Waves of Mercy: Chapter One

Nadlyn sat quietly in the carriage as it rolled down the muddy path into the small village of Carvahall. She was moving from the city of Uru'baen to live with her Uncle Zador who is a tax collector for King Galbatorix. Her parents died when she was just a baby in a fire. The only thing she has from her parents is a necklace that belonged to her mother, Solana.

Living with her Uncle was horrible; she hated every minute of her life and wished that all her pain would just go away. Zador was a chronic drunk and quick to anger. On a regular basis she is beaten and degraded, so she lives in constant fear. As a tax collector, her uncle is paid heavily in gold, so they have always lived in splendor. They lived in large houses, all her dresses were made from the finest threads and lace, they had servants, and they always had plenty of food, meat in particular. In those days meat was considered a delicacy.

The carriage stopped in front of a vast white mansion. It was built specifically for them by the King. Unfortunately, her Uncle was a favorite of the King, so he was always given such remarkable gifts. In return, he performed his duties admirably, which in their world meant with treachery. Zador was never nice to anyone, except the King. His greed for gold is what led him to his current position.

A servant opened the door. All around the carriage the villagers stood gawking. No one looked pleased to see them, but none dared to utter a word. Zador stepped out first, his cape bellowing behind him. He looked at the people and said, "Greetings citizens of Carvahall. I expect that you will welcome us into your little village with kindness. The King sent me here to make sure you pay your taxes, but that does not mean we have to start a quarrel. You do you duty, and nothing will go amiss." He smiled his cruel grin.

The servant held out his hand for Nadlyn to take. She obliged and carefully stepped out of the mobile prison. Her uncle looked at her and pointed, "This is my niece, Nadlyn." She curtsied at the crowd as rehearsed. The crowed acknowledged her beauty, the men with their love-struck stares, the women with jealousy.

"Hello," she vocalized, weakly. "I am pleased to be here in Carvahall. It is a charming little village." She stopped talking when her uncle shot her a murderous gaze. He never liked what he calls, "a woman's small talk." Annoyed him beyond compare, and it is his main motivation for not getting married. He said that women were just a hassle and were worthless creatures.

"We will get settled in now. Farewell." He turned and nodded at the servants to bring in the belongings. She followed her uncle inside turning her head only once to see the villagers whispering to one another.

The house was decorated with banners, statues, and various plants. She was led upstairs where her suite was located. The room was white with a large oak bed with a canopy, a dresser with a mirror, a bedside table, a rocking chair, and a screen to change behind. She plopped down on her bed once the servants left and stared at the light pink canopy. I hate pink. I hate this room. I hate this village. I hate my life. She sighed and threw off her mud spattered boots and rummaged through her bag for her dagger. She pressed the blade to her rough, scarred wrist and slowly cut into her skin. The crimson blood trickled down her arm. She balanced it so that not a single drop soiled the perfect pink bed sheets. The servants would have reported the blood stain if they saw it to her uncle and that would only cause her to receive another beating.