Chapter 1 #2
His eyes. They were blazing, sparkling with shimmers of light that grew in intensity until the only color that remained was a glowing bright golden. Unnaturally golden.
How was that possible?
We stared at each other for a moment, both breathing heavily.
Then, slowly, the light in his eyes dimmed, and they settled back to their dull gray haze.
He looked away first to the stranger at the door, and I quickly focused back on his hands.
He was quick to fold them behind his back, but I caught sight of them as he did.
There was only tanned skin, as if I had somehow imagined the whole thing.
“Iris, you don’t need to be here.” He sighed, turning to her.
She was a beautiful girl, albeit a bit extravagant.
Her pastel pink hair hung to her shoulders in tight curls and was pulled back from her face with a flower crown.
Shades of gold and sapphire decorated the lids above her dark eyes, and she wore a long gown falling towards the floor in waves of rose-hued taffeta.
Her caramel skin was doused in sparkling pink and blue glitter that caught the light in the room as she walked towards me.
“Call it moral support.” She smiled at him and winked. “So, who do we have here?”
She addressed me directly, stepping forward to the side of my bed with a smile. With her head tilted, she looked down at me, and one of her cheeks dimpled as she tried, and failed, to hide a grin.
“Theadora,” I mumbled, repeating the stolen name that had become my own with a glance towards the man.
Clayton, I reminded myself. That’s what she had called him.
“I see,” she noted. “Well, Thea, everyone is dying to know how you ended up on that bridge!”
Clayton sneered at her. “Nice choice of words.”
She only grinned back fondly at him over her shoulder. As she turned her attention back to me, her wide eyes sparkled with amusement.
“What bridge do you keep talking about?” I questioned.
“What bridge?” Clayton repeated, brows raised and voice thick with incredulity. “The bridge you shook so violently it will take weeks to repair! The bridge you stood on when you attacked my people and killed someone. Am I ringing any bells?”
I froze, breath caught in my throat. No. That couldn’t be true.
And yet, if it were true, then maybe all of this chaos since I woke actually… made sense.
Of course that's why I was strapped to this ridiculous bed in this painfully empty room. I had hurt someone. They had somehow subdued me and locked me up here so I couldn't hurt anyone else.
But why couldn’t I remember any of this?
“I don’t think I wanted to hurt anyone,” I mused, unsure if I was speaking more to myself or him.
“You certainly did,” he replied.
“You don’t understand!” I cried, struggling against the restraints.
The guards around me responded at once, each stepping forward and brandishing their weapons.
I froze, raising my now fully healed hands up in surrender.
The loose gown fell gently over my shoulder, but I didn’t dare to try to move it back into place.
“I don’t know anything about a bridge, who you are, or even where I am. I remember waking up, and that is all I remember!”
Clayton wrapped his hands against the railing at the foot of my bed again, but his skin did not mutate this time. I was grateful for that, at least.
“Exactly how na?ve do you think I am?”
“How should I know the answer to that question when I don’t know you.”
With a swift motion, he ripped the stool off the floor and threw it across the room. I flinched as it hit the wall with a crash and splintered into pieces before falling to the ground.
“I will find out the truth whether you want to tell me or not! So, I suggest you do so now while I’m being kind in my interrogation tactics.”
“Clayton, stop!” Iris gasped suddenly as she looked down at me with an emotion I couldn’t quite identify.
“Problem, Iris?” He scolded, huffing with frustration.
Throwing a glare at him over her shoulder, she strode towards me suddenly, heels clicking on the floor.
“I won’t speak to your na?vety,” Iris called to him, “But I might question how observant you are!”
Her nails grazed my skin as she pulled the thin fabric of my gown further down my shoulder. I flinched away from her forcefully and the guards stepped forward once more, weapons at the ready.
“Doesn’t this seem odd to you?” She questioned, voice sharp and eyes locked on my chest.
The guards must have been well-trained because while each of their eyes seemed to widen in surprise their hands did not waver until Clayton mumbled for them to be at ease and took a few tentative steps forward. He didn't speak, but I saw his jaw working as he glanced over me.
A flush of unease peppered my cheeks as I strained my neck to see what had captured everyone's attention.
I could just make out the dark tattoo, in the shape of a weapon of some sort, inked into the skin on my left breastbone.
It had one long shaft stretching up and branching into two jagged spear-like ends.
I shifted again, desperate to see more of it. “Is that a-”
“It’s a bident,” Iris told me, her voice quiet and tense. “The symbol of House Hyrax, God of the Dead. That tattoo is the Mark of Hyrax.”
Wordlessly, Clayton ran his fingertips over the Mark, leaving pebbled flesh in his wake. I shivered just as he cursed under his breath.
“The Dragon will want to know,” Iris said softly behind him.
He was quiet for a moment, staring intensely down at me while his lips pursed. Dampness covered the top of my brow and I wondered numbly how it had possibly grown so warm in the room.
“You truly don’t remember anything before you woke up?” He asked, his voice low enough for only me to hear.
I nodded, too unsure of anything to speak aloud.
He bowed his head, and for a moment, he seemed to almost deflate.
It was just a split second really, but long enough for me to see concern and tension hidden under his anger.
There for a moment and gone in the next.
When he finally looked up, his mask had returned and he once again looked powerful and in control, seemingly unaware I had witnessed his momentary crack in composure.
With a wave of his hand, he beckoned a guard to come forward.
“Have the nurses remove her bandages and relocate her to the palace cells until we can call an emergency Council meeting,” he commanded.
“Yes, your grace.” The guard nodded.
Iris pursed her lips when he mentioned transferring me to the cells, but she didn’t speak up. Perhaps that was a battle she knew she couldn’t win.
He looked towards me once more, not at me necessarily. Rather his attention stayed on the Mark on my chest. “She can’t wear that to the Council.”
“I’ll get her some clothes.” Iris volunteered, speaking up for me as if I wasn’t there.
“Good,” he muttered. “Nothing elaborate, Iris. Regardless of what’s on her chest, the Kingdom still views her as a threat. We don’t need anyone to see her dressed like you. For now.”
For now?
Iris nodded her agreement, and Clayton turned to leave, his guards following behind.
“I do hope you’re telling the truth,” he called to me from the door before finally exiting.
And without him and his overwhelming presence, the room suddenly seemed larger and easier to breathe in. Iris and I were silent for a moment, both seeming to need time to adjust to the space without Clayton in it.
“What is happening?” I whispered.
After flicking her colorful hair over her shoulder, she leaned down to pat my knee affectionately. “Don’t you worry. We’ll get this figured out.”
“Iris, that’s your name?”
Giggling, she hiked her skirts up to her thighs and tossed herself onto the foot of my bed, leaning carelessly over my legs. “Yes, I’m Iris, pleasure to make your acquaintance. Clayton, who just left, is my cousin. Sorry he was being a bit of a bully.”
Her eyes widened slightly as the words escaped her mouth and her mouth tightened for a moment before quirking in a soft, nervous smile.
"Don't tell anyone I said it. His father would consider it treasonous for me to be calling the Crown prince names, even if it is all in good fun."
Ignoring the large majority of her words, I grasped onto her hand. “You have to help me get out of here.”
“Unfortunately, my dear, I can only do so much.” She sighed, glancing over her nails. “You caused quite a scene on that bridge. I can get you a proper dress, though, and we’ll clear all this up in no time.”
“At least tell me what’s happening!” I called out to her as she stood and began to retreat. “Please, I don’t understand any of this.”
She paused at the door, just as Clayton had, and nodded.
When she spoke again, her voice was as serious as it had been when she noticed the Mark stamped across my chest. “I will. I promise. I’ll explain as much as possible when I return, but I have to get you a dress.
We can’t be late for the Council, or it’s both of our necks on the line. You’ll have to trust me for now.”
With that, she left me alone with nothing but my anxieties for company.
There was some consolation in the solitude this time, though, because for some reason I did, in fact, trust her.
Maybe it was because she had talked to me like a person instead of a criminal.
Perhaps it was because her colorful ensemble made her look more like a child than an adult.
Whatever the reason was, though, I did trust that if she said she was coming back for me, then she would be returning.