In Her Element

Things moved quickly for Almyra, most of it a blur. She remembered feeling a presence behind her and her arm being grasped strongly as she was pulled to her feet. A faint thought whispered through her mind—we have her—obviously about her though not for her. She remembered being dragged out from behind the table and shoved in front of a young man—Samuel, she realized with a start. She remembered the venomous glare that had been sent her way by Serena when Samuel bowed low and offered his hand to Almyra; in her mind she knew that she was not being given the choice of accepting his offer as an escort, and that she would gladly allow Serena to take her place. She remembered leaving the manor on Samuel’s arm with the rest of the cloaked boys around them as a guard, and her guard, Rupert, trailing behind them, with a look of anguish on his face. And rightfully so should he look like that, Almyra thought with the pain of betrayal that she felt in her chest, as he was not only allowing his charge to be taken away, but obviously going along with it as well. Besides, it seemed as though he was stuck with the task of keeping everyone away, including Almyra’s frantic mother, whose tear-stained face slowly faded as the distance between the two parties increased.

Almyra now sat in a carriage that was taking her to some unknown destination, struggling to keep her burning eyes from releasing their tears. She wished she had had a chance to say good-bye to her mother, for all the fuss she had put up with before the ball, and to apologize for this—whatever this was.

That thought floated away, and now Almyra was struggling to keep her burning hands from lighting the carriage on fire as she fought to keep her last memory out of her mind—the picture that kept forcing itself to the surface. The picture of Matthew lying motionless on the hard ballroom floor, Miss Lisle kneeling at his side, was still too fresh in her mind.

She shuddered, and threw an icy look at Rupert that showed exactly how she felt when he tried to wrap a blanket around her shoulder. He flinched and retreated back to his corner of the seat, his hands twitching violently in his lap. To ease her mind and her anger, and to have something to do, she reached for the blanket and stood, keeping her balance the best that she could. Rupert too, reached out, this time to grab her wrist in an attempt to stop her, but even before Almyra could glare at him, he pulled back on his own accord when he felt her boiling wrist, realizing her powers were waiting for the chance to burst forth and do some damage. Almyra shook out the light blanket and oh-so-gently placed it on Frederick who was lying in the bench opposite her and appeared to be unconscious.

She surprised herself with this gesture—and saw the mirrored shock in Rupert’s eyes when she finally dared glance at him—but for some reason, looking at the motionless Frederick brought a pain to her heart and gut that she could not fathom. She smoothed the cover nervously and then settled back in her seat, ignoring Rupert and a completely silent Samuel, her eyes closed unless they were focused on Frederick.

A cry sounded outside the carriage and a horse whinnied as it pulled to a stop. Almyra slowly sat up, rubbing sleep from her eyes. She shook her head in self-disgust, wondering how she possibly could have fallen asleep; how she had not even tried to figure out where she was being taken to. Her wondering stopped, however, and she forced herself to become alert, when the carriage door opened and Almyra caught a blast of cold air as well as a short, quick glimpse of a man descending from a carriage that was parked next to them into a crowd of boys who were robed in purple; one offered his arm, the others bowed. This man was drawing closer, but before Almyra could make out his features, another face filled the entryway of the carriage she was in and blocked her view. The boy—Damien, was it—looked solemn as he and Samuel locked eyes and communicated thus silently. Then Samuel gave a curt nod, and the boy moved aside.

“Almyra.”

Almyra pulled her gaze from the deformed boy, embarrassed to have been caught staring. Someone like her, who knew what it was like to be different—even if her difference was not known to all—should know how uncomfortable it was to be the focus of unwanted attention. Her chagrin turned to irritation as she felt a now familiar brushing across her mind, although it left a different residue than when Frederick did it. Perhaps Spirit-users each had their own unique style of picking out the thoughts of others, and they each left their own signature.

Samuel was looking at her with an expression on her face that she could not describe. “Will you kindly allow Damien to lead you to your room.”

Almyra could not help but notice that his voice had not gone up at the end of the sentence the way one usually did when putting forward a question. Obviously it was not a request so much as a demand, something that seemed to be a habit of Samuel’s.

Almyra stood, suddenly reluctant to leave Frederick (perhaps because of the odd comfort he supplied), and permitted Damien to help her down the steps. She was utterly shocked when, upon stepping onto the ground, she was overcome by a feeling of recognition and warm welcome. Warmth—an odd feeling in the nippy air. She followed the boy, her eyes taking in her surroundings as best as she could in the dark night.

She was surrounded by trees with a thin, nearly invisible path snaking out in front of her. At the end of the path loomed a castle of some sort that was covered in vines and nearly as tall as it was wide, its turrets reaching up and disappearing in the thick fog that hung over the citadel. She found she was shivering, but not only from the cold. It bothered her immensely that she could not place the familiarity of the large fortress.

And then the trees seem to part and her eyes caught sight of an extensive, open field to the far side of the castle, one that ended abruptly at a cliff, and suddenly she knew where she was.

Behind the castle—on the other side, in the distance—was a summer home that had not been visited for many years gone. Her summer home, one that she had lived in for many a summer as a child, until that time when she was caught playing with a group of strange boys, because Frederick had told Matthew, who told their mother….

This realization and nostalgia hit her heavily and, dazed, Almyra forgot to watch her step and she tripped on a stone. She fell forward, catching herself painfully on her hands, and winced as her palms scraped against another rock as she tried to stand. She managed to stand and straightened, not even bothering to wipe herself down.

Damien, who had turned around to check on her when he realized she was not following him anymore, was waiting patiently until she stood upright, and then his gaze fell to her chest. Almyra glared at him as she self-consciously brought her hand up to that area—she never thought that Damien would be the type of boy to rudely gawk at a woman’s chest. She moved her hand as discreet as possible, considering that he kept his gaze there, and her fingers brushed across a chain. Lifting it to her eyes, she saw a stone at the end of the chain, its shade of purple reminding her vaguely of something else. She frowned, having no memory whatsoever of putting on the necklace that the King had given her on that night. But Almyra did remember what the King had said before leaving it on her pillow; perhaps this is what would form a connection and allow her to call to him. In any case, it gave her a sense of protection, a feeling that there was always someone waiting in the shadows if she was in need of help.

She tucked the necklace back under the neckline, ignoring Damien’s questioning look, somehow knowing, or perhaps hoping he would keep silent about it, and with renewed confidence, started walking again. This time, however, she was a bit more cautious of where she placed her feet.