Naomi had forgotten everything while sitting in the meadow, in the glorious sunshine; all the horrors that had befallen her and her friends. She couldn’t remember any details, but she remembered the pain—lots of pain in her heart, and a man with a look of guilt and shame in his eyes. Reynolds.
She clutched her chest and fell back down.
“No, don’t,” Reynolds spoke. “Please, stay with me.” He reached down and touched her brow. “Come on, where are you? I need you here.”
Naomi blinked twice, but his image didn’t go away. “I thought I was dreaming again.”
“You are.”
She sat up again. “Then why are you here?”
“Because you invited me.”
Naomi knit her eyebrows. “I’m sick of riddles.”
Reynolds smiled a different smile. Not cautious or with hidden affection—genuine, with a glow of its own. He leaned back and rested his hand on his knee. “I’ll try. I promise.”
“This is my dream, right?” Naomi asked, trying to figure it out. “So, how are we having this conversation?” Then the reality of the situation hit her. The nightmare of her tragic life came back, and she sat straight up. The kitten leapt off her lap and ran away.
“Oh, no! I’m dead! I died! And you died, too!”
Reynolds laughed. “This might be death, but let’s say this is a dream. I’m not dead—not quite.”
“But how are you here talking with me?”
He started, pulling at the grass. “In reality, Reynolds is sitting right next to you where you lie.”
“Well, you’re right here.”
“No, I’m not right here. I am Reynolds’ imprint of magic. I’m communicating magic-to-magic, not face-to-face.”
“Oh, I like that.” A rare connection to his magic she never saw—she felt privileged. “How long have I been dreaming?”
Reynolds looked up from his grass pulling. “Too long, and it’s time to wake up. You wouldn’t allow anyone in but me.” He winced. “I’m sorry it took me so long. I didn’t want to try.”
“Why not?”
Reynolds avoided her gaze. “I was afraid of what I’d find. That your mag—well, never mind. The point is, I finally agreed to try, and you let me in.”
“You can’t ‘never mind’ in my dream.”
“I promise we will get to that.”
“Why wait? Tell me now. Everything. No secrets.”
Reynolds shifted his weight, seeming to think it over for a moment. “I can’t tell you everything, but I’ll do what I can. My memory begins from when the magic imprinted.”
Naomi thought about that. “Magic-to-magic.”
Reynolds tilted his head and finally looked at her. His eyes told such a sad story, one she couldn’t fathom. He started to speak but shut his mouth again, tripping over his tongue.
“Reynolds, it’s okay.” She placed her palm over his, reassuring, and redirected her focus. “How about if I ask you questions?”
Reynolds gave a half-smile. “Questions might be a good way to start.”
Naomi watched his expression with interest. “How much do you know about me?”
“A lot.”
Naomi twirled her finger in the grass, eying him. “Quantify a lot. I know you’ve kept your eye on me for years, but when did you first know me?”
Something quivered in his throat. “As a baby.”
Naomi stopped twirling and sat up. “A baby? Did you know my parents?”
“Yes. Yes, I did. Your mother more than your father.”
“You’ve known this whole time and you never told me?”
“I only thought of your safety.” He shifted his position closer to her “It would be dangerous if people knew who you are. I’m sure you understand.”
“Well, who am I?”
“Your real name is Redemia, daughter of King Errenhardt Prolius and Queen Andriana Levenmore.”
“What?” That couldn’t be true. But it sounded like such a beautiful idea. She would hate it not to be true. Her tone softened. “Really?”
Reynolds nodded.
A strange burning started in her stomach and ended in her throat. Parents. A Family. They existed. She had once belonged to them.
Naomi straightened up. Her hands came to her face. “I have parents. I’m a princess. Oh, Ferra will be so happy.”
A sudden thought struck her. “But how does Ferra not know about me?”
“The queen kept it secret, since the unrest in Southwick upset her. I didn’t know until that night . . . I lived in the palace. I was nine years old when it happened—the ceremony, the uprising . . . and you. It was around the same time the Pryxian stones were discovered.”
“Where did the stones come from? Were they stolen like Harrow said?”
“I don’t know. I only have knowledge of them once my father and Lytte got involved, when I got exposed to the magic. Nothing before.”
He continued pulling the grass as he spoke. “But my feeling is yes, they were. That’s when the world really changed. The stones altered everything. It wasn’t done purposefully, it just happened. Concentrated, pure elements that could control . . . everything! Everyone would want that."
Naomi smiled. Truth. What a wonderful thing. She lay on her side, propped up by her elbow. “So, go back to me now.”
Reynolds smiled a little. “Not yet, your highness. I think you should know about the stones.
“Prolius liked the discovery and thought he would give them as gifts for his daughters. But the stones were troublesome. They couldn’t be shaped like gemstones. They broke the jeweler’s instruments.
“That was when my family got involved. My father was a member of the court and grew favor in the army as a strategist, but he’d started out as a forge master. When the stones proved they couldn’t be cut, my father suggested an idea.”
Reynolds got lost in his telling, in memories. “Sorry.” He stopped.
Naomi didn’t mind. She liked knowing Reynolds’ vulnerability. Seeing the emotion helped her understand him better and respect him more.
After a moment, he continued. “My father suggested making amulets, medallions with the stones in the center. The trick was, the stones weren’t round either, but he had a solution. My father brought it to Lytte, the king’s healer. Lytte’s daughter was my mother. I spent a lot of my time working as his apprentice after my mother died. My father . . . never truly recovered.”
Naomi felt ashamed at the talk of Lytte. She turned her head to watch a honey bee buzzing around the wildflowers. “I like that—you working with your grandfather. He must really love you.”
“He still does, despite all my mistakes. I helped Lytte shape the stones until they fit. I had the important job of cleaning up the leftover pieces. He ordered me to destroy them, dispose of them properly. But I didn’t.”
Naomi could tell he had reached the surface of his torment. She reached out and touched his hand that lay in the grass. Reynolds didn’t react, but didn’t flinch away.
“I couldn’t throw away such beautiful magic, so I saved them. I kept each one in a small clay jar and hid them until I knew what to do with them.
“I let some of the boys around the palace have a chance to play with the magic.”
“Are you talking about Taren?” Naomi asked as gently as she could.
“No,” Reynolds shook his head. “I tried to protect him from it. He was so young. He pestered us to be a part of the secret group, but I told him no. He found us anyway and saw the magic. He promised not to tell, but I didn’t know if I could believe him. I had an idea and I needed help . . . so I asked Taren.”
Despite Taren’s version, Naomi assessed the pain in Reynold’s eyes and searched for the whole truth in the telling.
Reynolds took his hand away and stood up. He watched Naomi’s expression as he paced the grass.
“I knew what I should do with the pieces. I thought I would make a medallion like the others, not with just one magic but all of them. I could
n’t get over the power in my hands. Nothing turned out as I planned, and Taren’s magic is a result of it.”
“What happened?”
“An explosion. Taren wouldn’t stay away from the fire. He got hit by most of the blast. I got hit, but nothing like his injuries. He wasn’t the same kid after that.”
Naomi looked up. “You created the Vivatera.”
“Yes.”
“Was it worth it?”
She could tell he wasn’t prepared for the question. “Yes, I think so.” Reynolds knelt back on the grass near her. “That’s not all. I didn’t use everything. I still had some magic left and I kept it.”
His hands ruffled out his hair, like he often did as he thought of how to tell her things. The long strands fell into his eyes, masking much of his pain.
His gaze lifted, and he smiled at her. “A lot of things happened the week you were born.” Glancing around the meadow, he sighed. “The ceremony where the King presented the medallions to his daughters didn’t go as planned.
“After the magic fused to them, the king sent them away, fearing for their lives. Greedy men wanted the magic, and the uprising took over the palace. My father was killed protecting the king.
“King Prolius was murdered the very day you were born, and they took your mother into hiding. The shock of learning of her husband’s death actually caused your early arrival.”
Reynolds stumbled in his telling. “Lytte and I hid in the palace. It’s amazing—the depth of the place, with all the old walls of previous palaces standing within. I took him to my secret room. Malindra and Jeanus met us there, being friends of Lytte’s. They had the queen, and she hid with us.”
A stray tendril of hair whipped over Naomi’s face. Without thinking Reynolds reached over and lifted it from her eyes and tucked it behind her ear. “You’re much like your mother. She showed such kindness to me. When you were born, you were so small. You should have died.”
“But I didn’t.”
“No. But you lead a cursed life because of it. I thought I could save you. I thought I was doing the right thing. You were dying, but it was more the curiosity of what would happen. That’s what stings the most. I’m selfish.”
“You were nine—”
“That doesn’t mean I didn’t know right from wrong. I took the rest of the minerals and I mixed them together, and I fed them to you.”
The news shocked her far less than Naomi had imagined. The information only confirmed her suspicions. Strangely, she liked hearing it—finally knowing the truth once and for all. Reynolds’ poor face hung low, the guilt of his actions weighing heavily on his shoulders. She didn’t know what to say or how to comfort him.
“I promised the queen I would keep you safe.” Reynolds lifted his face now, his eyes pained but holding back his emotion. “After Malindra died, I watched you wander. I found a farmer who had just lost his wife and needed help with his son. He agreed to take you in.”
Naomi couldn’t tear her eyes away from him. His beautiful tale had revealed her identity. She felt whole, complete. No tears came. None were needed. She smiled. “You haven’t broken your promise.”
“Come back to me.” His restless expression filled with sorrow. “Come back.”
His voice faded to a whisper, lost in the meadow, echoing around the valley.
Naomi looked around her. For a moment, she sat alone, listening to the far away voices pleading for her return. Then she lay back down in her meadow and smelled the grass, closing her eyes as the pain returned to her heart.
Chapter Twenty-three
Awakening
Naomi awoke to pain and burning. The pressure in her chest felt unbearable. She tried to take a deep breath, but her lungs couldn’t hold it. She coughed, fighting for air.
“She’s awake! She’s awake!” she heard someone yell.
A person came to her side and put pressure on her chest. Her airways relaxed and her breathing returned.
Naomi had not yet opened her eyes, afraid of what she might see.
“Naomi?” Katia’s sweet voice filled her ears. “Naomi? Please wake up. We need you.”
She heard little Micah’s voice next. “Ah, if feathers had feet, she would run swiftly to the dawn.” He was so peculiar.
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Landon interrupted.
“It’s a metaphor, you dolt,” Katia returned. “If she could have come quickly, she would have. Let’s just hope Reynolds guided her home. That was lovely, Micah.”
Naomi could almost see the scowl on Landon’s face behind her eyes. She wanted to see it face-to-face. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to wake up. She stirred, and then slid her eyes open a fraction.
The room looked fuzzy, but the faces came into focus. How did she get here? What had happened? Katia and Micah stood close by, staring down at her.
She moved her head and saw Landon pacing near the back of the room with a tiny man she could only guess was related to Micah—same stature, same skin, and same magnificent eyes.
She looked to the right and saw Reynolds. He held her hand, but dropped it the moment she made eye contact, rising to his feet and looking down at her. His eyes were full of worry, but he didn’t speak. Seeing that she was all right, he nodded and walked away without a word.
Naomi’s head began to swim again. She lay back on the pillow. “Hi,” she uttered in a near whisper.
Katia reached over and held a cup to her lips. Naomi sipped the water. It was cold and tasted wonderful.
“How are you feeling?”
Naomi thought it over. “Pretty much like you would imagine. Where am I?”
“Durundin. My Uncle Spotswood’s home.” Micah smiled. “He is a gracious and honored host.”
The man near Landon bowed gracefully.
“Thank you for your kindness to us,” Naomi said.
Spotswood waved off the praise with his hand. “Too kind, too kind.”
Naomi tried again to sit up but noticed it was hard to move. She looked down and saw the bandages that bound her tight, wrapping around her body like a mummy. A soft, silk blanket covered her.
“I’m so glad to see you all here with me,” Naomi started. “I’m not sure what happened. I don’t remember anything.”
The room became silent as everyone looked at her solemnly. “We aren’t sure, either,” Katia answered. “Someone tried to kill you, but Reynolds saved you.”
“How did you get out?” Naomi asked. The last time she’d seen them, angry Louvings swarmed, ready to kill them.
Her friends rattled off a story about the fight between the Louvings and the appearance of the Stains coming to their rescue and chasing off the rest of their enemies, including Browneyes and Fronzi.
“After the Louvings ran away, the Stains led us out of the cave. That’s when the quake started.”
Landon’s voice got softer as he talked about the rest—not as excited, more solemn. “The imprints have very strict lines they cannot cross or they will disappear. The rumbling started and the mountain shifted. When we saw the light of day coming from outside, the Stains disappeared.”
Naomi fell back in exhaustion. “I need some rest,” she muttered, her strength nearly gone. “Where is Ferra?”
“She’s not here,” Landon answered.
“Why not?”
“She left about three days ago, as a favor to Spotswood, but she’ll be back soon.” He ushered everyone out. “Come on.” Grabbing Katia around the waist, he helped her hobble out of the room. The others followed and shut the door.
Restful quiet returned, and Naomi looked around. The room was pear-shaped, small, and appeared to be made from dirt or clay. Small torchlights hung in clusters around the ceiling. Rope streamers hung down from the torches, attached to different objects: moonstones, cloves, and crystals, each reflecting bits of light. Eerie, rippling, blue rays filtered in through the ceiling. It seemed very odd but warm and comfortable.
She lay quietly in her little bed. Although her mind seeme
d wide awake, her body felt weak. She wanted to see Reynolds, to talk to him again, like in the meadow. But before Reynolds could be found, she drifted off to sleep.
~*~
Naomi woke, alone. She turned over and sat up. She couldn’t stay in bed any longer, eager to see the rest of this curious underground dwelling.
Fresh, clean clothes lay at the side of her bed. After she dressed herself, she felt drained. Her lack of activity had caught up with her. She’d lost strength from lying in bed for so long.
Beyond her door, she found a large circular foyer with surrounding rooms but saw no one else. Light filtered in from the ceiling through little side openings, but again, the source remained unclear.
She thought about exploring further, when a door opened and Micah’s uncle shuffled into the room, hunched over and using two canes to assist him. He took small steps but at a wicked pace, reminding Naomi of a little creeping spider.
He saw her and made his way to her. “Hello, Blondie. Sleep well?”
“I guess. Where are the others?”
“In good time, good time. Come,” he beckoned her. “You are safe here, princess, safe, safe . . . Come, now . . .” He laughed a silly little laugh to himself and led her into a different room.
The room was very dark. Plants and roots hung from the ceiling, and water pooled inside a hollowed rock. To one side, stood a solid, wooden table with benches on either end.
“Sit,” he told her. She complied, and within a minute, he had placed food in front of her. The food was fresh, earthy, and uncooked—assorted beans and something that tasted like a potato, but saltier—she didn’t care. It all tasted wonderful.
“Thank you,” she said between bites.
He bowed graciously and hobbled to the water hollow, scooping up two cups. He brought them to the table and sat down across from her.
“Food nourishes the soul and brings forth the magic,” he said in a hum-de-dum voice.
It was the first time she had really taken a look at him. He tied his streaked gray hair in a knot behind his head, but strands came down into his face. He wore magnificent oval spectacles on his nose, and his startling blue eyes popped out from his dark skin, making him seem even more mystical. He wore silk robes of vivid color, the patterns intricate and unusual, tied in different ways around his skinny frame. She liked it very much.
Vivatera (Vivatera Series Book 1) Page 27