Page 27 of Where We Belong

Ashley

my soul has risen, no longer asleep,

I’ll stand till trumpet sounds.

“Where am I?” I almost choke on the words. My throat stinging from whatever tube I pulled out as my eyes dart around. People fuss around me, their hands shaking almost as much as mine. They won’t look straight at me, though; they just steal glances like they can’t decide whether I’m dangerous or holy. I want to tell them I’m neither.

“Bring her to the throne room when she is recovered. Preferably today. I have a class to teach.”

The words come from a tall, slender, curly-haired man, who tosses the words over his shoulder and slams the door. I resist at first, pulling my hands away from the people trying to pull me upright, but eventually I give in. What’s the point? I don’t have the strength to fight them, and even if I did, what would it accomplish? They can overpower me easily, just like everyone else has.

They guide me to the bed and I can barely hold myself upright when I perch on the side of the mattress. A woman with sharp cheekbones and wild blonde curls that tumble down to her hips, kneels in front of me. Her large, brown eyes study me as if I’m a cornered animal.

“Hello, my name is Anka, do I have permission to touch you?” She asks softly,

“For what?” My voice sounds steady enough, but it’s missing something, like parts of me are still locked up in that cell.

“I need to do some checks, Your Highness. Just to ensure you’re healing properly. You suffered significant injuries during the two months you were held captive. Your body has somewhat regenerated, but not completely, until you were brought here.”

The words hit me like a punch in the gut. Two months? I lost count after six days, then it turned into one big eternal hell. A brief tingle of magic in my heart takes me by surprise. I must have jolted because she takes the tiniest movement back onto her heel as though I might lash out.

“Your Highness?”

My mouth pulls downwards at the title. They spat it at me with such hatred in that cell, that it now feels just as wrong coming from someone with respect.

“Okay.”

Once I see the sharp instruments she pulls from the deep pockets of her white coat, I grip the sides of the mattress. I don’t want that shit anywhere near me. Even though, for the most part, Kaed used his hands to tear me apart, I don’t think I can take any more pain.

“These won’t hurt you,” she says, smiling tenderly as if reading my thoughts. “Let me show you what each one does first, on myself, so you’re comfortable. Is that okay?”

I nod. Wanting it over with. I hate how small I feel, but I let her explain each tool as if I were a kid in the dentists for the first time. Her fingers are gentle, but I still flinch at nearly every prod and weird bottle of liquid she dabs onto me, even between explanations and apologies. I answer each of her questions with a “yes that’s fine,” or a “no, no pain,” and flex and stretch whichever part of my body she asks me to. And though the pain that had almost become a part of me has gone, my body still feels heavy, as if there are weights resting on my shoulders. The room is too silent. So many eyes are fixed on me like needles pricking at my skin. “You may all leave now, thank you.” Anka’s sharp words send the nosy onlookers filing out of the room.

When the last person has gone, she waves her hand, and the door shuts silently. It reminds me of my favourite memory of my dad and me. On the beach, building a sandcastle while mum dozed nearby under the safety of her oversized yellow sunhat. He looked left and right to make sure no one was watching, then, with a cheeky grin, he waved his hand, and a few pebbles floated in the air. My little eyes widened when they arranged themselves to form a drawbridge. A white butterfly landed on the spire just as he finished. My eyes drift to my wrist. The light pink patch where my tattoo used to be stares back at me. My mouth starts to water at the memory of the pain, the blood. Kaed’s dirty nails are digging into my skin and tearing my flesh off like a plaster. I just want to go home. But that feeling gets caught halfway in my chest, right next to where my magic is licking its wounds. Where is that exactly, Ashley? Because, despite not knowing where the hell I am, I have the strangest feeling I’m safe here. I’m where I’m supposed to be. Or maybe that’s Stockholm syndrome.

“We’ve managed to restore most of your health, your fingers.” Regret slips into her words when she adds, “But we cannot bring back what was not a part of you to begin with. Your skin, the tattoo...” She rubs her thumb softly over my wrist. “I’m sorry if it meant something special. When you are ready, we can find someone in the city to do another one for you.” She smiles hopefully, but all I can do in response is open and close my mouth silently like a fucking fish.

“You can bathe through there, and I have a change of clothes for you in the armoire.” She rolls her eyes slightly when she adds, “Captain Kaed insisted you remain in these rags, as well as the temperature of the room so I apologise if it’s too cold.”

As horrible as these clothes are, dirty and clinging to me like a second skin, I’m strangely relieved no one has touched me. “No, thank you. I’ll stay like this.” Surely, now I’ve been rescued, they’ll send me back up, and I can just get changed at home and go on with my life like nothing ever happened. The twinge in my chest feels a little like my magic just rolled its eyes at me.

“As you wish. I’ll leave you to get some rest.” Despite her brows pinching together, a soft smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. “If you need me, ring this.” She points toward a small lever next to the bed. “I’ll have some food brought up for you. Just eat what you can, okay?”

Flashes of Kaed prying my mouth open and pushing flavorless mush into my mouth whilst tears stream down my face fill my mind. But I force another nod.

“Where was that man saying you should take me?”

“What man?” she tilts her head to the side.

“The man in the doorway earlier.”

Her brows furrow as she scans the floor in thought.

“Oh, yes. He was just instructing us to bring you to the King, once you’re feeling up to it, of course. My apologies, when you said man, it caught me off guard. We don’t use that word here; we’re not human, we’re fae. So, we use male and female.” I always knew I wasn’t exactly a human, but hearing it put so scientifically is strange.

Anka lingers for a beat, like she’s debating whether to say more. But finally, she gives me a sad, almost pitying look before bowing. The door shuts behind her silently and I close my eyes, trying to find my centre. But all I see in the dark is him. Kaed. He doesn’t mean me harm, I tell myself. He was under a spell when he hurt me. But no matter how hard I try, I can’t stop seeing the glassy-eyed monster who ripped me apart, piece by piece. The smell of those cells is suffocating. It’s in my nose, on my skin. It was all over him. Him. My breaths are shallow as I try to calm myself down, counting to ten. I am free. I think. Memories cut through the fog. Kaed under Theron’s control again. Being strapped to his hard back while he fought. I remember the slam of my body against a wall. Then sweet darkness. In that darkness, I fell towards peace. My parents were there, reaching for me. I stretched my fingers, and just as they grazed my father’s, a harness strapped to my chest pulled me back, and all I could hear was a heartbeat thundering in my ears like a drum and the wind on my face. I am free.

Opening my eyes, I take in the room. It’s clinical in a whimsical way. The wooden shelves lining the white walls are filled with jars, herbs, and books. I jump back when one of the books moves. It shuffles around and snaps at another while a third ruffles its pages like laughter. I had never considered that objects would be able to hold magic like I can. A small fireplace burns on the far wall, the mantle is decorated with incense, a few unlit candles and some black beads that might be a necklace. Next to the bed are a couple of mismatched chairs and a narrow table stacked with rolled-up papers that look like massive joints. I could do with one of those right now. The room feels like magic. That faint buzzing that’s fluttered in my chest for years is in the very air I’m breathing. I take a deep breath in and sneeze. It’s like when you lean over a glass of lemonade and accidentally inhale the fizz. My fingers graze the edge of a tapestry on the wall, when a knock at the door startles me. I jump back, unsure if I’m supposed to be touching stuff.