Chapter 18: Welcome!

I drift in and out of distant echoes. Iron against stone, creaks that quicken and slow. Faint murmurs rise, though I’m unsure if they’re voices or whispers in the wind. Am I….alive?

A persistent pressure on my skull makes the world feel distant, but the rumbles draw closer. Pain slowly trickles into the hollow in my chest. My brain fights to open my eyes but nothing responds. The pain spreads, flooding that empty space, and a spark of memory slips through..

The stone collapsing beneath our hands, Colin’s battle with the King, the moment his gaze went lifeless. And the most brutal memory, the words that altered everything…

“Bear my bloodline.”

The fear runs thick through every vein. I fight against the force holding me still, realizing that the more I struggle, the tighter its grip becomes. The paralysis I endured from the Enforcers shields comes into focus like a weight settling into my limbs. I’m trapped.

I fall back into the darkness, and the echoes fade into silence.

The scent of smoke finds me, followed by a brush of cool breeze. My bones feel frozen as high-pitched sounds pierce through them. Something scrapes against stone. A boot, perhaps. Behind my closed eyes, a light flares, and the noise sharpens into shouts. Three voices, starkly familiar, echo in the dark. The voices morph into figures, stone begins cracking all around. The figure comes into focus as a sharpness presses against a neck that isn’t mine. And then, cutting through it all, a voice…

“Where is Jo?”

Eve. The vision reverberates. Another flash occurs, and I can’t tell if I am in my own head or drifting further away from it. Two figures emerge behind Eve, their daggers drawn at the ready, and a power I have never felt surges through me. Everything in me screams. Through the light in someone else's eyes, there stands Leo and Rain. The vision cracks and broadens, the land stretches. Facing Eve, Leo and Rain.

Stands Colin.

The sight steadies me even as it trembles at the edges, and I know it is more than a vision. His presence threads into mine, and I can’t tell where he ends and I begin, because at this moment,

We’re one.

Until everything goes dark.

A cheerful melody sings, the pleasant tune impossible not to yearn for. Wings flutter in the wind. A subtle tap rises like a beak against glass. My eyes peel open, my cheek pressed to a silk pillowcase while the rest of me is coated in down. I jerk my neck up but my stomach lurches and I throw a hand over my mouth. My throat grows moist until I release my hand, and the contents of my stomach. Folded over, gasping for air, I lift my chin and catch sight of intricate designs etched in gold, patterns I recognize from old Nemrisian texts. Crown molding lines the perimeter, and I realize I’m staring up at the tallest ceiling I have ever seen.

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Where. The. Fuck. Am. I?

I pat myself down. It’s me. I’m here. Lifting the comforter, I find myself dressed in blue silk nightwear I don’t recognize. To my right, floral drapes hang heavy with age, and the bedframe beneath me rises like a throne. My empty stomach twists in belief. I roll to the right and collapse from the bed, my hardened ribs howling in pain. My head rings as I press my cheek against the cold, praying this is all a dream, and the pain and fear that feels like a part of me now will soon subside. In my eyeline, a large rug softens the marble with two velvet chairs angled toward each other in the same weathered style, as if they have been waiting idly for centuries. A fireplace hums in the background, its warmth cutting through the faint chill in the air. I try to recall what came before this and what lies ahead, and the dull visions of Colin begin to unfold. A mental bond hums at the edges of my memory. I try to place it, wondering how on earth something could be… possible, then I remember our hands pressed against stone, the core of each of us pouring into the other, and the parting words he never spoke aloud. I close my eyes and reach for him through this newfound thread I don’t understand.

Colin, I call, waiting. Wondering if this thread is illusion. Or a sign that I’ve gone mad.

Nothing answers.

A door swings open and chaotic footsteps follow. My body stiffens. I hold my breath, keeping perfectly still with the bed as protection, praying that whoever, or whatever this is doesn’t see me. Sheets rustle, and a heavy splat echoes in my ears with a guttural gasp from someone I can’t see. A woman shrieks, “She was sick!” My ears ring, both thankful it’s not the King’s voice, but terrified it’s someone worse.

The floral curtains toss aside and beams of light flood the room. As I look up, a plump woman in a tightly corseted dress leans over me. Her hair is pinned back neatly, wisps escaping at her temples, and her plain skirt stretches as she shifts her weight. “Lady Jo,” she says. The way her words carry makes me feel like I’m lying in hell. “It’s time to prepare to meet with the King. Dinner will be served in one hour.” She snaps at the others I cannot see. “Clean, please!” Then her eyes return to me with a smile that feels painted on. “I see you may be hungry. No matter, the welcome committee will be delighted to serve you!”

I feel my throat try to solidify shut. I may never be hungry again. She reaches her wrinkled hand to meet mine, but my body recoils. I force myself upright. “Back away,” I demand. She frowns and huffs, crossing her arms with disappointment. “My Lady, you can make this easy or you can make it difficult, but given your circumstances, I would suggest easy.”

I plant my hands and reach for anything sharp. “And what are my circumstances, exactly?”

“Well, I’ve already told you, if only you’d listen.” She pulls her hand away and brushes it at her side, like she has to wipe away the rejection. The corners of her mouth rise. “Dinner with the King and the welcome committee. We are positively delighted to crown you as our new Queen!”

Queen. My eyes stretch wide, my breath shifts into a violent storm, heaving for air that isn’t here. None of this is real. It can’t be. I squeeze my eyes shut and silently beg to be taken home, dead or alive. Please, I say.

Then, a voice I’ve ached for, gentle as a breath against my ear, calls.

Jo?