaked by the damp laundry, as she wrings it out and hangs on the lines stretched here in a corner of the courtyard. The fabrics are cumbersome with water, feeling nearly as heavy as the iron manacles that bind her ankles, forcing her to shuffle from spot to spot. “Can't have you running off again, now can we, little girl?”Sallastin had said when the guards fitted her with them on her first morning here, referring to how she’s escaped him the first time, nearly a year ago. A year ago – before she’d arrived in Bree, before she’d met Rastellion, before ...

Tears threaten to add to the dampness on her face and hands; Immalaine squares her shoulders and turns her back to the nearby men. At least laundry wasn't the worst of her duties here. It lets her get outside for a bit, and she didn't have to kowtow to Sallastin, though the ever-present guards still watch her at her work.

As she wrings out the article of clothing in her hands, Immalaine glances around the courtyard, looking for a gate or wall that she might use to make an escape later. One of the guards take a step towards her, and she hurriedly lowers her eyes to the cloth in her hands - some sort of trousers - and throws them over the line, giving a tug to straighten them. As she turns back towards the basket, she almost trips over the chain and lets out a silent curse as she catches herself. She rubs her hands together and blows on them, trying for warmth; her fingertips are wrinkled and blue-tinged from the cold water. As she stares down at them she wishes, for what seems the hundredth time, that she had confided in Rastellion sooner. What have I done? she thinks to herself. Gotten into a whole mess of trouble comes the sardonic reply in the back of her mind. Shaking her head, she picks up the next item and begins wringing it out.

A door across the courtyard opens and Mary emerges. Head lowered, she scurries over, shooting a nervous glance at the guards as she approaches. When she reaches Immalaine, she looks in some dismay at the still half-full basket. "Not done yet? He'll be angry. But he said I was t' fetch you right away. You'll have t' finish this later."

Mindful of her shackles this time, Immalaine throws the shirt she was wringing out over the line, before turning to Mary. For a moment, she is tempted to ask the other girl if she would help with the laundry, but shakes her head at the stray thought. Despite her best efforts over the past week to make Mary an ally in this bleak place, she’s not been able to elicit much sympathy from the other girl. She looks up and realizes it's near midday; it’s time to begin preparing luncheon. With a heavy sigh, she straightens to follow Mary back towards the house. She’s expected to help prepare every meal and wait on Sallastin, when he’s in residence, all in an appropriately docile and subservient manner.

Mary leads the way through the dark corridors of the villa's lower levels, moving quickly enough that Immalaine has to shuffle-run to keep up. But when they reach the second intersection, Mary turns to the right, away from the kitchens. "Hurry up," she calls back, in a loud whisper. "He doesn't like to be kept waiting."

Baffled, Immalaine glances back over her shoulder, before shuffling after Mary. “here are we going?" Immalaine whispers back, letting out a small yelp as she stumbles on a loose flagstone, stubbing her toe through her thin shoes.

Mary pauses outside a door. "He just told me to bring you here." She frowns as Immalaine finally moves up to join her. "You shouldn’t ask questions like that," she says in a quick, quiet voice. "He doesn't like it. Just do as you're told and it'll be easier on you." She gives Immalaine another half-pitying, half-resentful look, then turns and opens the door. "Sir, I brought her," she says, stepping inside.

The door opens onto a small, well-appointed parlor. Sallastin lounges in a high-backed armchair, a half-finished goblet of red wine in his left hand. "About time," he says and waves them toward the center of the room, where a tall, dark-haired woman waits beside a footstool. "Stand there, girl," he tells Immalaine. Mary gives Immalaine a little push forward, but remains hovering by the door.

Immalaine stumbles slightly as she makes her way to the center of the room, looking around dubiously. She nearly asks why she was brought here, but bites her tongue, glancing at Sallastin in obvious confusion.

"Stand!" he repeats, pointing at the footstool.

"Sir," says Mary, in a small voice, "if you don't need me any more..."

Sallastin glares toward her. "I'll tell you when you may leave. Now get over here. You'll be assisting Delliah here." The strange woman - Delliah, apparently - is giving Immalaine an appraising look. Then she moves to start rummaging in a small hamper against the near wall."

Mary says, softly, "But, sir, my chores..." then breaks off, a stricken look on her face, and drops her head.

"Your chores are whatever I say they are," snaps Sallastin.

“Yes sir," Mary replies, weakly, and creeps over to stand beside the footstool.

Delliah lifts something from the hamper, a tumble of cream-colored fabric which, as she returns, Immalaine realizes is a dress. Sallastin swirls his wine. "I know white's hardly appropriate," he says with a smirk, "but I prefer it." He waves Delliah on and sips from his goblet.

The tall woman returns to the stool, glances briefly at Immalaine's face, then looks away. "Try this on," she says, softly, as she moves behind Immalaine and lifts the simple garment. "Raise your arms."

A look of incredulity crosses Immalaine's face. "Is that ..." she starts, looking at the dress as though it were a snake crawling out of tall grasses. "No ... no, that can't be." she mutters, more to herself than the room as she shudders in fear and stares at Sallastin.

Sallastin chuckles. "Of course it is. I won't have anyone claiming things weren’t done properly." He shakes his head. "To think, I was going to pay for that farm, before I knew it was yours." He swirls and drinks the rest of his wine, then smacks his lips. "But now, soon as they finish registering that deed in Bree - the one that boy of yours was so insistent on acquiring, why then," - he waves his free hand vaguely -"it'll be mine for free, by rights of marriage and inheritance and so on and so forth and whatever makes those lawyers happy. Free and clear."His smile stretches, and white teeth flash as he watches Delliah pull the dress over the stunned Immalaine. "I'd ask you to thank him, Russtelon or whatever his name was, for me... but you won't ever be seeing him again, now will you?" He stretches his legs out and crosses his ankles. "Now hurry up. I haven't got all day."

Immalaine struggles inside the pale fabric as it's pulled over her head. The deed! she thinks to herself, How could he have it? Where had she left it? Didn’t Rastellion leave it on Zandrianna's desk when he... The thoughts swirl inside her head. Zandrianna. Althessia. Had he sent someone back there? And Rastellion? Never see him again? Her body grows rigid at a sudden horrifying thought. Please, no...

Sallastin's eyes move up and down Immalaine's body as the dress falls into place, and he nods. "Yes, that one will suffice. Try not to stand so stiffly, girl. A bride should be happy at her wedding, after all."

Delliah nods. "I'll just mark the hemline and..."

"No need," Sallastin interrupts. "Mary here's an adequate seamstress. She'll do the altering. No sense me paying you for that, especially given the absurd amount your mistress is charging me for his dress."

"Sir, I assure you..."

Sallastin interrupts again, waving her off, "Yes, yes, I'm sure she’d claim it a fair price. Well, that's all she'll be squeezing out of me. You may go now. My bailiff will see to the payment."

Delliah hurries to pick up her hamper and scuttle out the far door.

Sallastin turns his attention to Mary. "Put the dress away. You'll start on it this afternoon. After lunch - which is at the next bell. Don't be late." Then his gaze shifts to fix Immalaine with its flat, steely intensity. "And I expect a better performance from you than yesterday."

Immalaine hurriedly pulls the offensive dress off as Sallastin throws around his condescending demands. She pushes a stray strand of hair from her face and lowers herself back down from the footstool, careful not to fall, then turns to face Sallastin, lifting her chin defiantly. "If it's th' farm you want, let me go, and I'll sign it over to you. But I will not marry you!"

A cold smile touches Sallastin's lips. "No, you will do precisely as I tell you, little girl. You defied me once. It will not happen again." He raises a hand as Immalaine draws breath to protest. "Don't forget. I know where your friends live. And that baby. Such a sweet thing - and so helpless. And her pretty nursemaid. Would be a shame if something were to happen to any of them, now wouldn't it?” Mary, folding up the dress behind Immalaine, makes a small noise at this, a half-choked sob perhaps, but Sallastin ignores her. "But you do as you're told, and then my men in Bree won't be bringing me any distressing news about that sweet child" - his eyes bore into Immalaine's - "now will they?"

Her eyes widen at the threat. "Leave her alone. Leave them all alone!" she replies, her voice catching on a sob, before she tamps down her emotions, knowing they won't do any good. "I'll ... I'll do whatever you say, but leave them alone. Please. They've done nothing to you."

Sallastin reaches for the bottle of red wine and slowly refills his goblet from it. "Well that's entirely up to you, now isn't it?" He sets the bottle back down, then swirls the glass, lifts it to his nose, and sniffs. "Mmm," he says appreciatively, closing his eyes briefly, before taking a slow sip. His attention returns to the two young women. "Why are you two still here?" he asks, voice low and level.

Mary gives a little squeak and grabs at Immalaine's hand. "Hurry!" she whispers, and tugs her toward the door and towards the kitchens, to prepare the midday meal.

After serving lunch and cleaning up the kitchen, Immalaine retreats to her room, hoping to get a few moments of privacy before returning to the interrupted laundry. Despite the simplicity of the hurriedly-prepared meal, Sallastin had been in a good mood at table. The slightly mistakes or delays which would normally have earned at least a hard word - if not also a hard blow, usually at the hand of one of his brutish guards -today were allowed to slip by without comment.

Sallastin's eyes frequently drifted toward Immalaine as she moved about the table, so that she could almost feel him imagining her in the dress. Or, worse yet, sliding it off her. He hadn't touched her this time - not that way – and she’d wondered why. Now she realized he was delaying that level of humiliation for after the sham wedding. Sham except where the law was concerned, apparently, if he was going to use it to claim ownership of her family farm.

"Pay attention!" Mary had scolded her, when Immalaine, distracted by this realization, almost took out the wrong dish for the second course. "You'll get us both in trouble!"

Now Immalaine hears the other girl’s voice again as her door opens. "I need to mark the hem" Mary says, entering with a sewing basket under one arm. She tosses the dress at Immalaine and pulls out a stool, one of the few pieces of furniture in the sparse room, for her to stand on.

Immalaine resists the urge hurl the dress away, shuddering as she remembered the man’s threats against Althessia. Instead, with a sigh, she steps up on the stool and lets Mary help her pull the dress over her head again. For the past few days, whenever she’s been alone with the other girl, she’s tried to get Mary to open up, to no avail. Immalaine felt as though she was beating against a stone wall. Mary’s certainly been as unresponsive and silent as one.

Mary pulls some straight pins from her basket, as well as a small ribbon with measurements marked on it. She kneels down by the stool and starts to slowly measure and mark the hem around Immalaine's dress.

Realizing that they’re stuck here until the hemming is done – Sallastin would certainly be upset otherwise – Immalaine decides to try a more direct approach. "How long have you been here with Sallastin?"

"Long enough," Mary answers curtly. "He's not that bad. You just have to understand him." She deftly sets the first pin in place, then starts to circle Immalaine, measuring and double-checking as she goes. "Stand straight."

Strands of hair brush against Immalaine's cheek and she peers down to watch Mary work, mentally shaking her head at the terse reply. "I know what he's like,” she says, softly. “I was with him fer a few months myself, before." She takes a deep breath, wondering why it was so hard to get this girl to open up to her. "I thought all men were like him, til I met Rastellion...” She trails off, remembering Sallastin’s words earlier that afternoon.

Mary glances up. "I know you were with him, b'fore he found me." She frowns and bites her lip. "Why'd you run away?" she blurts, suddenly. "Sallastin's hard sometimes, but only when you don't do right. An' he's rich, an' he's got powerful friends, an'..." She shakes her head and turns back to her work. "An' he keeps you safe," she says, in a quieter voice.

"Rastellion isn't. He's kind and sweet and he's always made sure I was safe and happy!" Immalaine retorts, shifting her weight uncomfortably on the stool as she talks about the man who'd stolen her heart and taught her what real men were like. "He is the best thing that ever happened in my life ... I should have jus' told him ..." She trails off again, her chest tightening as she recalls her last words to him. Go. Just go.

Mary looks up again and sees the single tear tracking down Immalaine's cheek. Her hands pause in her hemming for a moment, then she turns her face back to her work. "Why'd y' leave him then, if he were so grand?"

Immalaine takes a deep breath, working to compose herself as she continues to think of him. "I ... I didn't want to, but we'd just fought, and then Sallastin came and threatened my friends. Threatened the baby. If I'd only told him everything from the start ... there's so many things I never told him." Immalaine sways on the stool, feeling lightheaded.

Mary puts a hand up to Immalaine's hip, staying her. "M'not done yet." She sets in another few pins. "But seems that he’s not coming after you, is he, this wonderful boy of yours. Maybe he's not sorry to see you go after all. Maybe he only said those pretty things." Her hands tremble and several pins scatter onto the bare wood floor. She crouches down and starts to retrieve them. "Men are like that; they lie. All of them."

As Mary chases the pins across the floor, Immalaine shakes her head. "Rastellion, he never lied to me. I've never had any reason not to trust him, but I could never bring myself to tell him things. And now, he doesn't even know where I am, and I cant tell him anything.”

Mary finishes retrieving the dropped pins and moves behind Immalaine to continue marking the hem. "Told him about what?" she queries.

“About the past. About Sallastin. About...,” she swallows, lost in the memories and adds, almost to herself, “...about the baby.”

Mary's hands freeze on the dress as she's starting to put in the last pins. “Baby?”

Closing her eyes, Immalaine recalls the horrible night shortly after she'd escaped from Sallastin. "I ... I was wit' child. I didn't know it,didn’t know what it was, an' so when I started hurting in my stomach, I thought I was sick ... or just hungry. The baby ... it died, and I did as well, almost.” She blinks, surfacing from the memory. “I never told anyone about that, not even Rastellion."

Mary’s eyes are wide, staring at Immalaine. "I ... I had a baby too," she whispers.

Immalaine returns her look, holding her breath for a moment before replying, "You ... you did? Where ... what happened?"

Mary trembles slightly; she drops her eyes, staring down at the ground under the stool. "I ... It was before. The fellow I was with - he told me pretty words too, jus' like yours. But then didn't want me no more after I started to show. Turned me out an' I..." She breaks off, shakes her head slightly, and resumes the hemming. "That's when Sallastin took me in."

Immalaine lets the words sink in and takes a deep breath. "But this fellow, he was wrong to do so. Not all men are like that. A good man ... he wouldn't have. I know Rastellion wouldn't." Immalaine pauses, and watches as Mary finishes the pinning for the hem. Could this be the opening she needed, to win Mary over to her side. "And Sallastin ... he's even worse, because he took advantage of you while you were hurtin'. You shouldn’t have to ...”

Mary jams the last pin in and stands. "He took care of me. Jus' like he's takin' care of you. Marrying you, even." She tugs at the fabric of the dress. "Take it off now," she instructs, her voice gone hard again. "He wants me to hem it."

The expression on Immalaine's face takes a sour turn, as though she'd eaten a lemon suddenly, quickly pulling the dress over her head in her desire to free herself from it. "What he's doing is not taking care of anyone but hisself!"

Mary catches the dress as Immalaine hurls it down. "You can't talk like that!" she insists. "And ... and it's not true."She gathers up the fabric, spins around on her heel, and hurries from the room. The heavy door thumps into place and, after a moment, the locking bolt slides to. Leaving Immalaine alone in her room, again.

Immalaine stares after her at the locked door, a sick feeling settling in the pit of her stomach as she thinks back on the last few hours. Marriage? As if things hadn't been bad enough, now this?!? No, I can't marry him! she thinks frantically. But Althessia ... Zandrianna ... Merry ... I can't let him hurt them. There has to be a way out of here!

And Rastellion ... Sallastin’s words echo in her mind: You won't be seeing him ever again, now will you? 'Rastellion ...' she whispers, 'Please, be alright.'