{TITLE} Pt. 9

                From then on, a friendship slowly developed between the prince and the traitor. Rylan accepted that Keela had a difficult past and was just doing what she thought was right. He tried to think of it as an opinion rather than treachery and just focused on the person she was. Keela accepted that Rylan did not bear his father's personality though he did share his name. She viewed him as unfortunate to have the same last name as such a foul creature as the King, but decided they shared no DNA whatsoever. It helped her to see past his family, anyway.

         They would talk whenever Rylan wasn't doing something with his father and when Keela wasn't being tortured or questioned. They could only do so about three times a week, but it was always a time Keela looked forward to. Everything was the subject of conversation. They would talk about their moms—what they could remember—Rylan would go into detail about his experiences in Montreal, and Keela would share little tidbits about her time spent wandering the Kingdom. They discussed the weather, their favorite months, anything that came to mind. The war was avoided, though, since they both knew an argument could break out and neither wanted that.

         It was the same routine for about three weeks—torture, attempt to sleep, think about the upcoming invasion and attack, talk with Rylan, and so-on. It became such a pattern that Keela could tell when Rylan was about to show up just by where the patch of sunlight was placed in her cell. Keela found herself looking forward to his visits and was almost anxious to speak with him again.

         On one such day when Rylan was expected, Keela watched the autumn breeze blow leaves about outside her window, creating dancing shadows on her floor. When the door was opened, Keela turned her head excitedly only to be disappointed by the figure who stood before her cell.

         “Hello, Keela.” Audivae said coldly. “I've got a surprise for you today.”

         “Don't tell me—an extra torture session,” Keela said, mock surprise in her tone. She turned away from the royal brat and looked back at the swirling shapes on the ground. “Where's Rylan?” she asked nonchalantly. “Doesn't he usually come with you to make sure you don't kill me?”

         Keela could feel the princess smirk as she said, “Well he would be with me if this was a torture session.”

         Keela looked up just as Audivae stepped aside to allow two guards to enter the cell. A quick burst of fear shot through her as the guards picked her up and tightly held her hands behind her back—was she going to try it again? She struggled against the brutes for a moment but as soon as she was was dragged into the hall she decided to keep her wits about her.

         “It's been six weeks since you arrived,” Audivae said from behind Keela as they walked down the disgusting hallway. “And today you start—”

         “Today I start working with the servants,” Keela finished for her. She didn't much like doing the chores—it made her feel less like a proud traitor and more like an enslaved Kingdomer—but at least she could finally snoop around the palace. And maybe she'd be able to escape in the winter if she collected enough information. That satisfied her enough.

         “Not quite,” Audivae said, causing Keela to raise an eyebrow in concern.

         “But I've been here for six weeks,” she retorted. “I always do chores with the servants after six weeks.”

         They stopped at a door that Keela had never seen before. Time seemed to slow down as she found herself paying more attention to everything around her—she didn't like being in unfamiliar surroundings and would not be caught off guard. The brute to her left had an unusually deep and dark pink scar on his right cheek and she instantly recognized him—he was one of the guards that suffered a blow from the rusty chains she ripped from the ceiling during her last escape. She almost smiled at the memory but her environment distracted her, her eyes darting in all directions. The man on her right had puffy lids and seemed to have trouble breathing, droplets of sweat glistening below his hair line; perhaps he was sick? Whatever he was suffering from, Keela would never know. In an instant that lasted a lifetime the rope that bound her hands was removed and she was shoved toward the door. It was quickly opened and then shut as soon as she was inside.

         This was a room she had never been in before. Her eyes remained sharp and observant though she was momentarily blinded by the brightness of the space. The walls, floor and ceiling were a pure white and looked so intensely clean that Keela wouldn't risk contaminating it by moving—she even considered holding her breath. The only sign of movement in the room was two men dressed head to toe in stiff, white fabric. Gas masks and pitch black goggles covered their faces and thick, heavy white boots were on their feet. In their hands they held long, winding tubes with black handles aimed at her.

         The moment the door was shut behind her, Keela was bombarded with an icy mist that erupted from the hoses. Her tangled and matted hair flew straight back and the rest of her body followed as it slammed against the door from the intense force. Keela shut her eyes from the strange fog and the breath was instantly knocked out of her. She squeezed her lids even tighter as her skin began to burn. All over her body was screaming with pain, tingling from the powerful heat that clung to her and would not cease. But before Keela had time to cry out, the burning suddenly changed to a freezing sensation that numbed her completely. The icy coldness halted any urge she had to move or breathe—she felt as though she was frozen in a block of ice. As quickly as it all began, the mist disappeared and she could feel and breathe again.

         Not sure what would happen next, Keela reluctantly opened her eyes. In a flash of white, she was being dragged to the corner by the two men where another door was hidden. Keela wanted nothing more to do with this and struggled against them, but their grip was firm and it was no use. The door was opened and Keela stumbled into the next room as she was shoved in. She fell on her knees in a gray room that was empty except for a large, bulky figure.

         “Enjoy you shower?” a deep, sinister voice asked, cutting into the echo from the slamming door behind her.

         “What the hell was that?” Keela spat at the General who now stood before her, her voice shrill and a little shaky from the burning, icy mist.

         “We have to disinfect all the prisoners who work in the fields,” he answered coolly.

         “Traitors don't work in the fields,” she said, perhaps trying more to convince herself that they made a stupid mistake rather than inform the General of the fact.

         “They do now,” Jayzone said as he tossed her a pair of thin leather shoes with wooden soles. They were the shoes she'd seen on the prisoners as they filed out into the cold to do their work, linked together by thick ropes. For a moment she just stared at the work shoes, trying to make sense of it all. Traitors and Crads do chores around the palace because they're surrounded by walls and guards; prisoners do yard work in the various fields a mile or so from the palace with the new trainees to look after them. All of the poor people unlucky enough to end up in the palace prison are treated just as badly as the traitors and Crads, even worse—most are too weak to escape the loosely enforced working fields. But Keela was—surprisingly enough—rather strong at the moment. Why let her outside under conditions she could easily escape from?

         General Jayzone was getting impatient with Keela's stalling and she was not in the mood to argue or get slapped so she put the shoes on. She wobbled as she stood up and her feet throbbed—she wasn't used to wearing shoes and they were about two sizes too small. The General fiercely grabbed her upper arm and led her across the dismal room toward another door. Keela stumbled in the uncomfortable work shoes, struggling to keep up with him and reluctant to do so; she wasn't up for any more surprises today.

         Jayzone stopped before he opened the heavy metal door and reached for something on the wall. Keela noticed a rack clad with chains and shackles, similar to the ones used in the torture room she had come to know and hate. They were almost the same dull color as the walls but had a sinister look about them that made Keela feel uneasy. Her stomach became even more unsettled when the General slapped the chains around her wrists and ankles, making it even harder for her to walk. He opened the door that creaked and moaned, as if warning all those who dared to cross its threshold. The dim gray of the room gave way to a blinding light that momentarily caused Keela to squint. Once her eyes adjusted she looked out at the brilliant fall day.

         The wind was blowing gently as leaves rode the soft breeze and the mid-afternoon sun cascaded down the rolling hills of the palace grounds. The air smelled fresh and sweet and was so energizing as Keela took a much needed deep breath. It had been so long since she had been outside on a day as nice as this. But she wasn't able to enjoy it—she was soon stumbling along a gravel path that wound in the small valley along the palace walls, her feet throbbing painfully all the way.

         She struggled to keep up as the General led her through the valley. It grew cool in the shadow of the towering walls surrounding the palace. The fact that she hadn't eaten yet didn't help her queasy stomach—she didn't like this situation, especially when things were this unpredictable. The scars on her back tingled with anticipation as the mile between the palace and the fields grew smaller. But, like a good traitor, she kept her expression calm and cool and remained alert. All of the sudden she wished Rylan was with her; at least she would have the possibility of less pain if he was there to watch over her.

         Twenty minutes later she clumsily followed the General into the fields where some of the palace's food supply was grown: corn, soy, wheat, potatoes, carrots and other vegetables flourished here, the soil still fertile from the old volcano. Fruits and meats were imported from the southern region of the Central Kingdom because of the climate, but the majority of the food stock was kept close to the King. As Keela looked upon the great palace wall in the distance that was made of sweat and blood—not the King's—she saw it as another example of King Shanmorc's greed and need to protect what he called his. She turned her gaze away from the dark and gloomy fortress, surprisingly longing for her own tiny cell, and looked upon the scene before her.

         They were everywhere—skeletons covered in sallow, thin skin, wearing burlap sacks that barely covered their knees and carrying shovels and rakes and other gardening tools. Keela saw several of the boney figures nearly topple from the weight of a pick as it was raised above their head. She was even horrified, though not greatly surprised, to see a few of them no more than five feet in height—probably between six and ten years old, though their eyes held the sadness and suffering of centuries.

         Keela then noticed where she was being taken after forcing her eyes away from the terrible sight. She could see a large circle of people all standing around a tin basin, each with their own spot around its rim. They were bent over, reaching into the basin. Every now and then they would place something into a basket behind them and take something from another basket that was next to them. As Keela came closer she saw that the workers around the basin wore the same tan, dingy, moth-eaten clothes that she did. These were her own people—Crads and traitors.

         As she was brought around to the other side of the tin basin she saw what they were doing: piles and piles of dirty vegetables lay in woven baskets at the side of each worker that were to be cleaned in the water sloshing around in the bin. When they were dirt free they were to be placed in the baskets behind each worker. She was pushed into an open spot in front of an empty basket, a large pile of dirty vegetables to her left.

         “Keela will be joining all of you today,” General Jayzone announced, and Keela noticed some of the workers flinch at the sound of his voice. Though none of them dared to look up from their work, Jayzone was sure they had heard him and he smirked. As soon as he gave Keela one last push, causing her to nearly topple into the basin, he left, giving a slight nod to one of the many guards watching over the group. Still uneasy about the whole situation, Keela took a moment before starting her work to take in her surroundings. Almost everyone gathered around the tin basin was far older than Keela, their eyes sunken in their deeply wrinkled faces. They all had variations of skin tone and hair color—tan, olive, pale and black, blonde and brunette. One young woman had freckles on her face and fiery red hair while the man to her right had rich brown skin and short, thick black hair. These were all Crads from different parts of the Nation, she realized.

         Suddenly she heard a sharp crack and felt a sting against her back. She winced and stumbled a little in her too-small shoes.

         “Do not stop working!” shouted a guard whose whip was held firmly in his hand.

         Keela felt a fire in her stomach ignite and she wanted to round against the guard—he was probably a trainee, thoroughly enjoying the power he possessed with the whip. But she decided to not make a bad impression on her first day. She grudgingly took a grimy carrot and began washing it.

         The water was freezing and she almost pulled back as her hands were submerged. Absentmindedly scrubbing the carrot with her hands and nails, she looked around at the other workers. Their hands were a bright red from the cold water—some were even ghostly white.

         Another crack and a quick burst of pain against her spine. “Keep your eyes down!”

         Keela had the sudden urge to press the chains that still connected her wrists up against the guard's throat until his face turned purple. Yet she continued in her work, silently plotting his demise as she did so.