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After weeks of begging her parents to let her help them during the night shift, Florea decided to take matters into her own hands.
She was tired of being kept in the dark by her parents. If they didn’t want to tell her what caused the silence on those random, eerie nights, she was ready to figure out a way to escape from her room and find out the truth.
Her bedroom didn’t have a window. This had never bothered her but, now that she was trying to escape, she guessed the lack of window wasn’t coincidental. Her only way out was the door, the same one Mother locked from the outside after tucking Florea and her two sisters in and kissing them good night.
Mother always wore the key around her neck, hanging from a string. For days, Florea searched for opportunities to steal it and have a copy made, but Mother never parted from it.
She thought of faking an illness, but she’d been sick enough nights to know that Mother would still keep her locked in, bringing whatever was needed to Florea’s bedside, rather than let her go to another room where she wouldn’t disturb her sisters.
There was only one way. She had to teach herself how to pick the lock.
Florea had no idea how to do that, and she didn’t dare ask anyone, so it took her several weeks to figure it out. With two thin spikes she’d found in the smith’s scrap pile, she poked and poked at the keyhole until, one day, it gave.
The first time she managed it, she almost died in a panic. It hadn’t occurred to her that the door would have to be relocked again, lest her parents discovered her trespass. So after the lock gave, she spent another hour setting it right.
For the next few nights, she practiced locking and unlocking the door until she was able to accomplish it in a matter of minutes. Then she was ready.
Finally, one hot, summer night, Florea gently closed the bedroom door behind her and climbed the back steps to the second story where the inn’s guest rooms were located. There, she lay on her stomach and watched the tavern below from the loft.
The scene was nothing she hadn’t seen before. A few of the regulars sat nursing tankards and grumbling at each other in gruff tones. From her vantage point, she could see the top of Mother and Father’s head. They sat on tall stools, drooping behind the counter, exhausted and in desperate need of rest.
An hour later, after the excitement of her escape wore off, Florea found herself getting bored and, feeling exhausted, went back to bed.
Over the following week, she sneaked out of her room every night to be met with the same dull and uneventful sight. She was disappointed, to say the least, and all she managed to do was feel worse for her parents’ situation. They needed help, badly. But, no matter how eloquently she tried to convince them to let her help, they wouldn’t agree.
Then the silence came.
Florea was drifting off to sleep, her little sisters lightly snoring by her side, when her eyes sprang open. She was alert immediately as if, instead of having gone utterly still, the night had erupted in a riot of sound.
Hands trembling, Florea picked the lock, sneaked out of her room, and went to the loft to spy. Even before she peeked out, she was surprised by the amount of light coming from the tavern below. Every candle was lit, and the fireplace had been stoked despite the heat. Father stood in front of the barred door, an ax in his hand. Mother was behind the counter, hands pressed to her chest. Of the five male patrons, three were huddled at the furthest table from the door while two stood by the window, which shutters were drawn—an unusual occurrence.
Florea’s heart hammered in her chest as she watched the seven still figures below. No one dared move a finger. No one even seemed to breathe. She held her own breath and waited and waited and waited.
Nothing happened.
At dawn, she locked herself back in her room, feeling weary and more intrigued than ever.
She waited an entire month for the silence to visit her town again. Like before, she watched from the loft as her father guarded the door, ax in hand, and everyone else hung back, immobile as the East Fog Mountains.
Her entire body itched with the strong desire to know and—as she imagined going back to bed at dawn, none-the-wiser—she made a decision that would condemn her soul forever.
Going back downstairs on her tiptoes, she climbed the kitchen table, opened a small window and squeezed out into the eerie night.
* * *
THE NIGHT EMBRACED Florea like a lover.
She had never been outside past twilight. Never. Not even once.
The sky was velvet with tiny diamonds strewn all about. And the moon! It was huge and brilliant.
In her flimsy gown, she spread out her arms and whirled, her face turned to the stars, her mind reeling from the beauty of it all.
How dare they have kept her from this? This beauty could have been hers all along, and she had been denied it.
Her naked feet padded over fallen pine straw as she inhaled the warm air and marveled at how loud the crickets sounded. By the time she reached the patch of woods that stood behind her house, Florea had a smile stretching from ear to ear. She was still angry at her parents for making her a prisoner and keeping her from this nighttime paradise, but her awe and joy couldn’t be dampened by anything.
She had walked the woods behind her house many times, but everything looked different now. She placed a hand on a tree trunk and touched the rough bark to make sure it felt the same as it did during the day time. It did—even if it appeared different, flatter, somehow, and less textured.
Further down, past the trees, the creek gurgled as it always did. She veered slightly right to find the path that led to it, then stopped.
A dark figure stood before her.
Florea pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle the cry that rose from her throat. She took a step back and glanced over her shoulder. She could see the dark outline of the inn past the trees.
“Hello,” a slick, deep voice greeted her.
The hairs on her neck stood on end and something stirred in her belly, something she’d only felt once when the seamstress’ son had surreptitiously run a finger over the palm of her hand.
“He-hello,” she responded. The man sounded friendly enough. She didn’t want to be rude and make him angry.
He walked closer. Florea retreated a few more steps.
“Don’t be afraid,” he said as a moonbeam illuminated his face, revealing the most handsome man she had ever seen.
He was tall with smooth skin and a high forehead. There was a dimple in his chin and, even in the poor light, she could see that his lips were full and inviting.
“I must go back. Father is waiting for me.” She liked this man, a lot, which made her realize how inappropriate this unexpected meeting was.
He inclined his head and offered her his arm like a proper gentleman. “I shall accompany you. A pretty girl like you should not be alone at this hour.” He leaned in closer, his nostrils flaring as he inhaled. “What is that smell?” he asked, his voice going deeper, savage.
“I don’t sm—” Florea began, but she couldn’t finish because the man swept her off her feet and took her far, far away from home.
* * *
I LIFTED MY HEAD FROM the book, my heart pounding.
What had I just read?!
The story mentioned the East Fog Mountains, the very ones that stood outside Acedrex’s walls. Did that mean the story was real and Florea had existed? Her name was common enough. The lake to the south of the White Palace was called Floarea Lake. It was a different spelling, but with the same pronunciation.
Was it named after her?
And that man that had taken her... I knew well what he had been.
But what did it all mean?
I closed the book and put it back on the shelf. I had to talk to Loretta. I had no doubt she’d meant for me to read this story, but why?
My mind swirled with questions.
I knocked on the door through which she’d disappeared. There was no response. I called her name. Nothing. I tried the knob. Locked.
Restless, I waited and roamed the library for almost an hour, hoping she would appear again. She didn’t. Finally, I left, realizing I wouldn’t be able to find her until she wanted to be found. She was hiding from me.