So, I’m on a ship of some kind, with strangers below and above.A prisoner, more than likely, as are the filthy companions I share this space with.I’ve been ill.That much is clear.Deathly ill.But was I injured?Or did some disease befall me?There are vague moments of recall that just start to piece together, memories of pain, of water and sinking—
When the past comes back, it’s a tidal wave of history that makes me sob out loud, and I stuff one fist against my mouth to hold it back.I am Remalla of Heald, daughter of Jhanette the War Queen, and I will not break.
I didnotbreak.
Except I’m pretty sure I did.
“To the fire with it,” I whisper into the heavy, choking, airless dark.“I’ll put it back together, then.”
Just try and fucking stop me.
***
Chapter Three
I have so many questions once I force myself to abandon the need to fall into despair.Or maybe I’m using those queries to shield my mind from just that eventuality.There is no doubt in me that doing so will result in an ending I simply can’t abide.
Better to look headlong into the darkness, then.
Of all people to draw on, it has to be Vivenne in that moment, though.Her training, her steady strength that I used to rely on so deeply.I will take from her what I need to carry on and discard the rest, by the fire, because even she will not break me again.
Very well then, Remalla of Heald.Where are you?Why are you here?
And where are you going?
There are endless questions surrounding each of those pillars ofwhat the fuck is my life right now, but it helps to focus, detachment possible when the large expanse of my present circumstance takes over.
So, where am I?On a ship, I’ve answered that.Success is a tiny seed of thought I’ll claim as often as possible.Make it grow, now, with more details.Water it with knowledge.
Yes, more observance, then.I’m on some kind of small vessel, from what I can tell when I look around, head hanging heavy, but my mind clear, at least.I will take the victory of that, too.I can touch the curved wall of the belly of this ship with my hand if I reach for it, the other side two bodies’ length away.Which means it’s far smaller than the one ship I’m familiar with.
It’s painful to think of the massiveSea Blade.Memories of it mean a lure to despair.
I pinch myself as hard as I have strength for to return to my task and win yet another match against the overwhelm.This time, when I compare the two, I’m able to do so in detachment and cold curiosity.
Sea Blade’sinterior is two levels and felt vast when I was on board, when I looked back at it from the steps leading up to Dragonhome.Again, I ward off shifting emotion and breathe through my mouth to release it before it takes me hostage.While this ship is a small cousin in comparison.But like that massive vessel, this one’s insides are stuffed with casks, crates and other things.The section I’m in appears to be reserved for the crushed souls of humanity, hopeless and filthy as we are.
No, not hopeless.Not anymore.
Does my examination of this space answer my second question?I think it does, acutely conscious of my fellow captives and their reactions to me, of the chains that bind them, of the ones that I now realize hold me down by my right ankle.The skin there is split and bleeding, stinging when I move my foot.A ring of dirt marks the rusty bangle’s grip.Does it also mark the time?How long have I—
No new questions.Not yet.
Very well.Why am I here?I’m a captive, like my fellow hostages.And I’m well enough versed in the act of war to know that we’re not prisoners for imprisonment’s sake.
Slaves, then.The flutter of rage that wakes in my stomach isn’t helping.I close my eyes to soothe it into quiet before opening them again.It’s easier to peel the lids apart this time.I stare at the cluster of fearful ones who hunker into a narrow space, crowding together as far from me as they can reach, and understand.
I’ve done things in my lost time that have driven them to terror of me.Vague recall of being touched answered with motion and pain has to be real.What I’ve done, I doubt I’ll ever know, though I can guess.Weak as I am, instinct would be a powerful weapon no matter what, my training leading to violence when perceived threats arose.Were they trying to help and I struck out with no conscious thought?
I have to accept that’s probably the truth.My unconscious reaction has been sufficient to burn that expression of horror into them, and though I don’t move or try to speak to them again, their fear doesn’t retreat just yet.
Hopefully, I didn’t kill anyone.They’re suffering right along with me, and I would regret such harm if they were only trying to help.I sigh without my consent.There’s nothing to be done for it, is there?The drug that my aunt used to lay me low, to control and silence me, its influence is gone, at last.There’s a pull, though, a yearning I’ve never felt before, and I clench around a sob that tries to escape.
Without answers or the means to do anything about this craving I feel, I can only carry on with my questions.
My body demands more of what I’ve only now been able to free myself from.Also not surprising, considering.More than enough soldiers have fallen victim to the use of pain medicines to soothe their battle wounds, and I’ve personally known a few who haven’t survived their addiction.I’m lucky I was taken from Vivenne and her wretched plan.I have no illusions about how close I’d come to dying from whatever Fethest gave me in excess.Or, at the very least, how near I came to being lost to it forever.
I smother the craving with a firm, heated fist and raise my chin a little.I am my mother’s daughter, and I will not accept anything less than my best.If I succeed at nothing else in this life I have left, I will remain free of the call of what they gave me.
