by Wendy Wang
Neala laughed, holding out her arms and Sorrel launched herself into them hugging her tight.
“All right I’m glad we have that settled.” She ran her hand down one of Sorrel’s braids. “We should get going.”
Sorrel sniffed and nodded against her shoulder before pulling out of her arms and gathering her things.
Neala grabbed her heavy green coat from the bed and buttoned it up before swinging the messenger bag across her body. Sorrel did the same with her bag and the two women headed out into the garden towards the fishpond. It was the closest source of water short of the drinking well. A thin coat of ice floated above the indolent orange and white fish swimming in the dark gray water. Neala stepped up on the ledge and held out her hand.
Sorrel blew out a cloudy breath and stepped up next to Neala, taking her hand.
“You ready?” Neala asked. Sorrel nodded and their fingers intertwined. Neala tightened her grip. The last thing she wanted was to let go. She squatted, striking the ice with the heel of her boot until it cracked. “It’s going to be cold, nothing I can really do about that. When I say — you take a deep breath and hold it, all right?”
Sorrel nodded, and bit her bottom lip, her gaze steady on the water below them. “You’ve done this before, right?”
Neala pulled her timepiece from her pocket. 8:45 a.m. It was time.
“No,” Neala said softly. “But there’s a first time for everything.” She ignored Sorrel’s gaping mouth and sucked in a deep breath. She closed her eyes, focusing all her energy on the coordinates Trygg had given her. Warmth spread through her body and she stepped off the ledge, falling forward into the pond.
All the heat she’d just felt, evaporated and needles of cold pricked her skin. They sank deeper than she ever imagined possible. The water pressed in on her, suffocating her. Her eyes flew open, assaulted by salty darkness. Her body ached from the cold and she tried to lift her arms but they wouldn’t go above her waist. It was as if weights had suddenly been wrapped around her wrists. Her skin twitched with the energy of the sea. It flowed in and out of every pore. Light flickered somewhere above and her heart soared. She’d done it. Kicking her legs, she raised her face, following the light, pulling Sorrel with her. Since she had a strong affinity for water, she didn’t really need to breathe, but her body longed for the sensation and Sorrel needed air. She kicked faster and harder until finally they broke the surface. Sorrel coughed and let go of her hand, flailing her arms, her skin and lips blue from cold.
“Hold on.” Neala reached for Sorrel, trying to scan their position at the same time. “Just hold on.”
Golden sand beneath a bright cloudless sky lay ahead of them. Four people stood at the water’s edge scanning the sea for them. A young man, she recognized as Trygg, and three women. Neala shot one arm into the air, waving it madly.
“We’re here! We’re here!”
“Neala,” Sorrel said, gulping in water and air, gasping and coughing. Her head sunk beneath the water so quietly Neala almost missed it.
Panic gripped Neala’s heart and she grabbed at the girl, pulling her above the surface again, wrapping her arm around Sorrel’s waist. “I’ve got you. Just hold on.”
Sorrel coughed and nodded and Neala guided them towards the shore, where they could get warm and dry.
Trygg waved his arms. He’d seen them. Her heart lightened a little and she kicked her legs harder. All of them waved at her, yelling but their words were lost in the wind. A tall young woman with long straw colored hair pointed behind them and Neala glanced over her shoulder just in time to see the large wave breaking over their heads. It crashed down on her pushing her down, down, down. She lost her grip on Sorrel and spun in a circle, terror clogging her throat. Darkness disoriented her and she stretched out her fingers, searching for light and Sorrel at the same time. The rough texture of Sorrel’s wool coat brushing against her palm and she instinctively grabbed for it. Her fingernails scraped against it and she had hold of it, but the current yanked them both downward again, pulling them deeper, tearing the fistful of coat from her hand. Sorrel sank into the blackness.
Eleven
Neala dove deep but kept coming up empty. She surfaced for the third time, screaming over the top of the water.
“Sorrel!”
She got no answer beyond the crashing of waves and the screech of a gull overhead. This couldn’t be happening. She had promised and once again she failed. How was she ever going to be a guardian to a child? A mother?
“Sorrel!”
The sound of splashing behind her made her turn, and she saw him — his hair was dark and slick with wetness and he had something in his arms — Sorrel. Her heart hammered its way up her throat and she swam towards him. Her clothes were dry but her face and hair and hands weren’t and while she was fine in the water. The steady breeze made the cold rip through her tired body once she reached the shore. She crawled up on the sand and rolled onto her back, almost blinded by the sheer blueness of the sky. Two young women approached her, kneeling down next to her.
“Are you hurt, Your Majesty?” the young woman asked. She had curly light brown hair that reached her shoulders and whipped around in the wind.
“I’m fine,” Neala said between heavy breaths. “Sorrel? How is Sorrel?”
“She’ll be fine. My mother’s working on her,” she said but a shadow crossed the round moon face of the woman and she and her friend exchanged glances. “Birgit, help me get her up.”
Birgit, a tall sturdy young woman, grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet. She held Neala’s hands, steadying her. “If I let you go, are you going to fall over?”
“No, I’m fine.” Neala shook her head, trying to ward off the sensation of floating. She pulled her hands out of Birgit’s and swayed. Birgit grabbed hold of her before she could topple onto the sand.
“Not just yet, Your Majesty. But you will be,” the brown-haired woman said. “I need to put my hands on your head, just beneath your ears. Is that all right?”
Neala nodded.
“My name is Cilla Beckett,” she said, giving Neala a reassuring smile. “Birgit, don’t let her fall.”
The towering young woman moved behind her and put steady hands on her hips. “Ready.”
Cilla stepped in front of her and craned her neck, focusing her intense unblinking green eyes on Neala’s face. Cilla placed her hands on either side of her head and fixed her gaze on her. A blast of cold air sliced through her and Neala’s teeth began to chatter.
“Birgit, will you please warm her,” Cilla said softly. Birgit quickly ran her hands over Neala’s arms and legs leaving her exposed hands and head for last. The chill of wetness dissipated, her hair drying almost instantly.
“Better?” Birgit asked, training her icy blue eyes on her. She smiled and it softened the sharp angles of her face.
“Better. Thank you,” Neala said. Birgit gave her a quick bow of the head and stepped behind her again. Her strong hands grasped Neala’s waist.
“All right, Your Majesty, I just need you to breath normally. You may feel a little dizzy at first but it will go away quickly.”
“All right,” Neala said, her eyes cutting to Sorrel’s lifeless body on the sand nearby. Trygg had laid her on her side and an older woman knelt beside the girl, leaning over her, her hands on the front and back of Sorrel’s chest. Trygg stayed nearby taking cues from the woman.
“She’ll be fine,” Cilla said. “Let’s work on you first, all right?”
Neala nodded. Trying to ignore the older woman’s words as she ordered Trygg to warm Sorrel’s body while she worked on getting her breathing again.
“Your Majesty, close your eyes please,” Cilla asked.
Neala did as she was asked and the sand felt as if it shifted beneath her feet. She wobbled but Birgit’s able hands held fast to her waist, forcing her to stay straight.
Cilla’s palms pressed lightly against her skull just beneath her ears. Heat radiated from the young woman’s fingers
and she chanted words Neala did not understand into the wind. Neala breathed in deeper and the feeling of no balance blew out of her body with each exhale.
“You can open your eyes, Your Majesty,” Cilla said gently. She lifted her hands away and took a step back. Birgit moved too and Neala’s arms flew out to steady herself, but there was no need. She glanced around the beach able to stand on her own, the dizziness gone.
Her eyes locked onto Sorrel’s still body. She knelt down next to her, wanting to reach for her to let Sorrel know she was not alone. The older woman chanted softly, the air around her crackling with energy. Sorrel coughed, spitting out water, and gasping for air. The older woman and Trygg helped Sorrel sit up and Neala threw her arms around her neck.
“I am so sorry,” she blubbered. Sorrel’s arms patted against Neala’s back lightly.
“It’s all right. I’m all right,” Sorrel whispered but the girl slumped against her shoulder.
“Your Majesty we should get you both inside into some warm clothes. My sister has some hot soup waiting as well,” the older woman said.
Neala wiped the tears from her face and called up a smile. “Soup sounds wonderful. Thank you.”
******
Cilla poured another cup of hot tea and handed it to the queen.
“I didn’t realize you would be coming personally,” Cilla said taking a seat at the long pine table in the center of her aunt’s kitchen. The walls of the room were a cheerful yellow and the copper pots hanging from the ceiling burnished in the light seeping in through the white eyelet curtains. The warm scent of cinnamon permeated the air and she caught the queen breathing it in. “I assumed when you wrote that you’d be sending someone in your place, since you are, after all, queen. I didn’t realize—”
“I hope it’s not an inconvenience,” the queen said. She took a sip of the ginger tea pausing a moment to let the steam warm her face.
“No of course not,” Cilla said. “It’s actually a very nice surprise I never thought I would actually meet you in person.”
The queen chuckled, her blue eyes glittering with amusement. “Did you think I would not want to thank you in person for taking care of my niece?”
“No of course not,” Cilla said feeling her cheeks heat with embarrassment. “I’m saying this all wrong. It is a pleasure and an honor to have you here. That is what I should have said.”
“It’s all right,” the queen chuckled. “The honor is mine. I am interested in hearing about how you healed Sorrel’s stutter. My hope is you’ll be able to help her again.”
“Of course. We will do whatever we can. Sorrel is quite dear to us,” Cilla said. It had been Sorrel that stopped Egan from choking the life out of her in her mother’s parlor. She owed the girl. “Can you tell me what happened to her? When she left us she was happier than she’d ever been, despite the fact she was being held prisoner.”
“I can imagine,” the queen said. “Her stutter crippled her in so many ways. Being able to speak freely must have been incredible for her.” She ran her finger around the edge of her cup.
“Yes,” Cilla said. “I believe it was.”
The queen’s brows furrowed and a shadow darkened her face. “What happened to her, is not really my story to tell.”
Cilla called up a smile and nodded. “Of course.”
“I can tell you my story though and what I witnessed,” the queen said softly. Her blue eyes became distant as if the memories were already stealing her away. “Will it help you heal her?”
“Yes. Understanding the nature of the trauma helps.”
The queen nodded and leveled her gaze on Cilla— her eyes clear and focused now.
“Tell me what happened to you, Your Majesty.”
The queen pressed her hands around her cup and she let out a heavy breath, her shoulders slumping a little. “I was only there to coordinate the freeing of the Kaels being held captive. The wardens were doing the real work.”
“Do you mind if I join you?” A voice said from the doorway. Cilla glanced up and gave her mother a smile.
The queen cast a glance towards Tahlulah and nodded. “I think that would be wonderful. You should hear this too since I understand you work as a team.”
Tahlulah took a seat at the end of the long kitchen table. “I gave Sorrel some sleeping tea. She’ll be out for quite a while.” Her fingers reached for one of the molasses cookies on a fine porcelain plate. “You were saying Your Majesty?”
The queen smiled and continued. “The battle was won. Most of Peter’s men were either dead or had surrendered. Only a few were still fighting but my men had it under control and we’d set up a small perimeter around the passageways we were using to get the prisoners out. I kept scanning every face — looking for Sorrel or her friends Raemah and Jorgen. I had intelligence that she was in the camp, but I hadn’t seen her yet. So it took me by surprise when I looked up and saw her running from the burning fields. I couldn’t figure out why she was coming from there and not from the buildings like all the other prisoners. It was then I realized, she was being chased by someone. A soldier I recognized. A traitor to the crown actually. A deserter.”
“A deserter?” Cilla gripped her cup tighter.
“Yes. He caught hold of her and put a knife to her neck. It turned out he blamed Sorrel for all his problems. His failings. Then he tried to bargain with me and when I wouldn’t he cut her throat.”
“Who was he?” Her mother asked.
The queen leveled her gaze on Cilla. “A man named Egan Crane.”
Cilla’s breath caught in her throat and her hand floated up to her neck. How many times had Egan pinned her against a wall his hand around her neck? How many times and she just accepted it, thinking it was somehow all right, that if she would just be a better wife, do what he wanted, he would behave differently, somehow love her more. Tears prickled at the back of her throat and she swallowed them back.
“How is she alive then?” Tahlulah said.
“Two reasons I think. One she’s strong even though she doesn’t think she is. And two, I don’t think he meant to kill her. I think he meant to use her as a diversion so he could escape.” The queen put her head in her hand and scrubbed her forehead as if she were trying to wipe those memories out of her mind. “Luckily my captain and I were able to stop the bleeding but I didn’t realize the extent of the damage. I failed to think about her voice. Honestly all I was trying to do was stop the bleeding.”
“Regardless of Egan’s actions, you saved her life,” Tahlulah said, her firm tone making the queen look up. “If you hadn’t stopped the bleeding she would have died. Painfully and slowly more than likely. You did not fail her.”
“My mother is right,” Cilla said. “There are many healers that would not have reacted fast enough to save her life. That is the first creed. Life above all else.”
“But her voice—” The queen’s blue eyes were clouded with uncertainty.
“No,” Tahlulah said firmly. “You did the right thing. It will be up to her now, how much healing actually occurs. Do you understand Your Majesty?”
The queen opened her mouth as if to protest but pressed her lips together and nodded. “I think I do.”
“There’s something I’d like to say,” Cilla said. She shifted in her chair, her gaze going from her mother to the queen. “Something I need you to know.”
“All right,” the queen said.
“We are loyal to you Your Majesty. My husband and I had already separated when he deserted the wardens. I had no knowledge of his intentions.”
The queen nodded. “Sorrel told me what he did to you. How she came to your aid.”
Cilla’s cheeks burned and she cast her gaze at a small water ring on the table. She traced the edge of it with her thumb and nodded.
“Sometimes it’s hard to see what a person is really like when you care about them — love them.” The queen reached across the table and tapped Cilla’s hand gently. “This is not your fault. And you’re right Tahlula
h it is not my fault either. The fault lies squarely on Egan Crane. I’m sorry to say that he’s been tried for treason and desertion and found guilty.”
Cilla let out a shaky breath. Guilty of treason. Somewhere deep inside her she still cared about Egan. He was the father of her children. She kept hoping, praying he would change.
“Will he be put to death?”
The queen’s gaze locked onto hers. “Yes. Sorrel may forgive him,” the queen said. “But I can’t be lenient. The sentence for treason is death.”
“Sorrel forgave him?” Cilla said.
“Yes she did. She met with him at the prison and forgave him even though he took everything from her.”
“What do you mean everything?” Tahlulah asked.
“He took the life of a boy named Jorgen. A boy Sorrel loved very much.”
“I did not realize,” Tahlulah said. She looked as stricken as Cilla felt.
“Sorrel is very special,” Cilla said softly.
“Yes she is,” the queen said. “She’s my family now. My sister.”
Tahlulah smiled her green eyes glistening. “I can never repay her for what she did for my daughter. Nor can I restore everything she’s lost. But I will do what I can to recover her voice. Cilla and I both will.”
Cilla looked to her mother and nodded. “Yes. We will.”
“That’s all I ask,” the queen said, giving them both a gracious smile.
Twelve
“Are you sure?” Neala asked.
Sorrel nodded her head and managed a weak smile.
“I’m fine,” she whispered.
“I’m in no hurry to get back. If you need a few more days —”
“No,” Sorrel said, her voice raspy and painful sounding. “I want to get this done.”
“I think we should see what Tahlulah has to say first. She may disagree.” Neala fiddled with the extra piece of charcoal laying on the table next to the bed.
Sorrel scowled and crossed her arms.