Chapter 6

Brielle's father owned all types of books in his attic. One section was dedicated for poetry, and there she learned that people like Shakespeare, Dickinson, and Kipling existed before the New World, long before the war of the Old was waged. Another section, the corner of the attic, was solely for cooking books. It was through them that she was able to present edible dishes to her master when the guards took her from the house.

Past her father's notes, the cooking books and the poetry, there was a small space, very miniature in fact, that if Brielle wasn't the kind of girl to look, she'd easily miss it in favor of other novels. That section was dedicated for books about crystals and stones. Her father was fascinated with them.

Standing in her lovely prison room now, Brielle remembered one such book that she'd read before. It spoke of a particular jewel, an emerald. She wasn't as interested as her father was with his precious stones, but the description of the emerald captivated her. It was a stone of wisdom, of eternal life, and linked to opening the eyes to the truth. Prominent figures of the past like Cleopatra, Alexander the Great, and Aristotle used it as a talisman. The Incas worshipped it. The Babylonians traded it for a high price.

With so many symbolisms associated with such crystal, what with justice, compassion, and harmony, she couldn't believe that its owner, the one whose eyes were emerald green, could look at her with none of those qualities, but of pure disdain like she'd been done wrong. Like Brielle had intentionally went there to torment the woman.

"I said, who told you to enter my room?" Talin said sardonically. She cupped a hand on her ear. "Are you deaf? I've asked you the same question twice."

Brielle swallowed the lump on her throat. She'd do well to remember that sometimes descriptions for non-living things could not apply to living, breathing people, as with the case of Talin. She wasn't an emerald. She was a deadly rock, the worst kind.

"I don't know her name, the woman who brought me here," Brielle answered. "She guided me to this room after waking me from the truck, and locked me inside. It wasn't like I chose to be here."

"Lies," Talin rebuked.

"I'm not lying," Brielle pressed. Her brows met at her forehead. Why was Talin so quick to judge and hate her? They didn't know each other. They've barely spoken. It was an unfair assumption.

Talin's mouth curled at the edges to form a sneer. "You're just like your father, aren't you? Two-faced and deceitful. No wonder you've made it here. I wouldn't be surprised if he ordered you to sabotage our enemies before the actual competition begins. What a bunch of scumbags."

Why would they sabotage anyone? Her father wouldn't allow, lest think of such things. He was a man of research, not destruction.

She gasped when she realized what Talin truly meant. The defender wasn't talking about her real father after all, but the monster, Vincent. She really thought he treated Brielle like a daughter, a spoiled brat like him. Her jaw hardened at this awareness, and she looked at the woman in front of her with such annoyance that matched the other's hatred.

"What?" Talin said, crossing her arms. "Did I hit the nail on your lies, little ghost?"

How did she even?! That was supposed to be private.

"Don't call me that," Brielle cautioned, her blood starting to boil. She'd never been an angry person, but lately, that little bit about her seemed to be tested by people.

Talin's eyes lowered to her hands. She smirked seeing Brielle's balled fist. "Don't call you that, or what? You'll hit me again?" She smoothed a hand on her face, to the location where Brielle's knuckles had grazed the other day. They were purplish and bruised, a detail that wasn't noticeable until now. "This only happened because I wasn't expecting you to be so. . . So dangerous," Talin said. "I lowered my guard once. It wouldn't happen again, not while both you and your father are alive."

Dangerous? Her? Danger was the last thing Brielle should be associated with. How could Talin be so wrong and comical with her way of thinking? This conversation was leaving her confused by the second, fractionally disturbed, and even more tired. She wanted to rest.

Talin followed her gaze to the canopy bed in the middle of the bedroom. "Oh no you don't," the woman said with an edge in her voice. "We're not sharing a bed. Vincent's daughter is not allowed anywhere near me."

Brielle pushed past her, not listening anymore. She wasn't Vincent's daughter. Those insults didn't belong to her but to an imaginary person.

Talin was unyielding, as expected. She wouldn't leave Brielle alone. Her murmurs echoed in their room, about how she was going to drag Brielle from the bed to the floor in the middle of the night, or of how Brielle and father were cut from the same cloth of deception and foolishness. The accusations went on and on, until the white-haired girl dropped her clothes to the floor. Only then did Talin's mouth seized.

Brielle had never taken her clothes off, not for master or the guards, not for any audience. She wasn't a prostitute. She'd never been tainted or forced. There was no intention to be touched today, or to be held by anyone. Her eyes were worn out from lack of sleep last night. She was in desperate need of another shut eye, a longer one this time, and not while riding a truck either. The reason why she removed her clothes wasn't to be pitied, though it was an effective means to point something out.

"I'm not Vincent's blood," Brielle said, her words clear and loud against the silence. "A father wouldn't do this to her daughter."

She knew what Talin saw behind her back, could feel eyes discerning every disfigurement where the whip had fallen on her skin. Vincent could be unforgiving behind closed doors, and Brielle had made sure to contribute to every single one of those blemishes in the form of her minute disobedience, whenever she snuck out of the house to go back to her old home.

More scars ruined her stomach, her upper legs, and hidden surfaces where no one would ever see. Her master was careful when giving her those. Rumors could get nasty, and he didn't want it under his name. His goal in life was to be the next president of Sector I.

"I don't know what games you and your master are playing with me," Talin said in a quieter voice. She didn't sound as hateful as before, only suspicious. That was more than enough for Brielle.

"You can see what you want to see. I'm just giving you my side of the story. That's all. If you still want to dispose of me, do so while I'm sleeping."

Brielle crawled to the bed, seconds from passing out. She barely noticed the perfectly white mattress that was smooth to the touch, the fluffy black pillows that received the back of her head, and the shiny red canopy that hang above her to complete the ensemble. All she wanted was to sleep, clear the migraine starting to build on her temples, and shut everything out for tomorrow. Was that too much to ask for?

It was hours after she doze off when the mattress sagged beside her, admitting the weight of its new occupant. Brielle was too deep in her sleep to know, or to see the emerald-eyed girl scrutinizing the side of her face.

There were no windows to tell what time it was, yet Brielle was sure that it was morning. She'd always been an early riser, even when living with her father. Sometimes it was she who woke him to go to work, for she was aware that he'd spent the other night with his research, and the lack of sleep would make it hard to get up.

Today, when Brielle sat on the bed, she noticed that only her chest wrapping and underwear were present under the blankets, bringing her back to what happened the day before. Talin. Where was she?

The defender wasn't on the bed beside her, though the cover on the other side was disturbed, an evidence that someone had slept on them.

Brielle closed her eyes for a second and blew out a breath. It was a bargain, lowering her guard in the presence of someone she knew who wanted to dispose of her. Talin's own words, not hers. But she'd survived until morning. That could only be a good sign on her part. Maybe the defender believed that she had nothing to do with Vincent and was willing to listen to her suggestions or work with her for The Offering.

With those encouraging thoughts in mind, Brielle slid out of the covers, to the floor where she left her clothes the night prior. She wore them quickly before anyone saw her in a state of undress. If ever, it would be hard to explain to anyone why she'd done that without starting from the beginning of her strange encounters with Talin.

Speaking of which, since the defender wasn't in the room with her, Brielle went to the connecting kitchen. Talin wasn't there either. She was found later in the living room, standing in the middle, arms tucked to her side, head front and centered, her eyes closed.

"What are you doing?" Brielle asked curiously. The defender didn't speak, keeping her lids shut. The occasion for such peacefulness was scarce. It could be a good opportunity to make amends. "About last night. I just want to say thank you for not killing me."

Talin's eyebrow twitched. "Haven't you heard of meditation?"

Brielle walked to the Victorian sofa and sat at the edge of the seat. It brought to mind her master, which made her a tiny bit uncomfortable. "So that's what a meditation looks like," she remarked. "I thought only people from other Sectors do it. We're not exactly known to stop and smell the flowers. Sector I is a busy place."

A ripple went through Talin's face. "People from other countries are not the only ones who do it, and it usually needs a large amount of quietness from me and the environment."

"But you don't look like someone who meditates," Brielle went on.

"Can you stop talking right now? This instant?"

"See that's what I'm talking about."

Talin's eyes snapped open. "What do you want from me?" she demanded.

Brielle shrugged and leaned back on the sofa. She'd forgotten about her discomfort. "I'm just saying that you're too irritable for someone who meditates."

A vein appeared on Talin's neck. "And you say too many things for someone who's going to be dead soon."

Brielle pursed her lips, which seemingly pleased the defender.

"Are you done talking now? I'd like to get back to my training."

When Brielle didn't follow it with a statement, Talin exhaled and faced the other direction, to the short hallway that would lead to the door. A minute more and she was back to breathing easily, a calm surrounding her demeanor.

Brielle counted each time Talin's back rose up and down. She had nothing better to do, or someone to talk to. This place was too pristine, too vacant for any activity. In Vincent's house, she had numerous chores to keep herself busy. His room was to be wiped and tidied. The food should be ready by the time he went home from his government duties. Everything was to be in tiptop shape around him. They had other slaves, but when it came to his personal whims, only Brielle was up to par. She was his personal property.

Unable to stay still, Brielle found herself speaking again. "How is meditation a part of your training?"

Talin didn't reply. She didn't even look at her. The defender headed straight to the corridor, to the steel door, and banged a heavy fist on the barrier. "Is anyone listening? Get me out of here," she insisted. "I order anyone from the other side to take me from this room. It's my right as a defender. I will not fight in the contest if you don't accept my wishes."

"There's no one there," Brielle protested.

Talin pounded harder. "I request to speak to the president. She promised me a good room with peace and quiet, not this. I want our deal."

Brielle jumped up from the sofa with an embarrassed groan. She was wrong to intrude on the defender's meditation. As always, her curiosity got the best of her. "I'm sorry," she said. "I'm sorry. If it makes you feel better, I'll go back to our bedroom and leave you to your training."

The pounding stopped. Brielle didn't want to take her chances. She darted towards the bedroom, away from her companion's wrath.

No one came for them the whole day. Like she counted Talin's breaths before, she ticked away the minutes, then the hours, until she grew weary of waiting for something or someone who wouldn't come.

Between the spaces of staring at nothingness, she thought of ways to win over her situation, solutions that all went back to Talin. What could she do to appease the defender so that she would do her duty of protecting Brielle when the time came?

The Offering wasn't as simplistic as she thought after all, not when you were the slave chosen for your country.

Defenders had it easier. They've been trained their whole lives for this moment. Taken to the city at a young age, rumors said that they'd be given the best accommodations, the most skillful masters, the softest clothes to change into, and any food they wanted.

Their sodales, the slaves that would be their partner, weren't as fortunate. When chosen, they would still serve in their master's house until the time of The Offering. And even then, they'd be treated as rubbish.

One rule of this sick tournament was absolute; defenders were not allowed to directly attack other defenders in the arena of combat. They could only target other Sector's slaves, or die trying to defend their own. That was why it was of utmost important that the defender was the one who chose her partner. A dead slave in the contest would mean an automatic loss for the Sector she belonged to, and as punishment, her defender who failed to do her duty would be executed too. Vincent had explained this before. She'd brushed it off thinking it had nothing to do with her.

A mirthless laugh went through Brielle's lips. It was a big joke, her joining this contest. Talin would most definitely kill her first before anything. Why, or how, she didn't know. All Brielle understood was that she couldn't allow herself to be consumed in this predicament. She had to find a way to help herself.

There was a crack, a snap, something like a wood being torn in half. Brielle stood from the bed and tilted her head to the kitchen. It was the first sound she'd heard after leaving Talin. Was the steel door being opened? She didn't linger in the bedroom, and went there to find out.

Talin wasn't by the entryway as she'd guessed, but on the kitchen itself. Though her back was to Brielle, the mess she was making was impossible to skip as an error. She was definitely tearing the dining chair into pieces.

"Have you lost your mind?" Brielle said, taking in the sight. It might have been boring in the small room, but she hadn't imagined the defender to react as such. It was that, or one way or another, the heat from outside must have gotten in her head. It was the only explanation for the strange behavior.

Talin continued ripping the chair. She'd done it by banging the furniture on the countertop, then kicking off one of its legs. Brielle had never seen such a barbarism, and it wasn't a person Talin was dismantling. What more if it was a defender or slave from another Sector? She shuddered at the thought.

"Please stop wrecking our dining area," Brielle begged, not knowing what else to say. "I know it's been difficult, but we'll get through this together."

"Say that to my stomach."

"You're hungry?"

"Why else would I make firewood," Talin retorted. She got back to her chair, turning it every which way, deciding which weak point to strike next.

"But we're not in the wilderness." Brielle pointed to the stove not far from them, just waiting to be used at their disposal. "You had one of those in your house, right? Defenders are given the best rooms, the best clothes, the best everything." She cocked her head to the side. "Or did slaves like me do everything for you, from the moment you wake up, to the time you close your eyes at night? They must have, seeing that you're too full of yourself to mind small things such as cooking, and given how little you put regard on my life."

Talin paused and stared at her. It wasn't a cutting glance like so many she'd given before, but a look of someone deep in thought. Before long, she let go of the broken chair, letting it fall noisily on the floor. "A name is all you know about me," she said. "Nothing more." Talin marched back to the living room without another word.

In place of her presence, in the midst of the broken pieces of wood, Brielle's heart was afflicted with regret. How easy it was for her to accuse the defender of assuming things about her, yet she too suffered from the same guilt.