D.D. Ward is Writing

Midday came, and the countess remained awake. Tristan sat at his desk with his ledger. The countess stood and walked to the window. The black out curtains lay closed against the sunlight. Candles flickered in the darkened room. The countess slid a hand between the curtains and flinched as the daylight hit her hand.  Tristan watched her in silence. Not writing. Around his ledger sat an army of heavy candles. Tristan held his quill, but did not write. Instead, he watched the countess.  “She has resisted me four times now. That is impressive and infuriating. I want that tasty morsel in my bed. I should not have made a game of this.” She continued pacing. Several times she reached for an object on a stand or a shelf. And each time, Tristan flinched. Instead she continued pacing, her hands clenched. A little blood trickled from her palms.  “Tristan? What have you learned?” Tristan nodded, and adjusted his glasses. “The caravan master who survived the attack had information. Sh...

Nadia awoke, feeling rested. She felt guilty for her good sleep. She knew that her reprieve occurred only because the countess now stalked Blair. She slid from her nightgown and threw the nightgown on the bed. She dressed. And, collar buttoned, Nadia removed the cloth placed over the mirror. She looked at her reflection in the mirror. Nadia eyed the scar running from her ear, down her neck, and disappearing into her high collar. She felt vain for caring so much about the visibility of the scar. But Nadia didn’t hate the scar because it marred her skin. She hated the scar because it remained a constant reminder. In it she saw her failure and submission to a monster. The scar was a reminder etched on her body.  The countess’ claws had carved a trench into her face and neck. No amount of makeup would hide the damage completely. But Nadia did what she could. She hid the discoloration under primer and concealer and more. But the shape of the scar, the jagged furrow leading down her face...

Blair caught up with Nadia in the dining hall. The other women milled around, ignoring Nadia. When they realized that Blair had arrived to speak with Nadia, the women ignored Blair as well.  Nadia looked at Blair and her brow furrowed.  “Is that blood?” Nadia asked. She pointed at Blair’s neck. Blair nodded, “You know my silver mail choker?”  Nadia nodded. Blair dropped the shredded pile of silver links on the table in front of Nadia. Hester looked up from her table at the sound of jangling metal. Other girls turned to look as well.  Nadia stared at the devastated choker.  “Are you? She didn’t hurt you too badly did she?” Nadia stood and examined Blair’s neck.  “Some cuts from the damaged mail. The poor choker did its job. She was too put off by the damage done by the silver to stay and menace me. I think she felt embarrassed.” “Did you fight off the countess? In person?” Hester said, approaching. “I didn’t so much fight her off, as catch her off guard. The...

The witching hour had passed and Blair knew she needed to sleep. But she didn’t want to face the countess in her dreams once more. Blair considered her options.  She had two silver potions. If she drank one that should protect her from anything the countess might attempt. But she had only two such potions. She wore one silver potion around her neck, and kept a larger silver potion in her bandoleer. It didn’t seem wise to waste either so early in her ordeal.  Should she wait until dawn to sleep? She would lose part of the day, which meant she would be more likely to encounter the countess in person. Blair didn’t know which was better. Better not to sleep. But that wasn’t wise either. Still she knew she could go one night without sleep. She could postpone the issue one night.  Blair cursed and stalked in circles in her room. Finally she left her room and headed for the dining hall. Nadia had gone to bed. The other girls were still up. They clustered about Blair as she enter...