Blinded Beauty

By Cecilia Randell

One blind girl must defy an empire to find her destiny.

Mila used to be a perfect citizen. Born to a modest merchant family, she worked to improve both her own and her family's position. Just when she thought her future secure, she wakes blinded and damaged, touched by dreams.  

Now living in one of the compounds set up for those deemed flawed, she struggles to survive the harsh conditions as she toils for the very same empire that sent her there.  

When a sandstorm blows into her small corner of the world, bringing with it her dreams made flesh—creatures of feathers and fur and myth—she will need to find a courage that has been nearly stripped from her. And if she can do that, she may just find her true destiny… and love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Blue Wren Publishing
• Release date: Dec 3, 2018
• ISBN: 9781733974592

Book preview

Prologue

The dreams had returned. The soft weave of cotton blankets became golden fur and feathers, enveloping me. I sank into them, grateful for the feelings of comfort and security. This was the better dream. The other, the one of blood and death and screams, of sand and stone and beating winds, came more often. Opportunities to revel in the golden visions were few and far between

These were strange dreams, always the same, and of nothing I had ever seen. There were legends of great cats in the southern reaches of the empire, and golden eagles were sometimes spotted in the Grypes Mountains. Isolated as I was in my small town of Tabos, I had never travelled to these places or seen these creatures. Yet my dreams were some strange combination of the two.

Whispered words came to me, low and soothing, though I could not make out what was being said. I slipped further into the dream until I didn’t want to wake.

I always woke, though, just as I always knew I was dreaming.

Warm fur ran along my cheek, and my fingers stroked along a feathered limb until it came to the smooth hardness that was the talon. It fascinated me how these beings could be so deadly in form, yet they never failed to treat me with gentleness and they never hurt me.

At least, they hadn’t until now. As my finger skimmed over the claw and off the tip, it moved, pricking me. New colors filled my vision. A light violet, almost white, swirled from my finger and around the claw, then over the feather-covered limb and chest to the golden fur of the back and hind legs. Wings of white feathers tipped in lavender stretched before me, and an ivory beak, curved to be able to tear flesh, skimmed over my head.

A fearsome beast stood before me, and yet I remained calm. The white-violet light continued to spread until that was all I saw, my creature a darkness outlined in beauty. Two more joined him, one of gold, one of copper—energies intertwined yet wholly separate—and I marveled that my mind could conjure such an image.

This was new. And despite all I had to look forward to in my life, I knew when I woke I would miss this terribly. Something magical and amazing had happened. Something out of tales and stories that only children now believed. And I would never be the same.

When the light faded, I sighed and opened my eyes.

Instead of soft moonlight filtering through the curtains of my window and pale, whitewashed walls, black met my gaze.

The colors of my dreams had faded, but the darkness remained.

My heart sped, and I reached out, my fingers encountering the smooth wood of the small stand beside my bed. Fumbling, I found the igniter and pressed. A soft click and whoosh told me the lamp’s wick had caught, as did the faint warmth from the small flame.

There was still no light.

My breath froze in my lungs. I blinked, then rubbed my eyes. Still nothing. Sitting up, I tried again to see what should be there. I reached out, gripping the duvet cover. It was a light green, almost mint, with thin stripes of forest green running along the length. My aunt had gotten it for me at the annual fair in Dogaru, when she and my uncle traveled to the capital to make new connections for trade. It was one of the finest things I owned—the weave tight yet supple, the colors brilliant, even after many washes.

I knew what it should look like. But I could not see it.

My lungs expanded with a great gulp of air, and my heart sped. I squeezed my lids tight and prayed to the Great One. This could not happen to me. I had my life planned, my future set. Baron Farland’s youngest—Jonathon, my oldest friend—had asked for a pairing, and though he would never inherit, it was a step up for my merchant family. I was personable and well-mannered, and, while only passably pretty, I knew how to take advantage of my dark hair and gray eyes, knew which colors to wear to bring out their faint violet cast, a rarity in the north. I knew how to best display my figure, and I knew how to run a household. I knew how to flatter a man and how to manage his vanity. I could read, handle complex sums, and even hold my own in the more philosophical and esoteric debates the lords of the empire loved to indulge in. I had been groomed from a young age, shown exactly what I needed to have and do and be in order to get ahead in this life, in the Empire. I had worked hard to achieve this.

And none of that now mattered.

I strained my lids open once more, seeking any flicker of light, of color, of movement. Nothing.

I’d lost my sight, somehow. There would be no more sunsets, no stolen afternoons of reading by a fire, or getting lost in the intricate patterns of a new length of cloth.

But, worse than that, I’d become flawed. Somehow, the dark had followed me from my dreams. Or, my dreams had been a warning of what was to come. That was the more likely scenario. Despite how I allowed myself to fall into them or how real they seemed, none of what they showed me existed. So they must simply be figments and fragments of a now flawed person.

Tears gathered and fell, the droplets leaving warm tracks down the cooling skin of my cheeks.

I was flawed. Flawed. Everything I had achieved now held no meaning. My aunt would find me when I didn’t come down for the morning meal. I could envision it. She would summon my uncle, who would send for the Citizen’s Improvement Initiative. He wouldn’t want to, but he would. For the good of the Cilesian Empire. A discreet message would be sent to the Baron, and my engagement would be quietly dissolved. And Jonathon…

My chest tightened further until I could barely draw a breath. I had no idea what Jonathon would do. Strangely, that hurt more than the thought of being banished to a compound on the edge of the desert. Jonathon was my best friend, my intended, my love.

And now that I was flawed, I wished I could say with certainty that he would come with me or fight for me, defy the empire for me—something romantic and grand, in line with the vestiges of a young girl’s vision of love. But I couldn’t say that or believe it. I was flawed now. In one night, I’d lost my destiny.

I lay in bed, eyes straining, and waited for morning, for my aunt’s knock, for the furor that would ensue. And as I waited, I changed from someone with everything I could have wanted, to someone with only one thing: a memory of beauty and light and figments of imagination.

Chapter One

The shuttle and reed of the loom moved back and forth, the rhythmic motion and steady susurration lulling me once again into daydreams.

They used to be of the time before. That was how I thought of it. The Time Before. Before my flaw, before the banishment, before the life I was supposed to lead was ripped from me. Before the end of everything I knew.

Before the blindness. Before my flaw manifested and I was sent to Eusos, a compound on the northern edge of the Empire.

This had been my home for the last seven years. I no longer wept. I no longer struggled with fairness or what was right or just. Eusos did not allow for such indulgences. In the compounds, you endured or you were no more.

My feet continued to work the pedals and my arms pushed the reed up and down. Sometimes I wished I could see the colors of the cloth I made, but more and more I was content with the feel of the silk fabric, slick against my fingers, and the faint humming of the weavers, the constant of the patterns and rhythms that now ruled my life. Old Britta, the weavers’ overseer, had other workers who ensured the integrity of the looms and fabrics and monitored for breaks or knots that must be handled. I had been doing this so long now, sometimes it seemed I could feel the weak points in the thread, could sense the breaks before they happened, could hear the small snap even in the clank and constant noise of workshop eleven, station nine.

Mila, dear, you’ll need to move faster than that to make your quota and receive your supper portion. Old Britta’s sweet tones sounded behind me, and I shuddered. This was the first warning. Next would come a pinch, and if I still failed to perform to the overseer’s satisfaction, the hand slaps would begin. And, of course, the withheld meals. I shied from the memories of what came after that.

The lack of footsteps indicated she had yet to move away, and I picked up my pace. Around me the other women did the same, and their humming died away. I concentrated until smooth wood was all I felt, until the remembered colors faded to the blackness of my current surroundings and nothing but the pungent smell of dyed wool filled my nose. I pushed aside anything but the unceasing bleakness of now and concentrated on survival.

She finally stepped away. The scuff of leather on wood and quickly drawn breaths allowed me to trace her progress through the room. When Old Britta was on the opposite side of the workshop, some of the tension in my shoulders eased. Gradually—and unbidden—the images returned, golden feathers and fur filling my mind’s eye. More and more I drifted to them, entranced by the play of light over the quills and the texture that tickled my fingers. Even as I continued the weaving, I was once again lost in this world, a world that had become my solace.

Ladies, Old Britta called