Memory's Wake (10 page)

Heart thundering and chest burning, Memory’s eyes darted, trying to refocus in the morning light.

Where am I? How did I get here? I can’t remember, I can’t…

Oh… right. That amnesia thing.

Roen knelt on the bed next to her, holding her still by her shoulders. The feeling of his hands pushing her down kept her panic racing, and she pulled away, backing up against the carved headboard. The red velvet of the bed’s canopy shook like blood dripping down from the ceiling.

Across the room, Isabeth had her arms wrapped protectively around Eloryn. Both had wide eyes and tangled hair, just awoken. A bathtub of black, cold water stood in the corner. Brannon watched from the foot of the bed.

“Sorry.” Memory’s voice cracked, sore from the screaming she’d done. “Nightmare.”

She felt an awful disappointment that she hadn’t woken up somewhere she recognized, with people she knew and memories of who she was. She wished that the few things she could remember were the nightmare that she could wake from.

Roen gave her a kind smile. “As long as you’re all right.” He looked tired and grim, and wore the same clothes he did yesterday. He got back up off the bed and seemed to be trying to catch his father’s eye.

Brannon looked at Eloryn. “Are you sure she remembers nothing?”

“No,
she
doesn’t,” Memory cut in.

She wished she hadn’t when Brannon turned on her, a hard line across his forehead. “Memories or not, you have to understand how strange you are, how risky it is for all of us to trust you here.”

Roen choked. He apologized with his eyes before dropping his head away.

“I’d leave if I knew where to go!” Memory winced at the shrill tone in her voice and tried to calm it. “But I don’t. I don’t remember anything. I just want to go home and will as soon as I know where that is.”

Tears from her nightmare still wet her face and she wiped it furiously. She felt like a two year old, sitting in bed crying while everyone stared at her. She wished she had somewhere else to go so she could leave right now.

Eloryn sat down on the bed next to her. “What did you dream? It might tell us something about where you’re from, so we can help you get home.”

Memory looked up just in time to see Isabeth and Brannon glance at each other with matching disapproval.

“There was a man. I think he did something...?” Acid rose in Memory’s throat, startling her and stinging her eyes to tears. She paused, breathing deeply.
The hand, the man, the buildings spun.
Her head hurt. The images from her dream faded out of her grasp. “It was a mess of stuff, confusing. I don’t know.”

“It was probably just a dream, nothing real.” Isabeth set her mouth rigidly. “One look at you says you’ve probably just had a knock on the head and gotten lost.”

Memory pulled back the sleeve of her chemise and twisted her arm around to see the inside of her wrist. Obscured by a yet another bruise was a small tattoo in rough, dark ink. Like a symbol for eternity with a swirl through the middle.
Their wrists matched.

Brannon turned his attention to his son. “Roen, all done?”

“I just got back when I heard screaming and came straight in here. I have news for you. I will tell you in a moment, needn’t do it here.” He gave a single nod to his father, and their eyes locked.

Eloryn stood back up. “News-?”

Isabeth spoke straight over the top of her. “Come then. Let’s have you both dressed and fed. Then we can talk more.” She flicked her head at Roen and Brannon, who turned to leave. On his way out, Roen gave Memory an apologetic smile. He started to smile at Eloryn, but then bowed shortly to her instead, making the rose in her cheeks turn bright.

“Have you any clean clothing?” said Isabeth.

“No, but I can clean what we wore.” Eloryn continued to speak a string of musical nonsense. Their muddy clothes strewn around the tub wriggled to life. Dirt and filth shivered off them, shed onto the floor as though the fabric repelled it away. Torn holes in Eloryn’s dress drew closed, threads weaving themselves back together.

“You couldn’t have done that yesterday? We looked like we’d just left a mud wrestling tournament,” Memory said.

“I didn’t want anyone to see what I could do. I’m sorry.”

“Right to be careful too,” Isabeth said. “Few people could cast a behest that complex, and those are just the people Thayl is trying to find. My, you’re good with your words though, just like your mother. But we’ll still need a dress for Memory.”

“I can’t wear my own clothes?” Memory was dismayed. Her jeans and t-shirt felt way more comfortable than the tent she wore now.

Slipping into her dress, Eloryn looked at her with pity. “They stand out too much; we already talked about this. But we’ll keep them, of course.”

Memory watched how natural Eloryn looked in her dress, with her long flowing hair and pretty rounded shape. She guessed that was what a princess should look like. She imagined herself in a dress - bony, bruised, boy haired - and shuddered. She grabbed a bristle brush from a side table and made an effort to smooth her teased hair.

Isabeth dug through an inlaid wood chest filled with clothing. “I may have something that will fit. Roen brings such lovely dresses for me, but not always just the right size. Still, it’s the thought that’s sweet. He’s done so well to afford to look after us how he does, considering. Maybe… No that won’t fit, scrap of a thing you are.”

“I can just wear this,” Memory offered, motioning to the gown she had on without enthusiasm.

Isabeth rolled her eyes, muttering in exasperation under her breath. “That is an under dress, dear. No, here, this is what I was looking for. We should be able to lace it down enough to fit you.”

She pulled a simple rust-red dress from the depths, dusted it down and instructed that it should go
over
the
under
dress.

Grumbling to herself, Memory took the dress and struggled to make sense of the laces, layers and yards of fabric. While Isabeth was distracted brushing Eloryn’s hair, Memory slipped the flick knife out of her jeans. She tucked it up into the binding sleeve of her dress, then stuffed her clothes into Eloryn’s bag. She pulled on her skater shoes, glad the long skirt covered them, and stood back up.

Memory flinched, thinking there was a stranger in the room. It took a moment to realize she saw herself in the reflection of a gold framed mirror. There were things she’d gathered about her appearance, just from living within her body for the last couple of days, but seeing herself now struck her greatly. She was so little, slim-nearing-skeletal, smaller even than how she’d felt. She knew she was about the same height as Eloryn, but if Eloryn had an hourglass figure, she’d be a minute glass. She wished she had managed to eat something last night.

She frowned, seeing the fading black and pink color of her hair clearly for the first time. Of course it was dyed! And then there were the bruises. Despite having a pretty dress on, she still felt far from fairest of them all. She wondered if Isabeth had any eye liner then found herself thinking about Roen’s eyes.

“Was Roen out all night?”

Working at braiding Eloryn’s hair, Isabeth tutted. “Well, there was hardly enough room here for all of us. He often stays in town when he works late. Did he tell you he is assistant to one of the most successful businessmen in Maerranton? He’s always been lucky, in his way. An unexpected gift he was, when we didn’t intend to...” Isabeth cleared her throat. She shifted on her feet, pausing awkwardly. “You know, Roen was just a toddler when we heard Loredanna was with child. We had hoped it would be a girl for him to play with and look after. But then, well… Then we hoped there’d be a child alive at all.”

Apart from her very first answer, Isabeth directed everything she said to the princess.
I might as well be invisible. She’s been setting them up since before Eloryn was even born.

“You said before, you had reason to believe I lived. Please tell me how?” asked Eloryn.

“It’s not a pleasant story, love.”

“I would still like to know, please.”

Isabeth tugged at her thin fingers then sat down on the corner of the bed. “After Thayl struck Caermaellan castle, we had our wizard send us through a Veil door to your mother’s estate, to warn her.”

Eloryn slipped down onto the edge of the bed beside Isabeth, shaking her head. “Estate?”

“Lady Loredanna stayed at her country home, just across the mountains here, during the last months of her pregnancy. I don’t know how much you know, but your mother wasn’t happy after her marriage. She lived there as much as she could, isolated from the court, her husband, even her closest friends.”

“I don’t think Alward knew my mother much at all, not in person. But he said... are you sure she hadn’t gone back to the castle?”

Isabeth’s skin wrinkled around her face into a frown and her hand covered her mouth. “Oh, love. We found her at the estate. We were too late. She was already dead, surrounded by the bodies of every other man and woman from her staff. They must have tried to protect her. I don’t know what happened. They were all out in the forest... But Loredanna was no longer with child and there was no baby among the dead. We knew there had been a younger member of the Wizards’ Council at the estate, Pellaine - yes, Alward - who also couldn’t be found. That is all we knew. That was enough to let us hope he got you away to safety.”

Eloryn squinted as if she’d been slapped. “I know of the estate you mean. The children from the village called it a ghost house. It was close to where we lived, within walking distance, but Alward never said... I thought she was with my father when...”

Memory watched silently.
Turns out I’m not the only one who didn’t know everything.
Something seemed to pull from the inside of her chest like a magnet, as though she should do something - hug Eloryn, say some comforting words - but nothing she could think of seemed natural.

Isabeth patted Eloryn’s hand consolingly. It looked as awkward as Memory felt. “I wish you could have known your mother. You are so much of her! In Faerbaird castle we had a portrait of Lady Loredanna from her coronation, when she wasn’t much older than you are now. She wore the crested medallion in that portrait, the one you dropped in front of Roen. Mind you take better care of it from now on.”

Eloryn moved her mouth, and it took a moment for her voice to find its way out. “Do you still have her portrait? I’d like to see my mother.”

“I’m so sorry. There have been times we’ve had to run, and it was lost. Still it served its purpose.” Isabeth gave her a knowing half smile. “Had Roen not grown up besotted with the lady in the painting, he might not have spotted the medallion so easily.”

A clatter of plates brought their attention to the door. Roen’s cheeks were noticeably red when he pushed through.

He brought in a silver tray laid out with bread and dry fruit and placed it on the dresser next to Memory. He seemed on edge and didn’t even look at her.

Roen walked over and whispered to Isabeth, then bowed to Eloryn and backed out of the room.
Even if helping me isn’t important to them, at least they’re feeding me.
Without a thought to politeness, Memory grabbed a bread roll, stuffing large chunks in her mouth. Her stomach was a roaring pit of hunger. The absence of coffee dismayed her. She could really do with some coffee.

Isabeth excused herself and followed Roen.

“Are you going to eat any of this?” Memory asked Eloryn. There wasn’t a lot of food, and while her stomach hurt less, she could easily keep eating. She eyed the entire platter with a lusting hunger.

“Please, quiet,” Eloryn whispered. She stared intently at the curtain screen between the rooms. Over her chewing, Memory hadn’t noticed the hushed, serious tones of the conversation coming from the living area.

“Are you eavesdropping?” Memory whispered back around a mouthful of bread. “What are they saying? They aren’t going to make me go, are they?”

Eloryn paled.

They are. They’re going to kick me out.
Memory couldn’t make out any clear words, only quiet mumbling. It couldn’t be worse than what she imagined they were saying. Looking at the green tint to Eloryn’s skin, Memory bit her lip.
Nope, worse, and not even about me. When has anyone been that worried about me?

“No,” Eloryn gasped and bolted out into the living area. Memory followed on her heels, grabbing the last bread roll on the way past.

Chapter Nine