In retrospect, I conceded maybe it was a good thing that the invisible blows of pain I kept feeling were causing me to lose consciousness. Because, had I been less disoriented, I probably would have been way more freaked out by the fact that I was hanging just below the rampaging hooves of a Pegasus that was violently plummeting through the air.
Out of it as I was, I did see Daniel staring down at me. His helmet covered most of his face, but his dark eyes more than conveyed how shocked he was.
I figured he probably thought it served me right to be suspended in this precarious position. Yet, instead of letting me continue to be dangerously dragged along, he actually had the nerve to try and help me.
Daniel removed his lacrosse sword from its holster and swung the basket side down as far as it would reach. “Grab on!” he ordered.
I swallowed my dizziness and eyed the staff Daniel extended to me. But, tempting as it was to get out of this situation, I didn’t take it.
How could I?
Let him help me? Save me? Prove he was right about me this whole time? I’d much rather hang upside down like this until we landed than give him the satisfaction.
Sadly, this didn’t appear to be an option for me either. Whatever clarity I’d had left after the first round of jolting pains had come on, evaporated at the onset of the second.
They were more intense this time, and my strength correspondingly disintegrated with each convulsion. On the fifth shockwave, my foot jerked sufficiently enough to free itself from the saddle’s toehold, allowing me to be completely thrown off Daniel’s Pegasus and into the sky.
My hair rippled through the wind as I plunged toward the stadium, which was erupting in cheers as Blue scored the winning goal somewhere in the distance. My world, though, was spinning too much now to see straight, let alone see her. I was beginning to black out.
Lamentably, unconsciousness did not overtake me before I heard the discernable sound of people in the crowd murmuring and interrupting the merry tone of the applause.
“LOOK!” someone yelled.
They’d seen me—my long hair having been a dead giveaway no doubt.
Missing a shot, falling off a Pegasus, and getting eliminated from the game were all upsetting turns of fate. But the idea of losing consciousness just in time for everyone to see that it was me in that suit of armor was absolutely mortifying.
My hands flailed and I gasped for air as I tried to stay awake. Alas, my efforts made no difference. It felt like I was drowning. My vision blurred and my entire body just felt heavier and heavier as breathing became more difficult and everything grew foggy like it did at the end of one of my nightmares . . .
I’m Doomed
Pegasus licking my face was the most unusual way I’d ever been woken up.
I opened my eyes and Sadie’s large pink tongue swept across my forehead a second time. I could hear a chorus of gasps and murmurs accompanying the general blur of the arena, but most of the details remained indiscernible. The few things I did manage to perceive were Blue, SJ, and Jason having some kind of argument with Lady Agnue on one side of me, and Daniel on the other. He was just standing there, looking down on me.
And yes, I do mean in both senses of the phrase.
Needless to say the Pegasus saliva was the best part of the experience.
It was too much to handle, so I was actually thankful I blacked out again. Unfortunately, my subconscious chose to transport me to the nightmarish world of Natalie Poole because, apparently, living through one crushing reality this afternoon just wasn’t enough.
Natalie was in a busy hallway that reminded me of my own school, what with its flood of kids, myriad of books being transported back and forth, and general sense of conformity. But this place was also a lot more gray, a bit more depressing, and smelled vaguely of bologna and sneakers.
She was approaching one of the many lockers that lined the walls—desperately clutching an art history book like it was a security blanket. When Natalie reached the locker (her locker, I guessed), she tucked the book under one arm and put in the combination. Just as she was about to open it, though, she stopped short. Behind her the crowds were parting as a small group of individuals began to pass by.
I’d gone to a school for protagonists long enough to detect the air of self-importance that followed around people who thought too much of themselves. And this pack of kids striding down the corridor reeked of it.
The five teens that exhibited the severe, self-endowed case of “chosen one syndrome” consisted of three obvious lackeys and two leaders. The boy leader was starkly handsome, so much so that he may have even given Chance Darling a run for his money. And yet . . . he did not have the cockiness in his expression that Chance did. Instead there seemed to be something like kindness residing in its place.
The other top dog in the group was a blonde girl that had her skinny arm linked through the handsome boy’s muscular one. Her appearance reminded me of Mauvrey, as did the venom in her grin and the demon coldness in her piercing eyes.
As the whole group came closer to Natalie the lead boy smiled at her warmly. Natalie’s face flushed in response and she absentmindedly continued to grasp at her locker’s handle as their eyes met. Regrettably, the second she opened the locker door a booby trap went off inside, causing a balloon filled with red paint to explode all over her.
The hallway echoed with laughter at her expense. The obvious ringleader was the aforementioned alpha-blonde. The only person who didn’t laugh was the handsome boy. He tried to tell the others to take it easy, but the female leech on his arm made sure the guffaws were far too loud for anyone to hear him.
Utterly mortified, Natalie slammed the locker shut and took off running. Eventually she came to a door. As she burst through it, a giant flash of bright white light consumed my perspective.
A series of brief, vivid flashes proceeded to rush across my dreamscape. People ran through the streets screaming as a large shadow passed over them, rocks crumbled like a cave in, a forest exploded with cannon fire, a train plummeted downhill through the night, and then—
“She escaped.”
“How is that even possible? She’s a princess and she was unprotected.”
“That’s just it, though; she wasn’t unprotected.”
“How do you mean? You cornered her alone, didn’t you?”
“Yes, but she . . . protected herself.”
“Well, you’re a hunter, aren’t you? Adapt. And the next time you find her—”
“I know. End her.”
“Exactly. Despite that smirk on your face, I know you understand how serious this is; how important it is to our cause. Why are you smiling anyway? It’s hardly like you.”
“Because I take pride in my work, majesty. And after meeting the girl, I can honestly say that taking care of this one will be my pleasure . . .”
Suddenly glass was raining down everywhere I looked. It was black in shade, but stained in red and gold hues that caused its sharp edges to shimmer. Just as abruptly, from within the downpour the head of an enormous, bronze serpent jolted out. Its mouth was open, and it lunged in my direction. My heart stopped with cold horror as the metallic creature’s fangs rushed toward me, about to swallow me whole, until—
Until nothing.
Natalie Poole’s tormented world, those strange, but jarring, disconnected flashes, the skin-crawling voices of that ever-present, uncharacterizable boy and the girl he always seemed to be talking to in the epilogues of my nightmares—all of it vanished.
The next thing I knew, I was in a completely different room; this one filled with cots and silence. When I looked around I discovered that I was lying in one of the cots while still wearing the majority of my Twenty-Three Skidd armor.
I’m awake, I realized with a rush of relief.
And evidently in an infirmary.
Adelaide Castle’s infirmary, unlike our own, was really something to write home about. There were six beds (mine included) in the room. They were pow
der blue and their silk comforters had unique, contrasting navy wave patterns weaved into them. Additionally, each bed had a glistening silver headboard, a nightstand made of sea glass, and what appeared to be handmade candles shaped like different types of exotic sea creatures sitting atop the white shelves protruding above them.
It was all super impressive to say the least. Although the most beautiful thing to behold in this place was not so much any of these lovely amenities, but the view of the ocean outside.
One wall of the infirmary was constructed entirely of twenty-foot tall, glass windows that faced the sea. There was a selection of open glass doors interposed between them that led out to a balcony too. So, not only did I have the privilege of looking out at this magnificent body of water, but I could also take in its smell as a light wind passed the distinct scent through the doors—filling the whole room with a sense of complete peace.
Not a bad place to recover.
SJ and Blue were presently facing one of these windows, staring out at the sea and completely covered in afternoon sunlight. The same rays of sunshine also glinted off my armor and helmet, which I found perched on the nearest nightstand along with my dirtied riding gloves.
I blinked hard as I tried to adjust to the light. It was difficult, as was pretty much any other kind of movement I proceeded to attempt. The worst though, was the feeling in my lungs. They felt hurt, heavy, and unusually still—like they were barely working at half capacity. Which obviously was troubling because I kind of needed them for breathing.
Wait; hold on. Breathing . . . Was I even doing that?
I suddenly let out a huge hacking cough and air rushed into my body.
Ah, there we go.
The sound caused SJ and Blue to whirl around. When they saw I was conscious again they couldn’t have dashed to by bedside any faster.
“Crisa, you are awake!” SJ gushed, hugging me awkwardly around my armor.
“That was really something,” Blue commented, hugging me on my other side. “Even for you.”
“Thanks,” I grunted as I sat up straighter. The blood rushed to my head and I became all too aware that it was pounding with a migraine. I rubbed the back of my neck and squinted at the pain. “What happened?”
Blue and SJ fidgeted—neither of them meeting my gaze. I was confused as to the reason for this at first, but then I realized what they didn’t want to tell me, and what I probably should’ve already figured out for myself.
“My prologue prophecy appeared,” I gulped. “Didn’t it?”
“Yeah,” Blue affirmed, finally looking me in the eye. “‘Fraid so.”
I held my breath as I reached for my helmet. Sure enough, in its reflection I saw the condemning spiral mark on my forehead. I pushed a loose strand of hair behind my ear to get a proper look at it.
The mark was nearly gone. All but the faintest traces of it had blended in with my skin. But its soft appearance did not matter. In that moment, I knew I could live a hundred years and the image would never fade from my memory. It was burned into me like a bullseye; a target; a cast iron brand on a cow who’d been marked for slaughter.
Placing my helmet back on the nightstand, I swallowed the sight and the understanding like the sourest of cough syrups. My book had begun. My life, or whatever bit of life I actually had, was over. Now would have been another really good time for a blackout, but alas, I received no such luck. This was my new reality. And I knew I could never go back.
“The Scribes are zapping it over to Lady Agnue. It should be here any time now,” Blue said, interrupting the silence.
No sooner did she say this than the infirmary doors burst open. Lady Agnue strolled into the room with purpose carrying a large book under her right arm—my book, I presumed, as my name was encrusted in gold lettering on the forest green front cover.
I had to suppress the urge to vomit on sight.
“Glad to see you are awake, Miss Knight,” our headmistress said coldly. “The sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can discuss your punishment.”
“Listen, Lady Agnue—” I started to say.
“Not a word, Miss Knight,” she snapped. “You have embarrassed me, the school, and yourself above all else with your antics today and there is no turn of phrase your smart mouth can conjure that will change that. What you did was a disgrace. For Blue it was breaking the rules, but most people do not have very high expectations for her anyways.”
“Hey!” Blue interjected.
Lady Agnue rolled her eyes and waved off my friend without missing a beat. “But you entering in the Twenty-Three Skidd tournament was simply unacceptable,” she continued. “You have brought shame to the very princess institution. Honestly, if it was not for your mother being who she is, I would have you expelled or even . . .”
Our headmistress took a deep breath—obviously trying to rein in her anger. “But I digress,” she said after a long exhale. “And as expulsion is not presently a sentence I am allowed to bestow upon you, we had best move on to the matter of your prologue prophecy.”
“About that, headmistress,” SJ cut in timidly. “What happened to Crisa today? Traditionally when our prologues appear we experience a few brief jolts and a fainting spell—maybe a light headache when we awaken. Crisa has been unconscious for nearly five hours and she looks as though she has been hit by a carriage.”
I was tempted to be insulted by the remark, but the truth was I did feel like I’d been hit by a carriage . . . and then nearly drowned, and then trampled by a Pegasus to boot. My head was on fire, my bones felt like giftwrap tissue, and my hands were white as snow.
Geez, what had happened to me?
“Miss Knight’s prologue pang was very severe, I agree,” Lady Agnue admitted. “Usually the intensity level of the pang corresponds with the intensity of the prologue prophecy that has appeared for that protagonist. If the prophecy has very high stakes and responsibilities, for example, the pang will be more extreme. However, Miss Knight’s prophecy is so ordinary and uncomplicated that I truly do not understand why it affected her so severely. Perhaps she is just weak.”
Ignoring this comment, I stared at Lady Agnue and then at my book. It was time for me to know. I nodded at her and straightened up—bracing myself for the terrible blow to come.
Lady Agnue opened the book to the first page, but before she began to read she hesitated and glanced over at Blue and SJ.
As mentioned before, there were two cardinal rules with prologue prophecy readings. One: The only times the books that contained them left the Scribes’ possession were for these readings. And two: The only outsiders allowed to read them were the schools’ headmasters and the protagonists whom they were about. Unless that protagonist authorized otherwise of course.
I nodded again at Lady Agnue, giving her the okay to continue. SJ and Blue were my best friends. I needed them there with me, now more than ever. On my signal our headmistress cleared her throat and began to read me my fate.
“The girl impervious to love at first sight,
Will soon find that Prince Darling is her white knight.
Limited excitement or affect of spells,
Uncomplicated courtship leads to wedding bells.
Obedient, elegant, the exemplary wife,
And destined to lead a Perfect Fairytale Life.”
Okay, so I didn’t know what kind of thoughts were running through SJ and Blue’s heads at that particular moment, but mine went a little something like this: “Ahhhh!!!!!”
That’s as good as I could describe it to you anyways. Truthfully, in my head it sounded a bit more intense than that. But as I lack the ability to accurately convey the world-shattering, wheel-screeching, explosion-obliterating sound that welled up in my brain right then, “Ahhhh!!!!!” would have to do.
“Lady Agnue,” I managed to stutter after the initial shock had passed. “That can’t be my prophecy. It just can’t be! I mean, it’s like . . . and I’m like . . . Well, for starters there is absolutely no way that I�
��m marrying Chance Darling! Everything about that prophecy is wrong. It has to be.”
Our headmistress shut my book sternly and glared at me dead on.
“Believe me, Miss Knight, I am as surprised as anyone. To begin with, in order for a lady to accomplish any of the events in this prologue I would have assumed she needed to be a good princess, which we all know is simply not who you are. Nevertheless, it would seem that we were both wrong. Myself in regards to believing that a terrible princess such as yourself could not lead a perfect fairytale life, and you in regards to believing you could be some kind of hero.”
“But—” I started to protest again.
“But nothing,” Lady Agnue interceded. “While you may not like the truth, Miss Knight, I strongly suggest now, as I have for years, that you stop fighting the inevitable and get over it. This, and nothing more, will be your fate. Who you are has been decided, and it is in no way up for debate.”
With that, Lady Agnue nodded goodbye to SJ and Blue and excused herself from the infirmary with a loud slam of the door. When she’d gone, I leaned back against the coldness of the headboard and closed my eyes to the coldness of the world.
For years I’d wondered what my reaction would be when I someday received my prologue prophecy.
Would I yell and scream? Burst into tears? Throw a tantrum? Pretend like nothing was wrong? Take a flame-thrower to my book? Or all of the above?
In truth, however, my reaction was absolutely nothing like that. In fact, it was nothing like I’d expected it to be, period.
At first I sat in silence staring at the swelling sea as I tried to process the news. I attempted to analyze every logical option, reasonable consequence, and inherent domino effect of the different courses of action I might take next—just as I knew SJ would do. Although, in the following moments, the gut feelings and uncensored instinct that were more characteristic of Blue’s teachings struggled against such rationale and begged for a more impulsive, ardent response.
Both these forms of influence persisted to pull me back and forth for a few minutes—each competing for my undivided commitment and urging me to make a definite choice between leading with my head or my heart from here on out.
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