Sherwood (23 page)

The man tilted his head, a
small smile on his lips. He nodded. “It's simply Parker.” He took a
few steps toward her, making a move toward the bench she sat on.
She uncrossed her legs, noting that the position wasn't very
lady-like in her dress, and moved over so he could have a
seat.

He sat down casually next
to her and looked toward the ground. After a moment, he titled his
head upward and looked at her with an obvious smile on his lips. “I
see you've already found the most quiet place in the
castle.”

Harlow nodded, taking a
glance at him. “Yes. It's better than the sleeping
commons.”

Parker nodded. “Indeed it
is.”

Silence fell between the
two as they sat there.

Harlow noticed Parker wore
a tight white shirt, the sleeves running down to his wrists and the
brim tucked neatly into his armored pants. She found him
attractive, but it was nothing compared to how she'd seen
Enders.

After a moment of looking
him over out of her peripheral vision, Harlow turned to him. “Why
are you up so late?”

Parker took in a deep
breath and smiled again at her. “I could ask you the same
question.”

Harlow nodded as silence
returned again. She turned her attention back to the
curtain.

Silence reigned awkwardly
for a few minutes. Unable to stand it any longer, Harlow sighed.
“Where I come from, there's this lake, with this beautiful pier
that stretches out over the water. I spent all my time sitting on
the pier and staring up over the horizon. It was one of my many
joys in life. Now, I find that even that is something I cannot
have.”

Parker was watching her,
his eyes looking over her face and hair. “That sounds lovely. I
wish we had such luxury.”

Harlow nodded. “As do I.”
She sighed and looked around the small nook. “I find this to be the
best place for solitude.”

“
Maybe
solitude isn't exactly the best thing sometimes.” Parker suggested,
still looking charismatically at her. He had one eyebrow raised and
a smile on his lips are he looked to her.

She couldn't help but
return the smile. “Indeed. Sometimes it isn't.”

Silence didn't come between
them for the rest of their conversation, and for the first time
since she'd gotten there, she actually felt like someone kind of
understood her.

She stood up about two
hours into their conversation and yawned. She raised her hands over
her head and stretched. “I should be going to the sleeping quarters
now.”

Parker nodded, standing up
as well. “As should I.” He turned to her. “It was quite nice
speaking with you, Miss Harlow. I hope we can speak again
soon.”

Harlow nodded, taken aback
by the genuine look he'd given her. “Goodnight, Commander
Parker.”

He smiled. “Goodnight, Miss
Harlow.” He turned around and headed down the hallway, turning left
around the corner.

Harlow tried to shake off
the strange feeling she had in her stomach, and headed down the
hall, turning to the double doors on her right, and entering the
sleeping commons.

*~*~*

Harlow felt her dress swing
around her ankles as she walked the dark, dim corridors of the
castle.

She noticed that the
curtains had been pulled shut in an attempt to forbid the light
from coming into the mansion.

Taking in a deep, reluctant
sigh, she tore her eyes from the curtains and faced the stairwell
in front of her. It spiraled down into the Kitchen, leaving her
with thoughts of a long time past.

How many times had her
father walked these corridors during his service to the King? How
many times had her mother visited him in this very
Kitchen?

Now, she was in the very
place her father had tried so hard to take her from.

She stepped onto the
stairs, hearing the tap-tap of her shoes on the cold floor beneath
her feet.

She entered the kitchen
that morning, ready to simply do whatever work they were to hand
her.

It had been six weeks since
she'd entered the castle. Her eyes felt dark and tired. This wasn't
the plan. This wasn't how this was supposed to happen.

And the Outlaws hadn't come
yet.

She entered the Kitchen,
the darkness plaguing her to her very core. She felt as if she was
dying, the castle sucking the life out of her a little more with
each passing day.

She yearned so much to see
the sun.

She raised one hand to her
head and rubbed her forehead. What had this place done to her? The
reason she was here had gotten lost in the scuffle. Sometimes,
she'd hear some of the Castle-Hands whispering to each other about
the captured outlaw. Never had she heard them whisper where he was
being held.

By her third week in the
castle, she'd started to lose hope of finding him in this maze of
brick and secrecy.

Three weeks after that
point, she couldn't focus anymore. She felt like she was placed
under a spell, where fatigue and darkness followed her everywhere
she went.

“
Harlow,” The
cook beamed delightfully as she entered the room. “How are you this
morning?”

The man bounced around the
room, his sizable stomach jiggling with him as he moved from one
plate to another. He dropped chicken onto one plate while lifting
one hand unhygienic-like to his hair and brushing away the dandruff
from his eyes.

Harlow nodded, suppressing
her disgust, “Good, Sir Lyle. How are you?”

He nodded back to her, his
hands rushing to move and fix up certain items. He seemed to never
stop moving. “Good, aye. We're busy this evening, dear,” the older
man said to her, a smile on his lips. “It's good to be preparing a
feast again!” He beamed, kneading out dough. “It's been too long
since The King has had a gathering.”

Harlow nodded, trying not
to show her disdain at the mention of King Wesley. It was small
moments like these that made her want to keep fighting, but the
daunting effect of the castle kept her down, as if pushing
underwater and drowning her in the darkness.

“
What is it
you need of me then?” Harlow asked, trying to place a small smile
on her face.

The cook looked around
happily, an almost puzzled look crossing his features. Harlow
wondered if her father had ever been this happy to prepare the
king's feasts.

“
I'll
actually have to ask you to bring one of the prisoners their food,
if you will. Usually I ask Marlene, but she's fallen sick, as you
know.”

“
Yes, indeed.
Where is this prisoner's quarters?” Harlow asked, stepping forward,
a cart of small leftovers sitting on separate plates, in the corner
of the kitchen.

“
This one is
being held in the basement area. Simply head down the stairs and
speak with the guard on duty in that area.” The cook told her,
looking back and forth between her and the dough he was kneading in
his hands.

“
Alright,”
Harlow agreed, taking one of the plates from the cart. She'd looked
at some of the other plates, noticing that the serving sizes were
small and barely enough to get by. She tried to pick the plate with
the most food and the biggest bread rolls. “I will be back
shortly.”

“
Thank you,
Harlow.” The cook called after her, going on his own merry way with
the food.

She nodded and offered a
quiet “Mhm,” although, she was certain he couldn't hear.

The corridors were dark and
grimy. They were always dark and grimy. It made Harlow's skin
crawl, and it seemed that the closer she came to the basement area,
the more uncomfortable the environment became.

The mold on the walls
seemed to move and pulsate as she took her first step down the
staircase.

She was shocked at how dark
this area had been kept considering the pure sunlight illuminating
the Earth outside.

The corridor was only
illuminated by torches and fire that clung to the walls and seemed
to climb with each step she took.

She reached the bottom of
the spiraling corridor and stepped onto the pale concrete ground.
As she turned her eyes up, she noticed that the corners of the
broad room were dark, and for several seconds all was quiet while
Harlow's eyes scanned the darkness.

On her right side sat a
table, scrolls sprawled out across the surface and a man, hidden by
the darkness sat slumped over the scrolls, writing
fervently.

Harlow took a step forward,
putting distance between herself and the brown stained walls behind
her.

“
Excuse me,”
Harlow said, looking at the man, a plate held gently in her
hands.

The man looked up from the
table, somewhat shocked by her presence. “Oh hello!” He said,
pushing aside the scrolls and standing up from his chair on the
other side of the table. “How can I assist you, my
lady?”

Harlow smiled at the man's
kindness. “I have food for one of the prisoners held
here.”

The man raised an eyebrow,
nodded and looked down at the papers on his table. He raised one
hand and rubbed his scruffy beard “The woman has already been fed,
so this must be for the outlaw.”

Harlow's heart skipped a
beat before accelerating to an unprecedented speed. Everything
seemed to come alive at the word. “The outlaw?”

“
Yes. His
food has not come yet.” The man said, looking back to Harlow with a
smile. “I'll take the food to him if you'd like.”

Harlow shook her head.
“No,” Her response seemed to quick, causing the man to recoil
gently. “I mean,” She paused, looking down sadly, trying to keep up
with her lies. “The outlaws killed my father. I'd like to ask him
why they chose to take him from me.”

The man across from her let
his eyebrows fall in understanding. “Oh,” he said gently, “I see.
I'm sorry for you loss, my lady.”

Harlow nodded and turned
her head to the left, still facing the ground. “I simply want to
know why he did it.”

The man nodded and turned
his head to the door. He twisted his face in concern and
hesitation. His internal struggle plagued him, but in the end he
sighed. “I'll let you go to his cell, but you cannot go inside of
it. You may speak with him through the barred door.
Understand?”

Harlow's eyes lit up
gently, but she held back the expression. “Yes, kind
sir.”

The man nodded and walked
toward the door leading to the prisoner cells. Harlow followed the
man across the chamber and toward the door. She saw between the
bars of the window on the door, a corridor leading down a dark
pathway, illuminated by torches every few feet, and cell doors
lining the left and right sides.

This was no way to live,
and now for the first time, Harlow's rescue effort was progressing.
She knew where he was being held. She knew how to get him out of
this horrendous place.

“
His cell is
the third on this side,” the man said, pointing to Harlow's left
side. “Don't get to close to him.”

Harlow nodded, taking a
last glance at the man before he opened the door and let her in.
The man gently closed the door behind her, which gave her a
slightly morbid, lonesome feeling.

She looked back, waiting
for him to turn around and go back to his table, which he did after
taking one more concerned look toward her.

Harlow slowly and quietly
walked forward, one slow step at a time, her heart pounding so hard
it made the plate in her hands tremble.

The cells were dark and
quiet. A renegade cough and a rogue laugh would sound out in the
echoic halls, but otherwise the dark seemed impervious to any
sound.

The tap-tap of Harlow's
shoes on the solid floor resonated through the building and into
her chest. She kept a safe distance from the walls, knowing that
beyond the darkness lay mold and dew on the brick
foundation.

She came across the first
and second cells without any problems, not daring to look inside
the cells for fear of what she may see.

Her heart thumped harder
with every passing second.

Enders image
came into her mind. She remembered his smile and his laugh. She
remembered how he'd saved her life.
Not once,
She
thought, a shaky smile plaguing her lips,
Twice.

She stepped a bit closer to
the cell, but still not within viewing distance. She felt the heat
from a torch lighting up the wall next to her. With a shaking hand,
she reached out and took the torch in her hand.

She took in a sharp breath
and, torch and food in hand, stepped in front of the cell's
bars.

She didn't know what Enders
would say. She didn't know if he'd be angry or happy to see her.
Frankly, she didn't care. All she wanted was to see his face again.
She wanted to get him out of this castle and set him
free.

She stared into the
darkness of the cell for a moment, unable to see anything. She
cleared her throat gently.