Platinum Prisons: Book 4 of The Rose Tree Chronicles

Chapter Four: Nadia Gets it Over With

"If a Slave Owner experiences consistent disobedience from his/her Slave, the Owner is permitted to dispose of that Slave. All slave deaths must be reported to the Association of Slave Owners within the day of the death or the following morning."

At first, the ride in Ivanna's coach brought Nadia a fragile sense of relief, the steady clatter of hooves against the drenched road serving as a welcome yet fleeting distraction. If nothing else, it spared her from trudging through the torrential downpour herself. Ivanna lived in Aramycius, far from Aimonbay Estate, which sat isolated on the fringes of Helvetica near the Lucierna Forest. It would've taken Nadia a day or longer to walk the distance on her own.

Still the journey was long, and as the coach swayed through flooded paths and splashed across swollen creeks, the comfort Nadia had clung to began to unravel. Regret swelled in her chest. Returning early had seemed like a brave choice, an attempt to face the consequences head-on. But now, the thought of stepping back into the suffocating atmosphere of Aimonbay, resuming the endless labor, and dodging Lady Skye's detestable presence, all made her stomach constrict. Had Nadia stayed at Melnah Valley, she could have enjoyed three full days of freedom, embraced by the ocean with the echo of her old life. But then again, would it have truly been restful knowing what awaited her in the end?

She sank deeper into the cushions and commanded her breath to steady, one after the other. She watched the raindrops chase one another across the bruised glass of the coach's window. There was no easy path in this scenario, only the one she had chosen. Now, she could only follow it to its end.

At long last, the coach pulled up to the edge of Marquis Rallian's property, and came to a stop.

"The Lady doesn't wish the marquis to know she intervened, miss," called the chauffeur. "I'm afraid this is as far as I am able to take you."

"Understood, sir," Nadia called back. "Thank you."

Nadia lifted the hood of her black cloak to cover her crimson hair, and grabbed her sack of ocean books and games. Then she exited out into the rain, her purple bedleh doing little to shield her from the biting wind. She didn't move from where she stood as the coach rolled away. She gazed upon the grand, gray castle which sat atop a large hill between the capital and the forest.

Nadia felt her regret grow heavier. Beyond those towering double doors lay a nightmare vile enough to strike fear into the hearts of the most berserk of berserkers. Regardless, she forced one foot in front of the other through the iron gates of Aimonbay's fortress and into the courtyard, where the marble statues loomed like silent judges.

She never made it to the steps.

Without warning, two guards—a hulking minotaur and a scarred berserker—seized Nadia by the arms. Her feet lifted from the ground, her soaked hem trailing behind as they hauled her unceremoniously into the manor. The massive doors groaned open into Marquis Rallian's grand foyer, where polished black-and-white marble stretched beneath an arched ceiling of silver and stone.

Nadia caught sight of him instantly.

Sir Rallian stood near the silver-trimmed entrance to his grand hall, draped in his usual riot of color. He faced the doors on the moment they burst open, and his gaze landed on Nadia like a hunter who spotted his quarry. Her heart slammed against her chest as she watched the shift in him—composure evaporating into fury, all within a breath. Beside him loitered his insufferably smug daughter, a look of thrilled surprise in her eyes. Shadowing his lordship was Makiar, the dark-haired satyr butler, his expression unreadable.

Rallian strode toward Nadia with heavy steps echoing like a war drum across the marble. The guards tossed her to the floor. Her knees struck the cold stone hard, her satchel hit with a thud, and her books tumbled across the checkered tiles. Nadia dared not rise or even beg for mercy. What would have been the point? She stayed low, spine hunched, eyes down, every muscle braced as Rallian towered over her like a blade ready to fall.

She clenched her jaw. Bit her tongue. Waited.

"Get up, Lila," he said.

His words were deceptively soft, but Nadia felt the underlying wrath, and she flinched. Rough hands yanked her upright so she stood before her master. She glanced up, briefly meeting his gaze, but she quickly turned away. She hadn't seen the fury in his eyes that she'd braced for, not the usual blaze of her master's temper she'd grown used to. She saw something deeper, more dangerous. A cold, coiled rage, calculated and unfamiliar. The kind that didn't explode, but rather strategized.

A tremble rippled through her.

Instinctively, Nadia pressed herself against the iron grip of the guards, as though their presence might offer protection—though she knew better. The entire castle stood still, even the storm outside was muted against the humming in her ears.

At length, Nadia could no longer bear the torture of waiting. She had to at least try.

"Master—"

Rallian brought his hand down like an ax. The crack of the strike echoed throughout the castle as Nadia's body slammed to the floor and skid across the slick surface. The guards stepped aside, granting the marquis full dominion over his slave. Nadia flipped onto her back, scrambling to retreat, her limbs tangled in the folds of her drenched black cloak.

Rallian watched with chilling detachment. Nadia's wide, terrified eyes searched his face, pleading silently, but his expression only revealed a cold, measured stillness—as if her fear barely registered.

"What precisely were you thinking?" he asked.

"Master, may I—"

Rallian took his dress cane to her skull, and Nadia cried out as the sharp marble grip cut into the flesh of her cheekbone.

"Silence, for God's sake!" he roared. "Do you ever listen?"

Mauro of Ti' Avae, Nadia's basajaun friend since she was first enslaved, arrived just in time to see it all play out. He kept his distance and watched everything unfold in utter disbelief. Even Lady Skye looked in awe upon this remarkable display of wrath. Behind a towering potted plant stood the peacock-haired Doralyn of Abadi, ex-mistress to the late King Darren. She watched the scene play out before her, wide-eyed.

"I may have known what you were from the very beginning," Rallian bellowed, "but I wanted you to be the one to tell me!"

Nadia pressed herself against a marble pillar. "Master, may I please explain?"

The marquis hit her again with his cane. She held her hand to her eye, now besmeared with blood.

"Now you decide to talk!" He lifted her from the floor by her throat and shook her violently as he continued. "For six years I've been trying to get you to talk, and now you think it's a good time?"

Rallian tossed her onto the table in the drawing room beside the grand foyer. He raised his cane and brought it down again, causing Nadia to knock the silver bowl of fruit to the green and blue rug. The sharp crack of wood against flesh drew more curious staff from surrounding halls.

Rallian snatched her up by her neck again, lifted her above the floor, and threw her into the pillar which she had been pressed up against moments ago.

"I've given you an infinite number of opportunities to tell me yourself—" Rallian knocked her back down to the floor with his dress cane "—and this is how it's brought to my attention? I had to read it in a message!"

Rallian kicked Nadia as she lay on the floor. Mauro almost couldn't watch anymore, but he also couldn't tear his eyes away.

"From a miracle worker!" Rallian continued, and he kicked her again. "Someone who only knew you for six minutes!" And again. "You couldn't be bothered to tell me yourself?" He lifted her from the bloody marble and squeezed her throat once more, tighter this time. "You knew your secret would come out eventually, right? You're a smart girl. Ever thought that even after all these years I might be a bit more merciful if you had simply told me on your own accord?"

Rallian shoved Nadia against the pillar and held her there with pressure closing around her throat. She wished she could cry out, but she couldn't even breathe. She kicked her feet in a futile effort to find some semblance of stability or form of relief.

"Does Polaris know how foolish you are?" Rallian snarled. "Better yet, does he know you're a mermaid?"

Rallian released Nadia's throat, and she dropped to the floor with a fierce gasp for air that could be heard from outside the castle's thick, stone walls.

"Master, please understand—" Nadia choked, but Rallian kicked her before she could finish.

"No! You understand! Someone whom I've never met informed me that my most expensive slave is a mermaid as though I was unaware! Which makes me look foolish! Do you know what happens to slaves that make me look foolish?"

"Master, please stop..."

"Stop?"

The marquis grasped his trembling slave by the hair and threw her into an end table. Everything tumbled to the floor and Nadia cut herself on the shards of broken pottery. She moved to get up, but Rallian sent her back down with his cane. Finally, she decided it may be best if she no longer tried to move or speak.

"Have you not been listening to a single word I've said?" Rallian growled, his face as red as Nadia's hair. "What if this news spreads about the empire, huh? —that I am ignorant to the ethnicity of my own slaves? Even the ones that are seafolk?"

The echo of his final word gave way to a silent pause where the castle walls seemed to hold their breath. Everyone stood paralyzed, mouths agape.

Except Skye, who leaned forward, the corner of her lips curling with quiet delight. To her, this was all theater: brutal, raw, and utterly delicious. Her eyes sparkled, soaking in the aftermath like icing on a cake she didn't have to share.

Nadia lay crumpled among the clay shards. Blood ran thin trails across the marble beneath her cheek. Her breath came in short, uneven bursts. The cane hadn't struck again—not yet—but she could feel its weight hovering above her skull. A roll of thunder pierced the tense silence. Rallian loomed over her, trembling, but not from horror or restraint, rather from the last traces of frenzy still coursing through him.

The moment stretched, then he finally broke the stillness.

"Whatever mercy I would have shown you before no longer exists, Lila. But I'm certain you've realized that by now." Rallian turned to address Alik, his abarimon servant who was in charge of keeping tabs on Nadia. "She's spending the night downstairs. Get someone to clean up this mess."

Alik and Makiar took Nadia's arms and dragged her down to the dungeon, blood tracking behind her. Meanwhile, several servants immediately got to work on returning the drawing room and grand foyer to its original glory.

§

Ivanna had been watching the entire ordeal with her fairy abilities to keep everyone updated on the events. She paid particularly close attention to Doralyn, who did not hide her interest when Rallian announced Nadia is a mermaid. As Nadia was dragged to the dungeon, Doralyn ran off toward her bedroom in a curious urgency. There the ex-mistress scribbled madly on a piece of parchment.

"I suspect Doralyn is writing to Ariana about what just took place," Ivanna said. "What's the date today?"

"It's the Newday when messages are sent out," said Vincent with a nod.

"Then it appears we have another message to apprehend."

"Yes, ma'am," Rein replied with a salute, and she flew off at once.

"I'll be sure to retrieve it, my Lady," said Vincent. Then he bowed and left the room.

"What more is happening to Nadia?" Polaris asked.

Ivanna took a short moment to focus. "She's being flogged." She watched Polaris run his fingers through his hair, then addressed her Rogue Assassins. "Everyone is dismissed. I'll inform you when my ship is ready for your departure."

"Yes, my Lady," they replied.

Polaris waited for the Rogue Assassins to leave before he asked, "How long do you suppose this is going to last?"

Ivanna considered her answer for a moment. "It's hard to tell, to be honest. Fortunately, as much as anger issues seem to run rampant through the family, Rallian doesn't appear to be as ruthless as his brother." Polaris sighed heavily. "You know I'll intervene when I have to."

"I know, I know," Polaris replied. "I'm going to feel concerned regardless."

"Would you like to stay here tonight in case something else happens?" Ivanna offered.

"No, I have much to do tomorrow and the storm appears to be letting up," Polaris replied. "Just inform me when it's all over and if she's well."

"Of course." Ivanna swallowed her disappointment.

"Will you be all right?" Polaris asked as he stood, prepared to leave.

The marchioness nodded. "I'll require some tea to help me sleep, but I'll be fine."

"Good. Get some rest, Iva."

Ivanna watched as Polaris and Drake moved to exit, but there was something she felt best to mention then rather than later. She just didn't know how to bring it up, let alone put it into words. "Um..."

Polaris paused and faced Ivanna, listening.

"I did want to mention one more thing..." Ivanna continued to struggle for the appropriate verbiage.

Polaris waited, but his patience was short. "Just say it."

Ivanna paused again. "Actually, this might lead to more conversation. Have a seat, unless you have urgent matters to attend..."

Polaris and Drake traded glances with each other.

"No, I suppose we don't," Polaris confessed.

He returned to his seat in front of the hearth, but the marchioness still failed to speak up.

"What is this all about, Iva?" Polaris pressed.

She sucked in a deep breath through her nose. Perhaps the right wording was less important than just getting it out. "So, Nadia isn't exactly pure mermaid, though she is mostly. She's a descendant of Emperor Gerardo, who was a naiad. But she's so far descended that any naiadic blood is insignificant ... or so I had thought..."

"This is some interesting news indeed," Polaris replied. "But where is this going?"

"Right, well ... while she and I were at Melnah Valley, it's possible I may have witnessed her display some naiadic abilities. Now I can't be too sure; perhaps it was a hallucination induced by stress. The first time I saw the signs, I was quite certain my eyes were playing tricks on me, but then I saw it again and at that point I was sure I saw it. But now that I think back on it, it's possible I may be mistaken. However, I figure I should probably bring it up with you in case I truly did see something."

"Why would this bear any significance?" Drake asked.

Ivanna looked to Polaris to explain, but he seemed to have the same question.

"It shouldn't be possible," Ivanna insisted. "All you have to do is look at those who have more than one ethnicity in their blood. Ezra is half valkyrie and she can't fly, Gideon is half berserker and he struggled to control his berserkergang, I'm a quarter human and not nearly as wise as you, there are people out there who can't access abilities at all! Nadia's naiadic blood comes from her great, great-grandfather, no one should be able to see any naiad in her! Yet I may have spotted some serious evidence yesterday!"

"What do you believe you saw?" Polaris asked.

"Twice I may have watched her become transparent."

"As in she vanished completely?"

"Not exactly; naiads are made of water, so they can take the form of water. I believe I may have witnessed Nadia almost do just that. But as I mentioned before, I'm not entirely sure, so I would like for you two to keep a watchful eye and see if you notice any signs."

"I still don't understand the relevance," said Drake. "Sure it's remarkable, but you seem to be giving this more weight than is due."

Ivanna rubbed her face. "I'm concerned that, depending on how much access she has to her naiadic blood, her descendants may also be able to access those abilities among others."

"Among others as in, the abilities provided by their father?" Polaris asked.

"Precisely," Ivanna answered. "If I'm correct and Nadia can access abilities from relatives so distant, then her descendants could possibly do the same. If her offspring comes from mixed ethnicities and this continues further down the family line, just imagine how powerful they could become."

Polaris narrowed his eyes at Ivanna as he chewed on her words.

"That may not be a good thing for someone in a position of power," said Drake.

"Do you think there's a possibility that the dream provided to the king and queen years ago was more like one of Rein's dreams?" Ivanna asked.

Polaris raised his eyebrows in realization. "Like a warning..."

"Curses, if we've been fighting on the wrong side this entire time..." said Drake.

"That's my concern too," said Ivanna. "Polaris, what do you understand about prophetic dreams?"

"To be completely honest, not much," Polaris confessed as he ran his hand through his hair. "Just enough to recognize them. It never occurred to me that prophetic dreams only exist to act as warnings, though I can't imagine they all do."

"Perhaps we should step back until we've looked a little further into this, or at least until we recognize more signs from Nadia. As I mentioned before, I'm almost certain I saw something, but not entirely. It was far too subtle."

"Perhaps you're right," said Polaris. "I'll keep watch, but what signs should I be looking for?"

"Abilities similar to that of a water elemental, with the addition of being able to take on the appearance or consistency of water."

"Noted," said Polaris.

"I'll keep my eyes open too, and when I find time, I'll look over the histories of her family and King Jorge's descendants. Perhaps I'll be lucky enough to find some information there."

"We'll join you in that effort," said Drake. "Hopefully the news will be good."

"If it's not..." Ivanna began, "while I may no longer fight to put Nadia on the throne of Noelle, I will continue to fight to free my princess from captivity."

"As will I," said Polaris.

§

That same night, Rein's boring duty as sentry watching over Doralyn paid off at last. Once matters on the estate had relaxed and most of the residents had gone to bed, Doralyn covertly made her way from her room on the second level, down to the rear courtyard. She held tight to the gold chain which connected the massive collar around her neck to the gold bracelet around her wrist. This way she kept it quiet so as not to alert any of the guards of her sneaky presence.

Doralyn did not wear a cuff around her right bicep like the rest of Sir Rallian's slaves due to her unique heritage. Doralyn was a werewolf, so her means of identification was her large collar. Of course, when she was not in wolf form, this collar was quite large. So to keep her from simply slipping it off and running to freedom, it was connected by a chain to the bracelet around her wrist which was too small to clearly engrave her and Rallian's information per law.

Doralyn kept to the shadows, which proved difficult when each flash of lightning lit up the entire estate and extinguished all darkness. She would have to act quickly to make it outside undetected. She covered her head and youthful face with the hood of her green cloak, and dodged the sights of the sentries as she rushed toward the door to the rear courtyard.

Rein watched from the beak of a griffin gargoyle as Doralyn tip-toed through the heavy rain until she approached a tree in which sat a damp orange cat. Rein recognized the feline to be Mistress Inara, who was half specter. Inara was rarely present for the exchange of messages, however perhaps due to the weather, they felt it was better not to bury parchment under wet soil. Doralyn slipped a folded leather pouch into Inara's mouth, who took off with it.

Rein didn't believe Inara would be the one to take the note all the way to the Helvetican Palace, so she continued to watch the mistress from afar as she hurried away from Aimonbay Estate. Rein turned out to be correct. Once Inara was off Sir Rallian's property, she approached a rocky alcove on the hillside where one of Lord Maurice's men sat waiting. He took the leather pouch and then separated from the mistress.

§

Farther along the road, Captain Vincent sat patiently on his diamond-encrusted Roshirian warhorse among a cluster of trees waiting on word from the pixie. It was always a long wait. Vincent started to consider bringing something to do so he would stop entertaining fantasies about a particular duchess who often attended Lady Ivanna's galas. At last, Rein's dim glow through the thick tempest snatched his attention from his daydreams and he prepared to execute his mission.

"There's a courier on his way to the palace now," Rein said, panting from the effort of flying through a storm. "He has Doralyn's note, follow me!"

Rein took off and Captain Vincent kicked his horse into motion. It wasn't long before he spotted the messenger galloping down the road from Aimonbay. The captain almost managed to cut him off, but the man heard Vincent coming and pressed his own steed to move faster. The chase was on, and Rein left the rest of the mission to the captain.

Unfortunately for Vincent, this messenger proved to be an avid horseman. They hurdled down the narrow trail toward Helvetica, hooves pounding in rapid succession, throwing up clods of wet soil with every stride. Rain stung Vincent's face, needling through the wind as he leaned low over his mount's neck, the reins slick in his gloved hands. He felt concerned that his horse wasn't quite used to such sport and weather. Fortunately, they still had ground to cover before they reached the outskirts of Helvetica, where narrow alleys and tight corners would give the courier an easy escape. Out here, at least, Vincent still had a fighting chance.

Then, without warning, the courier's horse veered sharply off the main road. The captain jerked back in surprise, nearly pulling his mount off balance. He cursed under his breath. Of course this man would introduce some tactics of escape to lose his pursuer. The detour was a calculated ploy, and Vincent chastised himself for failing to see it coming.

They plunged into a maze of rocky hills and sloping ridges, the terrain growing treacherous underhoof. Only the faint, intermittent glow of the blue moon guided them, filtered through shifting clouds like glimpses of a distant lantern. Lightning split the sky in jagged veins, illuminating the chase in bursts of harsh white.

The courier weaved between boulders and outcrops, forcing Vincent to match every turn, every desperate adjustment. Their horses grunted and snorted, muscles straining with each climb and leap. The captain scouted for an opening, scanning ahead between flashes of light. There was no room here to overtake—no straightaway to force a collision or land a clean dismount. Every narrow ridge, every slope played to the courier's advantage.

Vincent would have to wait and let the tract change before making his move.

At length, the terrain widened into a raw stretch of open ground slick with mud and rain, offering nowhere to hide and no clever angles of escape. The courier had no choice but to commit, and Vincent seized the moment. He pressed his steed just a little harder and thundered through the clearing, closing the distance with each pounding stride. Wind tore at his cloak. Rain pierced his skin. The courier's horse was just within reach, close enough now that the captain could see the tension in the man's shoulders as he realized his mistake. Just as Vincent reached out, the courier snapped the reins and swerved hard to the left.

But the captain had anticipated the dodge.

He launched himself from the saddle, catching the courier mid-turn. The impact sent both men crashing onto the rocky terrain, limbs tangling as they hit the ground with a splattering thud. They rolled in a blur of soaked cloaks and snarled breath, mud smearing across their faces, until they came to a violent stop. Vincent shoved himself upright, slick with rain and grime, black hair plastered to his forehead. He scraped it back with a grunt, eyes locked on the courier as the man scrambled to his feet and threw his fist at the captain.

Vincent dodged the strike and promptly blocked another before he aimed a couple of his own punches at the messenger's jaw. Each movement was precise between grunts and labored breath. These weren't brawlers—they were trained, hardened, and it showed in the speed of their counters and the sharpness of their strikes. Frustrations flared. They grappled with each other, one slamming the other into a rain-slicked boulder, the other retaliating by dragging him down into the slush. Desperation began to replace precision.

Then fists gave way to stone.

They swung with ferocity, no longer thinking in terms of style or form, only survival. Rain pelted down. Mud flew. The ground bore the bruises of their struggle.

The change was subtle, only evident by the shift in the courier's stance. The faint glint of a blade cut through the veil of rain, straight for Vincent's throat. He dodged and drew his own knife. Fresh wounds manifested quicker this way, blood welling where steel met flesh. Each attack was delivered swiftly, a blur of metal flashing in and out of shadow, the moonlight too weak to reveal who had the upper hand.

Then Vincent brought the hilt of his knife against his opponent's nose. The man staggered, a rough gasp punched from his lungs. Before the man could retaliate, Vincent delivered a few more blows with his hilt, and then finally let him collapse into the mud.

The captain stood over the courier and let him catch his breath before he demanded, "The message, please."

The man gazed up at the mysterious black figure, wheezing. "What message?"

"There's no need to be so noble, I could simply search your person. Just make this easier for both of us and hand it to me."

The messenger still hesitated. "At least tell me who you work for."

It was Vincent's turn to pause. Should he refuse an answer, or provide a false one? He soon opted for the latter. "The Royal Order. That's all you need to know."

The courier continued to gaze at Vincent through his swelling eyes as he let the words sink in. He nodded in acceptance. The man reached into a pocket and pulled out the note he had received from Inara, still tucked neatly in a leather pouch. Vincent took the letter and rode away without another word.