The Lost Knight (Volume III) The Lost World

Chapter 19: Breathe!

Dathid and Solara scream.

I bolt upright in bed. The room is dim. Another nightmare. I was on the floor. How'd I get back in bed?

Was it a dream, or were they really screaming? I lie back down and stare at the boring ceiling. I miss the Latuus birds. I know I've fallen asleep again when I wake up from a new nightmare.

I don't want to go back to sleep, but I can't keep my eyes open. I wish whatever drugs they're giving me would take the dreams away. I'm scared. I'm falling asleep again.

I sit up, panting and soaked with sweat. This isn't my room. I run to the window and glare down at the turbulent sea. I dreamt I couldn't move. That's all I remember.

My nightgown is different, and my bandages have been replaced. When did that happen? How long was I sleeping?

I can't do this anymore. I need some answers. Where am I? Where are my friends? How did I get here?

I will pound on the door until someone answers. I try the knob in case I'm wrong, and I'm not being held prisoner. It's locked. I ram it with my shoulder and kick it a few times. Finally, I slap at it. "Open this door!" I scream.

I listen for movement on the other side, but I can't hear anything. I grab the knob and shake the door and yell for that woman to open it. "I know you can hear me. Open this now!"

I don't last long. I give up when my wrist aches and my throat is sore from screaming. I flop back on the bed. All doubts are gone. I'm a prisoner. I don't know where I am or even if I'm still on Ashra. The ocean is thin. This room is decorated in an Earthly way. That woman is human. I could be on Earth. I'm not with Auntie and Uncle; they could never afford a place like this.

I walk back to the window. The sky is a layer of thin grey clouds. They make me miss New York. If this is Ashra, whoever lives here lives in this grey all the time. Of course, many places on Earth are grey most of the time, too.

I study every detail of the clouds. It isn't until I wake up and open the window again that I'm convinced I'm still on Ashra. The clouds haven't moved. If this was Earth, there whould be gales with a rough sea and dark clouds, but there isn't the slightest breeze. Ashra doesn't have wind, and the clouds don't move.

I lie back down, proud of myself for figuring that out. Whoever's keeping me prisoner probably expected I would assume I was no longer on Ashra. But what would be the point of making me believe I'm on Earth?

A short time later, the woman appears carrying a tray of food. This time she's escorted by two large male humans in familiar red uniforms. She places a tray of food down on the nightstand, smiles, and leaves.

The guards frighten me, so I don't attempt to speak to the woman. I don't need to anyway. I got way more answers than I wanted; I saw those same uniforms when Lord Duradin attacked me in Queens, two years ago. They're the uniforms of the Grucht Leisck. I'm a prisoner again.

Sweat breaks out on my forehead when I think of seeing Lord Duradin. Although there's a part of me that wants to see him. He took advantage of me last time when I was weak and afraid. Now I'm strong and angry.

Well, I'm strong and afraid. Actually, I'm afraid and not particularly strong. I don't want to face Lord Duradin. He's a soulless man. Jonah can't save me this time. Please let them be okay and far away from here.

I turn my attention to the food and uncover steak and eggs. When I pick up the napkin, I notice a note. It's written on expensive cardstock with elegant handwriting.

Stratagor Ziras humbly requests your presence in the main salon for tea.

I read the note again. It's one sentence and unsigned.

This is so much worse than I thought. I'm Stratagor Ziras' prisoner. The Liisoole faeries hanging from the trees flash before my eyes. I'm going to be tortured until I tell him what I know.

Instinctively I jump up and grab my hips in an effort to check my pockets for the Orb. I don't have pockets or the Orb. I've lost it!

I drop to my knees, and the flash of pain helps me focus. I have profoundly failed in the most fundamental of ways. I lost the Orb. Worse, I've given it to Stratagor Ziras.

How could I have not thought about that first! Why didn't I check right away? They never should've trusted me. I'm not capable of being what they want. I should have told them from the start. What would my parents say if they knew what a failure I turned out to be? I couldn't have failed any worse if I'd stayed with Auntie and read the Orb to Lord Duradin. At least my friends would still be alive. I crawl back into bed and draw the covers up to my chin. I cry silently, lost in grief and self-pity.

I waver between crying spells and sleep. I wake briefly when lunch is delivered, but I can't eat. I wake again when the woman brings me some clothing. It's my clothes, the soft leggings, and the oversized sweater the elves made for me. I pick up the sweater and rub it on my face. I remember how happy Albína was when she first presented me with the black clothing. She detests black, but she was happy for me. The elves worked hard to please me. Now they'll hate me.

I put the clothes on because I will not meet Stratagor Ziras in my pajamas.

What does someone who's over six hundred years old look like? I picture him all shriveled and hunched over, dressed in brown tattered robes. The thought makes my feet go cold. I'm not prepared to meet a specter. I have no training on what to do if I'm captured.

The smiling food lady enters and motions for me to follow her. The guards take their position behind us. They're not necessary because I won't try to force an escape until I have a better understanding of where I am. Although I'm flattered there are two of them.

I try to memorize my surroundings, but I'm too scared. My hands are shaking so visibly that I clutch them tightly together until they hurt. I stare blankly at the woman's grey bun, trying not to think about the specter, or the torture that awaits.

We end up in a spectacular drawing room that should be in a castle, with its beautifully carved dark wood tables and white sofas so delicate I'm afraid to sit.

I can't do this.

I keep my eyes focused on the oversized windows that encase three sides of the room with sweeping views of the ocean. The room sways like I'm on a boat.

But I'm not on a boat. I'm in a mansion. My vision is fading because I'm about to faint.

Breathe!

I inhale deeply. A dark-haired man in an expensive charcoal grey suit stands up from one of the white wingback chairs placed in a grouping off to the side.

"Lord Rhomstead, a pleasure," Stratagor Ziras says with a smile.