Memory's Wake (14 page)

“You... very good at that, you know. Should be... professional damsel catcher,” Memory muttered, coming back to consciousness.

Warm, padded and covered, she opened her eyes and found herself alone and folded, not neatly, under sky blue covers of a single bed. Still fully clothed, less her shoes. A waft of sweat reached her nose, tainted by fear and turned pungent. She hoped she hadn’t smelt like this last night. Roen and Eloryn were kind even to have removed her shoes.

The previous day came back to her and shame came with it, swallowed by outrage at the feeling. Why should she feel ashamed? She hadn’t known what she was doing. It was an accident if anything. Apart from that poor horse, they were all OK. Or at least she hoped. Eloryn said she could have damaged herself somehow with the magic, but she felt fine, in fact, even better than she remembered. Although she still didn’t remember much.

Memory stumbled out of bed. The sun burned bright lines around the edges of blue velvet drapes. Shades of blue and silver covered every surface of the room, in brocade designs across the walls and a trompe l’oeil ceiling of a cloudy sky. A mirror above a cornflower colored dressing table showed all her scrapes and swelling gone. She poked at the bruising on her ribs through layered clothing, but felt no pain. Her hair, however, was painful even to look at.

“Huh,” she said aloud, wondering where Bill, Ben, Bob and Barry the Bruises had gone. The room echoed. Three doors stood in walls around the room, and Memory had no idea where any led. Door Number One already stood open, revealing an adjoining chamber – just as blue – with another bed, empty and unmade. She really was all alone. Memory stood in the middle of the vast blue room at a loss for what to do next. A latch clicked, making her jump. Roen peeked in through Door Number Two, and seeing her awake, strode in followed by Eloryn. They were both neat and clean, Roen dressed in a fresh white shirt, worn loosely, and Eloryn in her same grey and ivory lace dress that always managed to look perfect. Her hair was no less perfect.
Ambushed by the pretty people. Not fair damn it.

Memory mumbled a curse and made a casual attempt to finger comb her hair, keeping her armpits wedged closed. “Um, morning guys. I just woke up.”

“We were starting to wonder when you would. It’s well into the day,” Roen said, a line of worry across his forehead.

“Guess I needed the sleep. I feel much better though, in a few ways.” Memory pointed to where she’d had a black eye the day before.

“After you fainted, I tried to heal you.” Eloryn looked at her sheepishly. “Your surface injuries healed but there must be trust and consent for a stronger healing, and... I could not reach deeper and wake you. We were so worried for you. Still, I hoped if maybe the cause of your amnesia was more mundane that the healing magic might return some memories to you?”

“No change, but I think I’m OK, apart from desperately needing a shower.”

“The bathroom is just through there,” Roen said, indicating Door Number Three. He propped himself against a wall and raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure you haven’t been here before?”

Memory shook her head and glared pure irony at Roen.

“Only that you would ask for a shower is curious. Castle de Montredeur is one of the few places in Avall that has such a luxury, thanks to the underground water system that supplies the estate. Still, if you were from around here, I’m sure I would remember you. You’re not the type to go unnoticed,” Roen said with a smirk.

“Not smelling like this anyway-”

A distant knocking made Roen interrupt her. “That sounds like my room.” He opened the door again and leaned out. “Uther! Here, my man.”

“Still not in your room, young sir?” The old servant spoke with laughter in his voice.

“Not the worst place you’ve found me now, is it? You’ve a message for me?” Roen asked.

“The Duke sends word that he requests your presence at the feast and ball this afternoon. That of yourself, and your two lady friends. A formal invitation.” Uther handed Roen a wax sealed envelope.

“I’m not sure my companions have the energy for a social event. Not after last night,” said Roen. Memory swore she saw him wink very unsubtly.

“The Duke thought that may be the case, but instructed that I assure you the ball is a masque, so you may all hide your faces, if you’re feeling a little under the weather,” Uther said, his battle to keep a straight face lost quickly.

“Is that so?” Roen clapped Uther on the shoulder with a returned laugh.

“He is sending the Duchess’s very own handmaidens to see to the dressing of the ladies shortly.” Uther, still grinning, bowed and whispered before he left, “Careful or you may find some competition for these two beauties.”

When Roen closed the door and turned around, both Memory and Eloryn stared at him open mouthed.

“My deepest apologies Princess. It is only an act,” Roen said, walking back into the room. Passing Memory he whispered just within her hearing, “As if there’d be any competition.” With a hint of smile still on his lips, he took a seat at the end of the bed and cracked the seal of the envelope.

Memory, stunned, wondered more about who the two beauties were. Trying to be nonchalant she glanced at the mirror. Hair and clothes were as crumpled as each other; even a few visible wrinkles from her mummy-wrapped slumber still marked her skin.

Maybe being this disheveled would make the Duke more sympathetic to her when they met. She’d take her bruises back if it would mean he’d help her. “Are we going to see the Duke soon?”

Roen shook his head, looking over the letter. “We spoke to him already, last night.”

“Oh, of course you did.”
I bet I wasn’t even mentioned.

Roen read the note from Lanval aloud.

“Your arrival was well timed to match our grand Autumn Masque, which a well connected man within my trust will also attend. I believe him to be the source of the information you seek. Best he also meets the subject of the required information, that he has strong enough reason to trust in sharing it.” Roen closed his eyes for a short moment then smiled. “This is good news, Princess. You’ll be in safe hands soon.”

“Should we really be going out? If
Lory
looks so much like her mum, what if someone else recognizes her?”

Roen shook his head. “We’re lucky the masque is tonight. I doubt we’ll spend long at the ball, but it gives us freedom to move around the castle without anyone seeing either of your faces. The Duchess’s handmaidens will have you not even recognizing yourselves. Clarice, Saoirse and Lily are the best.”

“It says no more within the letter? No news of Alward?” Eloryn’s voice lifted an octave.

“None, I regret. It also shares no bad news which is our luck, either of Alward or of us being tracked here after what happened yesterday.”

And there it is again. I guess it was too much to hope they’d just let that whole summoning a dragon thing slip,
Memory thought.

“So, whoever you are, Memory, you’ve got some talent in magic,” Roen said. Memory thought he seemed too grateful to turn the topic away from Alward and shot him a glare telling him so.

Eloryn shook her head. She had never seemed more scared of Memory than she did now. “It’s not only that. No one should be able to connect with magic in that way without the use of the magical language. There’s only one other person ever known to be able to do that.”

Roen and Eloryn looked at each other, drawing silent.

“Oh come on, who?” Memory asked, not sure why she needed to know another name that meant nothing to her.

“King Thayl Vaircarn.”

Damn. She did know that name.

“That’s probably not good, is it?” Memory asked, shaken. The few clues she had about herself kept leading to unwanted places.

“It’s hard to say what it means, except that you need to be careful. Careful in what you say and how you say it,” Eloryn told her. “When you cast that spell yesterday, at the same time you spoke, did you feel the connection to magic within you?”

Memory nodded, feeling her chest still toasting away.

“That is what you need to avoid. Better you try not to cast anything at all until we know what has happened to you,” Eloryn said, her gaze turned away from Memory.

“But maybe it’s better I try and learn what I’m doing, so I know how to control it?” Memory said, her voice husky, nearly breaking. “I mean, I did that yesterday completely by accident. I don’t want to have another accident.”

Eloryn frowned, shaking her head slightly.

“Please. It really scared me,” Memory whispered.

“Perhaps just try something simple with her,” Roen said.

Eloryn bit her bottom lip, but nodded. “Something simple then.”

“The verbal light switch looks handy,” Memory suggested.

“Very well, the behest for it is Àlaich las. First, just practice the words. Then focus on what you want to happen. The behest brings to you a wisp, a type of fae made of light, alive, but more a pure energy than a conscious being. Feel the spark of connection within you, and then say the words again,” Eloryn instructed.

“Àlaich las.” Nothing happened.
Fair enough, first try, and the pronunciation is a bit crazy,
Memory thought. She breathed in, trying to stoke the fires in her chest, to feel them burning this time. “OK. Àlaich las.” Nothing again. “Àlaich las?” she whined. Still nothing.

“I suck,” Memory said.

“Maybe something more physical that she can focus on,” Roen suggested.

“Do you wish to demonstrate perhaps?” Eloryn asked.

“I’m sorry, please continue. You’ll be a much better teacher for this than I.” Roen got back to his feet and took a few steps away as if he’d been scolded to the corner by a teacher.

Eloryn took his place at the foot of the bed, and called Memory over next to her. “This is not as simple, and not authorized either, so be wary, if you learn it, not to use it where seen. But it is more
physical
in nature.”

Roen cleared his throat. “Mind, what the Princess can do is somewhat more powerful than normal, and almost always less authorized.”

Eloryn blushed in her usual, annoyingly cute way. “Not powerful, only, well, different. More complicated behests require more words, and it’s more important that those words are correctly used. It’s like speaking a contract. Alward taught me so much of the magical language and I can use it to ask what I need, without learning structured and proven behests. It is the talent of the Maellan line.”

“So, if I pick this stuff up, how do I know what’s authorized?”

Roen sniffed. “Nothing but fewer than a dozen household spells. Light, Branding, warming water, some very basic healing. Metal workers, couriers and doctors can get permits for more but it’s watched carefully and all very arbitrary. Most people realize the law is only there to flush out true wizards. It’s made life harder, and generally better to use no magic at all.”

“Well, if I can’t pick this one up, using no magic at all will be my next choice. So what do we do, Lory?”

“See the hair brush on the dressing table there? Beirsinn fair nalldomh.” Eloryn reached out a hand, and the hair brush flew into it.

Memory swore. “That’s cool. Yeah, I wanna learn that one.”

Eloryn replaced the brush on the dresser, and walked back to Memory, facing her where she sat on the edge of the bed. “You heard the words- beirsinn fair nalldomh. You should be able to easily focus on what you want here. Wisps can be contrary at times. Remember, work on feeling the connection to magic within you as you speak the words.”

Memory repeated the words, again and then again, trying to find some connection inside her. Nothing happened, not a twitch, and she felt frustrated and foolish. “Oh just come here!” she snapped, reaching her arm forward in one last attempt.

Movement. The brush moved, but so did the dressing table. The wooden feet of the dresser cried as it scraped across the stone floor, speeding toward her and Eloryn. Memory pulled her legs up away from it. The dresser slammed into the foot of the bed. It spewed its drawers out onto the covers, wood splintering against the bed frame. Eloryn moved too slowly, saved only by Roen’s speed, the professional damsel catcher in action. He grabbed and spun her out of its way.

As the dresser rocked on its feet, Roen held Eloryn in his arms a moment longer before he seemed willing to let her go. Memory could see a battle of color in her face, paling in fear, blushing in embarrassment.

Memory swore again. “Sorry.”

“It’s all right. She’s safe,” Roen said, only looking at Eloryn.

Chapter Twelve