Becoming Princess Eden: Book One: How They Met (Seahorse Island 1)

by Lisa Lee

  His father leaned forwarded and placed his hand on Gideon’s shoulder. “You have done well in exposing Segenam. I had no idea of the evil that was lurking on this island. Thanks for allowing me to hold my head up again as a father.”

  Gideon felt his eyes tear and took a deep breath so as not to break down in front of his father.

  “Shall I resume my regular duties, sir?” Gideon asked.

  “Yes,” the king replied. “Take a couple of days to catch up with the family and then get back to work. I definitely need your assistance.”

  “Who’s been doing my work in the meantime?”

  “My chief of staff offered to help me find an extra person to fill in, but I wasn’t comfortable having too much information outside of the family,” the king responded.

  “That means there’s a lot of work to be done,” Gideon said, trying to suppress a sigh.

  “You understand,” his father said.

  “Oh,” Gideon said. “I almost forgot. Brother Adam is here from the temple. I’m assuming it is safe for him to return?”

  The king responded, “It’s safe at the temple, but he can stay for a while if you want him to act as your spiritual advisor.”

  “I don’t need a spirit—” Gideon began but then stopped. “I’ll consider it.”

  ELEVEN

  Eden, Friendly Fire

  “Ugh!” I said under my breath as I looked through my bag. I had forgotten my quilting project. After two years of sitting in Mrs. Askew’s class, I knew enough to bring something to pass the time. Since I was sick of the dreary colors in my room, I had decided to make a quilt for my bed with brightly colored pieces of fabrics. There was a bin in the back of the classroom filled with leftover pieces of fabrics, but no one used it much. I had my choice of vibrant colors and patterns—turquoise, emerald, scarlet, striped, checked, polka dot, and so on.

  Today, though, instead of rushing through the assignment so I could do my own project, I spent the two hours making barrettes. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes as Mrs. Askew chattered on about the joys of making one’s own hair accessories.

  I made a bunch of barrettes in blue and green colors. I noticed some of the other third-years preferred reds and pinks. I had avoided wearing red barrettes ever since I got spanked for stealing Lucinda’s red barrette when I was six years old.

  I cringed inwardly as I remembered well the scene. The pastor’s voice was droning on and on, and I had fallen asleep, leaning on my mom’s arm. When I woke up, the pastor was still going on, but my eyes were immediately drawn to a barrette with a bright red bow. It lay on the pew between me and Lucinda, who was a year or so older than me. The barrette belonged to her, but she was busy exchanging notes with her cousin sitting on the other side of her.

  I still remembered the zing of happiness I felt as I picked up the barrette and held it in my hand. But Lucinda noticed right away that I took the barrette. She tried to pull it back from me, but I held on tighter. I just wanted to look at it. So, Lucinda and I commenced a tug-of-war over the barrette, which ended with our respective mothers grabbing us by the arms and half dragging and half pulling us out of the sanctuary and into the church dining hall.

  Knowing I was in big trouble, I lied. I said Lucinda had given me the barrette to play with. A red-faced Lucinda countered that I was telling “a big fat lie.” Of course, in the end, I had to give the lovely barrette back to Lucinda.

  But the worst part yet was that in full view of Lucinda and her mother, my mother smacked my bottom hard and told me in a rough and gravelly voice that I would get worse if I ever lied again. My backside hurt, but I was more stunned by this new voice coming from my mother. From that moment on, if I heard her voice move anywhere close to rough and gravelly, I knew to tell the whole truth.

  “You’re crushing the barrette,” I heard a voice say. Looking up, I saw it belonged to Annalise.

  “Oh,” I said as I opened my hand. The small rectangle metal piece had bent from the force of my clenched fist, and the blue velvet bow was half on and half off the metal.

  I tried to bend the metal back to the correct shape and glued the fabric on again. After my repairs, the barrette still looked half-done. I would get maybe one good wear out of it. I decided not to include it in my final pile.

  As Mrs. Askew made her rounds, checking on our progress, I noticed that only Jaelle, Bethany, and I had not used reds or pinks. While Kaitlyn had used a profusion of red, pink, and white lace, Jaelle had made her barrettes with costume pearls, and Bethany had made hers with black silk.

  “What’s the significance of the color red?” Mrs. Askew asked. “Annalise?”

  “Meaning depends on context and culture,” Annalise answered. The question had been on our final exam last year.

  “Good answer,” Mrs. Askew said. “Whenever you leave here, you must remember to make sure you follow the culture of your new home. Your new husbands should be able to help you not misstep.”

  Now, I really did roll my eyes. I thought I was subtle, but Mrs. Askew stopped at my table.

  “Eden, I see you did your barrettes in greens and blues. Why didn’t you pick red?” she asked.

  “Red is the color of happiness,” I responded, my face flushing as I realized the implications of that statement. I felt a bead of sweat trickle down the side of my face. “I meant that I associate red with happiness, but I like the serenity of blues and greens.” Those Art of Conversation classes had some use after all.

  “Thank you, Eden,” Mrs. Askew said as she fanned at her face with hands. It was hot in the class. Most of the girls had taken their sweaters off. “Anyone else?”

  “Yes, Jaelle,” Mrs. Askew said in response to Jaelle’s raised hand.

  “Red is also the color of fire,” she said, pointing to one of the room’s two windows. We could see small flames flickering at the bottom of the window.

  “Don’t panic!” Mrs. Askew shouted above our expressions of dismay as she ran around to grab the fire extinguisher off the wall. “Everyone should walk calmly to the main exit,” she said.

  I was closest to the classroom door and reached it first, quickly grabbing the metal doorknob. Heat seared across my palm, and I yelled in pain. I moved back, holding my scalded hand as tears pricked my eyelids.

  I heard a chorus of, “What are you doing?” “Move away!” and “We’ve got to get out of here!” The girls were crowding me.

  In a panic, I screamed, “There’s fire on the other side of the door!” I held up my reddened hand for everyone to see.

  “Is there an emergency ladder?” Jaelle asked over the din of scared girls’ crying.

  “Is there an emergency ladder?” Mrs. Askew repeated, grabbing her head. “Yes! It’s at the top of the closet, folded up. But I can’t reach it!”

  Jaelle was able to stand on a stool to reach the top of the closet. “I don’t see it!” she shouted.

  “Maybe we should just jump,” Kaitlyn said, beads of sweat on her forehead.

  “Where’s the ladder?” Bethany’s shrill voice yelled at Mrs. Askew.

  “It’s behind the box!” Mrs. Askew shouted.

  An avalanche of old art supplies came raining down as Jaelle yanked the box from the top shelf.

  “I got it!” she yelled, only her tiptoes remaining on the chair.

  With my uninjured hand, I grabbed one of her calves to steady her, and someone else grabbed the other as she slid the ladder toward her. She needed both hands to hold the ladder as she jogged it over to the window without visible flames.

  Mrs. Askew opened the window a small amount and peaked out. Smoke slipped through the opening. Several girls, including me, started to cough.

  “It’s smoke, but the fire is at the other window,” Mrs. Askew said. Then she opened the window up all the way, and smoke billowed in.

  As Mrs. Askew and Jaelle hooked the ladder on the window, the other girls and I tried to shield our noses and mouths as best we could with our shirts or any other piece of cloth we cou
ld find. Straining to remember fire safety tips from my childhood, I wondered if we should wet the material over our faces. But no water would come out of the faucets.

  “The faucets aren’t working!” I said, turning them on and off in disbelief.

  “Let’s go!” Bethany said, pulling me away.

  “Move quickly, girls,” Mrs. Askew ordered, and we did, for the most part, landing on damp ground. The gutter at the top of the building had been repaired a couple of days before, after leaking water down the back of the building and into squishy mud. The heat was rapidly drying the ground, so it was just a little damp.

  After each girl came down the ladder, she ran off to a group of other Jade Vine House girls standing a good distance away. When I came down, I forced myself to ignore the flames all around the other window. After I hit the ground, I ran off and joined the girls from my house. Bethany, Annalise, and Jaelle were already there.

  When I turned to look back at the burning building, I saw that Kaitlyn was cut off from joining us by two girls with masks holding sticks of fire in their hands. I don’t know how they did it, but the fire remained at one end and didn’t travel closer to their hands.

  “Those girls are from one of the other houses,” Annalise whispered, wheezing.

  “Run, Kaitlyn!” I said, but I was doubled over and trying to breathe, causing my voice to come out a whisper-wheeze like Annalise’s.

  I stared at the scene in front of me, my home for the last two years engulfed in flames, the other girls crying and retching or dry heaving. Girls from the other houses stood a few feet away from my group. I was unnerved by their looks of grim satisfaction, their ugly smiles.

  Some of them chanted, “Get her! Get her! Get her!” as the two girls with the fire sticks danced manically around Kaitlyn, their face masks making them look inhuman and sinister. Kaitlyn swayed from side to side, her face red and wet with a sheen of sweat. I looked all around, but there was no one to help: no fireman, no Mrs. Flint, and no teachers. Where was Mrs. Askew? I pushed that thought to the back of my mind as I saw Kaitlyn finally fall. One of the fire stick girls moved her fire closer toward Kaitlyn’s back.

  “No!” I screamed, and the girls with the fire sticks paused as heads turned in my direction. I took a wobbly step forward as my vision began to blur on the edges. I was out of air.

  “Eden!” I heard Mr. Holt’s voice say. “Get ahold of yourself!”

  What is he doing here? I thought to myself as I met the ground rushing up to meet me.

  * * *

  When I came to, I was in the back seat of a car Mr. Holt was driving. There was a car in front and another car in back. Someone had put a raincoat on me.

  “What’s . . .” I started to say but then paused as a wave of nausea swept through me.

  “Barf bag’s in the seat pocket in front of you,” Mr. Holt said, turning quickly around a curve along with the rest of the cars. I vomited into the bags, feeling dirty as I tasted the leftovers in my mouth. I tried to spit it all out, but I could still taste the residue.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  “Some girls from the other houses decided to set fire to the Jade Vine House. They had accelerants, which is why the house went up in flames so quickly.”

  “But what about the sprinklers?” I asked, certain I had seen some in the ceilings.

  “Dismantled,” Mr. Holt replied before hitting the steering wheel. “Damn it!” he yelled.

  We had hit a traffic jam, and the cars were inching forward one miniscule inch at a time. Looking around, I could see nothing that was familiar. I was shocked at the sight of so many people.

  “Where are we?” I asked, my head starting to throb. “Wait,” I said. “Bethany? Kaitlyn? What happened to everyone?”

  “Don’t know,” Mr. Holt replied. “My job was to extract you.”

  “But my friends!” I shouted, my voice sounded abnormally loud to me.

  “I have someone checking on them,” Mr. Holt replied tiredly as he looked around, trying to find some way to escape the traffic.

  Feeling another wave of nausea and increased throbbing in my head, I closed my eyes and tried to breathe slowly, but my breath still felt shallow.

  “How are you doing back there?” Mr. Holt replied, looking worried.

  “I can’t seem to catch my breath,” I replied truthfully.

  “We will get you treated as you soon as we get to the clinic,” Mr. Holt replied. “Another twenty minutes.”

  “Umm,” I replied as I looked out the window, noting the unfamiliarity again. “You never said. Where are we?”

  “A safe place,” he replied evasively.

  “And that is?” I replied, annoyed.

  “Untouchable City,” Mr. Holt replied.

  “But that’s the city for sinners,” I gasped.

  “I got news for you, girl,” Mr. Holt replied with a grim smile. “No city is without sinners. Didn’t they teach you that in Sunday school?”

  I suddenly felt very unsafe and shrank back into my seat.

  Mr. Holt and the other two cars got off of the road and traveled down a street with lighter traffic. My eyes went wide at the people I saw. One woman wore a tight red shirt with no sleeves and no midriff, with a long orange flowing skirt adorned with a silvery belt. Her hair was short and dyed a shocking neon-green color. Another woman was dressed in a gray business suit with pants! Some of the men wore business suits, but some were dressed differently than I had ever seen, with long, twisted hair, markings on their face, and tight clothing accented with a lot of silver and leather. Some bopped their heads to music I couldn’t hear.

  “A little different than Sunny City,” I heard Mr. Holt say.

  I could only nod; I was so stunned.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “We’ll get you treated, and then you’ll be on your way to your fiancé.”

  “Who is he?” I asked, eager for any information.

  “Hold on a sec,” Mr. Holt replied as the car screen beeped, noting an incoming message.

  I groaned in frustration.

  “We’re ready,” a voice said.

  “Good,” Mr. Holt replied. “Eden, in thirty seconds, we are going to exit the car and leave the doors open. The decoys will take our place and drive to another hospital.”

  After a moment’s hesitation, I nodded. I had to just trust Mr. Holt for now.

  One minute later, I found myself inside the biggest hospital I had ever seen, with people moving purposely all around me.

  “Hurry,” Mr. Holt said. “This way.”

  We walked down a short hallway until we reached a door that stated, “Urgent Care Clinic.” As soon as we walked in, a nurse led us through the waiting room, which was full of patients. My eye was caught by the one child in the room. He had eyes slanted slightly upward, and he smiled at me. But there was something about him that puzzled me.

  Once in the examination room, the nurse checked my vitals while Mr. Holt paced and looked at his watch phone. Finally, the nurse was finished and told us the doctor would be in shortly.

  As soon as she left, I asked Mr. Holt, “Did you see that toddler out there?”

  “The one with Down Syndrome?” he replied.

  I stared at him, shocked. “Isn’t that illegal?”

  Mr. Holt stopped pacing and said, “Look, Eden, everything is different in Untouchable City. People get knocked up all sorts of ways out here. They don’t always follow the appropriate ‘protocols.’” Mr. Holt used his fingers to demonstrate the quotations around the word “protocols.”

  “But . . .” I replied, my brain too befuddled to finish the question.

  “But what?” Mr. Holt replied. “He shouldn’t be alive?” He resumed pacing. “You need to get over your prejudice. You will see a lot of ‘different’ in this city. A lot of parents come to this city to give their children who are a little different a place to live.”

  “They can’t live in their hometowns?” I asked and then answered my own question. “It
would be presumed that they didn’t follow the appropriate protocols?”

  Mr. Holt nodded. “Then they would be found criminally negligent.”

  “And their babies taken from them?” I asked.

  Mr. Holt agreed as the door opened. A middle-aged brown-skinned woman came in. She wore a physician’s white coat. Women were even doctors in this city! I was starting to suspect there was a lot about this city I didn’t know.

  “Hi, Eden, I’m Dr. Brown,” she said, smiling warmly as she held out her hand for me to shake.

  “Nice to meet you,” I replied automatically.

  “Let’s see. It says here you inhaled smoke due to a fire?” She looked at Mr. Holt instead of me.

  “Don’t ask,” Mr. Holt replied.

  “Got it,” she answered curtly and pulled a curtain so she could examine me without Mr. Holt looking on.

  After she finished, she pulled the curtain back and said to Mr. Holt, “I really would like to run some tests and look at an X-ray of her chest.”

  “No time,” Mr. Holt replied. “We have to get out of here. Can she make it another forty-eight hours?”

  “She can,” the doctor replied. “But she should be seen and treated as soon as she arrives. I’m going to give her a bronchodilator and a steroid so she can breathe easier.”

  “Give her something to help if she gets nervous flying too,” Mr. Holt said.

  “How old are you?” she asked me. “Some medications I can’t give you if you’re under the age of consent.”

  “I’m sixteen,” I replied.

  “Date of birth?” she asked, looking at her electronic notepad.

  “October 14, 2121,” I replied.

  She didn’t respond, just tilted her head as though trying to remember something. I noticed her hands start to shake before she turned away from me, her back ramrod straight.

  “Is there something I should know?” Dr. Brown asked.

  “Not now,” Mr. Holt said firmly. “Give her the medicine. We’ve already been here too long.”

  “Please,” she said, her voice begging.

  Uncomfortable, I looked to Mr. Holt. His face was impassive, giving nothing away.