The Glass Castle

“Denounce me again, and I will have you killed.” I stared back at him, wondering how I could possibly be so foolish. Had I really thought that I, a lowly Lords daughter, could or ever would match up to him?
He seemed powerful, threatening, just like the dark muscled stead he rode last hunting trip when the hills were dusted with fine silvery powder and the wind howled ragged with a million lonely wolves.
He had never exercised his true power with me before, he never flaunted it, but now I understood. He was letting me toy with him before, he let me test his limits and taunt him, he wanted to see how far I would go, but now he was done. He was sick of my avoidance and disrespect. The games were over, Senay, and yet they had just began.
Because now, the game of survival had launched. And nothing was a higher bet than your own life.
0o0
Aysel’s hair shown sunset yellow in the afternoon sunlight, tiny golden strands weaved through her strawberry honey hair like the ribbons on Mother’s favorite bodice. She plucked absently at a Forca Hydrangea that she picked on our way to the orchards, the tiny flower twirled like an umbrella between her pale slender fingers while she hummed. It was the slow melodic melody that our Nurse and Caretaker used to whisper softly in our ears when we were mere children.
On those sleepless nights when Uncle would visit the sweet little lullaby was the only thing that used to soothe our tiny hearts. But now our ears were met with silence, and no lullaby could possibly make the tremor in my stomach.
For such a sunny day, we had a very dreary visitor. Aysel and I both knew Uncle would be coming by horseback this shimmering late afternoon. That is why we were slinking down the small stone passage to the cherry orchard, where the trees were just starting to bloom with fluttery pink and white blossoms. Cherry trees soothe the troubled soul, that is what mother had said this morning with a hint of secrecy as she had risen us from our chambers with the somber news of Uncle’s visit.
Her face was slack and ashen with worry, worry she tried faintly to hide for our sake. Mother was always distressed when Sir Venedict Gluon requested his yearly visit. We were forced to call him Uncle as a form of affection, even though I’m sure nobody would ever chose to be affectionate towards.
Uncle had a strange and unearthly power over our father, he could persuade him to do anything, even the most horrible and gut wrenching deeds. Two years prior, when the our latest shipment of war weaponry went missing, and the money lost, Uncle convinced our father to sell one of our older sisters to cruel Persian rulers over seas to compensate for the gap in his pocket. He received a fare well for her trade, but at what cost. Now, our dearest sibling is gone and her memories buried with the thick fog of sadness.
We no longer speak of her. She is lost, that is all that matters.
“Senay?” Aysel asks and her sweet musical voice quakes with threaten of tears. “Father is not going to give you or me away too, is he?” Her voice raises a pitch, and her brown eyes shine with the gloss of moisture.
I can’t answer that question, because I am unsure of the purpose of uncle’s visit. Instead I point to the small wooden box snugly placed at the base of our favorite cherry tree.
My younger sister seemed temporarily distracted by the urgency of curiosity. We quickly glide to the smallest tree, careful to keep our skirts lifted away from the tanned, dry earth.
“What do you think it is?” Aysel queries, her eyes wide with excitement, worries forgotten. For the moment.
“I suppose it’s from mother.” I watched her carefully kneel down and scoop up the amber wood box.
“How do you guess?” She eyes the box carefully, taking in the extravagant carvings of horses on the sides. She lifts the square box to eye level and inspects it from varying views.
“Mother hinted this sunrise.” She looked up at me,
“I was there, and she did nothing of the sort. Did you read her face, like you do with Father? Or are have you hidden that your a witch all these years?” She jested and I rolled my eyes, and nodded towards the box.
“Open up, now. Lets not get off task.”
“Curious?” She teased, twirling the small box in her hands. Her eyes danced playfully, the same shine that I was so used to when we were children and snuck down to the lake after dark.
“Its burning me alive.” I joked and tried to snatch it from her grasp, but she danced out of the way and took cover behind the nearest cherry tree. Aysel poked her head out, her hair swinging like corn silk from behind her base.
“Curiosity killed the cat, you know.”
“Good thing I’m not a cat.” I lunged for her and she squealed and dashed behind the next powdered tree, shaking down a million blossums that showered the ground in a pink fluttery coat.
“Too bad you don’t have nine lives, though.” She smiled and laughed as I finally captured her.
“Yes, too bad.”
“SENAY! AYSEL!” Father’s loud voice boomed over the orchard, echoing down the small canyon that led to a small glossy lake at the far reach of our extensive property.
We both looked up like wide-eyed deer sensing danger. Our eyes large as we watched the stone mansion from the bellow grounds of the colorful orchard. We could see father retreat back inside, satisfied we had heard him.
“What do you think he wants?” Aysel asked, her head swiveling towards me in a fraction of panic, her pretty face pinched with worry and the tiny wooden box temporarily forgotten.
“I suppose we’ll find out.” I stated, then reached and grabbed the brown square from her hand. “We’ll put this in the Oak tree to come back for later.” She nodded solemnly, and we trudged back up the gravel path towards the Main home with an impending sense of dread.
We passed the Old Oak tree, one that, when we were children we used to think housed fairies, and nestled the small polished box into the nook that used to be a raccoon home. We would come back for it later.
The Mansion looked darker and more sinister than before, when this morning we left in hopes of finding comfort. The feeling that clouded my stomach must have been similar to the criminals facing their death by hanging. They would watch that rope swing back and forth in the subtle wind, knowing it would be their end. Our house felt like that rope. That lone, thick rope, which could crush anyone’s dreams and tear any family apart. I knew Uncle would be inside.
The housemaid ushered us in, and directed us towards Father’s study, where he kept track of all the cargo and shipments. He, like his father before him, built our family name and fortune by shipping and manufacturing war weaponry for the kingdom.
I was barely aware of the passing scenery of our extensive mansion; the heavy red curtains framing the large eastern windows, the velvet furniture and the grand fireplace—unlit for the summer, the sitting room, and the bustling kitchens, the dinning room, and the glittering white ball room, past the maid and serving quarters, through the balcony hallway, until finally we reached the towering doors of Father’s study. The red doors looked even more intimidating than before; their presence was demanding and authoritive.
My stomach squirmed and flipped, as if trying to escape and abandon me too.
Leila, the house servant, gently ushered us in, her young face struggling to look unafraid of these doors.
“There you are children.” Father’s voice demanded our attention immediately, but I could not help but let my eyes stray to the scene before me. Mother, with her golden hair pulled back into an extravagant bun, sobbed on the shoulder of our eldest and father’s most prized son. Jem was nearly twenty-three, already married and training to take over Father’s affairs when the older man passed. He was strongly built, and tan with the only other dark hair in the family other than me. I hadn’t seen him for months; a newborn child, and getting situated in the second mansion two days ride away.
Mother looked frail and weak, her shoulders slumped, and she did not lift her head to greet us like she normally would have.
Father, with his raven hair and thick beard, sat importantly at the chair behind his mahogany desk. His eyes were stern and determined—his mind was set. He took us in, not in the normal way, but in full scrutiny. His hooded eyes caught at the sight of our dirtied dresses, but his lips remained a tight line.
Uncle was standing directly behind Father, with his hand placed possessively on my fathers shoulder—as if to remind him there was no turning back. Uncle was taller and leaner that my brother or father. He was thin, but made up for it with his towering height and stern features. His eyes were such a dark brown they seemed like liquid pools of black ink. They would seem black, and vacant if he wasn’t constantly scowling. He had a thin goatee on his chin that pointed sharply. His nose was straight and threatening. Uncle’s face and body language was always keen and razor-edged. His eyes were always judging, watching carefully for some opportunity in which he could somehow gain power. It was unsettling. And I hated him.
My father nodded to the brutish man behind him, and curtly added, “Tell them.” My uncle’s eyes didn’t fall to acknowledge him, he continued staring stonily at the two of us.
“My dear, nieces. How nice it is to see you again.” His voice conveyed nothing nice, it was slimy and stale, and his tone coiled like a snake around my lungs, trapping my airways.
We curtsied in return. He eyed us for a moment, taking in our reactions, and then continued.
“As you are most likely unaware, I have come to inform your father of some special information, information that only few are aware of.” He paused to see if we were impressed, when we made no movement or acknowledgement, he continued more harshly. “In my recent position at the castle,” Again his eyes flickered for some awed reaction. “it has come to my attention that the queen has become ill. She is no longer of any use to the King. Given that, although it is not official, nor will it be until the old hag is dead, there is opportunity to gain favor of the King. Lords and Dukes all over the country will be shipping their daughters to the Kingdom when they catch wind that the queen is ill. It is an opportunity to perhaps gain purchase over the throne.” His eyes darkened at the thought of the power and wealth that would bring him. It disgusted me, I knew why he was here, I knew why he needed us. He wanted us to become entangled with the King, he wanted us to somehow gain his attention. If the Queen was ill, there was no doubt she would need more ladies in waiting, mistresses for the King. If the queen did, in fact pass, the king would select the most convenient woman. The mistresses, and Ladies in Waiting were always mostly the daughters of powerful men; they would be first choice after royalty.
My mind whirled; I knew what a mistress meant. I knew what it required. But I didn’t want Aysel to endure this. I didn’t want her involved.
“Would you need one or both of us?” I asked sharply, trying to convey to Aysel to stay quiet. He chuckled darkly.
“Eager, are we?” He shifted and pulled back away from my father, who was now staring intently at me. “There is only one queen. Only one person is needed to succeed, but if that one fails…” He trailed off, his eyes slipping to Aysel in a disguised threat. He saw my motive, and was tweaking the circumstances, using my motive as leverage to make me come easier.
“I’ll do it.” I stated coldly. My body suddenly went numb, and I slipped into a sort cold daze. I was only barely aware of what I had said, and what it meant.
Aysel quivered beside me, and opened her mouth in panic, looking at me with a wild and raw fear. She started to blubber, her arms suddenly around me, begging me. I could hardly hear, my ears were deaf to sound. There was only the hum of my brain as it shut down, preparing for the worst.
“Enough.” My father bellowed, regaining control over the room. Uncle watched with a sort of sick amusement as his eyes flickered between my sister and myself. “Aysel, you are dismissed, as is your mother.” He hardly spared his weeping wife a glance. My brother Jem took five quick footsteps until he was standing in front of Fathers desk. He seemed to be wearing a stony mask, his face emotionless and blank.
“You realize, Father, what you have done?” He started heatedly, leaning his palms on the desk to be closer to my fathers aged face. Uncle took a step forward and placed his hand on my fathers shoulder again. “The King is not known for his kindness. If Senay so much as drops a wine glass he will have her executed. Are really so cold as to send your own daughter to her death?”
“That is completely untrue.” My uncle hissed threateningly, “If she does her task correctly then she has no need to worry.” Jem’s face twisted with outrage and disgust.
“Do you realize what you have asked her? You have told her to become Queen. Not only that but she has no royal training, nor is the actual queen even dead. She is only eighteen years of age this is no small task, there are millions of lords hoping their daughters will be chosen too, and they will do everything in their power to make that possible.” He enraged, his mask slipping fully.
“If she fails, we can always use Aysel.” My brother almost lunged at Uncle, he was shaking with anger, leaning over the desk.
“These are not some rag dolls at your disposal! These are living people, they are my sisters,” He lowered his face back to fathers, “and your daughters.” Jem’s face crumpled with agony, distress and desperation sliding over is features. “Don’t do this Father. You must know—“
“That’s enough, you are excused Jem.” Father said sharply. Jem stared stonily at the two indifferent men for a moment, then turned and left out the red doors behind me without a second glance.
Both cold stares turned to me, “Pack your finest, Senay. You leave the day after tomorrow.”