8.
Lux gritted her teeth slightly against the persistent burning sensation radiating through her arm. The metallic whine of the tattoo gun was setting her on edge; she stared out of the window of her room and tried to focus on anything else; the foliage, the clouds in the distance. She had no doubt she would be sitting still in the same chair for most of the day – she would dine in her room tonight. The view had already become old.
She knew she should feel victorious. Her 'maid' (the idea of her own maid still seemed absurd to her) – one of the young lower tier girls who dressed her hair each day, had been brimming with excitement. Lux was in, she was staying – she had secured her place in the esteemed higher circle, and the maid would stay to serve her. This mark was being indelibly etched into her arm to prove it.
The higher circle tattoo was almost beautiful in its intricacy. It had the same woven-knot black circular border of the other tiers. Usually, this contained in its centre interlinked red circles – two for the second tier, three for the third, and so on. For the higher tier, however, there was just one thin red circle, and in its centre a single ornate design depicting a crown. The elite, royal circle.
In some way, she mused, she did feel a sense of victory – the tattoo, her acceptance, was at the King's order. She had not seen him, or the prince, since her ordeal in the dining hall the night before; but she must have impressed him. It seemed like a triumph, she had finally fully infiltrated this trusted circle. Still, as the silent tattooist continued, a sensation of depression, tinged with guilt, grew.
She circled her ankle, subtly, feeling the slight tug of scar tissue where her only other tattoo had once been. It brought back memories, this process, the burn. Last time, however, she had been so excited – so proud, as the little image of the tiny bird had been etched carefully into the delicate skin. It had hurt, perhaps so had been too brimming with excitement to feel it. All she could think about was the pride of her Father; the honour at being elected by the council to be their youngest ever member – only thirteen years old. The excitement of the upcoming feast in her honour, when she would be sworn in, and the tribe would bow to her. That evening, the celebration had been the best moment of her life to date – she felt that with absolute certainty. In fact, it would be the best moment of her life whatever became of her, she felt. How could it possibly be bettered now?
Of course, she never even got to sit at one council meeting – hell had reigned down before that chance came. All at the hands of the Panthera – who were now marking her as their own.
No, she didn't feel proud. She felt like a traitor, rapidly losing the little bits of her past that she had tried so hard to cling on to for ten years.
She felt a strange desperation to distance herself from her own skin.
***
It was a knock at the door that woke Felis up from his ruminations. He realised with a start, glancing at the vintage pre-war clock hanging above the door that he had been staring at a blank spot on the wall for over forty-five minutes.
He rubbed his eyes, and the prince's bowed head was what greeted Ethan as he entered the study.
Ethan's face was momentarily etched with concern.
"Are you well, your highness?"
Felis gave him a small weary half-smile as he looked up, leaning back in his chair and raising his arms behind him in a stretch.
"Yes, course Ethan. Come sit down." He waved vaguely in the direction of the large, brown leather high-back arm chairs by the fire. He rose wearily and moved to sit opposite Ethan. The fire, always in – whatever the weather and season, burned cheerfully in the grate. It seemed out of place amid the general tension.
Ethan examined the prince critically. He was clearly stressed, and not sleeping enough. There were faint dark shadows under his eyes, a gaunt look about him – he was uneasy. He decided to go for the direct approach.
"Felis – something is getting to you. You look like crap, to be frank..."
"Well, thanks!" came the sarcastic reply, but it was tinged with humour, and a little half-hearted.
Felis didn't believe in any pre-war, old–world gods – but if he had, he would have thanked them for Ethan. He was the only person in Pantheon the prince really trusted – who knew him the best, and would be absolutely honest with him. He sighed.
"The growing atmosphere can't have escaped you, Ethan...."
Ethan leant forwards in his chair, elbows on his knees, and looked at Felis keenly.
"No....There's all the usual turmoil that hits when the king returns from a trip...sexual tension is palpable everywhere you go, and there's no doubt that he's planning some spectacular celebratory orgy in honor of his return. I can see that..."
Felis gave him a flat, challenging look.
"Yes, all of that. But it's worse this time – and you know it."
"Why, though?"
Felis simply cocked an eyebrow in response.
"I'm serious Felis – you're right, everyone's on edge – more so than usual. We need to think this through. Why is that? "
The prince frowned, and seriously considered Ethan's question. He swirled the drink in his hand absentmindedly.
"Well," he murmured, "Things have been slipping. I was left to set examples amongst the scouts in the Kings absence, since they've started getting slack – that looks bad. They think the King doesn't care what they do – he turns a blind eye to what is frankly criminal. It isn't good when the second in command has to enforce the law...Then of course, there's the unrest amongst the consorts..."
"The new girl?"
Felis frowned again.
"It started before that, and you know it. Lana has been pushing the boundaries for months – she seems determined to grasp as much power as possible. The King has let her get away with too much."
He sighed.
"The girl is just bringing all the problems out in the open, let's face it. First her unusual entrance, then her clash with Lana...."
"That was hardly avoidable. We both know Lana would never let someone muscle in on her 'territory' without a fight."
"True." Felis looked tired. "But I have this awful feeling it's going to get so much worse before it gets better..."
Ethan leaned back casually, and chanced to venture into slightly dangerous ground.
"And yet, you're not exactly taking the low-risk management route..."
Felis rolled his eyes at Ethan, letting out a loud, slow breath between pursed lips.
"Go on then E. Don't hold back, tell me what you really think. You'll always make your feelings known eventually, whether I like it or not."
He smiled a little wryly, and Ethan grinned in response.
"I saw you the other night at dinner Felis – I watched your little stunt with the wine while Lana and the King weren't looking. You deliberately risked pissing off daddy dearest just to cut the newbie some slack...Why?"
