Transitions: Novella Collection (The Biodome Chronicles series Book 2.5)

by Sundin, Jesikah

  Words died on Ember’s tongue as she stared past the screens. Scowls taut with paranoia and outrage swirled before her vision. The community silenced momentarily with Skylar’s words. It was true and, regardless of apprehensions, they could not deny the observation. Feared at first, Fillion’s magic seemed as natural to his persona as the ever-present joint hanging loosely from his mouth. People had sought his magic, desiring it to connect to loved ones beyond the walls. But from one of their own?

  Betrayal.

  The word simmered in the bubbling sensations overwhelming her thoughts. The intuition grew until the word fairly screamed from every corner of her mind. Her head felt heavy and she fought the blackness creeping into her vision as her heart writhed and ached. She was trained to betray. Fillion was not raised under The Code. But she was. Raised by a generation who had signed upon their honor to live a life free of modern technology.

  “Technology will not bewitch your minds or homes,” the Wind Element continued. “I assure you.”

  “She has bewitched you!”

  “Your Queen and Fire Element—”

  “Skylar,” she said, turning off her Cranium. “Do not defend me, My Lord. All shall be well.”

  He turned toward her, incredulous. “How shall I call myself a gentleman?” Lowering his voice he asked, “Your Captain?” Skylar faced the crowd and sucked in a breath.

  She lifted her hands in quiet protest. “Please, My Lord. Allow His Majesty to regain control.”

  “Her hands!”

  Gasps circulated with cries of alarm and Ember raised her chin, folding her hands at her waist. Leaf sought her eyes from the crowd, near the stage, the questions and concerns burning bright. She did not look away, not even when a voice shouted, “Blisters from magic!”

  “New Eden, there is a reasonable explanation!” her father boomed in response. Turning toward her, he asked, “Your Highness, how did your hands suffer such afflictions?”

  Ember’s gaze touched Leaf’s briefly before sweeping over the crowd. “Two milk maids have fallen ill, My Lord. I have taken on their duties as well as mine.”

  “It was the magic!” Voices raised in protest.

  “Your Majesty,” her father called out.

  “Please, Father,” she whispered, beseeching him with her eyes. “Do not engage their fears.”

  Her father ignored her plea and faced Leaf. “Did you know of your wife’s hands?”

  Leaf looked to her, confusion written all over his face. He could not lie, incapable of it. “No.” The word was soft, edged in fear. Two letters formed her judgment. Two letters released more verbal stones. The gathering roared, fury spewing from their mouths like spittle. Her husband shoved his way to the front, unwilling to meet the eyes of those he passed. Unwilling to meet her eyes as well.

  “Our children will not learn magic!” a mother hollered, greeted by cheers of support.

  “My Lord,” Leaf said to Skylar. “Turn on your Cranium and show them your hands.”

  The Son of Wind obeyed. Villagers cowered, many threw their hands up to ward off an imagined attack. Ember remained steady, looking straight ahead though shame burned her skin. Skylar moved screens around, bringing up the same declaration and drafting notice from N.E.T. Gradually, he displayed his palms to the crowd.

  Before the gathering could respond, Leaf said, “Let us not cast blame and false accusations to justify our trepidations. We need to work together, not slanderously tear each other apart. Shall we discuss this situation with civil tongues?”

  “He is under a spell!” a man from the second generation called out, pointing to Skylar. “That is why his hands are clean!”

  “Utter nonsense!” Willow spat from the head table.

  Fingers pointed to Leaf. “She has bewitched you!”

  “Witch!”

  “Magic is on her hands!”

  “Your Majesty,” Ember whispered to Leaf by her side. Woozy, she placed a hand on his arm. He finally met her eyes and she nearly recoiled from the anguish he expressed. Nevertheless, she confessed, “I do not fare well.”

  “Shall I fetch a chair?”

  “If you would be so kind.”

  Skylar, overhearing their exchange, dashed into the crowd to claim a chair. Tears stung Ember’s eyes and she drew in a sharp breath. The community rippled in agitation, and the singular words of fury began to blend into one glaring accusation.

  Betrayal.

  Witch.

  Hovering above the heads, black clouds stormed, the atmosphere charged with their outrage. All the while, buzzing sensations sparked through her mind, until words formed. She turned toward Leaf and they tumbled from her mouth. “Are we not fighting for project continuation?”

  Leaf squinted his eyes. “Your Highness?”

  “If we were to continue as a colony, what need would we have for technology?”

  “Indeed,” he said, cautious.

  Touching her head, she closed her eyes. Where was Skylar? The chair? “It is said,” she whispered, unable to stop the words, “that a house divided is easily conquered. The Techsmith Guild is an affront to the core beliefs of New Eden Township.”

  “Ember?”

  Her husband’s voice raised a notch and her eyes flew open with the sound. A metallic taste filled her mouth and she winced at the suddenness of it. Shrieks pierced the air and the community took a collective step back. Then silence. Nary a sound, not even the children. Skylar lowered a chair, his eyes darting between her father and Leaf as he paled.

  Ember lifted her fingers and touched a warm, sticky substance trailing from her nose. Red coated her fingertips and dripped to the stage floor. She lifted her eyes in horror to find her emotion perfectly mirrored in Leaf’s expression and that of her father’s.

  “Magic,” a voice said. Others murmured the word, grave, fearful.

  Then the black cloud burst and consumed her.

  The scent of wood smoke brought her back from the black and Ember’s eyes fluttered open. Pressed to her father’s chest, he carried her through the forest in a harried pace. She turned her head and found Leaf beside him, his features warmed by the lantern glow and tight with worry. Trees rustled and bent with the invisible. The rushing song created flow for the anarchic current of her baffled thoughts.

  Footsteps ran up from behind. “Timna is on her way, Your Majesty,” Skylar said, breaths heavy. “She was already gathering her supplies when I found her.”

  “Thank you, My Lord,” Leaf said.

  Skylar matched Leaf’s uneven stride. “Is she still unconscious?”

  Embarrassed, she looked away when they peered her direction.

  “My Lady,” Leaf said, his voice hoarse with emotion. “How do you fare?”

  “I am unsure.” She pressed into her father’s chest once more. Blood had dried on her face. Dark spots bloomed on her clothing and that of her father. His hold grew tighter, sensing her fright. Tears gathered in her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. Leaf found her wrist and provided a gentle squeeze before releasing his hold, unable to keep up with her father’s speed.

  He remembered her hands.

  She drew in a sharp breath as more tears blurred her vision. Silence fell on their group, a sound she welcomed and that remained until they reached her and Leaf’s apartment.

  “Leave us,” Leaf said, once she was placed upon their cot.

  Her father reluctantly sought her consent and she nodded. Lowering to his knees, he kissed her on the cheek, saying, “Your mother should be here soon.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Connor,” Leaf said, standing by the door. “Would you return to the Great Hall and assist Skylar and Rain as needed?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  She held her breath lest the tears fall once more. She was confused––by what had happened and by how she felt toward her father this moment. Since age eight, he had groomed her to betray The Aether––her husband––and his people. Did he understand this truth? Or was there a greater v
ision she had not yet grasped?

  Leaf poured water from the wash bucket into a bowl. When the door shut, he eased next to her on the cot and lifted a dampened rag to her face. Tenderness infused each touch as he wiped away the blood and tears. “Have you fallen ill?”

  “It seems so,” she said. The quiet that followed was tense. Leaf was brooding, though his kindness never faltered. The knot in her stomach tightened until it hurt to breathe. Holding in the tears, she half-whispered, “I am so sorry, My Lord. This night...” Ember gripped the bed linens until discomfort throbbed in each fingertip. Apologies faded from her tongue. What could she really say? How could she truly humble herself before the man who, in his heart, was still burying his murdered father? She would not insult him with paltry justifications.

  “Your words in the Great Hall this eve shamed me.” Leaf dipped the cloth in the bowl. Ribbons of red swirled through the clear water. Touching her face again, he said, “For weeks I have felt the same as you and pushed aside my concerns. I feared Skylar would see any move I made as retribution for the faction and Great Fire and, therefore, so would the community. Not even Dr. Nichols knew of the Techsmith Guild, my first clue that all was not well. And still, I did nothing, My Lady. Nothing.” He set the bowl on the nightstand and dabbed along her chin. “This night should not have happened. But it did and I have only myself to blame.”

  “Please, My Lord. Do not borrow troubles for yourself.”

  His hand stilled though his shoulders held a slight shake. “I have failed you.” A muscle pulsed along his jaw as his face tensed.

  “No, My Lord. It is I who have failed you.” Ember turned her head away from his touch. “I have only wanted to serve you. Instead, I incited unrest after you battled and sacrificed for peace.”

  “I love you.” His finger trailed the curve of her exposed cheek. “I would wage wars for you, Ember Lenore Watson.” His finger brushed along her hairline and tucked in a stray strand. “But since the Great Fire, and especially tonight, I have failed you.”

  “Leaf—”

  “No, allow me to speak.”

  He curled up next to her on the bed and continued to trace a finger down her face, her neck, and along the curves of her body. The shyness that normally claimed his affections was gone and in its place was a man made bold by humility.

  “You are my family,” he whispered into her neck. “I vowed to protect you all my days.” He choked on the last word, his shoulders shaking again. Ever so carefully, he took her hand and kissed her palm, gently cradling her hand to his chest. “I am grieved you hid your injuries from me, but I understand why. You loved me in your pain and through your loss, and I repaid your devotion with distrust and distance. Especially this night. I should have never allowed you to stand before the community without me. I ... I fed you to the wolves. My wife...”

  “I betrayed you.”

  “And what is the cost of this betrayal? If you had shared the truth before Fillion was poisoned, what were the consequences?”

  Ember closed her eyes and forced herself to breathe. “Banishment.”

  “I should have asked you this question far sooner.”

  “You are grieving, My Lord,” Ember said. “Do not add to your many sorrows. I know your heart.” Leaf grazed his nose along where her neck and shoulder met as he drew in a tremored breath. She continued, “All that you had trusted proved false. You have lost so much. Are you not allowed to retreat and heal? I judge you not.”

  “My grief does not excuse my honor nor wipe away the tears you have shed for my selfishness.” Leaf kissed her collarbone and she shivered as heat filled her body.

  “Allow me to be your refuge,” she whispered into his hair, “to love you.”

  “My Lady, I place my life into your hands.” She locked eyes with her husband, left breathless by the vulnerability of his declaration. “Do with me as you will.”

  The air between them charged as his breath invited hers closer. Closing the gap, she claimed her honor price of a kiss, soft, hushed, a whisper of her adoration. His lips lingered on hers as his hand slipped into her hair and cupped her face, his thumb caressing her cheek. A heartbeat later his kiss deepened, though he remained gentle, only pulling away when a knock sounded on their chamber door. He blinked shyly and she could not help but smile when his bashfulness returned.

  “Enter,” he said, standing.

  Timna strode into the room, placing her medical bag onto the end of their cot. Nerves fluttered in Ember’s stomach, afraid she had the illness befalling the other milk maids. Or worse. Perhaps she was magical. Her step-mother stepped into the room and the very emotions Ember had attempted to stifle brimmed past her self-control. She could not help it. Leaf moved to the end of the bed as her step-mother bent over to hold her, swaying back and forth, caressing the hair along her temple.

  “Shh,” she comforted. “We shall care for you.”

  “Do you think I am a witch?” Ember said between quiet sobs.

  “No, darling. No.” Her step-mother smiled. “I think there is something brewing inside of you, but it is not the magic others speak of.”

  “I shall just be outside the door should you have need of me,” Leaf said, with a bow.

  “Please.” Ember wiped the tears from her face. “Please stay, Your Majesty.” He dipped his head and lowered into the chair by their cot.

  Timna came around to the other side of the bed and placed the back of her hand upon her forehead. “No fever. Have you experienced any chills?”

  “No, Madam.”

  “Nausea or vomiting?”

  She dashed a worried glance to Leaf. “I have experienced mild nausea for quite some time and vomited just this morning.”

  “When did your courses last run?” her step-mother asked.

  Ember touched her cheeks, lowering her eyes. “A week before I was married.”

  Timna and her step-mother shared a smile. “May I press on your abdomen, Your Highness?” Timna asked. Ember nodded, and the naturopath pressed below her stomach, her smile growing. “Lady Brianna, would you confirm?”

  Ember’s eyes widened. Had she misread her own body? Women her age did not speak of such things—she had so little knowledge to begin with. And everything had been tossed in confusion since the Great Fire. With so many falling ill since that time, what other explanation would she have arrived at? Elation intertwined with vindication and shimmered through the emotional mire until her limbs grew weightless. It was as if layers of grime and filth lifted from her body. She was clean. Absolved of her heresy. Lifting an eyebrow, she turned to Leaf. Did he understand? But he did not look her way, far too focused on Timna and her step-mother’s ministrations.

  When the examination was complete, Mother whispered in her ear, “I surmise you are eleven weeks along and due near the first of July. Nosebleeds are common in the second trimester, of which you are close. Fainting spells are unfortunate experiences in your condition as well. There is indeed something rather magical brewing inside of you, my darling.” Her step-mother kissed her cheek. “I shall leave so you may share your news privately. Laurel and Oaklee are staying with us this night, so rest well.”

  She could not speak, not even to extend thanks. Her heart thumped wildly in her chest, more so when the door shut. Her nosebleed was not the result of magic. Nor her fainting spell. She did not carry shame. No, she carried the evidence of love. Giddy with disbelief, laughter filled her chest until it spilled out and caught fire before her very eyes.

  “Is it true?” Leaf asked, his voice breathy. She patted the space next to her on their cot, laughing once more. “You are with child?” She nodded, still unable to find adequate words. The sound of his joy rushed through her and she closed her eyes, heady with bliss. Sweet and reverent, he kissed her stomach, pressing his face to her abdomen, his hands embracing her hips. “I love you, wee one,” he spoke to her belly. “I am honored to be your ... father.”

  That single word held power. By the way every muscle tightene
d, it was a word that swung wide the doors leading into the sacred place Leaf protected and held close. He lifted his face, a thousand emotions softening each feature. This moment, he was living numerous different beginnings and endings. The future. The past. Life and death. Family. Their family.

  “Fatherhood shall be your true crown, My King.”

  His breath hitched. Light green eyes held hers as he brought her hand to his lips. “You have humbled me, My Queen.” Slowly, carefully, he returned her hand to the bed and crawled up over her body, placing his forehead to hers. “May our child have your strength of character, unfailing compassion, wisdom—and beauty. Ember...” He said her name with a form of anguish that blazed through her soul. His gaze caressed her face, her skin burning where his eyes lingered. Then he whispered across her lips, “I am your servant.”

  A fiery shudder wended its way to her core with his confession. It was a powerful feeling, one she gave herself over to as her husband searched her eyes for permission.

  “Yes,” she whispered without hesitation.

  Perhaps it was not proper, nor considerate of those awaiting news of her health or in need of reassurance from their King. But only she and Leaf existed this moment. His mouth lowered to hers and she welcomed his passion. The knots of shame in her stomach unraveled as she became his refuge, as she loved him, as he protected her against the guilt and blame. Dissension owned the world beyond the walls of their chamber. But in this room, their sanctuary, closed off from all expectations and duties, they found peace.

  The candle by their bedside dripped away with each heartbeat of time. Its amber light painted the walls as her pulse walked among the shadows to dance with his.

  When he later breathed deep with the rhythm of sleep’s serenity, she leaned over and blew out the flame. The shame of betrayal no longer claimed her. Nor did she fear facing tomorrow. Ember placed a hand upon her stomach and smiled into the darkness.

  Sunday, December 6, 2054

  Her elation became muted as she started out the next morn. For the village had cooled to silence. The thunderous boom of anger echoed in the Hall still, as if the stones resounded the memory. Though traces of the black cloud lingered, not one soul had hissed “witch” to her in passing. To not acknowledge her was more distressing than the verbal stones, she decided.