Memory's Wake

by Fenech, Selina

  “Can’t. Won’t.” Memory turned her back to him, unwilling to keep up any guise of conversation.

  “You aren’t being troubled here at all?” Roen eyed Perceval.

  “Not by him.” Memory smiled at Perceval, who gave Roen a victorious look that satisfied her.

  “Well then, I wish you a pleasant evening.” Roen walked away into the crowd, one final look over his shoulder which Memory pretended to ignore. He quickly found a flock of fawning ladies, and broke off into a dance with one wearing a devil mask.

  Memory narrowed her eyes. “God, I could do with a drink.”

  Perceval eagerly signaled to a servant who brought filled goblets to them in an instant.

  Memory laughed aloud, and lifted her cup to Perceval in appreciation. “Good service here.”

  “Indeed, a fine gathering. So I must ask, what could have made the heart of the most lovely lady here so shadowed?” Perceval clicked his goblet against hers and took a sip, his black-brown eyes never leaving her face.

  Memory wasn’t sure she liked the way he looked at her. It was nice to be the focus of attention, but it left an odd ill feeling in her gut. Still, she liked having someone to talk to who didn’t care about the Princess, or whether she was human or not. She took a large mouthful of mead from her goblet, enjoying the sweetness of it.

  “I just want to go home,” Memory said, staring into the honey liquid.

  Perceval’s shoulders dropped. “So early? Could nothing persuade you to stay?”

  “No, I mean, I’m not going anywhere right now. But I sort of, can’t get home. I’m kind of lost.”

  “Lost? Lucky then that I found you. I may be of assistance.”

  “You’d help me? I don’t see any shining armor.”

  Perceval twisted his eyebrows at her comment, but smiled over his clear confusion. “In truth, I would help. See, you’ve not yet allowed me to tell you to whom I serve.” Perceval flourished his hand. “For serving is what I do, and I do it very well indeed. If I am unable to help you, then he, of all people, is sure to have the power to help in any way needed.”

  Memory warmed to him. Or maybe it was the mead. She gave him a wry smile. “It’s really nice of you, but I’m not entirely sure anymore that anyone can help with the full scope of problems I have.”

  “Not even the King himself?” Perceval revealed under his breath. “Indeed. I am in his personal escort, and he has come here tonight on an urgent matter.”

  Memory froze mid sip. The King… Thayl? Thayl who was chasing Eloryn, who killed her parents for the throne. Thayl, the only other person ever known to use magic like she did. The most powerful man around, both in magic and in title. Her mind sped through her index on this man, Thayl, until it caught up with her emotions. Thayl, who for all she knew, might not be all that bad, who might treat her like a human being. She had to find her family, people who really cared about her. The only person who had offered to help her so far also called her a demon. If Eloryn thinks I’m a demon, how true can the rest of what she says be? Thayl’s probably no more evil than me.

  “King Thayl, he’s here, at the ball somewhere?”

  “Hush now, his attendance is yet unannounced,” Perceval said, looking pleased with himself. “He partakes in some business before coming to the feast.”

  “He’s not meeting with anyone up in the palace just now, is he?” A small shiver of worry for Eloryn came to Memory unbidden. She searched her gaze over the crowd but couldn’t see Roen. Both he and his buxom dance partner had vanished. Her mood flipped back to dark. Why should she worry about them? She was obviously nothing to them, at best, and at worst she was a demon. The only thing Eloryn had done for her so far was give her something she could negotiate with to get help from Thayl. She chewed her lip, considering her options.

  “No, he is through the grounds here. I’d just passed a message of his arrival along to the Duke’s staff when I saw you here, inexplicably alone, and was more than thankful my duties for the evening had ended.” Perceval smiled at her with dark, half closed eyes. “And at the end of duties comes drinking,” he raised his goblet to hers, “and dancing, if you…”

  Memory interrupted him. “I want to meet him. I want to meet the King.”

  Roen excused himself to his dance partner as soon as he politely could. She turned away with a cute pout and flick of perfect ringlets. She could have been an amusing distraction, but Roen found himself in no mood to dance. He couldn’t think why. He should be celebrating. He had brought the Princess here safely, and soon she’d be escorted to the Wizards’ Council and under their protection. It’s for the best. She deserves better guardians. It’s a good thing. Roen repeated the words again in his mind, but he had to keep forcing the smile onto his face. After doing it all day, that smile wore thin.

  Memory’s hard tone lingered in his head, adding to his mood. She was normally so good humored her sudden coldness made him wonder if he’d stepped too far with his own words. He spoke so openly to her only because her wit matched his own. He enjoyed that.

  Catching a glimpse of Memory laughing with the dark-haired man, Roen wondered again where he had seen him before. Roen skirted the feast, pacing through the crowd in a short lived attempt to kill time then found himself wandering back up into the castle, toward the private meeting room they had used with Lanval the night before.

  He knew he wasn’t welcome. Lanval made it clear his contact would see only the heir, no one else. Roen felt himself drawn back that way regardless. He should at least find out when they planned to have Eloryn leave, to make sure he could see her on her way. He tried to play out the farewell in his mind. Should he have a gift of some kind for her? What did one do in a situation like this? Nothing seemed appropriate. Even the thought of parting ways felt wrong.

  Reaching the top of the stairs, he stuck his hands into the familiar pockets of his pants; his normal, plain but neat fitted trousers with concealed pockets for the tools of his trade. Maybe he should have dressed up more. Not that it mattered. He would be back to his normal life soon.

  Coming around the corner into the corridor which held the meeting room, Roen almost ran straight into Duke Lanval. He came barreling past with a look of grim concern. He didn’t slow down, but called back as he sped away. “Get her out of here Roen, just take her away!”

  A message boy stood trembling at the open doorway to the meeting room. Roen increased his pace, and Eloryn met him in the hall. She looked as pale as the time she had fainted on him. Before he could stop himself, he put his hands around her shoulders, holding her gently. “What happened? Are you all right?”

  Eloryn seemed frozen for a moment, then jerked back to awareness. She stepped out of his hold and ran down the hall.

  Roen looked at the quivering messenger and snapped louder at him than he meant. “What message did you deliver?”

  “That King Thayl has arrived.”

  Roen bolted after Eloryn, catching up to her quickly. “That’s not the right way. We have to get you out of the castle, keep you hidden.”

  She kept running. She shook her head and her voice came out as a panicked whisper. “She’s out there all on her own.”

  Perceval’s mouth hung open at Memory’s request. “I’m not sure I can…”

  “Oh please?” Memory pouted, rolling her shoulders back, allowing the corset to squeeze up what little cleavage she had. “You said you would help me. Maybe you can just walk me to him?” Memory wasn’t sure if casually meeting the King was a done thing, but it was worth a try.

  Perceval grinned as though sharing a secret and extended an arm to her. He hooked his elbow around hers and walked her away from the marquee, pulling her close beside him. Perceval continued his inane small talk and boasting and she tried to hide how uncomfortable she felt on his arm.

  He led her around hedges formed like a maze, through smaller gardens, past larger trees to another part of the grounds, getting her thoroughly lost in the process. They emerged into a stone paved co
urtyard where a group of men in a range of armor and uniforms stood about in serious discussion. Perceval placed her against a hedge, winking at one of his friends who looked their way. Memory tried not to feel like a groupie.

  “Which one is he?” She hoped she sounded innocently naïve. Her nerves jangled. She tried to calm them, but an odd sensation grew within her.

  Perceval leant in and whispered into her ear, “Dark hair and dark purple coat.”

  Memory found him quickly. His hair was indeed dark, a tumbling shoulder length mass contrasted with a small and well trimmed beard. He wasn’t as old as Memory expected, maybe thirty-five years, and she was shocked again to find he was actually gorgeous. All except for his eyes, which were dark and tired.

  More surprising still, Memory felt as though she recognized him from somewhere.

  The uneasy feeling within her swelled. But I don’t know anyone. She took in his features, trying to trace the fragments of familiarity within her barren brain. He seemed to share her discomfort. He shook his shoulders in an abrupt shiver, and reached up a gloved hand, stretching and clenching it before his face.

  Memory’s legs turned to chalk, ready to crumble. He was the man; the man with the hand. The glowing hand from her dream. She turned her face away from him.

  “We should go. I don’t want to interrupt him.” Her voice wavered. How could it be him? It was just a dream, wasn’t it?

  “I’m sure I can make your introduction to King Thayl, Lady Mem. You no longer wish it?”

  Right. Now you’re sure. Memory shook her head, urgency panicking her. “No, let’s go. Now. Let’s go somewhere else. Private,” she said, with a small smile and wink. A wide grin from Perceval told her she’d succeeded in speeding him up.

  They turned to go.

  “Do I know you?” A deep, smooth voice interrupted them. It had the tone of someone not interested in formalities, and not having need of them.

  Thayl stood by her side, looking down at her. Memory reached up to touch her mask, comforting herself with its presence. “No, Your Highness.” Was that even the correct way to address a king? Memory didn’t know. She tried to force a blush to her chilled skin, tried to curtsey in the way she’d seen Eloryn do, low and formally. She wobbled, inelegantly righting herself. “No, I don’t believe so.”

  “Remove your mask, girl,” Thayl said.

  Perceval’s look told her to take this request seriously. She untied it with shaking fingers. The bow caught and pulled loose strands of hair, bringing tears to her eyes. With the mask off her face, Thayl’s expression didn’t change, showing indifferent confusion only.

  “Your name, where are you from?” Thayl asked. “There is something about you...”

  “This is Lady Mem, Your Majesty.” Perceval took over for her when she hesitated too long. “I met her just moments afore. She requested to see you.”

  “You did? And why would you…” Thayl’s face twisted with discomfort again. He tugged the glove off his right hand. Memory gaped at the mass of scars it held. Shapes and lines covered it to the wrist, carved into the skin long ago and turned to puckered flesh by time. A faint glow built around it.

  Thayl looked from his hand to her. His expression was still confused, but no longer indifferent. It was fierce, frightened. “You? How can it be? You’ve not even aged. Devil, how did you get here from that Hell?”

  Thayl grabbed Memory with both hands. His fingers dug into her, wrapping fully around her slight arms with bruising strength.

  Memory’s heart stopped. His grasp made panic burn inside her. A blinding light burst around them, joining the glow from Thayl’s hand. Her heart started again, thunder against the weakness of her body. Her vision back-flipped.

  She stood in an alley. She looked down upon herself, mesmerized by the glow of light.

  The life escaped from the other her, no longer wanting to be trapped within. It flowed into her outstretched hand, making her stronger.

  She watched herself scream.

  She blinked, back in the green castle grounds. She stumbled backwards in shock, free to stumble, with Thayl’s hands no longer holding her. He stepped back too. She tripped on her own foot, her slipper left behind.

  “Your Majesty.” A booming voice broke through. “My apologies that I couldn’t attend you sooner. Your presence tonight wasn’t anticipated.”

  Thayl turned around in a stupor. Duke Lanval marched toward them with an entourage. Memory stood still, shell shocked. Rough hands grabbed her from behind. One forceful tug pulled her back into the scratching leaves of the hedge.

  She tried to wriggle free, but strong arms pinned her against a body of firm muscles and furs. Dragged through the dense foliage, she closed her eyes to the twigs that rushed by. In a burst of leaves, she and her abductor emerged from the hedge. She looked up into blue eyes. Blue like the sea, they even made her feel sea-sick looking into them. Eyes she remembered from the forest.

  She must have looked as though she would scream, because the young man put a finger across his lips. He grabbed her arm and pulled her forward. She drew a rough breath, unable to get enough air into her corseted chest. She wheezed and floundered. The savage man lifted her, threw her not too gently over a shoulder, and ran.

  The savage’s pace did not slow as he carried her through hedges and corners of the gardens shadowed by the coming night. The delicate fabric of her sleeves tore and the fine work of the handmaidens on her hair was lost to passing branches.

  The mad dash ended before she could decide whether to cling on or try to get free and he pushed her out onto an open pathway. She fell to her knees. It’s like he knew I needed saving even before I did, as if he knew Thayl would hurt me. Me, a king, a savage; how could we all know each other? When she spun around, nothing but the rustle of hedge leaves remained of the man. She saw a familiar archway in the distance, and two familiar figures emerging from it. One ran to her.

  “Memory, by the fae, what’s happened?” Roen knelt beside her.

  Memory couldn’t force words out, her lungs still out of shape from being knocked against the beast man’s shoulder. She coughed out a leaf.

  “Was it that man from the ball? What did he do?” Roen’s voice was slow and intense.

  Memory shook her head. “Ran through bushes. Had to tell you. Have to go.”

  “Mem, are you all right?” Eloryn caught up to them, looking no less concerned.

  Memory frowned. “Thayl. He’s here.”

  “We know. We came to find you so we could leave,” Roen said, helping her up.

  Came to find me? If they knew Thayl was here, why didn’t they just leave without me? They thought she was a demon, but here they were, looking at her with all the sympathy of someone on her deathbed. Memory’s heart jittered.

  A group of men led by Perceval, clutching the slipper she’d left behind, rounded the other end of the pathway. Perceval pointed, and the men ran for them.

  Roen took both girls by a hand and ran back toward the palace. Gowns too long, corsets too tight, neither could move fast, but they had a head start against Thayl’s men down the long garden pathway.

  “We’ll lose them in the secret passageways once we’re in the castle.” Roen sounded confident, but Memory felt his anxiety in the way his arm strained to pull her faster.

  They passed through the archway. Across the pathway that bridged the pools of water, a tall man with lion’s hair and a scarred face stopped in his tracks. He glared with wide eyed intensity.

  Eloryn gasped a scream, stopping so suddenly she tore from Roen’s grasp. “He is the one who captured Alward.”

  Roen turned from the imposing man to the approaching group. They stood in the middle of the pathway bridge, blocked at both ends. Water rushed in deep channels to either side.

  Memory looked to Eloryn. “Can you cast something? Help us get away?”

  Eloryn rushed out words in the magical tongue, hesitated, shook her head, started again. Memory had no idea what she asked of what. The wi
zard hunter drew his crossbow and shot a tiny dart. It hit Eloryn’s neck, and she fell, tumbling over the low wall. Roen reached an arm for her, this time too slowly. With a splash she disappeared beneath the churning water. One final glimpse of gold like a fish in the depths and she was gone.

  “Princess?” he whispered. She did not resurface. “Eloryn!”

  Roen dived into the deep channel without a second breath.

  Left alone on the bridge, Memory looked from the dark water to the approaching men, terrified of both.

  “Capture the demon,” Perceval called out.

  Memory took as deep a breath as her clothing allowed. She stepped over the wall and plunged into the water.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The ice of the water’s touch burned Memory’s skin. She could feel no bottom, no sides, just a rush of water pulling her down. The channel ran deep and fast. The fabric of her skirts tangled and lifted about, tying her limbs. She sank, breathless, reached the distant bottom then pushed up. Her cheek scraped against the rocky ceiling. She gasped air in the smallest pocket of space before being pulled under again. The channel narrowed around her, knocking her against rocks, finally expelling her into a great expanse of water.

  Her chest ached and her mind lost focus. Ribbons of reeds twisted up from the ground, and she floated, still and suspended in the blue-green night. In the distance, Eloryn and Roen danced in the air. More figures joined them, lifting them into the sky; small, slender women with white skin and ridiculously long hair. Some flew around her, keeping their distance. She reached for them, wanting to touch these beautiful, flying angels. They scowled with large black eyes. The surreal moment ended and she realized they didn’t fly. She was still underwater. They swam, and she could not breathe. Her lungs exploded and the last of her air burst out in bubbles around her. Her vision darkened at the edges.

  Large hands pulled at her. Reaching the surface she filled her cracking lungs. The savage broke through the water next to her, droplets forming in his dark tangle of hair. Supporting her fabric-weighted mass with one arm, he made a slow journey across to the edge of the lake, dragging her with him. They were alone on the bank where the savage crawled out of the water. She lay at its edge, unable to lift the waterlogged skirts any farther. He collapsed face down, gulping breaths.