by Wendy Wang
Sorrel sighed and reluctantly pushed to her feet. “I’ll keep you company but I probably won’t eat.”
“That sounds good.” Neala grinned and looped her arm into Sorrel’s.
They left her office, heading down the hall towards the breakfast room.
“So why are you mad at Gordon?” Sorrel asked.
“Um—I’m not mad. Who says I’m mad?”
Sorrel chuckled. “You’re a really bad liar.”
“That is absolutely not true. I am a fabulous liar.”
“Mmmm hmm.” Sorrel pressed her arm against Neala’s.
“What? I am!”
“You didn’t say two words to him when you came home yesterday.”
“So? That doesn’t mean anything.”
“If you say so.”
“Well, I do say so.”
Sorrel rolled her eyes as the two of them entered the dining room.
A bright hot fire burned in the large fireplace and Neala took her regular seat at the end of the table. Sorrel took the seat next to her, and leaned forward, sitting on her hands. They both watched the door expectantly, waiting on Cai and Raemah to join them.
“How is Raemah’s schooling going?”
“I think she’s enjoying it. She says she wants to be a warden so what happened to Jorgen will never happen to anyone else.”
Neala nodded and sat up straight, putting on her queen face when the first of the footmen appeared with trays of covered dishes. The smell of warm pink fish wafted throughout the room and Neala's stomach turned. She clapped her hand over her mouth.
Sorrel was around the table and at her side within a moment. The girl placed her hand on the Neala's back, rubbing it in a circle.
“You're not all right are you?” Sorrel whispered.
Neala squeezed her eyes shut and tightened her jaw trying to keep her stomach in check. Sorrel’s hand balled into a fist against her back, taking some of her blouse with it and the girl stiffened. Neala glanced up and found Sorrel, staring into space, her eyes unseeing this world, focusing on another — the world of the future.
Neala waited for the vision the pass. She breathed through her mouth to avoid the smell of the fish and waited. After several moments Sorrel slumped forward, her chest heaving. The girl carried a small pad of paper with her everywhere she went now and quickly she pulled it from her pocket and began to scribble down her vision.
Another wave of nausea hit her and she covered her mouth and nose with the crook of her arm.
“Take those away,” she said to the footman. He was just a boy, no more than 19 or 20. He stopped at the sound of her voice and stared at her. His eyes wide with fear.
“I'm sorry, Your Majesty?” He managed to squeak.
“Take that food away. Take it back to cook and tell her she is not to serve fish again. Not until I say. Do you understand?”
He bowed his head quickly and covered the tray. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
Cai entered the room, confusion marring his handsome face. His eyes trailed after the last of the footman caring the tray of food from the room.
“Is that pink fish?” He asked sounding a little crushed. “Are we not having lunch?”
“Of course were having lunch,” she snapped, wincing at the sharpness of her voice. What was wrong with this her? Hurt and confusion clouded his eyes.
“Is everything all right my love? Have I done something to displease you?” He used a soothing voice which just irritated her further.
“Everything is just fine.” She still sounded too snappish but he would just have to deal with it. She swallowed hard, trying to gain control of her stomach again. “I'm sorry. I'm not feeling well and the smell of fish just made it worse. I'll go down and talk to cook and make sure you’re fed.”
“If you’re not feeling well, I should send for a healer.” His hurt shifted to concern and his eyes grazed over her body, as if he might see her ailment. Her hands instinctively went to her belly. She was still getting used to the idea of the little life growing inside her, she wasn’t ready to share it just yet.
“No.” She shook her head and stretched her mouth into a weak smile. “I'll be fine. I promise.”
“Well, all right. If you’re sure,” he said, wariness edged into his voice. “Why don’t you stay here and I'll go down and talk to cook. Maybe she can whip up something to settle your stomach.”
“Yes. That sounds good.” She did love this man. So, so much. She really didn’t deserve him. He always took such good care of her. “Maybe some eggs on toast might be nice.”
“Eggs on toast it is. Sorrel would you like a sandwich?” Cai asked. Sorrel looked up from her feverish scribbling and nodded, giving him a small smile.
“Yes please,” she whispered. “Lots of mustard please.”
“Yes ma'am.” He said. Raemah appeared in the doorway.
“Are we not having lunch?” The girl asked.
“Absolutely we are. Why don't you accompany me down to the kitchen? We’re going to have a chat with cook. About sandwiches and some eggs on toast for the queen.”
“All right,” the girl said, following him out the door.
Neala turned her attention back to Sorrel. “What do you see?”
Sorrel stared down at the paper. Her thumb fidgeting with the edge.
“Sorrel?” Neala asked.
“I see a child,” Sorrel began her raspy explanation. Her face wrenched with pain and she squeezed her eyes shut. “She's young now — six or seven maybe — but she will grow up and if given the chance she will rain darkness on all of us for a thousand years.”
“Who is the child?” Neala pressed her hand against her belly.
“I've seen her before in other visions.” Her voice dropped so low Neala strained to hear her. “She’s the Emperor’s daughter.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. I’m certain of it. When I was — held by the Emperor I had several visions of this child. He was searching for her.”
“Yes I know he is. We don't know where she is now but I know she left Ethavia with one of our spies.”
Sorrel nodded.
“You said ‘if she was given the opportunity.’ What does that mean?”
“What it always means. Any vision of the future can be changed through action.”
“What sort of action?”
Sorrel shrugged. “That I can't say. I do know this child’s mother was abusive. Perhaps the only action needed is love.”
A pang of fear and sadness squeezed Neala’s heart. “Let's hope you're right.”
Five
Cilla laid a clean square of oil-soaked gauze over Trygg’s injury. The sky was lightening and outside the window birds sung to the morning.
Her mother, Tahlulah Beckett, swept into the room a little breathless, raking her fingers through her silver windblown hair.
“I got here is quick as I could,” her mother said. She peeled off her brown felted wool coat and draped it over the back of the chair. All the lines of her mother's round face deepened with concentration. “How is our patient?”
“His fever is down.” Cilla pulled back the gauze, revealing his wound.
“The color’s not too bad.” Her mother grimaced and made a face as she bent close to examine the ragged gash.
“I drew some of the infection out last night. His fever was too high.”
Tahlulah nodded. “I smell lavender and frankincense.”
“Yes,” Cilla said. “It was all Aunt Merin had. I hope you brought your kit.”
“Of course I did,” Tahlulah said reaching into the bag slung across her body. She pulled out a small leather case and unzipped it, revealing varying sizes of brown bottles and a clean dropper. “We'll let these do some work for us. You look exhausted. I think you should get some rest and then we'll get to healing him in earnest.”
“He's very weak. I’m not sure we should start right away. It won't be easy.”
“Well, let’s do what we can. Get him to a poi
nt where he can at least eat. Then I'm sure my sister will work hard to get his strength back. Do we know what happened to him? Where he's been all this time?”
“No,” Cilla said. “He's been unconscious since I debrided the wound. Birgit made sure of that.”
“Merin said there was a child. Who she is?”
“I don’t know.” Cilla rubbed the back of her neck. “She hasn't spoken since she arrived. Not one word.”
“Where’s she now?”
“Upstairs playing with the boys. Tom's been taking care of her.”
“Well of course he has.” A smile played on her mother’s lips, and her hazel eyes glittered as she shook her head. Her mother placed her hand on her shoulder and patted it gently. “He's just like his mama that way.”
“He is a sweet boy.” Cilla’s heart swelled with pride. No matter how rough and tumble her son may be, his spirit was the gentlest she’d ever known. She just hoped he would stay that way.
“Why don't you go get some sleep.” Her mother said. “I'll take care of him.”
Cilla allowed herself to take a deep breath and blow it out. “That sounds wonderful. I am so glad you came, Mama. I don't think I could handle this one by myself.”
“You underestimate yourself Cilla Jayne. You always have.”
Cilla kissed her mother’s cheek, breathing in her comforting scent of lavender and eucalyptus. “Thank you, Mama.”
Cilla left Trygg in her mother’s hands and headed upstairs to her bedroom. She heard the boys’ voices drifting up from the kitchen laughing and joking. It warmed her heart as she crawled into bed and fell fast asleep.
******
Cilla opened the window and the crisp winter air swirled into the room, chasing away the stagnant smell of sickness. Her mother had prepared fresh gauze and she unfolded several layers, and dipped them in a mixture of oils. The sweet scent of lavender and the piny scent of frankincense tickled her nose, making her wrinkle it and sniff. She pressed her hand against Trygg’s cheek to check his temperature. He still felt a little warm but not nearly as feverish as he had. The infection had been stubborn and even with her mother's help they had not been able to rid him of it completely.
The Bohrs were known for their ruthlessness and their ability to easily kill a Kael. What sort of weapon had they used against her cousin? In some ways he seemed almost as if he'd been poisoned. That he made it as far as he did without collapsing still amazed her. She pulled back the quilt exposing his torso and the square of linen gauze covering his wound. It had turned a deep yellow blending at the edges into reddish pink. She peeled it away and dropped it into a bowl on the nightstand, full of a vinegar solution. The ragged edges of the 4-inch gash looked better today. If his fever would break completely, she and her mother could close the wound and his real convalescence could start.
Trygg had always been a tall, sinewy boy but she could see his ribs. He would heal faster with a little weight on him. She took a fresh cotton rag soaked it in witch Hazel and cleaned around the outer edges of the wound. Then she placed a fresh square of linen gauze over it.
“I hope it looks better than it feels,” he said, his voice raspy. Cilla's heart skipped a beat and she looked into her cousin’s icy blue eyes.
A smile cracked her lips and her cheeks ached a little. It seemed like years since she'd smiled so big.
“Well hello stranger,” she said softly. “It's good to see you.”
“It's good to see you too.” He glanced around the room. “Where is Y'Ana?”
Cilla bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. Did he think she’d be tucked away on a shelf?
“She's outside playing with Tom and Danny.”
He blew out a breath and relaxed against the pillow. “Good.”
“She doesn’t talk much does she?”
“She will once she gets to— to know you.”
“Well, she still hasn't spoken a word but I think she's become quite attached to Tom. She never lets him out of her site for long.”
“Really? That’s wonderful. Thank you for taking care of her.” He tried to push himself up onto his elbows. His forehead broke into a sweat and his face reddened.
“I'm not sure exactly where you think you're going,” she chuckled and shook her head, pressing lightly against his chest. He fell back against the pillows with a grunt, panting from exertion.
“I've got to get up. I've got to get back to Ethavia.” He stared at the ceiling.
Cilla shook her head and crossed her arms. “I'm afraid you're not going anywhere soon. I think your mother might tie you to this bed if you tried.”
“You don't understand.” He leveled his gaze on hers.
“No cousin it's you who doesn’t understand.” She slipped into a firm but gentle tone she often used with her boys. “Your body has been through a traumatic event. From the looks of it, two of them. You’re not going anywhere soon.”
“Come on Cilla, I am sure it wouldn’t take much for you to heal me.”
“Well there you’d be wrong.” She waggled her finger at him. “You need to rest Trygg. After all you’ve been through—” She stopped unsure how to ask him.
“I’m fine.”
“I don’t think you are. I saw something. When I first tried to draw out the infection.” She fidgeted with a square of linen.
He narrowed his eyes. “What did you see?”
Cilla bit her lip and sat on the edge of the bed. She folded the linen square and picked up his hand, holding it between hers. Taking a deep breath, she met his eyes with a steady gaze.
“I think I saw you die,” she said the words plainly, almost daring him to contradict her. Maybe what she’d seen was somehow a distortion of the facts.
“You did? How did you see that?”
“I accidentally got some of your blood on my hands when I was trying to bring your fever down.”
His fingers wrapped around one of her hands and squeezed gently. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”
“Trygg, I saw a tree go through your abdomen and lift you off the ground. How are you not dead from that?”
“Y'Ana. Somehow she healed me.”
“Y'Ana? That silent little girl healed you?” Cilla said. “How was that even possible? Most Earth Kael's didn't show signs of healing abilities until their late teens. Y'Ana couldn't be more than—”
“Seven.”
“What you’re saying is impossible.”
“I don't understand either. All I know is she’s special.”
“Special doesn’t quite cover it. I thought maybe she was delayed,” Cilla said. “She’s so quiet. Pensive even. I've never met such a child.”
“She has good reason to be quiet. She's suffered —” he stopped as if he didn't know how to finish. His mouth twisted into a frown. “She's suffered.”
“How?”
“It's a long story cousin. One I'll be happy to share with you. But I need you to help me at least sit up before I can.”
“Well that’s a positive sign.”
“What?”
“You resorting to your childhood tricks.” She laughed. “Have you forgotten I'm a mother of two boys now? I hear all sorts of bargaining all day long.” She patted his hand. “You need to rest. Once you've done that I'll be happy to help you sit up, and happier still to listen to Y'Ana’s story and yours.”
A hint of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, and she was glad to see he still had his humor despite the pain he was in.
“All right,” he said sounding defeated. “I'll try to rest. “
“Good,” she said. “I think Y'Ana will be happy to hear that you're awake. Would you like to see her?”
“I would, if it's not too much trouble.” He said.
“No trouble at all,” she said. “I’ve let her come in every night since you've been here. Do you know what she does?”
“No,” he said shaking his head.
“She kisses you on the cheek and whispers something into your ear. S
he hasn’t said a word to any of us. Not even Tom. She seems to be saving them for you.”
His cheeks turned pink and a smile stretched his lips.
“Do you have any idea what she said to you?”
He shook his head. “I have no idea.”
“I didn't think you'd remember,” Cilla said squeezing his hand. “But I thought I would ask anyway. I've had people tell me of things they’ve seen or heard in a sick room, even though they were unconscious. Which some consider miraculous.”
“If anything miraculous happened to me, it would have to be that little girl.”
“Well I can't wait to hear more about it,” she said. “After you get some rest.
“Yes ma'am,” he said.
******
Egan took a dented bowl from the stack and a spoon from the container next to it and got into the grub line. Mealtime was the only time all prisoners mixed. Lifers with long-timers and short-timers and those like him waiting for death.
He held out his bowl and the server scooped up some potatoes and carrots from one pot and covered them in a brown gravy. A small chunk of meat surfaced in the gravy and he made a face. Hargett came up behind him, with his bowl in hand.
“There's a spot over close to the door, Sir,” Hargett said.
Egan nodded but he scanned the hall, looking for familiar faces. Pohlse and Gaffrey were making nice with a small group of lifers. They both made him sick, and when the uprising came, he would make sure they knew his feelings.
“Sir, don’t look, but I think Sinjon D'Raq is giving you the look over,” Hargett whispered. Egan’s gaze slid sideways towards the line. The lifer that had glared at him earlier today was staring at him. So that was Sinjon D'Raq. He was notorious for his involvement in the death of the queen’s father, but was just slippery enough not to be charged. He was found guilty for murder of a guard and for conspiracy, but his silence when he was sentenced meant the judges dispensed mercy. As far as Egan knew he held no love for the queen, but claimed no loyalty to the emperor either. He was however one of a handful of men who controlled large groups of inmates.