On her tenth birthday, Mother tried to confiscate the necklace as payment for a subpar batch, but Zenna told him she had lost it. He beat her severely for her negligence and threatened to throw her from the tower. She spent days in agony, bruised head to toe, but the punishment was worth it. The necklace was the only memento of her life before Mother.
She fastened the necklace around her throat, her fingers finding the small heart charm which hung in the center. Tucking the charm underneath her shirt, she walked to the window and pushed the shutters open.
The cool breeze rushed forward to greet her. Her eyes slid over the horizon, finding the sun as it peeked over the high mountains surrounding the valley. The quilt slid from her shoulders. Stepping onto the window ledge, she reached up and grabbed the eaves. With a grunt, she pulled herself through the window, climbed onto the roof, and crawled to the top of the tower. After wrapping her fingers through the spire, she turned and faced the sunrise. Closing her eyes, she inhaled as the sun painted her face with warmth.
Mother had forbidden her from leaving the compound until her parents’ debt was cleared. However, Mother never said she couldn’t leave the tower… not that Mother was aware she was up here. She inhaled again, enjoying the crisp feel of the wind blowing across her face.
“Don’t jump!”
She started and grabbed hold of the spire with both hands to prevent herself from falling. Glaring over the edge of the roof, her gaze sought the origin of the voice. A tiny speck dashed across the courtyard and skidded to a halt at the base of the tower, one of four which rose out of the compound like giant stone sentries.
“Don’t jump!” The voice yelled again, the deep rumble reminding her of Mother’s gruff tone.
She tightened her grip on the spire and leaned forward. Cupping her hand around her mouth, she yelled back, praying Mother would not hear her. “I’m not going to jump.”
“Then, what the hell are you doing?” the man asked, dashing back and forth beneath her as if he intended to catch her.
“I’m watching the sunrise.”
“You could do that on the ground.” He stopped running and stepped back, keeping his arms outstretched.
Mother was going to hear of this, and the punishment would be severe. Zenna bit her lip and crouched down. Scooting down the roof, she straddled the gable and leaned over the side.
“Why are you awake?” she asked.
“That’s your question?” An audible choking sound rose from the ground. “You’re on a roof!”
“And I am perfectly safe.”
“Not from where I’m standing.” The man folded his arms across his chest.
Grimacing, she slid her leg over the side of the roof, wrapped her fingers around the shingles, and swung back through the window, landing on the floor with a soft grunt, and spun around.
“Satisfied?” she asked, peering down.
“Yes, thank you.” He took a step closer.
She licked her lips. “Please don’t tell Mother you saw me on the roof.”
“Tell me your name,” he said, a forceful undertone to his command.
“Swear not to reveal to Mother where you found me.” She placed her hands on the windowsill and leaned out further. “Do I have your word?”
“I swear,” he replied, his voice laced with amusement, and held up his right hand.
“My name is Zenna.”
“Zenna.” He spread his arms out wide and bowed. “It is a pleasure to meet you, my name is Malik.”
Malik? As in Mother’s son? Her heart stopped, a corset of fear crushing her chest.
“I-I-I thought Malik controlled the territory to the north.”
“I do.”
“Then why are you here?” she asked, a tremor rippled through her body. She would never see daylight again.
“My presence was requested.” He thumbed over his shoulder at the compound. “All the captains will be here this morning.”
“Why?”
Malik twisted away from her question—curiosity was never encouraged by Mother. She cringed, waiting for Malik’s castigation. After a moment of silence, he returned his gaze to her.
“If I knew, I wouldn’t be here.”
“I doubt that,” Zenna replied.
He snorted. “Will you be attending?”
“She’s not invited.” The air beside Malik shimmered, and Mother materialized.
“Good morning, Father,” Malik said, his demeanor unaffected by Mother’s sudden appearance.
Mac “Mother” Gothel had taken control of the city roughly twenty years ago. His father, a longtime driver for the Rossi family, sent his son to college to deter him from criminal pursuits. Instead, Mother used his botanical education to invent Votras Alute, a healing powder which based its formula around a rare purple flower he discovered while trekking through the rainforests. He brought a prototype to Bruno, the head of the Rossi family. However, due to the flower’s inaccessible location, the drug was rejected, and Mother was responsible for the bullet, which took Bruno’s life.
“I specifically remember telling you to stay away from the south tower,” Mother said, his gaze locked on Zenna.
“You told me the south tower was empty,” Malik replied.
“It is.”
“Clearly, it is not.” Malik gestured at Zenna, who had ducked down and was peering at them over the edge of the windowsill.
“Zenna!” Mother’s annoyance whipped up the side of the tower. She popped up, her heart thudded.
“Good morning, Mother,” she said, her voice falsely bright.
“Before I beat you unconscious, explain why my son is standing beneath your window.”
Zenna trembled. Her eyes flicked to Malik. Would he lie for her? If she admitted she was on the roof, Mother would seal the window shut. Zenna took a deep breath.
“I was working on a new batch, and there wasn’t enough light in the tower, so I leaned out the window to check the color in the sunlight.”
“A new batch?” A cold smile broke Mother’s fury, and he rubbed his hands together. “This is excellent timing. How does it look?”
“What the hell?” Malik asked, interrupting Zenna’s response.
Mother turned to him. Zenna could not see Mother’s face, but she did catch Malik’s flinch.
“Would you care to rephrase that?” Mother folded his arms across his broad chest.
“You have some poor girl chained up in a tower,”—he slashed his hand toward Zenna—“and you’re forcing her to manufacture Votras Alute?”
“She’s not chained up.”
“Prove it.” Malik folded his arms, mirroring his father’s stance. Silence stretched between them, neither of them moved, then Mother laughed, his deep voice winding around the tower.
“No doubt, you are my son.” He clapped Malik on the back and ruffled his long hair in an affectionate gesture Zenna would have sworn was impossible for Mother to exhibit. “You are correct, the south tower is not abandoned.”
“How long has she been here?” Malik jerked his head toward Zenna.
“Most of her life,” replied Mother, his voice holding no sympathy. “There’s only one entrance.”
Mother waved his hand, he and Malik vanished like wisps of smoke, and Mother reappeared beside Zenna. She screamed and stepped back toward the window, tripping over her hair. Hands flailing, she stumbled, unable to regain her balance, and crashed into a solid mass.