'I wish I could have witnessed that dance!' said Lord Khasar. What a horrid sound his voice is, how greasy black his every word. 'But you will dance for me yet, my willow flower. Will it be tonight? Tell me now, Lady Saren, because I won't come again until your seven years are over. Will you choose six more years in this dungeon or the rest of your life in my house? My house where you will have ten lady's maids and ten times that many deels, fresh food, warm baths, a large room with five windows and a door to the garden. A garden, my lady, rimmed with flowers in the summer that will bow to your beauty. And the only cost is,' here his voice went very dry, 'you will share that house with me.'
His voice had become both softer and louder. I guessed his face was right up under the hole where the flap used to be.
My lady's chamber pot stood by my feet, waiting for disposal. Well, my lady stood up, tore off the cover, and dumped it down the hole with a slosh and a splash. All her waste, both the liquid and the muddy kind, must've spilled onto his face, right into his open, shouting mouth.
He hollered, and rightly so. We held so still it hurt, but we haven't heard Lord Khasar's voice since. Never have I felt prouder to be maid to Lady Saren.
After a few moments, I giggled. My lady giggled. Then we lay back together and laughed in a tight way, as though we actually cried.
Later
There's howling outside.
My lady is curled up in the center of the room. She won't speak to me. I lay beside her and sang the lulling song for comfort, the one that goes, 'Trails of poppy, poppy, poppy,' but a song of healing can't help if the person won't will it. Right now, I guess, she needs to be terrified. I don't want to be. I hoped writing would help.
There's another howl. Why does that sound dance like fingernails down my back? I've heard wolves call out before. When my family kept sheep, a howl was a useful noise, a reminder to gather in any of the herd we didn't want to lose that night. And if a wolf got too near, my brothers would sing the song of the wolf, a baying tune that made the wolves want to howl back but also invited them to leave us be. And they always did. There are far worse things than wolves.
My Lord the cat is sitting on my lap. The hair on his neck is up straight as trees, and he mews hard at each howl. The sound is getting closer. With the metal flap torn off, I can see it is black night outside. I should put some kind of cover there, but I don't dare get closer.
[Image: Drawing of a Lady Covering Her Face With Her Hands]
Something's happening. There's no more howling, only snarls. The guards' dogs were barking fit to burst, but now they've gone quiet. I hear our guards shouting one at another, I hear one of them scream. There's another.
Ancestors, there's another scream. What's happening? It doesn't sound like battle. It sounds like nightmares.
My lady still trembles. My Lord the cat is hissing. I stroke him and sing. I wish someone would sing to me.
There's a scream again, just outside the --
I write from awful silence now. I was interrupted before by a cry for help, so close, right at the mouth of the hole, so I crept closer to see if I could give aid.
Of a sudden, the jaws of a wild animal shot up, growling and snapping at me. A wolf, I think, but enormous, and its mouth was smeared with blood. Did it come from the woods? Or is it possible Lord Khasar breeds wolves to be blood hungry for battle?
I fell back on the floor and tried to scoot away. It couldn't get in, it was much too large, but its mouth drooled and snapped at me, the nose sniffed the air as if hunting.
Then, too late, I saw My Lord crouched, preparing to pounce.
'No!' I shouted and leaped forward, trying to hold him back, but I missed. My Lord jumped at the thing, snarling and shrieking. Both animals disappeared down the hole. I heard horrible growls from the beast, and a yelp from the cat. But not a cry of pain, I think. I hope. Oh, my cat, my sleek gray cat.
All was quiet again. My lady didn't weep, she just stayed in her ball, shaking. I ran back and forth, trying to comfort my lady and returning to look for My Lord at the hole. Nothing in the world seemed alive but me, and I didn't much want to be.
Many aching minutes later, I dared to get close to the hole. I feared those snapping wolf jaws or that black- gloved hand, but I placed myself near enough to call out.
'Is anyone there? Hello? Please answer.'
I heard nothing from the guards. They don't always answer, perhaps they ran off or are hiding. Perhaps.
Please, Titor, god of animals, please keep My Lord the cat. Please keep him safe.
Day 224
No sign of My Lord the cat. No sound from the guards.
Day 225
My Lord hasn't returned. I wait by the hole and I call. Still no sound from our guards.
Day 231
My Lord the cat used to make a little hiccup sound in his throat whenever he jumped onto the table. His favorite treat was cheese. When he attacked a rat, he was deadly fast, going straight for a fatal bite on the back of the neck. When he ate the rat, he was meticulous, finding his favorite bits first, spending hours to consume the whole.
When he was deep asleep, he sometimes meowed, a sound of total contentment. I didn't mind waking up to that noise, not a bit.
