Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Lyra
“Lyra?” a soft voice calls from behind me.
I’m sitting facing a wall, hunched over and hugging my arms to my chest. Squeezing my eyes shut as I rock back and forth.
“Lyra, it’s alright. It’s only your blood.”
My eyes flash open, and I stare at the dragon painting before me. A new spike of terror rips through me as I turn to the kind voice. Glancing over my shoulder I stop at the man’s golden boots, not daring to look him in the eye.
“Is that…is that supposed to make me feel…better?” I say through trembling lips.
“I don’t know who you are. I don’t know where I am.
” I can’t keep the pathetic fear from shaking my voice.
All I can manage is flicking my gaze up his boots, up the entire gold armor encasing his body.
The only thing uncovered is his strong throat and head.
A light beard dusts his jawline, with his hair cut close to his skull.
“You’ll be alright…” He tilts his head to the side a tick, soft brown eyes pitying me. “You have nothing to fear.”
I turn away from him, my body shaking. I remember nothing. And until he called my name, I didn’t know that, either. Didn’t know where I am–still don’t. Nor why I’m naked and woke up in a puddle of my own blood. Why my wrists are slit.
“Drink the wine, and it’ll heal you,” he calls behind me. “I promise. Waking up can be a bit jarring, but you’ll come to once you drink it all and give it a moment to settle.”
“Can you…” I try to swallow back the thickness in my throat. “Can you look away?”
“Of course.” He closes the door gently. After I’ve checked over my shoulder, I crawl over to the table and lift the glass. The room spins at dizzying speeds, and my throat is tight with nausea. A sweat breaks out across my forehead, competing for my attention.
I dip a finger and test the liquid on my tongue.
Not poison.
I don’t know how I know that, but I do. So, I wash down the tightness in my throat with the wine and wait until it snuffs out my overwhelming sensations to a quiet.
“Lyra?” the sound is muffled behind the door. “Did you drink it?”
“Yes.”
The door parts open a few inches as I grab the edge of the duvet spilling off from the bed, pulling it up to shield my naked, pale body.
The man dips his head, eyes to the floor. “I’ve brought lady maids to assist you, if that’s alright? You were the last to wake, and so you have a bit less time than the rest. Dinner starts in thirty minutes so we need to be quick.”
Last to wake? Dinner? I flick my gaze between the three women behind him, all waiting for my approval. “Where am I?”
“You’ll find out in about…twenty-nine minutes,” he answers, then opens the door wider. “Please. They are the top of our staff. They are quick and thorough.”
I nod, finding no other way, and the women sweep in.
The man closes the door once they’ve entered.
The eldest woman points to another and motions toward the puddle of blood on the floor.
Then two of the women are quietly ushering me out from the duvet.
Allowing me to brace my weight on their forearms, they lead me into a bathroom.
They draw me a bath and bathe me. Scrubbing at me with brushes and soap, combing my thin black hair free of tangles until the water is murky red.
After they’ve drained it and rinsed me, they help me out of the bath and dry me off before three mirrors.
Water slips down my petite frame, and one woman pulls my long black hair off my breasts to my back. I can’t help but wrap my arms back over my chest, squeezing my thighs together like it may afford me some sort of privacy.
The women show me various dresses to choose from, and I gravitate toward the exquisite cerulean one. It’s sleeved and rippling in a sheen of subtle layers. They pin my dark hair up in pearls and slip on matching earrings that tease my collarbones as they hang.
“Four minutes,” the eldest woman hisses.
They give me a onceover, perfecting any last details before leading me out the bathroom to the double-doors. When they open it, the gold-clad soldier stands on the other side.
His eyes light up as he beholds me, a soft grin lifting his lips. “Enchanting. He’s going to love you.”
I can’t be flattered, because I’m stuck on one word. “He?” I breathe, watching as the lady maids slip back into my room. One of the ladymaids instructed to clean my blood off the floor is on her hands and knees scrubbing the red off the white tile before the door closes.
The golden soldier nods, motioning me down a long hall ending in a set of colorful cathedral windows. He falls into step with me, his boots and my heels clicking against the marble.
His chin is lifted, eyes set on the path ahead. “King Cyrus. Do you not remember?”
I shake my head, my earrings swinging at the motion. “No? Should I?”
“Interesting…give the wine some time to settle, and you will. Is your pain gone?”
Blinking, I look away from the side of his face down to my wrists to consider. When I flip my hand up to expose the skin, I’m perplexed that all that remains is a faint line. Hardly visible by a quick glance. “Yes, it’s gone.”
But what in the worlds could heal such a deathly wound?
“Good. That’s the first step.” He stops at an archway that leads down another hallway. “The other women are in the room down on the left. Join them, and take it slow. You don’t want to overwhelm your memories. You shall get them back gradually, so just let them come on their own accord.”
A soft chorus of chatter rolls down from the hallway, followed by a collection of giggles.
I turn my attention back to him, meeting his brown gaze.
Awkwardly, I extend a hand to him. Unsure of how to express my gratitude in this situation, and yet, not sure if it’s entirely warranted but needing to be polite all the same.
My instincts tell me that a soldier garbed in gold can only mean one thing–high ranking. “Thank you…”
He grabs my hand, giving me a firm shake and I shiver when his thumb swipes across the back of my hand in a single gentle stroke. When he flicks his eyes up to me, he says, “Devin.”
I smile, slipping my hand out of his and dipping my head. “Thank you, Devin.”
I walk down the hallway, slipping into the doorway on the left he noted, and into a room buzzing with conversation.
Tables are lined with women dressed in luxurious gowns, exchanging conversations and lipstick-lined smiles.
I search each face, hoping for someone I recognize.
That perhaps someone here might know who I am. Even when I don’t know myself.
Faces start to turn to me. Snapping one by one, then by twos and threes, until everyone is staring. Silence settles around the room as everyone lies in wait for the woman stuck at the top of the stairs.
Gods above, Lyra, move!
I gather my skirts in my hands, seeing no other way but down. Unlocking my legs, I force myself forward. Step by step I make my way down the wide staircase until I’m on the same level as the dining room.