Page 3 of Kingdom of Flames & Flowers
I hadn’t bothered trying to tidy myself for the fireguards. My black hair hung down my shoulders, snarled and tangled. The skirt of my dress was indecently short, but it wasn’t my fault that the edges kept fraying and had to be cut off. I think the dress itself had been red at one point, but it was brown now, caked with mud and dirt like every other piece of clothing here. It made little sense to keep anything clean.
As one of the oldest girls left, I stood head and shoulders above everyone else, sticking out as a woman in the prime of her life amongst the children, mothers, and crones who made up the rest of my line.
The fireguards came as they always did, trudging through our quarter with armor and shields gleaming. Three of them had mostly gray and black hair sticking out from their helmets, but the other three were young, their movements crisp and efficient. Two had brown hair, one was blond.
Itried to breathe. Maybe the stories of old were right, and a wonderful life awaited me in the Seat. The other girls had to have gonesomewhere,after all.
The same kind guard paused before me. At least it was him, and not the one who’d hit me all those years ago. “Ah yes. Marigold Mudthrice. Mud for the quarter, thrice for the third street down the line. We missed you five years ago.”
I said nothing. These men now held my fate in their hands. I wouldn’t antagonize them. Not today.
“Nothing to say today? No punches to throw? No grand chases through derelict mines and muddy alleys?”
I remained silent. He pushed my dress roughly down my shoulder, reading my brand and confirming I was who he thought.
“How dull,” he remarked, eyeing the rest of the line. All were mothers, old women, or girls too young to be taken. “Just the one?” he asked incredulously, one eyebrow raised at us.
“The rest you took last time. Those that didn’t have the flux,” my mother offered in a soft voice. The fireguard’s eyes lingered on her for a long, long moment before he looked away. My gaze sharpened. I’d only fight back if he hurt my mother.
He didn’t.
Instead, he gave her a lingering looking, and glanced away. I frowned. No one had ever looked at my mother like that.
“Very well. Let’s go.”
I felt the eyes of the others on me. I wouldn’t go fighting and screaming. I was too old for that. Or at least that’s what I wanted them to think. What I really wanted was to see the top of the wall, and way beyond it. I’d never seen the world outside of these high stone walls. I wanted to see it all.
Next to me a young girl started crying. She couldn’t have been more than two. Her mother was young; only a few years older than me at most. She’d likely been caught in an alley by a fireguard like my mother had been all those years ago.
My hands bunched into fists.
The fireguard checked his list and must have seen something that confirmed what my mother said. He sighed and waved me forward.
I turned to my mother and hugged her. I knew this day was coming, so I’d been making a cache of food for months. I wasn’t sure how long it would last, but I had hopes that the kind fireguard would see to her. He seemed to like her, just as he liked me.
“Take care of yourself,” I muttered into her ear, knowing it was likely a lost cause. I had to give her a bit of hope, didn’t I? “If I marry well, I’ll bring you to the Seat with me. I can’t do that if you starve yourself.”
I felt my mother nod against me, our tears making tracts down our faces as they took a bit of mud and dust with them.
“That’s enough. Time to go,” the fireguard bit out, but with no venom or malice. We separated, but my feet felt glued to the hard, dried dirt beneath me. I couldn’t leave her here. Not when I had no real assurances she would be looked after, or look after herself.
The fireguard’s hand came down heavily on my shoulder. “I will see to it that she eats,” he muttered into my ear so no one else heard, and the vice grip around my heart eased, allowing me to take a few steps forward to join the fireguards.
I gave my mother one last glance over my shoulder, then faced forward. They marched me past my mother and out of the mud quarter. With no words of goodbye, we headed off.
I wouldn’t look back. I couldn’t look back. Fireguards flanked either side of me, and I wouldn’t put it past any of them to beat me if I stopped moving or turned around.
My mother would be fine. The fireguard had promised; and he was kind. He’d always been kind.
I told myself that because I couldn’t think of her giving up on life now that her last remaining child had been taken from her. So I marched forward.
The bread quarter was next to ours. You’d think we’d eat well being next door to them, but few of us could afford their prices with no way to earn income. Instead, we had to rely on the fireguard’s handouts. Usually it comprised the palace’s leftovers and any food deemed unsellable from the bread quarter bakers.
Still, it captivated me how different it was just a few streets over. The most immediate difference was the houses. Unlike our mud huts, they made these with stone and mortar, mixed with sand and stone borrowed from the stone quarter to stand the test of time. They had given thought and care to placing each house, leading to neat, orderly streets. Up high, plants and greenery sprang from each roof, serving as a personal garden for each family. I’d give anything to have my own source of fresh fruits and vegetables. My mother would have probably loved to have her own garden, though it was hard imagining her doing anything other than sitting in the corner of our hut, staring at the wall.
The people who glanced up at the fireguards as we marched by were plump, not one had a bone or rib showing. Men and women walked side by side as equals instead of one running in fear from the other. I burned with envy.
The fireguards called a halt, and we stopped right in the middle of the street. The cobblestones under my feet were smooth from the wear and tear of actual shoes and boots. It felt much better on my feet than the rough, cracked surfaces in the mud quarter.
