Dark Feather: A Dark Post Apocalyptic Romance (7 page)

I hardly slept, which wasn’t something new for me. The idea of going to bed, closing your eyes, and waking up with the sun was a luxury not granted to a soldier. We were trained to always be ready, and that was a habit I couldn’t break even if we were supposed to be resting and recovering. I woke early, just as the sun was rising above the horizon, painting the sky with pinks and yellows and reds. I enjoyed being out in the early morning, before everyone woke and disrupted the tranquility of the day.

I headed out of my hut early that morning with the intention to train. Even though we were ordered to rest and recover, I still felt the need to keep up my physical stamina. I trekked out to the short training area in the middle of the living quarters. The living quarters were a cluster of huts where all the soldiers slept, and the tents surrounded a communal training plain that held a variety of weapons which allowed soldiers to hone their skills. I was the only fighter who visited the training area every day and seemed to stay there for hours, even though my body begged me to stop.

Just like every other day, I made it to the training center and dug my feet in the snow to ground myself. I had taken my personal sword with me and now pulled it from the sheath that was slung over my shoulders. With a calm breath, I watched the early morning sun glint off the blade. I launched into a rigorous training session, wielding my blade expertly. As the sun started to rise, more soldiers awoke to see me already at work.

As soon as the sun stood overhead, I stopped and let my body rest for a moment. I sat down on the freezing snow, breathing heavily. My mouth was incredibly dry and sweat poured down my forehead, soaking my uniform. Hearing the crunch of snow, I turned to my right to see Oakes standing a few feet away.

“What do you want?” I asked as I stood, ready to fight if that was his plan.

“I’m simply watching the great Penna warrior in action,” he said with a smirk.

I swiped at a long lock of hair that hung loose in my face. “Why do you hate me so much? Is it just because I’m a Penna? Or is it because I am a woman and a better soldier than you can be any day?”

Oakes crossed his arms against his chest and laughed loudly. “That really is funny. I could squash you, little girl. I wouldn’t even break a sweat doing so.”

“Then why don’t you try? What holds you back?” I taunted. It was true that Oakes could crush me in a hand-to-hand battle, but I would damn sure put up a fight.

“Well, for one, Rigby has ordered all hands off you. And as much as I would love to teach you a lesson, I do follow my commander’s orders. Plus, Rigby happens to be a good friend of mine. So even though I think he’s lost his mind keeping you around, I respect his decision.” He shifted his weight from one foot to the next while he sized me up from head to toe. “And second, I like watching you. You fascinate me.”

“What?” I snapped. “What the hell do you mean;
I fascinate you
?”

“So tell me. How did you get those feathers?” he asked, glancing at my exposed wrist.

I could have told him to go fuck himself and leave me alone, but why bother? He wouldn’t leave, and I had nothing to hide. Plus, knowing Oakes, he would probably like knowing he was upsetting me. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. “I was injected with cDermo-1 as a child and they grew over time.”

“Do they really keep you warm?” Oakes seemed genuine in his question, nor did I pick up on any hate or judgment.

“They do. I think that the chemicals in my bloodstream keep me warmer than the actual feathers do. It’s not like feathers cover my entire body.”

“Do they hurt? Or can you feel them in your skin?”

“No. They feel the same as the hair on your head. It hurt when I tried to pluck one out to see if the feather would grow back.” The memory of how I’d hoped I could pluck them out of me and be free of the deformity forever filled me with a renewed shame of what I hated so very much.

“And did it? Grow back?” Oakes actually seemed nice—even likeable.

“It grew back,” I mumbled as I looked down at my feet.

“You’re lucky to have them.”

“I don’t think so.”

“But you are. You have no idea the cold that we feel.” He kicked a pile of snow in front of him. “My toes ache from several cases of frostbite, my bones creak when I bend because surely I have frozen every part of my body at some point in my life. I am never truly warm. I live a life of constant cold, and my only hope is to make it tolerable with the layers of clothing I wear. I hate you fucking Penna for so many reasons, but I will give your kind one bit of credit. You were smart with the feathers. Other Cyans may not agree with me, but I would take an injection of that dermo crap you just described any day over the freezing cold I have to endure.”

“I’ve never considered myself lucky,” I admitted.

“Well, you are. You are alive, aren’t you?”

“If you think the feathers are so great, then why do you call me a mutant?” I asked.

“Because I can.” He gave a small smirk—or was it a smile? And with that last statement, Oakes turned on his heels and left me standing alone in the snow.

Confused at first by Oakes’s visit, I eventually smiled when I realized that surprise exchange was his rough attempt at trying to make peace. It wasn’t exactly friendly, but it most certainly wasn’t hostile. I realized then, that that was the way Oakes was. Gruff. But regardless of how he said it, or how he acted, that was most definitely his awkward effort to connect with me.

“Tudor?” a voice I did not recognize from behind questioned.

Startled, I jumped to my feet, grabbing my sword. When I turned around with the blade, I saw what I assumed to be one of Rigby’s servants staring at me. The servant, a young girl, paled when she saw the sharp blade pointed directly at her throat.

“I did not mean you any harm!” she claimed, taking a step back.

I let out the breath I had been holding and tucked the blade back into the sheath on my back. “My apologies.”

The girl looked surprised that I had softened so easily.

“I-I am here to pick you up for the celebration dinner tonight,” the servant said quietly, still seeming a little frightened of my blade.

I nodded and wiped a bead of sweat from my face. “Where are we going?”

She calmed down a little and looked more at ease. “We are going to Rigby’s home, where I and a few other servants will help prepare you for the dinner.”

I nodded again and left the training area with her. As I walked, I kept my distance from the servant who was so prim and proper in her female attire. While I wore blood-stained, loose fighting clothes, she was draped in thick layers of elegant cloth in vibrant colors.

“What do you guys plan on doing to me once I reach Rigby’s home?” I questioned as we slowly left the training center.

“You will have a team of his attendants who will tend to your needs,” the girl said. “We will help you bathe, dress, and paint yourself so you will look acceptable for the dinner.”

I silently nodded in acceptance, though her words seemed totally foreign to me.

After about twenty minutes of walking in a light snowstorm, the house appeared in my view and I almost stopped in my tracks. It had been a while since I had seen a house of such grandeur.

“The house is made up of three main parts,” the girl explained. “There is the main building, which houses the large dining hall and several small meeting areas. There is the bedroom wing, which molds in a U-shape around the main building and contains several lavish bedrooms. The final area is the courtyard, which is sectioned off by stone walls and allows members of the household to enjoy themselves outside while never actually leaving the protection of the grounds.”

Every building in the grounds appeared to be made with the purest stone, which was of a rich, snowy color. It was strong enough to keep out anything or anyone, and reflected the light of the sun, causing it to almost glimmer during the daytime. Intricate carvings were made into some of the stones, displaying detailed patterns and shapes.

“Is everything all right?” the girl asked, noticing my surprise.

I blinked and nodded, catching up to her. “Everything is just fine. The house seems a little larger than I expected.”

The young servant smiled softly as we approached the gates to the courtyard, where several guards were waiting for us.

“Yes, it does have that effect, doesn’t it?” the girl said as we approached the guards. Facing them, she said, “I have Tudor Dane, an invitee of Rigby’s. She’ll attend the celebration dinner as a guest, and she’ll receive honors for contributing to our latest victories.”

The guards nodded and allowed us into the courtyard. My brows furrowed together tightly and I gripped the servant by the shoulder. When she winced a little, I dropped my hand. Sometimes I hardly remembered how strong a grip I had.

“I am receiving honors tonight?” I asked in confusion.

The girl rubbed her shoulder and nodded. “Yes. Rigby has deemed you a great asset to our army and has named you as one of the reasons why we have achieved victory. You will receive honors before General Becker himself.”

The courtyard was massive, housing hundreds of small benches and community settings. Several people wandered around, talking amongst themselves. When the servant and I passed, the conversations dropped and everyone seemed to look at me.

While I was usually proud, and held my head high, I now felt a little out of place as everyone could clearly see my difference, and take note that I was obviously a woman in men’s clothing. I could also see they were all trying to see my feathers for themselves. Luckily, they were mostly concealed, and you would have to be up close to see them.

I followed the servant down the polished stone pathway that cut through the courtyard. I could tell that the girl was still a little upset about my strong grip, and I didn’t bother to apologize for it. I had killed many men without asking for forgiveness, so merely causing a little ache in someone’s shoulder hardly put a tick on my conscience.

I kept close behind her as we started up the grand steps, which were polished and of the same snowy color as the bricks. Each step contained intricate carvings and I got caught up in studying one of them.

“Tudor!” the servant snapped, already at the top of the staircase. “Come now. We need to hurry.”

I abandoned the artwork and hurried up to the top of the stairs where the girl was waiting. A pair of guards stood at the wide double doors which were decorated in paintings. Like before, I paused to stare at them, and the servant had to physically pull me away. Or, at least, she tried.

I had a precise sense of balance and strength, so when the girl tried to pull me away from the doors, I did not budge. After a few moments, I voluntarily walked away from the doors and followed her down one of the many halls.

The inside of the main building was just as intricate as the outside. Several tapestries hung down the walls, along with hundreds of different paintings, some of the landscape, and others of heroes in war.

The floor was highly polished, and it amazed me that it was possible to almost clearly see my reflection in it. It was as if I were walking on a block of ice. I stopped to stare down at myself and realized that other people probably thought I was a wanderer, instead of a soldier in the army, judging by the way I looked.

I quickly hastened to follow the servant down the hallway, pausing before a set of polished doors similar to the ones on the front of the main building.

“You will be bathed, clothed, and made up before tonight’s celebratory dinner in four hours,” the girl said as she heaved open the door.

“I have four hours to get dressed? Why would I need four hours?” I asked.

“You need to look at yourself in a mirror. That would answer your question,” she told me with a subtle smirk.

I restrained the urge to punch the female in the face and merely followed her into the dressing room, where a team of attendants sat waiting for my arrival. All of them were dressed in heavy layers of silks and satins, makeup perfectly applied to their faces. I felt as though I was looking at a set of porcelain dolls.

“Hello, Tudor,” said a second servant as she got to her feet. “We are so lucky to have you in attendance. We cannot wait to help transform you.” The sweetness was so thick, I almost wished to be standing beside Oakes and the other assholes outside.

I groaned inwardly and looked back at the first servant, who was busy shutting the doors. Running the back of my hand across my forehead, thankful that I was out of the sun, I could feel my sweat drying into my uniform, making the cloth stiff and hard to move in.

“We have already drawn up a bath of essential oils for you,” one of the servants said as she opened the doors to a luxurious bathroom.

Like the rest of the house, the bathroom had high ceilings and was adorned with beautiful paintings. At the center of the room was a large tub filled with some kind of purple substance that was heavily scented. Another, smaller tub stood off in the corner, filled with water. I wrinkled my nose.

“Now, if you will hand us your battle-worn wardrobe, we would be happy to help you bathe,” one of the servants told me, already reaching for the sleeve of my shirt.