Bellona (Part 1.5 of The Saskia Trilogy) by Aoife Marie Sheridan Page A

letting it fall to the floor, then her blouse and work skirt. She stands in her undergarments, hesitating, her eyes meeting mine again, pleading with me as they fill with tears. I stare back at her and she removes everything. Standing naked with the bell around her neck, I look her up and down and her face floods with humiliation. I throw my legs over the side of the bed and stand.
    “Stay,” I tell her, as I make my way to my dressing table. I pull out the chair and tell Bea to sit. Once she is seated her hands try to cover her private parts.
    “Hands at your side.”
    They fall limply to her side, her breathing laboured, her eyes shine with tears and hate. Hate, what an emotion. It’s a hard emotion to hang onto, but these servants are masters at the craft of hating Bellona. I slap the powder brush hard against her face and she squeals. White powder coats her chest, thighs and private parts. I cover her whole face with the white powder just as she had done to me, on the first night I met Nierra. Tears clear a path down her face. After all my work. My hand connects with her face, her own going to her cheek.
    “Stop crying. Did I cry as you covered me in powder? Did I cry as you pulled my hair into its painful style? Did I cry as you shoved me into that horrible dress? The answer is no. So stop crying.”
    She does and I fix her face before turning her towards the mirror so I can work on her hair. I pull it as hard as I can. Strands come loose in my fingers. I shake them off in disgust.
    “Are you sick?” I question.
    “No.” I can barely hear her.
    “Speak up.”
    She swallows. “No, I am not sick, Princess.” I pull her hair, clipping it close to her head but when I yank it, more hair comes away in my hand. She must be sick, maybe she has a disease, maybe it is in her long brown hair.
    “You’re lying to me, you’re sick and you’re trying to make me sick too.”
    Her eyes widen with fear. “No, Princess, you’re just pulling too hard.”
    “Are you calling me a liar?” How dare she? I am finding it hard to breathe. She is sick I don’t want to lose my hair. I take two steps back, her light is so bright. I should kill her, stop this sickness. I grab scissors, holding them lightly in my hand while standing over her. I watch as her tears spill over, destroying my work. Again. She looks so sad, the same sadness I have seen in her before, the night my father had beaten me. She was kind to me that night so I won’t kill her. I will do her a kindness. I chop quickly and her hair falls to the ground. She sobs at every snip of the scissors but I don’t stop, I am saving her. I cut to her scalp, nicking her, I have no choice. When all her hair is gone I smile at her.
    “You need to burn your hair. I have done enough. You can thank me later.” I feel light. I have done a good turn. I open my bedroom door and tell the guard to get me two servants; I need to bathe. Bea gathers up all of her hair, clutching it against her bare chest. Blood trickles down her face, dripping on my floor. But once again I don’t complain. The other servants arrive as she kneels at the fire, hunched over, trying to cover her nakedness.
    “Burn it.” I can’t understand what she is waiting for. I strip and climb into my warm bath as Bea lights her hair on fire; it is my first time smelling burnt hair. I don’t like it. Bea stays hunched, crying, bleeding everywhere. The other servants keep giving her sympathetic looks. I have saved her, the fools. I can’t look at them.
    “Get out,” I roar and they leave quickly. Bea gathers her clothes and stumbles from the room. I sink deeper into the water. A hysterical laugh bubbles up my throat. My hands itch to tear something, my nails dig into my legs, the pain makes me close my eyes and I dig deeper; images of the maid, her bashed in skull, plague me. The water turns pink from the deep cuts I have caused on my legs. Anger has me jumping out and I push the tub over. Water spills all