Awake
Page 1
Poppy: Awake
by Riana Lucas
Published by Astraea Press
www.astraeapress.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.
POPPY: AWAKE
Copyright © 2014 RIANA LUCAS
ISBN 978-1-62135-353-9
Cover Art Designed by AM DESIGN STUDIO
To our family and friends who offer endless support
and to all the readers that enjoy the world we created…
Thank you!
Chapter One
"Poppy! We need you! Please help us. I’m not sure what to do."
"Reed? Reed, is that you? Where are you?"
"I’m here, Poppy."
"Where? I cannot see you. It is too dark."
"I’m at the unseelie court, but things aren’t right."
"I do not understand."
"Rho and I have been put into the dungeons."
"Why?"
"I don’t know! This isn’t right. You said I would be safe!"
"I do not know how to get to you. I cannot leave. The queen will not allow it."
"Please, Poppy! We need you…"
I awake with a start, my hand reaching under the pillow for my dagger. Stretching my fingers in hopes it has only shifted in my sleep, I continue to search but am unable to find it. Even more anxious now, I jerk up in the bed and throw the pillow aside. My dagger is missing. Unarmed but still alert, I turn my attention to my surroundings. My eyes scan the room, my gaze bouncing off elegant tables, colorful flower arrangements, and exquisite paintings as my eyes frantically try to locate what woke me. As my vision adjusts to the darkness, I can see there is no one else here with me. My body, however, does not seem to understand. Sweat is dripping down my back, my heart is racing, and my head is tingling as my brain works to remember what woke me.
As I scan the room one last time, I am forced to believe it was a dream—a dream I have been having ever since I woke up in the seelie queen’s court, my enemy court, two days ago. I struggle to remember some of it, but I cannot. The only thing I am able to recall is a vision of Reed and Rho as well as Reed’s faint voice, nothing else. I do not know what they are doing or where they are and am unable to decipher the words.
I lie back in the bed, frustrated by my memory block. My head hits the mattress where my pillow was before I tossed it to the ground, the sheets are bunched down by my feet, and faint early morning light glows through the window. Staring at the ceiling, I remember the first time I woke up in this bed.
I awoke suddenly then, too. It was dark, and I was confused. My head felt as if it were filled with cotton, making it difficult to think. I could not remember where I was or what had happened to me, and I was scared—not only because of the confusion, but also because I sensed another fae in the room with me. Lying still, not wishing to alert them to the fact that I was awake, I kept my eyes closed and my breathing even. As I lay listening, I heard the sound of metal clinking and water pouring, and then felt a warm, damp rag on my forehead. The gentle movement startled me, and I had to stop myself from grabbing the hand of the fae touching me.
Instead of reacting, I slowed my breathing and concentrated on the person tending me. A female voice hummed a soft lullaby, and the sweet smell of roses and lavender wafted from her skin. The smell soothed me and felt somehow familiar. Her touch was soft and gentle, yet thorough, as she wiped my face with the damp rag. Then she used her other hand to push my hair back off my shoulders before wiping down the side of my neck.
Then I noticed I was not wearing any clothes. A thin, soft sheet covered my body. Luckily for the fae bathing me, she did not remove the sheet. Had she done so, I would have tried to kill her. Instead, she left the sheet alone and quickly finished wiping my body around it. After she moved away, I heard the sound of the cloth being placed in the water. All the while, she continued to hum her pleasant song.
As I continued to listen, I waited. After a few more seconds of muffled sounds, she returned with a dry cloth to wipe my damp skin. This cloth smelled like she did, and I realized she was spreading lotion on my skin. When she finished covering all my exposed skin, I sensed her moving down my body near my hip. The sheet began to lift, and I once again fought the urge to stop her. In doing so, my body shifted a bit, which sent a sharp pain slicing into my side.
The fae stopped her movements when she noticed mine, but after a few moments she continued with her task. She lifted the sheet over my side, exposing the skin from my rib cage down to my hip. Her hand moved around the area, gently prodding. It was then I noticed a bandage wrapped around my middle. I had been so distracted by the stranger in my room; I had not taken note of the state of my body. With slow and gentle movements, she began to unwrap the bandage. Once the skin was exposed, she applied some sort of cream to the area.
All the while, I lay completely still, trying to block the slight pain as I tried to remember how I became injured. I could recall fuzzy images in my head and hear screaming, but nothing else. I had no memory of where I was or how I ended up there.
Within moments, the fae finished with the cream and covered my wound once again. I continued to listen to her soft humming, using the sound to track her as she moved around the room, cleaning up and shuffling items around. After a few more minutes, she came beside me once again. She leaned closer, and I struggled to remain still.
Finally she whispered into my ear, "Sleep well, my child," and then I heard her exit the room, closing the door behind her.
I lay motionless awhile longer, listening for any signs of another presence in the room. Once certain I was alone, I slowly opened my eyes. In an instant, my attention was caught by the ceiling above me, where one of the most beautiful paintings I had ever come across was mounted.
The scene depicted a blue sky with white, soft clouds floating all around. Below them sprawled a meadow with bright green grass and covered in colorful flowers from every color of the rainbow. In the center of the meadow sat a little girl surrounded by animals. Birds and butterflies flew around her head, some landing on her shoulders and hair. Bunnies and chipmunks sat serenely in her lap. Deer and elk stood watching nearby, and she had one arm extended, petting a black bear cub on its belly. The entire scene was peaceful, almost perfect. In fact, it would have been, except for the fact that I could not see the little girl's face. She was turned away from me, gazing out toward the forest which lay beyond the meadow. Wishing to know what held her attention over the beauty around her; I strained my eyes but could not grasp what it was. I had lain there that day, staring at the ceiling, trying to figure it out, before drifting off to sleep again.
When I woke the second time, I saw not the painting but the seelie queen. Hovering over me, she informed me I had been sleeping for two straight days. She reminded me of the fight I had with Damien, the fae who had been my mentor and trainer my entire life, and told me that the wound he inflicted was near-fatal. If it had not been for her healers and their quick action, I would have died, and now I was in debt to her.
Although the queen filled me in on how I became injured, who did it, and how I came to be at the seelie court, I could not remember the details leading to those events. I could not understand why Damien would attack me and why the queen would help me. For some reason, those few minutes before the battle were still missing from my memory.
Those memories still have not resurfaced. I asked the queen, but she told me to give my body time to heal and with healing my memories will come back. Over the last three days, I have tried to be patient and take her advice. I slowly regained some of my strength, but it has been difficult. Lying in a bed all day is not the way a warrior rebuilds her strength. If I started training once again, my strength would grow much more quickly. My body is used to constant training, and without the regular conditioning, I fear I will not get any better. However, I am also afraid the queen will not allow this.
Since waking up with her in my room, we have interacted little with each other. This is by my choice. She has invited me to dine with her at every meal, but I declined each time. I am not sure what she wants with me and dining with the enemy queen has not seemed like a good idea. Thankfully though, she has not held this against me. She has at least given me permission to wonder the halls of the court with Willow and a guard trailing behind.
Now though, I find myself in need of her permission as well as answers. Blinking at the ceiling, I clear my head of my earlier thoughts and focus on what I need to do. Breakfast with the queen sounds like a perfect time to get some answers. Maybe it’s time I accept one of those invitations. A plan in place, I sit up and swing my legs over the side of my bed, glancing around yet again in confusion at the room I have been sleeping in.
The room feels pleasant enough. Truth be told, it is beyond pleasant. I cannot imagine a more luxurious room within the castle, other than maybe the queen’s chambers. My bed, covered in the finest silk sheets, is one of the softest mattresses I ever lay upon. Vases of flowers, which are replaced daily and always coordinated with one another, are placed throughout my room, filling it with a wonderful fragrance. The space is big enough to have a sitting area as well as a large private bathing room. A dresser and closet burst full of beautiful gowns from black elegant styles to pink or purple frilly styles, though I do not wear them.
I get the feeling the queen thinks of me as some sort of doll, one she can dress up and show off around the court. She has finally given up, but only after two whole days of first demanding, then asking me to wear them. Thankfully, she has allowed me to continue to wear the same sort of clothing I arrived in, my battle-ready attire, though she did insist on having new ones made for me. She threw out the old ones that were ruined from all the travel and fighting that occurred over the few days before I arrived here.
Shaking those useless thoughts away, I return my focus to the task at hand. Just as I am about to slip off the high bed, my door opens slowly. The first morning this happened, I immediately went on alert. Now I expect it; I know it is Willow, the fae assigned to me by the queen. Willow is supposed to help me bathe, dress, brush my hair, and do anything else I wish her to do.
Except, of course, to go away. I asked her to do this several times the first day she appeared in my room informing me she was at my service. When I explained I did not need her service and merely wanted her to leave, she just smiled at me. She silently walked over to the dresser and picked up a hairbrush before starting toward me with a look of determination. I held my hand up to fend her off, but she sidestepped me and began brushing my hair. In my defense, I had just woken up, so my reaction time was delayed. Now I know better.
I watch her wearily as she enters my room. She is a beautiful fae in an unassuming way and probably about the same age as I am. Her hair is bright red, almost orange—and I assume rather long, but it has only ever been up. Every day she puts her hair into a tight braid, one that wraps around the top of her head like a halo. Her fiery orange eyes match her hair perfectly and seem to sparkle like amber when she is happy. Her skin is the typical pale white of all fae, but her features are soft like the seelie fae. Though, she is rather petite for a fae, standing no more than five feet tall. With a body so soft and lithe, she looks like a dancer.
As she makes her way across the room toward me, I sit up in bed and pull my hair back and then all to one side before twisting it into a braid. Willow simply smiles at me, knowing I am trying to prevent her from helping me. I catch myself rolling my eyes at her and immediately think of Reed. My dream comes back to me in a flash, but I still cannot pull the images into focus. I have lain in this bed on and off over the last three days, trying to recall why the dreams seem so important, but I cannot.
Willow notices my intense expression and frowns. “Are you all right, Mistress?”
“Do not call me that, Willow. I have told you before. My name is Poppy. Why do you insist on calling me that?”
“It is what the queen wishes.”
“But why?” A whine is present in my voice, and I wince, but I desperately want to know why the queen is treating me this way. Surely prisoners are not put up in the best accommodations, fitted with elegant dresses, and provided servants? This makes no sense to me.
“I’m sorry, Mistress, but you will need to ask the queen.”
“I intend to.” I raise my chin and square my shoulders before walking toward the door.
“Um…excuse me? Mistress?” Willow asks hesitantly as my hand reaches for the doorknob.
“Yes, Willow?” I sigh, once again wanting to correct how she addresses me but knowing it will be a waste of time and breath.
“Umm…” She hesitates, so I turn around to look at her. Her cheeks are now pink, and she is peering down at the ground.
“Out with it!” I command, having utterly lost my patience at this point.
“Would you care to get dressed before addressing the queen?”
I glance down at myself and realize I am in a long white sleeping gown. The material is silk, thin and heavenly to sleep in, but inappropriate outside of my room. Letting out a breath, I drop my hand from the door.
“Sorry, Willow. I believe that would be a wise thing to do.”
“No need to apologize, Mistress.” She smiles at me, but does not look me directly in the eyes. She never does, and it bothers me. It reminds me of the way the unseelie fae has to avoid eye contact with the king at the unseelie court. He would have had us struck had we dared look him directly in the eye. It was uncomfortable and nearly impossible at times, and I do not want Willow to feel this way toward me.
“Look at me, Willow,” I command gently. When she does, she is hesitant, so I continue, “Yes, I do need to apologize. I have been horrible to you, and you have only been trying to help me.” She begins to talk, most likely to tell me not to apologize again, but I stop her with a raised hand. “Now, would you help me get ready for breakfast with the queen?”
Willow gives me a smile so bright it instantly makes me feel bad. She has been nothing but kind to me, and I have treated her awfully. I scold myself for this as I watch her gather my clothes.
As Willow gathers my clothes for me and draws a bath, I walk to the full-length mirror to undress. I lift my nightgown over my head and examine my figure for any evidence of the fight with Damien. My eyes scan my bare skin slowly, and I am happy to note the bruises that blossomed all over my body are completely gone. The lone indication of my near death is a tiny scar on my side. The queen’s healer did an amazing job at tending to the wound.
The fae in my room the first time I woke up never came back after I regained full consciousness, but there was no need. The wound was already almost healed when I awoke, and I was able to tend to it myself. I did ask the queen to thank her for me. She murmured "of course" with a small secret smile on her lips. I still find myself humming the fae’s lullaby on occasion.
“Your bath is ready, Mistress,” Willow says from behind me, pulling me from my musings.
I get into the bath and begin to wash quickly. Just as I am finishing, I felt a tug on my braid. Glancing back, I see Willow crouched down on her knees, my braid in her fingers. Before I realize what I am doing, I jerk my head away from her and face her with a glare, my quick movement causing water to splash out of the tub and soak Willow. She jumps to her feet and steps back, looking at the ground once again.
I take a deep breath and shake my head at my lack of consideration. “It is okay, Willow. I just do not like for you to do those things. I do not usually like to be touched or to be taken care of. Maybe there is something else you can be doing?” I ask hopefully.
She shakes her head but does not speak. My shoulders sag. I think for a moment on the best way to fix this. An idea quickly begins to form, one I am unsure of but know I must try. Willow cannot be my servant.
“Okay then,” I begin with my best smile. “How about you and I become friends?”
“Friends?” she asks as she glances up to me finally, her brow furrowed in confusion.
“Yes, friends. If we are friends, then you will not need to wait on me, do things for me, or call me Mistress. You will not have to avoid eye contact with me, and I would like you to call me Poppy. When the queen is around, we will pretend you are doing things for me, but when we are here in my room, it will be okay for you to just be my friend. We could talk about the court, or you could tell me about your life here. Would that be okay?”
While I speak, her features turn from confusion, to horror, to happiness. She bounces up on her toes and says with excitement, “Yes! I do understand. I would love to be your friend. I don’t really have any.”
My eyes widen in astonishment. I thought I was lacking in that area, but at least I always had Rho. “Well, I am sorry you never had one, but you do now.” My smile is genuine when I answer her because I not only solved my problem, but made her happy as well.
“Oh, this is wonderful, Mis…” She breaks off when I shoot her a stern look then corrects herself, “I mean, Poppy...” She hesitates again, and I can tell by the expression on her face it was difficult for her to use my name, but she has used it and I find I am happy with this arrangement myself. I smile at her in encouragement so she will finish her thought. “What shall we do first?” she asks brightly.