Irema enjoyed the few hours of solitude and prayed for them not to end. She breathed in the vapour of the boiling soup water on the side. The old long hall, with the gold covered table, now deprived of the shining metal as if stripped of its glory, leaving only solid wood, awaited its apprentices like a war widow waiting for her dead husband. The spinning wheels stood orderly over the table, in line like an army preparing for war, or rather, like statues adorning the ruins of a past age. Irema panted, holding an iron knife in hand, her other hand grasped a beet, cutting it into small squares, and then smaller, as a fluid as red as blood soaked the cutting board. The colour of pain, of death. Images rushed through her mind, and she slid her eyes upward as they pierced through her memories like a sharp blade.

She wished, for a second, that the beet juice was actually blood. Not hers, but someone in particular, someone who came home at sunset every evening.

Through the window, the sun was setting beyond the dark trees, casting red and violet light on the clouds. She grasped the knife tightly again. The time was close, like inescapable fate.

She let out a cry, she tensed her fist and waved the knife at the air, stabbing an imaginary foe. She had a picture in her mind. That man, that monster who had forced his way into her life, the man the world called her husband, his comrades called Helius, and she called hell on earth. Many other women had yielded, many, perhaps as a defensive instinct, had accepted their fate.

But not her. Her love for Karus still burnt like a raging sun within her heart. His dark eyes still sparkled in her dreams, his soft skin and caring hands. But his life had been taken and his blood spilled on the walls of the citadel, and Irema’s heart and body had been offered by force to someone else.

She lowered her head, hands still on the handle, and she wept.

The sky grew ever darker, and hell was soon to come. He would push her around like a mule, he would get angry like a raging bull, he would yell and grab her by the hair and hurt her, and use her, and break her dreams. The only thing that kept her from bursting out and lashing out was her mother. Zita was wise, she had gone through a lot, she had fought and killed in her day, and had told her it was not worth it. Wasn’t it? Was living through hell acceptable?

The soup water boiled, the steam escaped from above. She grabbed the beet cubes and threw them inside. She wished she had other ingredients, she thought of a peculiar red mushroom that could give visions to the pure, but to the evil, it could give a slow and painful death. But no, she was trapped, like a beast inside a cage.

She looked at the tall mirror behind her with its silver frame with stylized silver swans on each side, and she examined her own reflection, the bruises that crossed through her forehead, the dry blood on her lips, the blood on her hands.

And the banging at the door started.

She rolled her eyes, looked back at the bedroom, the bunk beds she used to share with her friends, now empty, and she thought of pretending she was asleep. No, she knew what he would say, and worst of all, what he would do.

“Open, woman!” Helius yelled from behind the blue door. “Don’t make me wait in my own home!”

“I’m coming,” she said, cursing in her mind. Hell was about to break lose again.

She opened the door, and Helius violently pushed it completely open. Irema instinctively stepped back.

Helius stepped in without looking at her. He had learned to avoid the small door frame, and now ducked before stepping in. He hung his galea and coat on the side and yawned. He smelled of alcohol and urine, as always.

Irema turned her head away and walked back to the flames and the bronze cauldron where the soup awaited. She stirred it with a spoon of bronze.

“Aren’t you gonna ask how my day was?” Helius’ rough voice broke the stillness. Soon, Irema felt his hands running through her unruly hair. She felt his odour close in. He wrapped her hair around his fist, pulled lightly, and smelled it like a desert flower.

Irema kept her lips pressed.

“What is this?” he spewed, tossing her long hair back to her shoulders. He looked inside the cauldron then lifted his head, almost pushing her to the side with his shoulders.

“I had a long day and food is not ready, again!” His screams echoed in the room. He turned and dropped down on the couch, scratching his inner thigh.

Irema lowered her head and looked away.

“Sir, I am sorry,” she muttered. “But you came earlier than usual, I just...”

“What?” Helius jumped to his feet and strode toward her again. He stood next to her ear and yelled. “You bitch, when will you learn? Why did I have to get such a stupid woman?”

Irema took a deep breath. The knife was still in her left hand. She envisioned it. It would be easy, wouldn’t it? Drive it through his neck.

“And I have to send your disgusting mother away every day, so she doesn’t spoil the mood. You are sweet and tight, but by Jupiter, you’re dumb.”

Irema kept breathing deeply.

“Are you gonna say something, or are you mute as well?” Helius went on, his spit sprinkling over Irema’s face.

“I am sorry,” she muttered, emotionless.

Helius growled like a cat, then turned and slapped her. Irema’s head turned, her neck pained, and she faced back.

“How long till the soup is done?” he asked.

“It’s just not done, I just put the beets and turnips in a few minutes ago. It will take some time. I understand you are hungry, but please, I am trying to make good, nice, tasty food for you.”

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

“What the hell, you don’t even know how to cook, and you make me wait like this?”

Helius stared at the soup then looked back at her. “But you know what? Maybe if it will take a few minutes we can make better use of the time.”

Helius run his hard fingers through her hair, then grasped her head tightly.

“Come on, you know you like this, woman.” One of his hands went straight to her thigh. He grabbed it, and she twitched.

Irema blinked, her face was motionless, expressionless.

It would have to be quick and easy. Irema looked straight at him, and her mind escaped her body once again.

Once again, she would let her instincts run through.

And they did.

She held the knife tightly, waited a second, and thrust it toward his neck.

She shut her eyes, but she did not hear his moans of pain, nor did she feel the tearing of his flesh. Her hand had stopped through its trajectory, stopped by someone else’s. When she opened her eyes, she realized she had lost that game. Helius held her pale hand tightly, too strongly she clenched her teeth in pain as her fingers were crushed against the wooden handle.

“What do you think you’re doing, you snake?” Real anger flashed in Helius’ eyes. He twisted her wrist. She let go of the knife and it bounced and clanked on the rocky tiles.

Helius grabbed her head with both hands, holding complete control of her movement. Irema clenched her teeth and instinctively reached for his hairy arms.

“What did you think, you nasty little fly?” Helius growled. “Did you think you could kill me? You deserve worse, you deserve to really be taught a lesson, you disobedient animal.”

Helius let go of her head and pulled her hair again, drawing her toward the boiling soup.

“So, take a look at your soup, little one,” he made her bend, and she tried to pull back. She could see the boiling water, the potatoes, the carrots, and beets that floated in the bursting bubbles of heat, and she felt the hot steam on her face. “What if we drop another nice ingredient in there. This pretty face, all you have left.”

Irema could not speak, only close her eyes.

“Come on, let’s slow cook this little onion,” Helius said, and laughed as he slowly pushed her head.

“No, please!” Irema said, as the vapour was becoming unbearable and sweat drifted from her every pore. Tears were about to break through, and the fear overwhelmed her. Her instincts were all flared up, and agony was soon to take over. She pleaded and she begged for mercy, but silently, another instinct pushed through.

She waved her hands about. She felt heat close to them, and with the back of her palm, she felt the logs underneath the cauldron. One of them was good enough, not too hot, and long enough. With eyes shut tightly, she grasped the cold end with her left hand and, with her eyes closed, she turned it and pushed the hot end back toward Helius.

It made contact with his flesh. Helius let go abruptly and screamed like a witch. Irema turned. Helius jumped over, looking at his toga. Smoke was coming from it.

“You dirty bitch!” He yelled so loud his voice transformed into an acute shriek.

He turned toward her with his hands outstretched and a grimace of hate. Irema could see it in his eyes, he was ready to kill.

Irema turned, and quickly she grasped the hot rims of the cauldron and twisted her body around, throwing the hot boiling soup at his face. For an instant, she was sad for those fat turnips she had found and that had taken so long to peel and slice. Besides, it had been hard to come across good ones.

Screaming unfolded before her, but instead of pain, it was like music to her ears. A smile formed on her lips. That was justice, she thought.

But it would not be over.

Helius reached for her wrists and pulled her back. He pushed her to the wall, his face angrier than ever. She twisted like a fish, kicking him in his now scalded and sensitive legs. He pushed her to the bunk, to the bed below, and she fell through the padded sheets.

Helius jumped over her, his hands stretched forward, ready to grab her neck and choke her to death. Irema lifted her torso and grabbed his arms, sheet in hand, clasping her limbs around him like a coiled serpent, closing the distance so he would have a hard time using his hands.

And Helius bit her neck. She moaned in pain and tried in vain to hit him in the temple and the ears.

One of his hands broke free, but she wrapped a thin bedsheet around his neck with her right, putting one forearm against his neck, pressing with it, and pulled the sheet down towards the opposite side. Helius stuck out his tongue as she pulled and pressed harder. He gasped and his head changed colour, first turning red, his eyes bulging as if they were about to come out, then he shut his eyes and the muscles of his face relaxed. She kept pressing, and the skin of his head turned purple, then blue.

From that dream, he would not wake up.

She tumbled the body over, and stood up, staring at the object of her pain and hate, now lifeless, never to come back to that mortal realm. She stared at her hands, now covered in ash and beet juice.

She blinked.

What to do now?

And the banging on the door started again.

“Helius, are you okay? We heard screams.”

Irema put her hand over her mouth and stared at the door.

“Helius, come on, friend, we are worrying for you.”

Alana stared at the body. She had to hide it quickly. She pushed it over the edge of the bed, and it tumbled over against the wall, but the wide shoulders could still be seen.

The banging continued.

“Man, the door is open, please tell us if we can come in.”

“Wait!” Irema screamed. “I’m getting dressed.”

The body was still visible, so she took one of the sheets and put it over. It still looked like somebody was hiding under the blankets, but at least his arm was not visible.

“I’m coming,” she said, and she swallowed dry. Her heartbeat pulsated through her body and she could almost hear it.

She advanced to the door and opened it a few inches.

“Is everything alright?” a blue-eyed soldier asked.

“Yes, we had an argument, that’s all.”

“May we come in?”

“Don, I heard him scream,” the legionary behind his blue eyed companion said, his head was completely shaved and held his galea on his arm.

“Let us in,” the first one said. “Let us in unless Helius himself says no.”

“I mean...” Irema looked back, the soup soiling the ground, potatoes and beets all over, and the hidden body behind the bed.

“Woman, let us in, we have the authority to check if anything looks suspicious,” the blue-eyed soldier raised his voice.

“Understood,” she nodded. She opened the door and both soldiers stepped in, eyes wide open and scanning the place.

“What happened here?” the soldier said, eyeing the vegetables on the floor.

“We had an argument,” Irema said, lowering her head, fidgeting with her hair.

“Well half the block could hear that,” the bald soldier asked. “Now, where is he?” The soldier lifted his head and narrowed his eyes.

“He...” Irema looked around, bringing her nails to her lips as the first soldier advanced toward the bed.

He reached for the sheets and pulled them lightly. Irema bit her fingernails.

“What is this?” his companion said, scared. “Is this blood?”

“It’s beet juice!” Irema announced.

The bald soldier ran his finger through the mess.

“This be tasting real good!” he said lifting his bald head.

“Really?” the blue-eyed soldier let go of the sheets and strode toward them.

“Yes, have you tried it before?” the bald one asked.

“No,” the blue-eyed soldier looked at Irema, his expression had changed. “Where is your husband?”

“He...” Irema cleared her throat. “He went to the market to buy more vegetables. He was really hungry and said he did not want the scene to ruin his appetite, and he said he wanted the same soup to be made again.”

“So the market,” the bald one scratched his chin. “So you will make more soup for him, won’t you? Make extra for us, we’ll pass by after our patrol time.”

“It’ll be a pleasure,” Irema lifted her chin and faked a smile.

“Alright,” the blue eyed one looked around. “Say hello to him from us, see you later.” Both men marched outside, and she shut the door behind their backs. She sighed.

Now, what could she do about the body? And how could she tell mother without putting her at risk?