Awake

There was a saying in Vezda that every child learned: Only the dead have no troubles. The children who heard these words the most were the ones who were most likely to whine or complain. It was supposed to be an important reminder that everyone had problems, from the King himself to the lowliest peasant--yet it was better to be alive and struggling than dead and trouble free.

Talia heard these words over and over in her childhood, like when she complained about only having fish to eat, or when Father sent her to the Temple for the first time, or when her sister made her sew medical cloths for three days as a punishment for knocking over the ladder to the lookout tower. She heard the words so often she came to hate them. To her, they seemed to be an excuse that adults used to never have to put any effort towards making anything better!

So, it was especially annoying to learn that the dead do indeed have troubles! The first trouble was that it was very cold. She was warm wherever her body touched the body of the spirit servant, but her feet and her ankles were freezing. The second was that she expected the journey to the Land of Eternal Light to be much more comfortable-- something more along the lines of the gentle rocking of a boat on calm waters. Instead, her body was jarred continually as though the spirit servant rode hard and fast across the ocean on a war horse. The third was that she could not see or speak or move at all, and this was the most troublesome thing, for there were so many questions that she wanted to ask and every time she tried, all that came out of her mouth was a weak moan.

"Why is it so cold? My feet are freezing," she tried to ask. "Mmmmm... cold..." was all that came out of her mouth.

The spirit servant adjusted whatever sort of robe he'd covered her with and held her tighter still, but that did not help her poor frozen toes one bit!

Why did the dead have to feel annoyed? Why did her back hurt? Why was she continually shook and jolted about? Why did the spirit servant small like pine trees and musk and sweat? It was not an unpleasant smell, but it was strong and distracting. Did all spirits have smells? How long was the journey going to take? Why did everyone lie about the dead having no troubles at all?

"Aaaaaaaah...lies," she heard herself mumble.

"Yes, Princess," the servant soothed.

His voice was low and gravelly, and she could feel the hum of his bass tone through his chest when he spoke. It was rather pleasant.

What was not pleasant was that the spirit had long hair, which hung down and continuously brushed across her face, tickling her cheeks and nose and making her feel like she was constantly about to sneeze. She wanted desperately to lift her hand and brush it away, but as hard as she tried to lift her hand, she could only make it tremble a little bit.

She slept and woke and slept and woke again. At times, they did not appear to be moving. At those times, the darkness was still and silent and calm and she could not hear or feel the spirit that accompanied her. Though she tried to remain level-headed, those times were very frightening. She wondered if she'd been abandoned or tossed into the pit. She would cry out for the spirit, begging him to return, but without a voice, all she could do was whine.

Eventually, the spirit servant would return. Sometimes it would stroke her cheek gently or lightly touch her hand before it picked her up and began their journey again.

And then, one day, there was light.

It started as a spot of gray in the black void that grew as time passed. As the light spot grew so did the world around her. There were sounds now: more voices, horse hooves, wind, the creak of leather, the scratch of rough fabric on her face and arms, and a low voice whispering to her to be still, to not be afraid, to wake up, to know that it was almost over.

There was no way to know how much time had passed, but when she did open her eyes, it was to bright daylight on a cold morning. She could smell smoke from a campfire somewhere nearby, and there were crows in the bare branches high above her head and they screamed to each other so loudly it made her wince. One side of her body was incredibly warm, and the other side quite cold.

She blinked a few times and tried to move but found herself rolled in a thick, scratchy blanket and weighted down by something heavy upon her chest. She realized quickly that she'd been sleeping on the ground, for her back was quite sore, and she could feel something hard like rocks through the blanket beneath her.

Talia tried to roll over once more, and the weight on her chest shifted, finally allowing her to turn on her side, but as she did so, she found herself face-to-face with a nightmare.

Prince Mikhail of Unaria slept soundly beside her, his arm thrown casually over her. Her face was so close to his that their noses were almost touching. She gasped in shock and froze.

There was no chance that someone as horrible as the Emperor of Unaria's brother would have been allowed into the Land of Eternal Light. She was not dead. She had survived, and now she was headed for something even worse than death, for certainly it had been longer than a week! She had known all along that the Emperor had no intention of keeping the treaty, but she'd assumed that it wouldn't matter what the Emperor had planned, for she would escape on her own terms. Now she surely faced something terrible. She would suffer just as Queen Ora had. She would be humiliated and tortured for months without end.

Prince Mikhail scowled in his sleep. Talia held her breath, fearful of him and his closeness and what exactly would happen when his eyes opened. She watched him fearfully as he slept. If he was another sort of man-- a man like Sir Aron, who was brave and good and kind, she would have been stirred by the beauty in his sleeping face. He had long and thick dark eyelashes which rested gently against high cheekbones, clear skin, and a sharply cut jaw. His lips, defined by a few days' worth of stubble, were thin but sensitive-looking and curvy. The nose was very masculine, straight and high-bridged. None of that mattered, or course, for when his eyes opened, all she would see were the two emotionless black voids which followed every movement she made and burned with some sort of strange intensity-- most likely a desire to make her suffer.

She had to escape. Her arms were restrained by the blanket she'd been tightly rolled up in, and she knew that if she moved too much or too quickly, he would wake at once. She would have to inch back slowly and get out from under his arm before she could unroll herself.

She turned her face to the side to let out the breath she'd been holding and then began wiggle just a bit. But just as she began to gain a little space from him, his arm tightened around her, and drew her closer, crushing her uncomfortably against his chest.

She could not suppress a small squeak of terror, and at the sound his entire body tensed. He did not even appear to breathe. Was he listening? Had he woken? She could no longer see his face, but after a moment, she could again feel him breath. Trapped-- she was trapped worse than before! Panic bubbled up inside her. The desire to scream and kick and struggle fought the more rational desire to remain completely still while she tried to figure out how to escape. She grit her teeth hard and shut her eyes firmly forcing herself to breath normally.

"Princess?" his deep low voice rumbled in his chest. She could feel his hot breath against the top of her head.

She did not respond, deciding at once that the only safe course would be to pretend to sleep until she better understood what had happened and found a way to escape.

"Princess?" he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper.

"What is it?" came Ilya's voice from her other side. "Did she call out again?"

The Prince did not respond. She felt herself being rolled onto her back, and then her head was lifted and gently set on the ground. She'd been using his other arm as a pillow without realizing it!

"How long did I sleep?" Mikhail growled.

"Only an hour, perhaps a little more," Ilya answered. "She should have woken by now, shouldn't she?"

"Soon. Her color is better, and her body stays warm for longer. She is close to waking," Mikhail answered.

Ilya sighed, and Talia could feel his disapproval. She heard Mikhail grunt as he stood up and then his footsteps walking away from her. A voice in her head screamed at her to run now that she'd been freed, but she made no move. Ilya was likely still beside her, and the Prince had not gone far.

"Do we have time at least to eat something?" Ilya complained.

"No. We can make the north gate by early evening if we leave now and keep up our pace. The Emperor's man had almost two days head start. If he rode hard, he has likely just reached the palace this morning. The longer we wait, the more time the Emperor has to think about how to get what he wants," Mikhail reasoned.

"Well, that's easy, isn't it? All he has to do is declare you a traitor and chop of your head. Why shouldn't he now that he no longer needs you to command his armies?" Ilya scoffed.

"He's not stupid enough to cut off his own hand," Mikhail replied simply.

"No, I suppose not, but he will punish you for this. And when he punishes you, he punishes me, so I hope that it's worth it. I don't think it is, but for your sake--"

"Go and saddle the horses," Mikhail interrupted.

"Why do I have to do all the--"

"Because my bladder is full and I am going to relieve it before we start again," the Prince replied in an agitated tone. "Go!"

Ilya rose to his feet with a disgusted grunt, and even his footsteps, as he walked away, crunching across frozen grass, gave the impression that he was stomping just the smallest amount as though very annoyed with his companion.

Talia waited for a few seconds before cracking her eyes open. Both of the men had disappeared. Strangely enough, there were no soldiers around either, and no tents. She likely only had two or three minutes before one or both of the Unarians returned. This was her chance.

She rolled onto her stomach and felt the blanket begin to unwind. Wriggling her hands free she turned onto her other side and pushed the blanket down and away as she sat up.

They were still in the forest, though frost lay heavy on the ground and the branches around her were bare. A campfire had only recently been put out and was still smoking and smoldering nearby. She did not wear her own clothes. Her arms were covered in long green sleeves, and as she stood up, she staggered just a bit, almost falling down again. She wasn't sure if it was the weight of her skirts or if her body had grown weak. She took a few faltering steps, but the world around her spun unsteadily. She felt like she was trying to run across the deck of a ship while it was being pitched about in a storm.

She took a few more uneven steps, and the edges of her vision blurred and darkened No matter, she had to go on, she had to take the chance given to her. She might not get another. She would never outrun them in such a state, but perhaps she could find a place to hide and then--

"You're going to pass out again, Princess," Prince Mikhail warned.

She felt his hand slide beneath her arm, and tried to scream but couldn't draw enough air. Where had he come from?!

His other arm wrapped behind her knees just as they began to buckle and when he hefted her up, the world spun even faster than before, and her stomach moved with it. She was going to be sick!

"I thought you might open your eyes if we left. I didn't expect you to try and stand so soon," he explained, almost apologetic in his tone.

She wanted to make a smart remark to that but was afraid that if she opened her mouth she'd vomit.

"You will be unwell for some time," he continued. "The poison has some side effects."

The only side effect was supposed to be death! She wanted to scream at him.

He set her down near the smoking embers of the campfire and reached for the blanket she'd only just managed to free herself from. Wrapping it securely around her shoulders, he backed away.

Talia opened her mouth. She meant to scream at him, demand the meaning of all this, ask what was going on, curse at him, but all that came out was a low moan.

"What?" he asked.

She moved her lips, trying to breath the words out, but could not even hear them herself. Her voice was barely audible.

"What are you trying to say?" he asked. He moved closer to hear her, just as she pitched forward and vomited.