Heir of Vaashaa: The Lost Child of the Crown (The Lost Child of the Crown Series Book 2)

by Celine Simpson

  My whole body screamed, it felt like if I were to move an inch my muscles would rip from the bones and my skin would melt from my limbs. I reached for the keys, a moan escaping my mouth involuntarily. My eyes watering at the repercussions of using my body. I couldn’t move.

  I would die here, I knew I would.

  I began to sob, the trembles too painful to travel all the way through me, so I lay there still, weeping. A living corpse.

  I felt it then. It washed over me like a cool breeze after a day in the sun, a glass of water to a parched mouth. I felt it soothe me. Calm me. It was not a wind that left the lingering touch of spring, but the roaring crispness of summer mixed with honey and jasmine. It was warm and comforting. I had never felt anything like it before, never knew I had been missing it until now.

  The wind, it lulled me. Not to sleep, but to stand.

  I gripped the bars of my cell, channeling the cracking of my bones into strength that was slowly escaping me. I held it for all it was worth. A guiding hand that helped me to my feet, it reminded me of the gentle touch offered to a child who had stumbled. A glimmer of reassurance to a trembling lip when the tears were welling and about to spill. A surge of confidence, of hope.

  Grabbing the keys with trembling hands, I unlocked my cell and shimmied through the door, not wanting to open it too far, for the rusted hinges to alert anyone. Closing the cell door, I picked up the robe that my cousin had dropped, still feeling that the interaction was only a part of my imagination.

  I moved up the stairs, my eyes streaming with tears, but I persisted. My climb to the top was agonisingly slow. The stairs were covered in a slimy mould that painted a picture of my return to the bottom of the dungeon with no chance of getting back up. My ascend was time-consuming thanks to my weak body and fear of death. Reaching the door at the top of the stairs was a victory I celebrated for only a second. The stars in my vision were threatening to send me into oblivion making me take a moment to recover – time I did not have. Opening the door only to fit my frame through, I wrapped the robe around me tighter. Pulling the hood up to conceal my face, I gauged my surroundings. Every breath that escaped my mouth had me pausing to make sure no one heard me, no one saw me.

  From what I knew of servant entrances, they were always in the corners, always tucked away so that those who used them were less likely to be seen. It was dark within the Palace, so I could only assume where I was. Relating the finery that I could faintly make out to that of the Palace in Lygot, as well as to the brief moments I spent with Cander while he ate. The marble beneath my feet felt too new, too clean. I moved with haste, my heart hammering inside my chest as I struggled to find my bearings. My vision still tunnelling had me praying that I didn’t lose my momentum from before. I caught site of a door, the same colour as the walls and hoped to the Gods it would lead me to where I needed to go.

  And so, I ran.

  Four

  My body hated me for using it so soon after it was so violently torn apart and then put back together. My mind only holding itself together by thinking that it could not have been me, left in the dark and in the cold. It couldn’t have been me who’s screams were a constant echo in the dark. I had people who loved me, soft hands that had held and soothed me. That’s where I was. I was in the company of those people.

  So, I would keep thinking like that until another time, because if it had been me in the cold, left alone in the dark; if it had been me pulled apart at the seams only to be carelessly sewn back together in the wrong way, then I would not have been able to run down the stairs of a servants corridor, and find a way to save myself.

  The door I had burst through presented me with a stairway that ended abruptly at a set of double doors. I watched for shadows under the door within the small space left between the door and the stone floor but there was nothing. My hands trembled and I hated it, but still they reached for the handle, they turned it slowly and then ever so carefully cracked the door slightly. The coldness of the servant’s quarters was nothing compared to where I had been but there was still a bite to the air, the light still seemed a luxury after so much time spent without it. The space was a long hallway lined with lamps down both sides. The wicks on all the candles were blackened but only some were alight leaving the space cast in an eerie glow. Off the main hall were other passageways that seemed to lead every which way like tunnels under the palace. The stones beneath my feet were smooth from the beating of thousands of steps from hundreds of feet, not as smooth as the marble in the palace but still, so foreign to me now.

  There was no sound. Not a whisper or a scurry of feet. There was no one left in this part of the palace so I braved the hallway. Sliding out from the shadows I kept close to the wall. My efforts seemed wasted regardless, if I were to be seen it wouldn’t take much. I wasn’t exactly inconspicuous in Ainsley’s fine night robe. The wall broke to the first of many smaller corridors, but this one didn’t delve further into the catacombs of the Altrey palace. It wasn’t a long way to the end where a door had been left ajar. I moved closer on quiet feet, my brow slick with sweat from the effort of suppressing a cry from the pain that jilted through my legs with every step I took. I nudged the door open wider, scanning what looked to be a dressing room. Wooden benches lined the middle with stacks of uniforms piled around them. They were a canvas like material and they looked to belong to the guards that monitored the outer walls of the palace. The Gods must be watching over me. I stopped to thank them for only a second before sealing myself in the room.

  Trying desperately to not allow the thought that this could be a setup to only break my spirit completely into my head, I moved towards the stack of uniforms on the far side of the wall.

  I removed Ainsley’s gown and set it on one of the benches before removing my own clothes beneath it. I had been taken by Cander in my Lygot fighting leathers, but somewhere between then and now I had forgone them only for pants and a tunic. They were covered in dirt and blood and though I could no longer discern the smell of them from anything else I knew the odour would match the sight of them. They were ripped and shredded to the point where there was little they did for modesty. Staring at the remaining scraps that clung to my body… no it couldn’t have been me, not down there, not all this time. I wiped my face clear of the tears that fell from my eyes with the back on my hand. I didn’t want to cry, not here and certainly not because of this. Not after I had endured so much. I owed it to myself to get through this.

  I sifted through the remaining uniforms. They looked as though they were for male guards. The sizing of the uniforms – even the smaller ones – seemed ill fitting. The uniforms for the exterior guards were much less formal than the attire worn by the guards who monitored the halls within the Palace. The colour scheme was the same; black with gold trimming and the Vyterran crest placed over the heart, but instead of a fine suit-like material, this was made of thick woven cotton. Easy to move in and lots of pockets. I found a set that looked like it would fit, and due to its general shape it would hang over my body in a way that had me looking slightly bigger. Another gift, because if anyone caught sight of me without it they’d definitely question how exactly I was even accepted into the armed forces – I could scarcely walk at this point. In the time I remained a captive, I had not lost much weight, how that was possible considering the meals…meal, I barely ate daily was a question in and of itself. Perhaps when I was healed, maybe somehow then they did something that allowed me to maintain my strength. I wasn’t skin and bones as far as I could tell, but I had lost my muscle. The flesh left on my body was soft.

  The uniform was stiff, as it slid over my body my skin erupted into fire. More tears fell down my face as I bit the inside of my cheek to stop myself from yelling out. These, I couldn’t control. These were a result of the damage to my body and every nerve that was ignited no matter how small my movements were.

  I wanted to be quick, but my fingers felt like they had been covered in ice and only just begun to thaw out. They moved sti
ffly and painfully, fumbling with the buckles, straps and buttons. Keeping the inside of my check between my teeth to help keep myself silent I moved methodically, trying to find a rhythm in what I was doing without the added pressure that my ability to move quickly held weight on my survival. I managed to secure most of everything on the outside, leaving any of the inside buttons and ties. I grabbed the undignified scraps of clothing that had covered my body – barely – and wrapped them in Ainsley’s robe. I took a breath to keep the frantic unease that began to manifest in my stomach at bay. I would just need to hide them, just until I could get far away. I stood up on one of the benches in the middle of the room. Just behind the stacks of uniforms were a pile of crates from what looked like food deliveries, or perhaps even weapons. They were stacked high enough that maybe no one would look up. I threw the bundle gently. A gasp escapes me as the bundle went too far. I moved to cover my ears as it fell back to the other side of the crates sliding down the wall. Shit.

  They had not been empty. The clothes had knocked glass on the way down and the clinking of bottles hitting one another split through my mind like an axe. My heart picked up pace as my hands began to sweat. Someone would have had to have heard that, they were going to find me.

  I tried to move faster, my hair falling in front of my eyes I hurriedly went to tuck it behind my ears.

  My hair.

  The only part it seemed that hadn’t been tampered with, hung long and knotted around my face and down my back. I hadn’t yet glimpsed my reflection, perhaps a mercy, but I could feel how it was matted. I combed my shaking, swollen fingers through the parts not so damaged, trying to bring back some of the dignity the soft brown waves used to hold, but resolved to securing it in a low bun that hid most of its imperfections. I didn’t have the time, or the stomach to sit and try and fix my hair. It would be mere moments now until someone discovered me. Who I was.

  To walk without caving in on myself or limping slightly was not easy. Something I didn’t think I would ever take for granted was my ability to skip or walk lazily and do so with a thought. The only way to do it now was to lock my muscles into place and, again, find a rhythm in the things that needed to be done for my own survival. Keeping my head down, I moved to the end of the servants’ hall. The candles that ordained the walls brought everything into shadow and caused a haze to settle, not that I minded.

  “Oi, soldier, what are you doing here?” The sound was gruff and came from behind me. I stopped in my tracks but didn’t dare to turn, speak or raise my head. I was going to be sick.

  I knew I didn’t look like myself, so I did my best to pretend – keeping the mentality that this was not me. Grateful for the uniform that hid most of everything about my body, I stayed perfectly still while the sound of his boots echoing through the corridor moved towards me. I could hear nothing else now other than the sound of his boots and my heart beating in my ears. So loud, in fact I thought I would lose consciousness and throw up all at once. Gods, I was a stupid fool. Stupid.

  My stomach was beginning to tighten as the man came closer, sweat collected on my brow and began to trickle down my temple. I was found, if not for the dirt and grime on my face and hands, then the smell…

  I kept my eyes to the floor but forced them open, to lock on the boots of whoever had caught me here. The shoes were clean, like they were new and had never seen a training field. If I had lifted my chin, I would be mere inches from the face that belonged to the new boots in front of me.

  “What legion are you from?” Gods, even if I had the answers I think if I tried to speak I would find my voice completely lost. “Are you stupid solider?” I shook my head at that, thinking if I gave this man nothing, then I’d never get out. The small movement shooting pain down my spine. I bit the inside of my cheek hard enough to draw blood.

  He was silent for a while, the urge to see his face was almost as strong as the one to flee, to run and never look back. Both were not options for me at this moment, so I held my ground. Bones and muscles locked into place, I didn’t know how they hadn’t snapped yet. I didn’t know how I was still standing.

  “Well, seeing as you refuse to speak, I will tell you where you’re going whether it was your original destination or not, I don’t care. The repercussions of that will fall on your own head. We are short on soldiers to send to Move. We can’t afford to send anyone else and seeing as you are neither here nor there, that is where you’ll go.

  Your commanding officer is General Simeera. You will find her at the stables and if you do not make it, and I find you here again, I will put you in the dungeons myself.”

  I couldn’t think on his words, I wouldn’t be able to function if I did. So, I waited for him to move first. He side-stepped me only slightly, to where my right shoulder ran along his chest when I moved forward. I didn’t breathe until I had left the servants’ area, feeling his eyes burn into the back of my head with every step I took. I could not relax my broken body until I was sitting within the cart that held the five other Vyterran Soldiers who were stationed at Move, even then the thought of closing my eyes brought fear to my heart that threatened to burn it to ash. So, I didn’t sleep, I didn’t move. I didn’t even call to the Earth, I didn’t dare do anything other than sit. Pulling the collar of my uniform up closer to my ears I tried my best to shrink further into myself.

  I didn’t want to try. Even as we rode, I didn’t feel the spark of its recognition of me, I didn’t hear its silent call home. Maybe it was there, and I refused it. Or, maybe it wasn’t there at all. I found the rhythm in the cart as it rolled over the uneven roads, feeling the pangs of pain that rolled in a never-ending supply through my broken body. Be it from bones still mending or a soul blackened, nevertheless I found the rhythm and held it close to my chest in hopes it would see me through the night.

  Five

  The only kindness of the journey was that we were taking it at a time when the air didn’t bite at us. My grasp on the days was non-existent. I knew my time at Altrey couldn’t have been too long. I hoped it had not been too long. Little points of reference like my hair, how Ainsley looked, the season we were in. It felt like we were surrounded by an unseasonal warmth. Like it wasn’t meant to be so, like there was a chill being held at bay and it wasn’t pleased to be kept there.

  The days since my eighteenth birthday seemed to have dragged, like time had slowed. A minute ran at the time of two, and an hour seemingly took a whole day. Like there were weeks kept in the memories of only a few days. My mind thought as much, I think, because the memories were too big to be kept in such a small timeframe.

  Thinking about the time helped me move from the present in a funny, backwards sort of way. Winter was around the corner and the signs of the seasons changing had begun to show. The grace of a warmer evening in the middle of Autumn; it was probably my second favourite time of year.

  We had left when it was still dark out from the stables at Altrey Palace, but instead of moving through the night, the sun rose and kept us company on the way. It was bitter sweet, to first see the Kingdom of my birth under such circumstance, but in no way did it make it less beautiful. Perhaps it made it more so.

  The transitional season suited the Kingdom well. Travelling out of the city and into the countryside, we made our way along the base of the eastern side of the ranges. The path was deserted except for us and looked as though it had not been used in weeks. Nothing in, nothing out.

  The ranges kept us company, their towering forms felt like a presence of protection. Their tops were sharp and rigid, though the hills that rolled between the peaks were soft. Dotted with a mix of fields of wildflowers and thinning forests. They went forever, as far as I could see north. They were nothing like the mysterious Alps of Lygot. Those mountains were rich with forests and wildlife. They were busy and required you to have your bearings should you want to make it through the night. Not this land, it was not harsh, but rather gentle. It felt like coming home. The flowers that were in the last of their bloom for the y
ear followed us on both sides of our path. Their colours of whites, blues, purples, oranges and reds and every shade in between had me swallowing the emotion that was stuck in my throat.

  The dusty brown of the road we travelled. The green of the trees, every shade of green. The sharpness of the mountain cutting through the clear sky above us. The sun.

  I held my hand out before me and saw the light move across my skin. Having lost most of my colour, it reflected off me differently but still the warmth was close to what I had pictured, what I remembered. What I had held onto. It had all been close, every memory I had – most of them. I had not deigned to acknowledge my own strength in the moments leading up to this. Everything I did, I did alone. I did not break, I did not falter. Hesitated? Of course. I second guessed everything, but I knew now that I never would again. As the carriage bumped across the path before us making our way to the woods that loomed ahead, I did not shy away. I lifted my chin a little higher and soaked in the sun on my face a little longer. I appreciated the pain that shot through me with every jar and dip because it meant we were moving farther away from where we had started. It meant I was alive.