23. The Happy Feeling
The Happy Feeling
Ibreathe deeply, to the tune of a hollow sucking sound. Slowly, relief takes over me. Beautiful, overwhelming relief.
And joy.
It’s like being on the desert island with Cosmer again. Like nothing can hurt me, in this world – now, or ever. The pain that had blasted through me is hardly noticeable now. Feels more like I’ve worked my muscles even harder than usual in the Training Room, and I just need to stretch them out.
I sit up. The goggles in the mask warp the room. Make everything seem softer, like I’m viewing it from a distance.
Cosmer is being led away by officers. He keeps turning back, shouting something at me. He looks so angry. So scared.
Emotion tugs at me that I want to feel, but can’t.
And with every deep breath I take, filling my lungs right up, I only feel calmer. Without the buzzing in my head, I’m freer than I have been in years.
I can do anything.
Meg is standing up. Neatly, she smooths her hair and fixes her collar. She really is beautiful.
“Meg. Please tell us what in Cosmos we just witnessed,” Ephraine grunts.
“A problem with her blood magic,” she replies, perfectly emotionlessly.
“What blood magic? I didn’t know the girl had any,” one of the officers says. I think his name is Samson.
“A minor magic from a distant bloodline,” Dezeeves answers. “Related to the acquisition and comprehension of languages. It’s all in her book.”
Ephraine huffs. “Why in Cosmos would a pathetic magic like that cause her pain?”
“We still have many secrets to uncover about the mysteries of these talents – and perhaps Ara’s talents, specifically. However, I do know that, in joy or under duress, magic can either thrive or fail. And – luckily for us, I might add – this seems to have been a time magic failed.”
Meg has joined Dezeeves by his side. He pats her on the shoulder.
“Thank you, Meg. You may have just saved the lives of many in this room.” He nods at Ephraine. “Let us continue, shall we?”
Everyone is now looking at me.
Many of them look scared.
Scared of me.
If only they had osimidite. They would never feel fear, or hatred, or anger again. Forget Cosmer’s idea of just getting people to look up more, to end wars. Happiness, peace, can be found in a tank.
Cosmer.
Where is he? Why isn’t he here?
Dezeeves bends down to me. Offers me a pleasant smile, and his hand. I take it.
He helps me the couple of steps to my chair and even pulls it out for me. A Rhavnan gesture. He’s quite thoughtful, really.
I resume my seat.
“Can you hear us well, Ara?” he asks, when he is seated again himself.
I nod. My head feels heavy in the mask.
But my brain is light as feathers.
“Good. We’re going to take off the mask now and ask you some questions.”
Ephraine, now behind me, pulls the metal off me.
My first breaths without osimidite feel laboured. Awkward.
Normal air is disappointing.
“We’ll start with a simple one,” Dezeeves says, twining his hands together. “Did you have a happy childhood, in the Palace?”
“The happiest,” I say at once. “It was magical.”
“Tell us about it.”
“I loved the library. My friends. The insects in the gardens. Even the spiders and the crane flies. They were as big as fists.” I add, because I can’t seem to stop talking, “I saw a crane fly burn itself alive once – it flew straight into a flame. Singed its wings.”
“Fascinating,” Dezeeves says. “I do believe we have much to learn from insects. Now, did you do much travel, in your time in the Palace?”
What a strange question. I wish I could have talked more about the crane flies.
“Travel? Only to the beach, sometimes. The dome had everything we needed.”
Like my village in Hevalla. That had everything I needed, too.
It had my family, and Cosmer.
Cosmer was led away.
He has a lot of charges.
He could be executed.
It’s a thought so awful it makes me laugh.
I stop myself. What am I doing? Why am I acting this way?
It’s the osimidite.
Fight it, I will myself.
“Will Cosmer be all right?” I ask, folding my arms on the table. My voice sounds so strange. High-pitched and far away. Like it’s not even coming from me, but someone else.
“We’re not talking about Cosmer,” Dezeeves stresses, while unfurling a large scroll that had been on the table and smoothing it out. “Now, this is a village in Rhavna. Does it look anything like the kind of childhood you had?”
I examine the sketch.
No. He’s mistaken.
The artist has sketched the ground cracked and dry, with a smattering of spiky bushes and stunted, scraggy trees. A couple of small, shabby wooden houses huddle in the distance.
“This is Hevalla,” I state.
Something passes over Dezeeves’ face. I imagine it would be the look a spider would give a fly, once its web has been set up, and it’s proud of it.
“This is Rhavna,” he insists.
He lets the word settle.
I’m silent. It’s so ridiculous, I could laugh again.
“Let me show you another sketch,” he says. “Is this more reflective of your childhood?”
The next scroll is from a different artist. This one is much more detailed – a beautifully drawn replica of the Palace gardens.
I can see the maze, the rose garden, the greenhouses.
In the distance is the spire of the main building.
The artist even captures a slight shimmer in the backdrop of the scene, which must be the dome.
“Yes,” I say. “That’s it.” And then I take a closer look, because there’s something familiar about the workmanship. “Did Rike draw this?”
Dezeeves says, thoughtfully, “Rike was one of our first prisoners. You can imagine we were surprised, when we learned that this,” he gestures to Rike’s scroll, “Is what the Rhavna inside the dome looks like.”
Swiftly, Dezeeves pulls the scrolls away from me before I can get another look at them. Starts rolling them up.
I want to feel confused. I want to feel angry.
The osimidite is dulling everything.
I barely feel more than vaguely interested.
And giddy, still. Like I could leave this room and never think twice about anything that happened here. Sleep well. Live my life free of thoughts of where the next meal is going to come from – for myself, and those I love – or when we might be bombed.
Or how I’ll ever repay my debt to Cosmer.
Cosmer, who doesn’t think he’s worthy of me.
Cosmer, who isn’t here.
Dezeeves is speaking. It takes huge effort to hear anything he’s saying.
“While the country is left to wither away, the Queen and her court live in splendour, their magic bouncing through the dome built by the Queen’s father, and boosting the microclimate they live in more.
The Rhavna you believe exists looks more and more like Hevalla does now, every day.
” He pauses. “You have been lied to. As has the rest of your country. In these corrective instruction sessions, you will learn to see things for what they are, and not for what you hope them to be. It is a powerful skill to have – one that you may even find lends itself well to your own endeavours.”
Officers rise up, their chairs scraping softly across the wood.
“Can you take me to Cosmer now?” I ask.
Ephraine leers over him. “Up the amount of osimidite next time, Dezeeves, will you? If I hear her say that name one more time…”
Dezeeves has taken my arm. He helps me out of my seat and over to the door. I’m glad I have him. I can hardly put one unsteady leg in front of the other.
I probe Dezeeves again, because maybe he didn’t hear me. “Dezeeves,” I say. “Can we? Go to him now?” I grip his spindly arm through his leather sleeve tighter.
“I think,” he starts in a stunted voice, as if speaking to a child, “The only place for you to go, right now, is your cabin.”
He opens the door.
Riss and Drake are waiting. I’m happy to see them.
I’m light as air.
But Cosmer is not here.
I’m pushed through the door, which is then swiftly slammed shut behind me.
“Ara,” Riss says, lurching towards me. “What in Cosmos happened in there? They said on the radio Cosmer’s in the brig—”
I’m laughing, tears in my eyes.
“It’s awful,” I say. “He has so many charges. He’ll be executed.”
I stagger over to Drake. Sort of fall into him, but his strong arms catch me. I inhale his scent, deeply. It’s calming me more than the osimidite.
“We have to go,” I say, pounding his chest with my fist, because why isn’t he reacting to what I’m trying to tell him? “Don’t you understand? You saw Chapp’s trial. Cosmer won’t stand a chance. You have to break him out. We could take his ship. Run. Another country. All of us.”
“What’s wrong with her?” Riss snaps.
Drake leans in, eyes flickering between mine. I squint back at him. He’s swaying. Or maybe I am. I grip his shoulders tighter.
He frowns. “They’ve given her osimidite.”
“You’re joking.”
I finally ease out of his grip. Turn to Riss.
“This is all my fault,” I tell her. “I love him. But he should never have met me. And now he’ll be executed.”
Her grey eyes are enormous. Her palm flies to her forehead.
“Cosmos. How are we going to deal with this? She wants us to break him out of the brig? She loves him?” She lets out a strained, funny laugh. “She’s huffed out of her mind. And I don’t even know whose keeper I’m supposed to be now—”
“I can tell you the answer to that,” a voice behind us says.
Meg is stepping through the doorway. She lets the door close, then leans against the wall.
“You’re Drake’s keeper. Officially,” she states. “Dezeeves just confirmed that.”
Riss waves a hand over me. “And the huffed-up Girl in Love? Who’s her keeper going to be?”
“That would be me,” she replies. “So, you don’t need to worry a single hair on your little head about any of this.”
Riss’ mouth drops.
“FIs can’t be keepers.”
Meg waves an Integration book she’d been holding. It has Drake’s name on the spine. “Dezeeves just made me one,” she says, shrugging. “So, looks like they can. Shall we switch?”
Reluctantly, Riss steps over to her. They watch each other the whole time they swap books.
“Where are the rest of Cosmer’s things?” Riss asks. “His flask?”