Memory's Wake Omnibus: The Complete Illustrated YA Fantasy Series (8 page)

“Son, a word.” He stepped back and opened the curtain to the main room, ushering them both through. Isabeth lay on Roen’s thin bed, and another blanket had been laid out on the floor next to it.

Brannon led Roen across to the front door before looking back to Memory. “Eloryn is already asleep. You will be sharing the bed with her,” he said.

Pulling back the curtain to the bedroom doorway, Memory lingered to watch, to make sure Roen really wasn’t in any more trouble. Brannon talked to Roen in a whisper then slapped his hand on Roen’s shoulder, giving it a small squeeze. Roen replied then turned and nodded a goodnight to Memory where she stood watching. His eyes drifted to her side and a smile tugged the corner of his mouth. Memory turned to follow his gaze and saw Eloryn sleeping on the bed, her hair draped like ivory silk over her small shoulders. The sound of the front door closing turned Memory back to find Roen gone. Only Brannon remained, watching her thoughtfully. She let the curtain fall closed between them.

Buried in a bundle of thick down quilt, Eloryn heard soft footsteps approaching the bed. Having just shared the biggest secret of her life, one she and Alward had kept for sixteen years, her insides churned under her skin. She feigned sleep to stop the eager questions and looks of Roen’s parents. But when she lay down, despite her utter exhaustion, her mind would not quiet and let her get the rest she needed so dearly.

“All tuckered out from being a princess I suppose. Must be hard,” Memory’s whispering voice muttered from beside the bed. Her strange words made little sense. Eloryn hoped Memory would understand her words in return.

Eloryn sat up and looked to see they were alone. The double bed felt vast around her small form. Memory stared back for a second, her eyes red rimmed, making the green more vibrant in contrast. Then she turned away from Eloryn and sat on the other side of the bed.

“I’m sorry,” Eloryn said to Memory’s back.

She didn’t respond.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but you have to understand how important it was to remain secret.” Eloryn gripped the quilt, wringing it in her hands.

“I get it OK,” Memory said. “It’s just on a serious level of suck. I don’t even know what the hell is going on and you got me all caught up in it.”

“I promised I would help you, and I will. We will still try to find Alward, find out what happened with the Veil door, and help you get home. My heritage changes nothing there.”

“My ass it doesn’t.”

“You don’t understand. You don’t know-”

Memory turned and glared at her and her words cut off.
Of course she doesn’t know. How could I have said that to her?
Her effort to apologize turned wrong rapidly. She hardly knew how to talk to someone her own age, even without the communication gap Memory suffered. She’d never been able to make friends, even when she was allowed to mix with children her age in class. Always too shy, too different. The weight of her secret always added an extra boundary.

With a look of exhaustion, Memory turned her back on Eloryn again. She pulled back the covers and wedged herself between them, as far to the edge of her side as she could.

I have to try again.
Eloryn knew her title meant a lot more to everyone else but she only wanted simpler things, to be safe and happy with people she cared about. “I know I made things worse by hiding who I was from you. But maybe I can help you understand. I was raised by Alward, the man who saved me when my parents were killed.” Goosebumps prickled her all over. How she’d dared to feel dissatisfied with her life before made guilt simmer inside. Their life together was good, comfortable, and safe. Alward did everything he could for her, to keep her safe and make her happy. He treated her as his daughter even though she wasn’t, and she knew it meant he never had a chance to have his own children, his own life. If anything happened to him, it would be her fault. “It was hard, growing up, to understand why we lived how we did, the terrible things that had happened. Alward used to tell me a bedtime story...”

Memory made no movement, and Eloryn thought maybe she’d fallen asleep. Still, Eloryn pulled her knees up and put her chin on them, and spoke the words of the fairytale she knew by heart.

“Once upon a time in a beautiful land, surrounded by seas, man and fae lived side by side, peacefully, under the Pact. The Queen of this land was beautiful and young, and time came for her to take a King. Many tried for the place but only one could be chosen for her. One man, Thayl, became obsessed with the Queen. He swore vengeance on the Wizards’ Council when they picked another man to be the Queen’s husband. Then he disappeared, vanished without trace. The Queen married and grew large with her first child. The time came when the Queen went into labor, and on that night, Thayl returned.”

Memory turned over and propped herself up on one elbow, wide eyed and enthralled like the children in Eloryn’s classes.

“Thayl stormed Caermaellan and slew all between himself and the Queen as he had vowed. The King, the council of wizards, the castle guard, all fell before him as he unleashed a terrifying new magic. One wizard escaped and ran to save the queen. Too weak from her labor, she ordered the wizard to take her newborn and flee, to only and most importantly keep her child safe. He did, and the Queen was left to her fate. Thayl took control of the kingdom, forever still hunting the few wizards that escaped him and seeking the heir he knew survived that night. Some tried to fight, but none could stand against him and his new powers.

“The wizard went into hiding and raised the Queen’s daughter, caring for her and teaching her, and keeping her safe from all those he knew would be hunting her.” Eloryn finished, and Alward’s voice echoed in her head, the words he would speak each night before kissing her forehead and dousing the lights,
Always, always, keeping the princess safe.

Memory stared unmoving for a long moment after Eloryn finished her tale. When nothing else came, Memory blustered, “But! What? He couldn’t have her, so he killed her? That’s crazy person logic! What kind of story was that?”

Eloryn cringed and wiped away a tear. “I thought it would help you to understand, to know what happened.”

“He killed all those people? And this guy is still looking for you? Bloody hell.” Memory put a hand over her mouth. “You were right, I didn’t know. There’s a lot that I don’t know. But, it’s a little bit less now.”

Eloryn slid back under the covers, hiding her face and the tears that refused to stop.
Alward, where are you?
As her consciousness faded away into sleep, Memory whispered, “I hope your fairytale gets a happy ending one day.”

She stood in an alley way. All grey.

Impossibly tall buildings, sharp and slick, bent over and watched.

She looked up, not into them but into a hand.

It glowed. It hurt her. It belonged to a man.

The hand, the man, the buildings spun.

She was losing herself.

Then found a young boy.

He yelled, punched, pushed the man and made him disappear.

One, two, three. They all fell into nothing.

An eternity of darkness.

They dissolved and swirled. Ran through trees.

Brambles tearing.

Talons and scales. Thundering, hungry roars.

She held his hand, he held hers back.

Their wrists matched.

They couldn’t hold on.

She screamed.

She screamed. Strong hands held her down. She thrashed, clawed, bucked. Sweat and tears drenched her skin. Her eyelids felt glued. She tore them open.

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.