While Waiting to Wake

A second later, Tracy came. Huffing and puffing as she looked wildly around. Her eyes flicking in all directions but where Em was at. Making her decision, the maid continued her stumbling run, going through a gated archway and into the garden.

Em watched Tracy go.

She should follow Tracy. Get away from the duel.

“The rules of the duel,” someone shouted. Em jumped and turned her head to listen. “The duel doesn’t end until an opponent is incapacitated or dead. Incapacitated includes being disarmed, dismembered, or pinned. The winner may deal death in case of incapacitation. Do both of you wish to proceed?”

“Yes!”

Em heard Felix’s arrogant voice rise like a cannon over the announcer.

“Then when I drop this handkerchief, the duel begins. Good luck.”

Em looked around one more time, then crawled out of the bushes. She was covered in twigs, leaves and dirt, but she didn’t care.

She didn’t care!

Her legs wobbled a little as she raced around the corner again and then approached the crowd. How was she going to get through now? And she had to hurry!

The clang of metal on metal hit her nerves with every strike. Especially since she couldn’t see anything! Curse her shortness! Is there a life, or a dream, where she wasn’t short?!

A gasp rippled through the crowd.

“Did you see that?!”

“Felix scratched him. I didn’t think that was possible!”

Feeling frantic, Em dropped to her knees once more and began crawling between people’s legs.

There were gasps and exclamations of surprise but she just kept crawling. Going as quickly as she could as she felt some of the more well-meaning of the guests try to stop her.

Her sleeve ripped under the pressure of one of those attempts. Making a whole section of the small crowd tumble into each other as the woman fell. Thank you, Felix, for ordering a cheap dress!

She’d almost reached the priest when someone successfully grabbed her around the middle and pulled her up. Em squirmed frantically, trying to free herself.

“Take her away,” someone whispered.

“But-” protested the man holding her. Unwilling to leave the spectacle.

A gasp rippled through the crowd again, and Em was momentarily forgotten. Felix was on one knee, holding his bleeding side. Flint pointed his blade at him.

“As expected,” someone muttered. Pleased.

“Felix was a fool to challenge him.”

“Now what will the Commander do?”

Flint was ignoring the whispers. Glaring down at his stupid brother.

“Do you yield, Felix Grimshaw?”

“And if I don’t?”

“You’re incapacitated. I could kill you.”

Em squirmed free. Now that the worst was over, her captor didn’t see any reason to hold on to her. She tripped once about a foot from the priest, landing on her knee.

Come on!, she fumed inwardly as she got back up and pushed through people. There weren’t many people here, but it was almost as hard to get through this crowd as a mosh pit! Why did they have to pack themselves so tightly? Were they really that afraid of missing something?!

“No. I don’t think I do yield.”

Em didn’t see what happened.

All she knew was just as she was reaching the priest, the crowd once again gasped.

She’d seen Felix on the ground just a second before. Now he was up, Flint’s sword flung across the circle… and Felix had somehow sunk a knife into Flint’s side.

The problem was, Flint had also been playing dirty and had a knife with him as well.

Both brothers let go of their weapons. Felix collapsed where he was while Flint stumbled back three steps before landing on one knee. He yanked the knife from his side and tried to quench the flow of blood.

Blood puddled around both of them. And as though time slowed, all Em was aware of were their gasps as they fought to live.

The black orbs Em had seen in her second Prince dream came back. But this time, Emmaline’s memory told her what they were.

Death spirits floated around both of them.

Growing blacker and stronger as their deaths approached.

All Em had to do was… nothing…

In the original story, Emmaline still thought her favorite brother loved her. Even though he’d neglected her for a year, supposedly to tend to the duties of the barony.

Even with that, she’d still loved him best.

In the original, Emmaline had run to Felix.

Em and the priest started moving at the same time. Racing across the space and fixing their eyes on the dying pair.

The priest would’ve been aiming for Flint. Who was the heir and would officially inherit the title the day after the memorial. But Em was younger and faster.

Flint fell over in the short time it took for her to reach him.

“Wait! Young lady, no!”

She ignored the priest and fell to her knees next to Flint. Putting her hands on his hands, bloodying her fingers. Unaware of Flint struggling to look at her as she poured everything she had into him.

It was harder than trying to pour mana into the horse.

Her strung up emotions made it difficult to concentrate, to create that image of a golden thread from her to him.

Still, she forced her thoughts there. Forced herself to make the string bigger. Now it was the size of a drinking straw. Now a two-inch pipe.

The priest must have realized it was too late to help Flint. He would have felt Em’s power pouring into the victim, which was all anyone could really do. So instead, the priest dropped next to Felix and poured power into him.

Felix screamed!

Breaking Em’s concentration.

As awareness of her surroundings came back, she felt lightheaded and swayed. Someone kept her from falling and pulled her into their firm arms.

While behind her, Felix continued to scream until he was hoarse. No, he screamed until three feet in all directions abruptly exploded with more death orbs.

She felt several orbs brush against her. It was the strangest sensation, something that happened in her mind rather than on her skin. She flinched away from it and the arms tightened around her.

Then, it was over.

All… completely… over…

She panted. Dizzy and confused.

It felt like it had taken hours, but really must’ve only been seconds. Half a minute at most.

Despite herself, she started sobbing.

She wasn’t sure why she was so upset. She was an adult, darn it! And she’d been expecting this.

“Someone call Emmaline’s maid,” a voice said hoarsely above her head. She felt a wet hand press her face into a broad chest.

He sounded just as exhausted as she felt.

Of course he was.

He’d almost died and received emergency magical first aid. He was just lucky it didn’t also hurt and kill him like it had Felix.

By the time Tracy came for her, Em was falling in and out of consciousness. And she was half aware that there were conversations going on around her. Mostly about the memorial and Felix’s body and taking care of the guests…

Tracy picked Em up. Em was too big for Tracy to be carrying her. But Em wouldn’t let Flint go until it was Tracy trying to take her away.

Then the child went limp in exhaustion.

At least the crying stopped.

“Get her cleaned up and put her to bed.”

“Yes, sir.”

Flint watched the woman and child leave. Then touched the spot where only a short time before he’d received a mortal wound. One that would have killed him in less than five minutes.

“Sir?”

He looked up. Good. It was one of his knights. He took the man’s offered hand and allowed him to pull him up.

As soon as he was on his feet, he lowered his voice for only his knight to hear. “Investigate Felix’s weapons. They both felt off.”

The knight discretely nodded. And while Flint went about calming the guests and sending them home, his man casually picked up both Felix’s knife and his sword before walking away.

Even without guests, the memorial had to be done today.

They couldn’t afford any more cursings on their house.

It was only Flint and the priest who entered the reception room. He moved slowly, so he didn’t end up face-planting.

Honestly, it felt a lot like times he’d spent three and four days on the battlefield with little or no sleep. His mind was oddly and deceptively invigorated, but his body was feeling the fatigue.

There was a time he could’ve done two hours a night for weeks.

Now, he was just tired.

He knelt next to the memorial alter. Where tufts of hair, taken from the bodies of the late Baron and Baroness, awaited blessing. They sat in two ornamental bowls.

Also on the table was a small brazier.

The priest lit the brazier with a push of mana. Then began his prayers.

Praying for the couple’s safe journey to the afterworld.

And praying for the spirits of death to disperse and leave the living alone.

They were long prayers. If Flint couldn’t feel their power like a fog rolling over him, he would have impatiently told the man to hurry it up.

Instead, he closed his eyes and fought the fatigue.

Once the prayers and hand waving were finished, the priest picked up each bowl one at a time. Dumping them into the brazier, where fire consumed them.

Flint wrinkled his nose at the smell.

“Blessings on your house, my lord.” The priest’s voice was hollow and tired. The words were hollow, too.

Now Flint had to do this whole thing all over again in another year to the day. He gritted his teeth.

He should just let Felix rot in limbo.

Flint waved a dismissal to the priest. And remained on his knees by the memorial alter long after the man left the room.

He touched his side again.

He’d received healing magics before. And each time it had nearly killed him. The only reason it hadn’t killed him was because he didn’t wait until the last minute to receive the treatment. That way his body was still strong enough to withstand the agony.

There had been no pain this time.

Nothing beyond the natural pain of being stabbed.

Which was… interesting.

He needed to think about the implications for a while longer.

***

“Stop it!”