by Valia Lind
"I don't know, Jemma. I don't understand any of what's happening to me anymore than you do. I guess the most important bits came back?"
"But that can't be true. You still have too many questions for that to be true."
She's right, of course, but how do I explain this to her, if even I don't understand it?
"To tell you the truth..." I voice what's been bugging me for days, making it real with this one sentence. "I haven't even had any flashbacks for days now. It's like something is blocking the memories from returning."
"Do you think it's part of the spell?"
"I think, it's a different spell. I can't explain it, but it feels different."
"That's scary."
"You're telling me." I don't mention that I suspect it's the queen's doing, a way for her to still control me. That's one secret I am still keeping from Jemma. I can't put into words the fears I feel constantly creeping up on me. Now that we're deep inside the hornets’ nest, I have no idea what to expect and I need to be that much more careful.
We don’t talk after that, as each of us takes turn in the wash room, trying to get the grime of the last week off our bodies. I find a plain shift for Jemma, and one for me. We move in silence, like we’ve done many times in our door, back in the human realm. She understands my need for silence, and she herself is dealing with too much to have any desire to talk it out.
When we finally lay in bed, Jemma is out like a light. Poor thing has probably stayed up most of the nights when she was held in that dungeon. I want to ask her about it, but at the same time, I know she’ll talk when she’s ready. If not to me, then definitely to Maxwell.
I wish I could’ve protected her from all this. I wish I could protect everyone from what is to come. The anger I feel is a constant companion, and even now I can feel that particular majyk inside of me answering to it.
The disappointment of my parents not being here sit heavily with me. I would give anything to talk to my Papa, to ask him all the questions I’ve been storing up inside of me. Maybe then I would be brave enough to finally tell Brendan the truth.
Brendan.
I think of his handsome face, of his constant faith in me, of the way he encourages me even when I frustrate him to no end. I don’t deserve his faithfulness, but I crave it all the same. Even knowing that William is my feature, I still want Brendan with every fiber of my being.
I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep, but it’s with his smile in my mind that I finally close my eyes and drift away.
"Come on, let’s see what we can find in this wardrobe. I'm sure the queen had it restocked."
The next morning, Jemma is awake before I am and when I finally roll over, she’s standing by the window, looking like she’s a million miles away. Now, I take her by the hand, and pull her away from it and the enticing imagery down at the courtyard. Brendan and Maxwell just walked up. It would be so easy to stay by the glass and watch the boys greet their friends, to see if they need to spar as much as I do, to work off some of this nervous energy. But I don't. Focusing on the task at hand, I pull the large closet doors open, much to Jemma's delight.
"Holy cannoli, Cali. These are...gorgeous."
Smiling, I have to agree. When I was little, Mama always had to bribe or blackmail me into pretty dresses. I was much too eager to play with the boys and dresses just made it more difficult to beat them at whatever battle game we were constructing. But the older I got, the more my tastes changed. I now believed that a girl can wear a beautiful dress and still win every battle. If she was just determined enough. Which I took to proving time after time.
"These are yours?" Jemma breathes, pulling out an emerald green gown, full of layers and intricate jewel design down the front bodice.
"They are."
"But they're so—“
"What?"
"Different!" There's that word again. "You never wanted to dress up in college. You were much rather lounge around in your sweats than put on a dress."
I pause, taking in her words and realize they're true. The dress I wore to the party which feels like eons ago was one of the only two that I owned. It feels so strange thinking about that life now, a life I can never experience again.
"You're right," I say slowly, mulling over the person I was and the person I am.
"I guess it makes sense when you think about what the spell did, when it took my memories." I muse out loud, trying to come up with a plausible explanation. "The majyk replaced my old life with the nearly exact opposite. Hating dresses must just be the side effect of the personality I received."
Once I say it, it makes sense. And it makes me angry all over again for losing a part of myself to this stupid spell. They took my memories and so they took parts of myself they thought were expendable. No one should have the power to decide who I am. No one but me.
Jemma watches me carefully, allowing me the time I need to work through the emotions in my mind. When I realize I've balled my hands into fists, I relax them, calming the majyk that began boiling inside me.
"Try it on," I tell Jemma, while the need to punch something festers within me. It's an old anger, one I thought I had more control over.
"Oh I like this one better!" She pulls out a deep red number, with a full skirt and a bodice filled with lace and rubies. Jemma smiles and tugs her shirt right over her head.
"Jemma! Can you not in front of the window?" I laugh, and the sound surprises and refreshes me at the same time. My friend chuckles, never one too afraid to show off her body, but moves over to the other side of the bed at my words.
"Okay, mom!" She exclaims, laughing. She turns to look at the dress now laid out on the bed, her hands on her hips. I chuckle, the expression on her face priceless.
"Here, let me help."
I reach for the dress, lifting it with my majyk, before settling it on the floor in a perfect circle, with the bodice at the center. Presenting Jemma with my hand, she takes it gratefully and steps in, pulling the dress up and over her shoulders. Turning her around, I work on the small buttons running up her spine, the dress molding perfectly to her curves. The neckline is off the one shoulder, exposing Jemma's collarbone and some of the back. The jewels are arranged in a lace patterns over her stomach, reaching up over her collarbone on the opposite side. The skirt is full, with layers upon layers of fine silk.
"Wow, this feels incredible." My friend gushes, running her hands over the dress. "I expected it to be so heavy, but it feels like second skin."
"That's majyk for you. If we are to wear elaborate dresses, why not make sure they're comfortable." I smile. "We need to do something about your hair."
"Oh my, I should've taken a shower or something before I put this on! Even after the bath last night, I still feel dirty.”
Now I'm laughing, but not at her. Her wonderment is making my heart lighter. Pulling her around, I undo the buttons and help her step out of the dress.
"Let's get you washed up and then you can wear the dress all you want."
15
Jemma's enthusiasm for dressing up isn't curbed by the fact that she's in a majykal place. It's intensified. After a shower, which she was still beyond amazed we had, she sits on my bed, watching me look through my wardrobe for something appropriate to wear.
"But I thought fae folk, or that word that I can't pronounce…”
"Volshebnitsi."
"Yes, that. I thought metal was poisonous to you."
"Remember how I said my family comes from a bloodline of warriors?" She nods. "And how we have an affinity to metals because of the weapons we use." Another nod. "Well, there are chemists in the land who have been working around that problem for centuries. We want all the "fae folk", as you call them, to be around the one thing that makes us weaker. So the scientist have been implementing different combinations of metals to the various aspects of our culture. Showers being one of them. I can't explain to you the exact makeup of the compounds, but I remember learning in school that plumbing was one of the biggest
breakthroughs of the century for us."
"Is that why they sent you to the human world, because you can withstand metals?"
"It's why I was able to go, yes." I reply, making another pass through the choices in my closet.
"Cali! Stop fidgeting already. We both know you're wearing the green dress."
Turning, I roll my eyes at Jemma, but I hate that she's right. It's the dress that calls to me the most, but it also evokes all kinds of emotions I'm trying to hard to keep at bay.
I've always loved you in green.
Shaking Brendan's voice out of my head, I concede. Nothing else is working for me. Groaning in frustration, I let go of the silk as if it personally offended me, before turning back to my friend.
"Come on, let's get you all ready."
Leading her to the vanity setup, I run my hands through her hair, my majyk heating the strands up just a tad. They fall in waves around her shoulders, curling just a little more at the tips.
"Wow, this is super useful. And time saving." Jemma exclaims, watching her hair transform in the mirror. I smile, memories I haven't thought about in ages rising up in my mind.
"My Mama used to helps me get ready, before I was too stubborn to sit still for her elaborate hair designs. When I was younger, especially during my 'I don't want to be wearing anything but armor' stage, Papa would have to come in and keep me seated while she worked to make me at least look presentable. She would fuss and Papa would wink and make her laugh."
"They sound amazing," Jemma whispers when my voice trails off. "I'm so glad that your parents fates are not like the ones the spell created." Looking up, I smile at her in the mirror.
"I think they'd like you," I say, the pang in my chest growing more painful. Its the mixture of concern and anger. It feels personal that Vasilisa sent them away, just as I was returning. Maybe I'm just looking for reasons to hate her, even though I already do.
"I can't wait to meet them."
I hold on to the certainty in her voice that she will. Brendan would tell me not to worry, but then again, he trusts Vasilisa in the way I no longer do. Even with all of his suspicions about the royalty, I don’t think he can imagine what I know. Blinking away the unwanted emotion, I turn Jemma to face me, her blonde hair now arranged in cascading waves around her. There's no makeup, but she doesn't need it. In Skazka, the air itself makes her skin glow brighter, her eyes seem livelier. I add a few flowers to her hair, the exact shade of her dress, and as she stands and turns toward me, I can't help but grin.
"You look amazing."
She smiles, before waving her arms at me.
"Are you planning on changing or what? I want to see you in all of your pretty fairy beauty." I chuckle at her use of fairy, but don't correct. After a long look at the wardrobe, I sign and pick up the green dress, carrying it behind the screen. It's been so long since I've worn anything of this caliber, my hands shake as they fumble with the buttons.
"Do you need help?" Jemma calls, still admiring herself in a mirror.
"I think I got it," I reply, needing another few minutes behind a wall. Every emotion imaginable has been pelting me like cold sleet since the moment I stepped back into Skazka. And so much more now that I'm back at court. If the stories are true, I'm supposed to be the most heartless, cruel majykal being that ever lived. So why is it I still feel everything so much?
Brendan's eyes spring to mind, his quiet support, his inquisitive gaze. Shaking my head, I dispel the images that cause me more confusion and reach for the dress. Leaving my sleep clothes in a pile on the floor, I step into the gown, pulling it up to my shoulders. It's a low neckline, off the shoulder dress, with barely there sleeves falling somewhere above my elbows. The dress grows tighter as I concentrate my majyk on finishing the buttons at the back. The material shifts, until it sits comfortably against my skin, enveloping me in fine silk and memories.
I'm pulled back to the last time I wore a green dress, the memory my own and not one of the painful flashes like before.
I'm standing against the far wall, my hands clasped in front of me, as I watch the court attendees dance in front of me. There is laughter and the noise of conversation drifting all around me. While I love the dressing up part, and the food, I'm not so inclined to be passed around, partner to partner, on the dance floor. I'm not on duty tonight and I could be enjoying myself as much as Lana is, spinning with Devra on the dance floor, but my mind is restless.
Slipping through the balcony doors, I move carefully through the throng of happy partiers, with a smile on my face. I am noticed and greeted, but most everyone knows my feelings toward these events. I’d rather be on duty. Especially now, that I am so close to my betrothal.
Just the word makes my chest squeeze in anticipation. Not of excitement, but of the inevitability. I know my place and I know what my Queen demands of me, but the pain of the reality isn't deemed by the sense of duty.
When I'm far enough from the loudness of court, I lean against the closest tree, comforted the moment it reaches back for me. I've been a soldier all my life and I've never needed as much comfort as I do now.
"You know, when you get that still, you blend right in with your surroundings," Brendan's voice reaches me and I'm smiling before I can help myself.
"Are you calling me a chameleon? A cold blooded reptile?" I ask, pushing back from the tree and turning just in time for him to come around the tree. He's wearing his officer's uniform tonight, proper suit coat, adorned by gold and silver thread, his sword gleaming at his side. When he steps closer, I realize his jacket is the exact shade of my dress.
"I was complimenting your stealth skills. Why must you always turn it into something bad?"
"Because I'm good at it?"
"Because you like to see me squirm." He chuckles, and I shrug.
"You're not squirming now."
"I think I'm finally getting a hang of it. After all these years."
I smile up at him, noting the playful glint in his eyes. However, it's not the only emotion I find there. If I didn't know him so well, I wouldn't understand the hurt I find in him. It's the same hurt mirrored in me.
"You have, at least, finally picked up on my fabulous fashion sense," I say, trying to keep my voice light. Turning, I walk deeper into the garden, and I know he's following without having to look.
"Green makes me think of you."
He says it so softly that I'm not sure I'm meant to hear it. But our supernatural hearing is difficult to trick and his words pierce me straight to the heart. For a split second, I think of ignoring him, but this is why we're in this situation in the first place. He's always been my weakness.
"I don't see how it wouldn't. My hair got so green in the last few weeks." My hair tends to pick whatever color it's feeling and green has been the color of the month. The highlights are deeper, more emerald green throughout my brown hair, aiding in making my skin appear even more luminescent than usual.
He catches my hand before I can move away again, shocking all of my senses. I've been so careful about keeping distance between us. Even in training, I've been pairing up with others, just to give myself a break from feeling too much.
"You always do this."
"What?"
"Run, when I get close."
It's but a whisper on his lips, but I hear the hurt, and it makes its way to my very core. It takes me a moment to find my voice and even then, the truth on my lips surprises me.
"Not all of us can be brave with our feelings."
I'm moving before I can think too much of it, pushing through the bushes, to get lost before I have to answer for my words. But I've never been able to run far from him. He catches me around my waist as I stumble over my own dress. For someone who's surefooted in battle, I'm too clumsy when it comes to him.
"It isn't fair," his words are right in my ear as he holds me flush against his body, my back to his front. Every nerve ending is on fire from his proximity, but I am unable to move away. I'm too selfish to save both of us the
pain.
"No, Brendan, it's not," I say, finding my voice. "But I am my father's daughter and I will not walk away from my responsibilities."
Brendan's head drops to my shoulder, his body shuddering with the words he can't say. The moment I realized how I felt about him, how I truly felt about him, I've become the biggest coward. And Brendan, my precious Brendan, would never put me in a situation that demands my hurt. I've wondered if he feels the same way about me as I do him. Or if he's just afraid of losing the close friendship that won't be there anymore the moment I'm married. But in times like these, when it's just the two of us, it's almost as if I can see his heart and it beats to the tune of my own.
"You should have a choice."
"You and I both know that's not how our world works."
His breathing is haggard, as if he's ran a marathon and can't fill his lungs. His arms are strong around my waist, holding me to him, like he would never let go. My own hands fall on top of his and the skin to skin contact ignites me from within.
"You should have a choice," he whispers again and it's like I can hear the rest of that sentence in my heart.
And you should choose me.
But I can't and I won't.
We stayed that way for an eternity that wasn't long enough. I remember the noise of the party finally reaching our ears and both of us taking a step apart at the same time. We never spoke of those stolen moments together and a week later I was betrothed to William and then I was gone.
It's funny how a mind works sometimes. I've been missing so many of my memories, but Brendan never seems to be too far away. This memory came without prompting and without pain. Well, a different kind of a pain. But his words ring so much truer now than ever before. I should have a choice.
