RYIN
Princess Celena hasn’t moved from her spot in front of the door for minutes. I would call out to her, but the drudges are prohibited from speaking unless spoken to—those of us with our voices intact, at least. However, the princess doesn’t recall the rules. And by now I know that the version of Celena who returned from across the wall would not punish me for breaking protocol. Especially seeing as she does so herself regularly.
“Your Grace?” A shudder ripples through her; my voice seems to have broken her spell. She turns around, the pallid tone to her usually vibrant complexion making her appear waxy.
“You’re ill. Please sit down.” I motion to the bed and she shakes her head but sits anyway.
“I’m not ill, I’m just…” She sucks in a staggering breath. Her head swivels, looking from wall to wall, agitation palpable. “I don’t like small spaces.”
I’d gathered as much from her reaction to the elevators. Compassion surges from my daimon and, begrudgingly, from me. Was she held captive in some small prison? Her body may remember even with her memory soul lost.
“I’m sorry to say that is not something I can heal.” I don’t know why I add this, but she looks up, surprised.
“I wouldn’t think so.” She frowns. Tilts her head. “How does your healing work? What kinds of things can you heal?”
“My daimon can manipulate the physical form, heal wounds, change temperatures, force sleep or waking.”
She nods, but I’m not entirely sure she’s listening. Her eyes are glassy, her breathing labored. I move across from her to lean against the wall but she slides over on the cot.
“You can sit,” she says. I eye the space next to her dubiously. “Please. It would help me. Besides, it’s cold here.” She punctuates the statement with a shiver.
I take a deep breath, cross the few feet separating us, then sit beside her on the cot, leaving a healthy distance between us. Her gaze strokes the side of my face, almost like a touch. My daimon urges me closer. Goosebumps rise on her skin, but she incongruously begins fanning herself as if she’s warm. Then she leans over, face between her knees, breathing in and out very loudly.
My daimon rushes forward to investigate, brightening the space with its glow. We search her body for the cause to this reaction, but there’s nothing. No physical injury, just the rapid pace of her heart and her frayed breathing. Instinctively, and against all common sense, I place my hand on her back and rub circles to try to calm her. She wraps her arms around herself and, slowly, the trembling subsides. My hand stays where it is, and even though she’s bent forward, she seems to lean in to my touch. My daimon retreats, satisfied I have the situation in hand but ready to lend aid when needed.
“I’m sorry. I’m trying to keep it together here,” she says, voice muffled.
“Take your time.” She cannot control her claustrophobia. I have known seasoned soldiers who would be hard pressed to withstand this type of mental stress.
“Can you talk to me? Take my mind off it. Where—where are you from?”
To share anything of home with a Nimali feels profane, but she seems relatively nonthreatening sitting here. And all of the differences between how she acted before and how she is now form an avalanche in my mind that loosens my tongue.
“The Fai home in Aurum is called the Greenlands. It lies to the west and overlooks the ocean. It is a beautiful place, not of concrete and stone, but of greenery. After the Sorrows, we did not try to mimic the human life we had lost—we saw an opportunity to become closer with nature. The Nimali mine the bliss and wrangle it into their technology. We revere the bliss and hold it as sacred and it blesses us.”
“So you pray to it?”
“Not as such, but we believe bliss is sentient and divine. It’s part matter and part spirit and connects our two worlds. Using it as the Nimali do is enslavement and moreover wasteful. They mine the bliss and when a matrix is used up, they move on to another. It isn’t sustainable. The bliss in an empty matrix will never return.”
“You’re conservationists,” she says with a smile in her voice. She’s breathing more normally now, though still bent over. I continue to smooth circles against the fabric of her top, but when I brush against the soft skin on the back of her shoulders, I pull back. Celena lets out a sound of protest.
I slide farther down the cot. “Fai are not allowed to touch Nimali. We’re not allowed to speak unless spoken to.”
“That is such bullshit.” She sits up and turns to face me. “I know you’re a prisoner and you’re basically enslaved. But when we were on the wall—I mean, what keeps you from escaping? Why not just run away? Those were Fai who ambushed us in the jeep. You could have left with them.”
The urge I’d had hits me again just as strong. “When the Nimali capture prisoners, they take one of our souls.”
Her eyes widen. “They take one.” She blinks rapidly. “You still have your voice and your memory.” She looks down to the floor and the wall, to the shadows cast by the shelving and the bed. “They took your shadow.” Her voice is a whisper.
“It was my dominant soul—that is the one you lose first. When a soul is taken, we must stay near to wherever it’s kept or else our daimons will weaken and eventually die, and us along with them. If we leave Nimali territory, our lives are forfeit.”
“So if you lose three souls, you die, and if you go too far from your stolen soul, you also die…But how is it that I’m alive? If everyone believes I’ve lost my memory soul?”
“You have no daimon. To unite with a daimon is to share your body and your souls. The two of you are connected. But the daimons are much more sensitive to soul loss than a human is.”
Her brow crinkles. “And is it a problem, that I don’t have a daimon?”
“You will need one in order to be queen. Your father will want you to undergo the next trial soon.” It feels strange to be so forthright with the princess, but she appears to appreciate it.
“But he loves…me. He believes I only have one soul left. I don’t think he would risk my life like that.” But she doesn’t sound sure.
“He loves ruling. Loves being a dragon. Loves his legacy.” I want to add more but hold myself back. Even with her new openness, it wouldn’t be wise to disparage the king out loud.
“But isn’t Shad…he has a daimon. He’s a whole dragon. He can be the legacy.”
I shrug. Their internal family structure and lines of succession are not my business or my concern, but the topic troubles her a great deal, I can tell.
She sucks in a breath and her gaze darts around the room before centering on the floor. Her heartbeat speeds again—she’s growing more anxious. “Can all Fai heal?”
“No. Your abilities depend on your daimon. They come in four aspects: fire, land, air, and water. I have a fire daimon.”
She tilts her head, birdlike. “What kind of animal?”
My lips press together. “We do not share that with Nimali.” A sharp pain pricks my chest when her face falls.
“And what qualities does your fire daimon give you?”
“Mainly healing.” I cannot tell her the rest. Many of our powers we have carefully hidden from our captors.
“And Noomi? Am I allowed to ask what she can do?”
“She has a water daimon. Hers allows her to cleanse and purify, among other things.”
Celena nods, deep in thought. I think I’ve successfully distracted her from her distress again. All of her physical symptoms have abated, for which I’m grateful. Not just because if the king heard of it he’d have my head, but I think I’m starting to care about the princess’s well-being. Her reaction to the revelations are not what I would have expected from her even a day ago. Celena was always a remote, icy creature. Eager for knowledge and not particularly warm or kind. Not unkind either, per se, just distant.
But the returned Celena wears her heart on her sleeve. I think again of Von’s plan to use her and it leaves me cold.
She falls quiet after that, as do I. I don’t know that I’ve spoken so much in the past three years. But the changes her experience has wrought on her seem to be deep. And she seems so sincere and earnest. I seriously consider Noomi’s statement—can this Celena be an ally and not an enemy?