Awakened

by Morgan L. Busse

  “Sure.” Stephen turned and headed for the table, anxious to do anything but stand there and stare at Kat. He opened the wooden box and found an array of vials, small pouches, a stone mortar and pestle, and a pair of shears. He pulled out the shears and brought them back.

  Fitz took them without a word and cut away the gown while Stephen stared out the windows to his right.

  “Metal rods, you say?” Fitz said a minute later.

  “Yes, along both of her sides. I had to pull them out before I could move her.”

  Fitz made a clicking noise with his tongue. “What in all of God’s green world were those scientists doing? To a young woman no less!”

  Stephen licked his lips and shook his head.

  “I’ll put some antiseptic on the exit wounds and give each one a stitch or two, then bandage them up.”

  “Do you know why she’s not waking up?”

  Fitz glanced over at Stephen. “I have no idea. Trauma, perhaps, or something more. I’m afraid I know very little. Just enough to get by. I’ll need you to stand by her head and be ready to hold her just in case she wakes up from the needle. All right?”

  Stephen nodded and walked around Fitz to the other side. He pushed the chair away, went down on his knees, and placed his hands on the bed by Kat’s head. She took a shallow breath every few seconds.

  “Ready?”

  “Ready.”

  Stephen watched Kat breathe while Fitz retrieved the necessary stuff from his box and started stitching up the wounds on her side.

  Five minutes passed when Fitz stood up and stretched his back. “All right. You said they placed rods on both sides of her ribcage?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then we’ll need to gently turn her over.”

  Stephen’s stomach tightened, but he nodded. He held onto her shoulders while Fitz reached for her side.

  “One, two, three.”

  They carefully rolled Kat over and Fitz brought the bedspread up to her hips before cutting away the bloody fabric.

  Stephen turned away. He couldn’t watch anymore, and that sheer gown of hers left little to the imagination, which only fueled his anger, both at himself for looking, and at Dr. Bloodmayne for treating his daughter this way. Minutes ticked by and Fitz whistled softly under his breath. “There,” he said just as Stephen debated heading out onto the deck. “Stitched up and bandaged. Now, let’s make her comfortable.”

  Stephen looked back, keeping his eyes on Kat’s head. Her hair spread across her back in dark, thick curls. He moved forward and helped Fitz turn her back around.

  Fitz fixed the bedspread across her body, tucking it in close and leaving her arms out along her sides. He took a step back and let out his breath. “Now we wait.”

  “I’ll stay with her.”

  Fitz nodded. “That’s a good idea. It will help her to wake up and see someone she knows.”

  Stephen’s stomach knotted up. He wasn’t so sure about that. He doubted his face was the first one she would want to see. But he would stay here, at least until then.

  Fitz placed his supplies back in his box. “I’ll bring you something to eat, and every few hours I will check on her.” The door shut behind him with a quiet click.

  Stephen pulled his chair back to Kat’s side. He reached over and brushed a dark strand of hair away, then settled into his chair. His stomach rumbled, but he couldn’t bear the thought of food. All he wanted now was for Kat to wake up.

  Chapter

  3

  Kat plunged into the cold, dark water. Gasping, she flailed her hands and kicked out, but the water sucked her in like a whirlpool in the middle of the ocean. The swirling wall of water roared around her. Beyond the coursing waves, the sky above was as dark as night.

  She screamed and sucked in cold salt water. Her sides ached along her ribcage, as if fiery pokers pressed against her skin. Adrenaline coursed through her body and she gasped again.

  Water sprayed up around her and she sank deeper into the whirlpool. She fought against the tide, but her limbs shook with fatigue and her fingers were stiff with cold.

  She swallowed another mouthful of water and choked. Her legs seized up. She looked up at the patch of darkness above. So far away.

  Just let go.

  That voice. She knew that voice. It was her voice. The one she heard in her head when the monster inside her awoke.

  Why fight? Just let go and sink into the water.

  For one heady moment, she wanted to. She was cold and numb. Especially her heart. She could barely feel it. It would be so easy to just sink beneath the water and be finished.

  “No!” Kat kicked out with her legs and arms and lifted her head above the water’s surface. Her lungs burned with icy cold air. I don’t want to die!

  But Kat, you’re already dying. Why not end it now and be done with it?

  Kat blinked. What was this place? Was this the passage between life and death? Had her father . . . killed her?

  She looked at the small opening high above, between the rushing waters. Something burst inside her, that last lunge of life. She held up an open hand toward the sky and sobbed. “God, please save me!”

  The water collapsed above her and swept her under.

  •••

  Kat sat up with a gasp. Her body convulsed with chills and her teeth chattered so hard her jaw hurt. Cold. So cold. Wait . . .

  I can breathe!

  She sucked in sweet air until her lungs filled to bursting. Then she let out her breath and took in another. Her body tingled as it thawed beneath something thick and warm. She was on a bed. A red feather-down coverlet lay across her legs and midsection. She drew the coverlet up to her neck, and gradually her body stopped shaking.

  “Kat . . .” a tense voice said beside her.

  Her throat went dry. Slowly she looked over, and her heart stopped.

  Stephen.

  He sat in a chair a couple feet away, his eyebrows drawn up, his fingers gripping the arms of his chair. Dark circles traced the bottom of his eyes and blond stubble covered his jaw. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days.

  Of all the people . . . How in the world was Stephen here?

  He stood abruptly and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ll go let Fitz know you’re awake.”

  Before she could say anything, he turned and headed for the door across the room.

  Kat watched him until he disappeared, her heart vacillating between strange thudding beats and deep hurt.

  Why was Stephen here? Last she remembered—bile filled her throat—he had left her at the Tower. So why was he here now? She glanced around. And where was here?

  The room appeared to be a bedchamber, but more. A simple chandelier hung above a polished metal table with matching chairs on either side. On the other side of the room was a large desk and a bench that looked built into the wall. Swords and tapestries depicting high adventure decorated the wooden panels.

  To her left, past the table, was a wall made of small square pieces of glass. But there were no buildings outside. Not even a street lamp. Just darkness.

  She closed her eyes and gripped the blanket, breathing in the strange, sweet scent the fabric held. Wherever she was, she wasn’t drowning. She was still alive.

  Kat pressed the coverlet to her eyes and wiped away the tears that had emerged along her lower eyelids. It had been just a dream. A terrifying, horrible nightmare. It wasn’t real . . . but that voice . . .

  She pulled the blanket away. That same voice—the one that always urged her to set the world on fire—it said she was dying. But she couldn’t be. Could she?

  She held up her hand and moved her fingers, then mentally checked her body. Her wrists and her ribcage were sore, but everything seemed well enough. Everything except . . .

  Kat frowned and placed her hand just above her heart. Her skin felt smooth beneath her fingers, but when she pressed a finger into her sternum, she couldn’t feel the pressure. In fact, the whole area above her heart felt numb, and he
r skin was chilly to the touch.

  Casting a glance around the room to make sure she was alone, Kat pulled the coverlet away and lifted the neckline of the simple white gown she wore. Her skin looked fine. No bruises, no cuts or wounds along her chest, though her ribcage was wrapped with bandages. She ran a finger along her side above the bandages. A sharp twinge of pain erupted beneath her touch, and she gasped and pulled back. Somehow she had been injured along her sides.

  She frowned and glanced at her chest. That didn’t explain the numbness around her heart.

  She raised her hand and forced her thumbnail into her skin, right above her heart, until it left an impression. She should have felt that. Instead, she felt nothing.

  Her mouth went dry as she drew her hand back. What was happening to her? Was the voice right? Was she slowly dying?

  The door opened and she jerked the coverlet up over her chest.

  Stephen?

  She glanced back. No, definitely not Stephen. A short, stocky man walked in, the low light of the lamp on the table gleaming off his bald head, which was almost perfectly round. He wore a stained apron over his white shirt and dark trousers. In one hand he balanced a tray, while he closed the door with the other.

  Kat shrank against the bed frame and held the blanket close to her body, her mind flashing back to other trays—to syringes and needles and cruel instruments.

  The man glanced up and caught sight of her. He smiled, and something about the gap-toothed expression calmed Kat’s fears. Wherever this was, it wasn’t the Tower. This man’s apron was stained with broth, not blood. As he drew near the bed, she spotted a simple teapot on the tray with wisps of steam emitting from the spout. Next to the pot was a matching teacup, plain and somehow homey.

  “So you’re finally awake.”

  Kat wasn’t sure how to respond, so she gave him a small nod. She also kept a close eye on the door, ready to run if the man proved to be here for reasons other than tea.

  His smile broadened, revealing more stained teeth—one of which was missing entirely—and he placed the tray on the table nearby.

  Kat caught the earthy scent of black tea and—dizziness washed over her—scones. She hadn’t eaten since, well, she wasn’t sure. How long had she been out?

  The man picked up the teapot and poured the hot, black liquid into the teacup with a gentleness that belied his bulk.

  He looked over his shoulder. “Do you take cream with your tea? And sugar?”

  Her mouth moistened. “Cream, please. And one lump.”

  He picked up the creamer and poured, then placed a sugar cube into the cup and stirred. “Here you go.”

  Kat reached for the cup, breathing in the bittersweet scent and letting the warmth from the porcelain soak into her fingers. She wanted to take a sip, but was it safe?

  “By the way, my name is Fitzgerald, but the crew calls me Fitz.”

  Kat looked up. “Crew?”

  “Yes. You’re aboard the Lancelot, captained by Robert Grim.”

  Her brow furrowed. “I’ve never heard of the Lancelot. How did I get here? And why am I here?”

  “First, food. If you want to gain back your strength, you need to eat. I thought a proper lady like yourself would enjoy a simple meal.” Fitz placed one of the delicate golden biscuits on a small plate and handed it to Kat.

  Kat held the teacup in one hand and set the plate on her lap, careful to keep the coverlet in place. She stared at the scone, her mouth watering, her stomach tightening with the thought of food, but she didn’t reach for it. How could she know if it was safe to eat? She could sniff it, maybe—

  “It’s not poisonous.”

  Kat looked up and blushed.

  “It’s my mother’s recipe, and the captain’s favorite.”

  She hesitated.

  Fitz took one of the other scones, showed it to Kat, then bit in. Her stomach growled as she watched him chew. He swallowed and smiled. “There, you see? Go on.” He waved his hand. “Eat.”

  Kat gave in. She picked up the scone and took a bite. The scone was still warm and flaky and she longed to stuff as much into her mouth as she could, but years of etiquette held her hungry thoughts back. She finished the first bite, took another small one, then sipped a little tea to wash the sweet biscuit down. She glanced back up at Fitz. “This scone is delicious.”

  Fitz took a seat in the chair Stephen had vacated and folded his arms. His smile spread across his entire face. “I’m glad you like it.”

  Kat took another bite, savoring the buttery sweetness. “So you made these?” she asked, holding up half of the scone.

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m the cook for the Lancelot. And the medic. I’m the one who fixed you up when you arrived, and both Stephen and I have watched over you the last two days.”

  “Two days?” Kat sucked in her breath. She had been out that long?

  “I’ve seen a lot of stuff in my day, but never the wounds you had along on your sides. They weren’t too bad, but we still couldn’t awaken you. How do you feel now?”

  Kat set the plate down, now covered in crumbs, and felt along her sides where the bandages were. “Well, I’m awake now. And my sides don’t hurt much.” She wasn’t about to tell him about the numb, cold area around her heart.

  “Good. I . . . uh . . . was very careful when bandaging you.” His face turned red, spreading up across his bald head. “I usually only treat men, mainly the crew.”

  Kat took hold of the situation and gave Fitz a small nod. “Thank you for being a gentleman.” She paused. “You mentioned Stephen was here as well, watching over me.”

  “Yes. He only left your side for minutes at a time.”

  Kat lowered her head, her lungs constricting, making each breath difficult. It didn’t make sense. Stephen had left her at the Tower. He had left her.

  “Would you like another scone?”

  Kat glanced up and swallowed. Her mind was a muddled mess at the present. Later she would figure it all out. “Yes, I would. Thank you.”

  •••

  When Fitz returned to his duties, Kat fell into a fitful sleep. Fire and waves swept across her mind. And that voice again . . .

  Kat, you’re already dying. Just give up . . . give up . . .

  She opened her eyes and stared up at the ceiling. Pale light filtered through the wall of windows nearby. The lamp on the table had been snuffed out.

  The door opened behind her. She twisted around and looked over her shoulder. Fitz walked in, holding an armful of clothing. Tucking the comforter under her arms, Kat sat up. She might have slept, but she still felt as tired as ever.

  “Good morning, miss. I brought you some clothing.” He placed the garments on the table. “It’s not what you’re accustomed to, but it’s better than what you’re wearing now. That is, if you want to leave your room.”

  “It’s morning?”

  “Bright and early.” Fitz placed a pair of boots beside the clothing, then used his sleeve to polish the toe of one.

  “Fitz?”

  “Yes?” he said and turned around.

  “How did I end up here?” Her face wrinkled. “I do not know a Robert Wim, Limb . . .”

  “Grim.”

  “Yes, that.”

  He gave a chuckle. “That is quite a story. In a nutshell, Stephen Grey rescued you from the Tower, and we picked you both up by way of the roof. The crew is still talking about that rescue.”

  “Stephen rescued me?”

  “He sure did.”

  So it wasn’t a dream. She sat back against the headboard. She remembered seeing Stephen’s face before passing out, and the deep hurt it invoked. Even now, dredging up his face made her feel sick. Stephen had turned her in to the Tower, and he had never even told her why. He had left her with her father, who then . . .

  Kat clenched the coverlet tight between her fingers and swallowed. No, not now. I don’t want to remember. She forced the memories of that dark room from her memory. Instead, she focused on the windows. Faint,
downy white fluttered by outside.

  She sat up and stared. “Fitz, is it foggy outside?”

  Fitz turned and looked out the windows. “No, just clouds passing by.”

  She blinked. “Clouds? But how?”

  “Lancelot is an airship. We’re making our way across the Narrow Strait right now.”

  “We’re up in the air?” Kat sucked in her breath. Ms. Stuart had never let her travel by airship. Too dangerous, she used to say. That and, Kat believed, Ms. Stuart had a fear of heights.

  Ms. Stuart.

  Her shoulders sagged and the elation from moments ago vanished. There was no longer that sharp pain whenever she thought of Ms. Stuart. Her housekeeper and friend was at rest now, along with her mother. Gone to that dark place where science could not reach.

  So her father used to say.

  Kat, let go—

  She squeezed her eyes shut against the voice. Quiet. Now!

  “Everything all right, miss?”

  “Yes.” She opened her eyes and concentrated on the windows.

  “First time up in the air?”

  Watching the clouds soothed something inside her. “Yes.”

  “Would you like to see more?”

  A small smile crept across her face. It felt odd and foreign after the tumult of emotions raging through her. She looked at Fitz and nodded. “Yes, I would like that very much.”

  Fitz stood and straightened his apron. “Go ahead and dress and I’ll meet you out in the hall.”

  The moment the door shut, Kat moved from the bed. Her head spun for a second and she clung to the bedpost. Once the room came to a standstill, she moved toward the windows. Wisps of clouds slid by the glass, set against a backdrop of pale blue. She stopped a foot away and peered down. Like a broad, rumpled blanket, darker blue spread beneath the delicate fog. The Narrow Strait.

  There was something small below. At second glance, it looked like a ship. Her smiled widened. It looked like a toy from this high up. And the clouds . . .

  She reached out and touched the window. A thin film of condensation coated the glass and melted away at the heat of her hand, leaving rivulets along the pane. Amazing. If only she could reach out and actually touch the cloud.