“Pretty good. Kind of dizzy. And hungry.” She smiled at Galia, feeling some fatigue setting in.
Galia laughed lightly. “I suppose that's to be expected. You've been out for, what is it, three weeks now?”
“Three weeks?” Integrity asked, baffled. It felt as though she'd slept a few hours, nothing more. “Are you sure?”
Integrity knew it was a stupid question, but Galia was far too kind to point that out. “Yes, I am sure,” she said. “You've given everyone quite a fright.” Galia straightened the blanket at the foot of the bed, adding, “I can think of one person in particular who will be very glad to know you have wakened.”
“Oh?” Integrity asked, puzzling who would really care that she was back in the land of the living. Well, my land of the living. I'm surrounded by the dead, so I guess I'm returning to the land of the dead. Confusing herself, she brushed the thought aside. “Who?”
Galia avoided the question, stating, “It is no wonder you are hungry. It is your feeding time.” She walked back over to the door, where a cart held supplies. She pulled out what looked like an enormous needle and began sucking up a thick, beige substance into it.
“You're not giving me a shot, are you?” Integrity asked. Needles didn't normally bother her much, but she could only imagine how big the hole would have to be to get all of that junk in her.
“No, no,” Galia reassured, finishing up and moving toward the bed. “This is for your feeding tube.”
Confused, Integrity touched her stomach, then flinched and jerked her hand away as she felt something other than skin and blankets. “Feeding tube?” she asked, stumbling over the words.
Galia drew nearer, holding the nightmare needle upright to keep any of the mixture from flowing out. Teasingly, she said, “You pesky mortals and your constant need to eat.” She shook her head in mock seriousness.
Integrity felt extremely nauseous and Galia seemed to be rising and falling before her eyes. “Uh, I think I'd rather eat my food myself.”
Galia lowered the syringe at once. “Oh, how thoughtless of me. I'm sure it would be much more comfortable for you to eat normally.” She walked back to the cart, and placed the syringe in a metal tub. “I will fetch the doctor immediately. He will want to know of your progress.” Galia flashed Integrity an apologetic smile, then slipped out of the door.
Integrity gingerly touched the conduit that led from her outsides to her insides. She shuddered, tasting bile in her throat. That has got to come out.
Є
She almost wished she hadn't awakened. Poking disconsolately at her plain applesauce, she frowned. A coma might be preferable to this. She had no desire to eat the slightly bitter mess, but she knew it would worry Galia if she didn't, so she raised a glob to her mouth.
She felt overwhelmed at the information that had been piled on her. Galia had told her that she'd been “injured” during the test the council had put before her (stinking council, anyway) and had been in a coma ever since, relying on life support until she had woken the first time. Memories of the breathing tube made her throat feel raw, stretched out. She tried not to think about it, or the fact that, until this morning, she'd had a feeding tube in place, as well.
When the doctor offered to place her under anesthesia to remove the feeding tube, Integrity had balked. An irrational fear that she wouldn't wake up again made her plead with him to use a local, allowing her to remain awake. He was surprised at her choice, but agreed.
The procedure had not been pleasant.
At least it's out, she told herself, trying not to think about a tube being pulled from her body. She looked at the applesauce with even more distaste.
The king and queen had been her first two visitors, appearing even as the doctor continued to check her reflexes. Rather than appearing apologetic for her situation, they seemed elated that she had “passed the test.” The fact that she was in bed, just revived from a three week coma, with a pounding headache, seeming of no consequence to them. It's probably not.
The king had started asking the doctor about timetables almost immediately, speaking of “plans” that he wanted to proceed with as soon as possible. Integrity's head ached too much for her to care what he was saying. She was glad when they left.
Galia was an absolute angel, doing everything she could to make Integrity comfortable. She floated in and out of view for several days before Integrity was strong enough to want answers to some of her questions.
Unfortunately, Galia was extremely good at skirting certain issues, such as what exactly had happened to Integrity to cause her to fall into a coma. She had no broken bones, no bruises, not even a scrape. The only part of her that showed any reminder of her ordeal was the yellowish bruise curving around her wrist where she had smacked it as she fell into the pit. Hardly cause for a coma.
Integrity had to wonder if Galia even knew what had happened, for sure. She hadn't been there. She was a slave. Who was to say that she was withholding information? She could be every bit as ignorant as I am. Yet, that was hard for Integrity to believe.
Integrity's questions fell by the wayside as the days passed. Integrity strength grew steadily each day until she was able to leave her bed. It felt glorious to be able to walk around again, though it was thoroughly exhausting. Her first soak in a tub felt glorious, though she had to let Galia brush her hair when she was done. The wires and tubes disappeared one by one. Life was improving.
She even had a visit from Paul, filled with laughter and quiet friendship that left her feeling quietly happy for days afterward. He had not changed at all in the time they had spent apart. Even more important, he didn't ask any awkward questions or press her for anything. Integrity was glad he had come, glad that she had pulled through her coma.
Then she found out what the king's “plans” were.
Є
When the women entered Integrity's room, she felt a moment of panic. She didn't recognize any of them, and she hadn't the faintest clue why they would be coming to see her.
She knew, from their drab dresses and short aprons, that they were slaves, like Galia. But she had never had any slaves come around her to do anything, other than get her ready for balls, and she certainly wasn't in any shape to dance for hours on end. What if I'm expected to?
They were so silent, Integrity thought they might be phantoms of some kind. If there are vampires, why not ghosts? They moved about the room, setting things down, moving furniture around. They know what they're doing, apparently. I wish I did.
One woman broke apart from the others and moved over to Integrity. “If you would join us,” she said, gesturing to a small platform that had been set in a free space.
Thoroughly confused, Integrity hesitated. “Uh, why?” she asked, careful to keep her tone friendly. In her current state, it wouldn't take much for the women to overpower her. Are they part of the rebellion? Are they here to kill me? She wished fervently for someone she knew she could trust.
“We must take your measurements, my lady.” The woman curtsied. Integrity pulled a face. No one's ever called me that, or bowed to me before. What the heck is going on?
“Why do you need my measurements?” Integrity asked. “They've always just altered the gown after trying it on.”
The woman curtsied again, and Integrity thought she might have been smiling a little. “It would never do, my lady, for your wedding gown to be--”
Integrity exploded from the chair she had been sitting in, almost knocking into the bowing servant. “Wedding gown?!?”
Just then, the door opened again. In her frenzy, Integrity half expected to see some creepy, dorky man lurking there, all dressed for their wedding. Instead, Galia entered the room. Integrity broke around the still bowing slave, and rushed to Galia. “Galia, they think they're here to make me a wedding dress!”
Galia frowned, raised a calming hand to Integrity, then turned to the newcomers. “You were instructed to wait until I had arrived. Wait in the corridor until you are called.” There wa
s a chill in Galia's voice that Integrity had never heard before, and she was not surprised when the women scurried to do as they were commanded. They closed the door silently behind them. Integrity was unhappy to see that they had left their instruments of torture behind.
Integrity waited until the door had closed, then set in on Galia. “Why the heck do they think I'm getting married? What is going on?” She could hear the panic in her voice, but she didn't care. “I'm only 18!” she protested.
“I apologize for their ability to be so uncouth,” Galia said, her voice soothing. “They were to wait until I had arrived to explain the situation to you.”
“Situation? What situation?” Integrity shrilled, no more calm than she had been at the first mention of a wedding.
Galia tried to guide Integrity back to her chair, but Integrity refused to sit. Galia sighed, so softly Integrity almost didn't hear it. “The king, now believing you to be the Destine, has decided to move forward with his plans.”
“What are his plans?” Integrity asked. Her mind racing, she blurted, “He's already married!”
“Yes, he is,” Galia said, in an effort to soothe the upset girl. “It is his son he would have you marry.”
Integrity wrinkled her nose. “I'm supposed to marry a prince? Let me guess: he's tall, dark, and handsome. Not to mention, perfect. Does he have a white horse we'll use to ride off into the sunset?”
Galia looked reproachful at Integrity's sarcastic tone. “This is not my decision, Integrity. I believe your people have a saying about not shooting the messenger?”
Integrity forced herself to take a deep breath. “I'm sorry,” she ground out. “I know it's not your fault. It's just such a shock.” Some of the fire leaving her, Integrity sank into the armchair that was stationed to the right of her hospital bed. She glanced at the metal railings, and felt a wave of exhaustion wash over her. I'm not in any shape to deal with this.
She rubbed at her face, then ran her fingers through her hair. “All right,” she said, trying to cope with the situation when all she wanted to do was go to sleep. “Why does he want me to marry the prince?”
Galia pursed her lips, looking uncomfortable.
“Oh, come on, Galia. Just tell me. I'm not going to get you in trouble.”
Frowning, Galia qualified, “I can only tell you my suspicions.” Integrity waved her on, wearily. “I believe this is an effort to keep you under his control. Once you are changed, you will have far more power than he can cope with.”
Integrity shook her head, held up a restraining hand. “Wait a minute, what do you mean 'changed'?”
Galia looked as though Integrity were not thinking clearly. “After you have become one of us.”
“One of you?” It took a moment for her brain to accept what Galia meant. “A vampire?” Her voice was so low, she didn't know if Galia had heard her.
“Oh, dear.” Galia leaned back on the hospital bed, half sitting, and rested her hands in her lap. “You are having quite the day, aren't you?”
Integrity laughed, a little hollowly. “You could say that.” When Galia didn't speak again, Integrity ventured, “When am I going to be changed?”
“I am not sure,” Galia said. “Within the next month, I would hazard.”
Integrity's head reeled. I'm barely alive, and now they're going to kill me? She struggled to clear her thoughts, then asked, “Am I at least going to meet my husband before that?”
Galia gave her a funny look. “Are you feeling well?”
Feeling increasingly confused, Integrity said, “Yes, I'm fine. What about my fiancé? Am I going to meet him at the altar?” She felt nausea begin to spread through her. She had only been joking, but Galia's expression made her fear she was closer to the mark than she had hoped.
“Integrity, Evan--”
Integrity cut her off. “I don't care about Evan. When am I going to meet the prince?”
An apologetic look covered Galia's delicate feature. “Integrity,” she said slowly, “Evan is the prince.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
“Very funny, Galia,” Integrity said, swiping at the maid in a friendly manner. “Ha, ha, ha,” she added sarcastically.
“I am not teasing you, Integrity,” Galia said, her countenance serious. “Evan is the heir to Westmarch.”
Integrity shook her head. “That's not possible. It doesn't make any sense.” But, in her heart, she knew it did. A montage flashed before her: all of the times people had obeyed what Evan said without question, his unexplained power within the hierarchy, the comments he'd made, even his ability to snub the king. To herself, Integrity muttered, “He made so many negative comments about the children of vampires. I thought he just didn't like them.” Looking to Galia once more, she added, “He is one.”
Galia nodded, regret on her face. “I am so sorry, Integrity. I thought you knew.”
Integrity waved off the apology. “It's not your fault.” She gave her a weak smile. “I probably should have picked up on it before now.”
Galia murmured something to the contrary, but Integrity wasn't really listening. So much about Evan's behavior was now making sense—pieces of him were clicking solidly into place. He never bowed to the king or queen. In fact, he showed them a distinct lack of respect. Yet they trusted him with her safety.
Unexpectedly, a look of horror crossed Integrity's face. “They expect me to marry Evan?” she exclaimed.
Galia rose as well, placing a restraining hand on Integrity's arm. “I know this must be a terrible shock--”
Integrity cut her off with a scoff. “Yeah, just a little.”
Galia looked toward the closed door, then back at Integrity. “Integrity, I consider you my friend, but I must do my job.”
“You are my friend,” Integrity said, dazed.
Galia dropped her hand, breaking the contact between them. “Then, as your friend, I hope you will listen to me.” Integrity pulled herself from the fog, focusing on Galia's stern voice. “You are now the Destine and, as such, you have certain standards to uphold.” Galia raised Integrity's chin with one hand, pushed her shoulders back so the girl was standing straighter. “You must never let anyone see you lose control,” she ordered, staring straight into Integrity's eyes. “Right now, we must let the dressmakers back in, and you will go through with your fitting with no complaint or hesitation.” Integrity looked toward the door, and Galia turned Integrity back to face her. “You must control yourself.”
Integrity nodded mutely, trying to steel herself, to block reality. Just get through this, she told herself. We'll figure out how to stop it all later.
Icy, Integrity turned to Galia. “Bring them in.”
Є
Integrity shut her mind down, in order to get through the fitting. She detached herself so completely from her surroundings that she couldn't say whether the fitting had taken a few minutes or a few hours. When Galia and the other women had left, taking their tools with them, she sat stiffly in her armchair once more. Her mind was a blank screen.
After a time, thoughts began to move out of the darkness into the light once more. Within the next month, I will be a vampire. She knew there was no hope of escape; even when experts had helped her flee, she had been caught and returned to Westmarch every time.
It's only a matter of time. I cannot stop them.
But what if I make them want to stop? she pondered. If I can somehow convince them that I am not the Destine, they won't be so avid to make me one of them. Of course, she admitted, they're also extremely likely to kill me, snuff me out like a candle, if I am no longer valuable to them. And it's not likely to be a pleasant death, either.
The silence in the room pressed on her ears like a physical weight. She was utterly isolated.
What are my other options, then? I can let them change me, become one of them, give up completely. Even in her weakened condition, the thought rankled. I can escape, only to be recaptured and placed in the same situation I'm in now. Procrastination rarely helps.
I can kill myself. Not likely.
“Man, all of these options suck.”
Tabling the vampire issue, she turned to the next imminent disaster—her marriage to Evan. I can't marry him! Some of the panic returned, and she forced it down. I can't marry him, she thought, more calmly. He hates me. He would rather see me dead than be tied to me for a never-ending life. She rolled her eyes. At least if he kills me, I don't have to worry about the whole “changing” thing.
A new thought occurred to her. Does he even know about the betrothal? She thought someone had mentioned that she was promised to the prince, but, if they had, it had been nearly a year ago; she couldn't trust her memory enough to guess whether or not Evan had received the bad news. He might be every bit as unhappy as me right now, she mused. That's some consolation.
But, oddly enough, there was a part of her, albeit small, that would be hurt if he didn't want to marry her.
What the heck are you thinking?!? You don't want to marry him! Or anyone! Get a grip, girl! She forced herself from the chair, began to pace the room, but grew weary quickly. “Yeah, running isn't an option,” she muttered to herself, winded. She decided the best option, at the moment, was sleep, and she crawled under the covers, praying her mind would still so she could escape reality, even if only for a few hours.
Є
The king raised a hand, cutting off the cacophony around him. When he had control of the room, he said, “We must decide what is to be done with Ben. He has become a wild card that must be dealt with.”
“I agree, sire!” said a man, slamming a hand down on the table for emphasis. “His existence must be severed!”
“Why?” Jydda interrupted, her voice shrill. “Why kill him? That punishment is only reserved for the worst crimes. It has not been carried out in centuries!”
The man turned to face Jydda, an ugly expression on his face. “He tried to steal the Destine from us.”
Evan: Book Two of the Destine Series Page 28