Descendants of the Kings (Book 2)

Ch 5: Awfully convenient

It was not an uncommon occurrence for Ella to have strange dreams.

It had always been that way since she was a little girl. Most of them were senseless, if a bit silly, like the ones where she dreamt of big, towering flowers, giant pies and talking cats. Others, though, were of the frightening kind. Ticking tower clocks, burning castles, wicked grins and dark, looming forests. These were the cryptic nightmares that made her wake up sweating, with her heart leaping in her throat, and an unsettled sensation at the pit of her stomach, fleeting images from her dream still dancing before her eyes.

This was to say, Ella was no stranger to the way her mind worked in odd ways, showing her senseless, often disconcerting images. But the dreams she had that night though, were different.

For that night, Ella dreamt of Codshire.

In her dreams, Ella was a little girl again, and she viewed the world through a childish lens, where everything was brighter and everyone was larger. In her dreams, Callan was there. Larger than life, glimmering tunics and snow white hair, stark against the dull pastels of the manor.

The Callan of her dreams was just like the one she knew. He was just as quiet, thoughtful and ever-patient. When she asked him a million bubbling questions, he answered dutifully. When she dragged him along to play, he went willingly. And he came back, again and again, promising to do so always.

These images were different from the ones she usually had, fuzzy and choppy, jumping in and out of her vision like sheep in a sleepy child's dreams. They were just as hazy and soft, maybe even a little distorted, but they felt real. Tangible. Almost as if they were long-lost memories.

It was nonsensical, like snow in the height of summer, and that was what made it all the crueller. For a moment, Ella could almost pretend that it had happened, and that it wasn't just wishful thinking on her part. Ella had long since stopped wishing for anyone to rescue her, but once upon a time, all she'd wanted was a friend, and someone to listen to her. All she'd wanted was someone like Callan, to come along and help her.

Despite knowing it was nothing more than a dream, Ella awoke with a knot in her throat and a bleak, weary pit in her stomach.

Outside, the wind raged against the cabin and frosted the windows in white. The knit blanket tangled around her feet, as she stared at the ceiling. She'd not moved from her spot since the day before. At some point, after reading the letters, she'd fallen asleep. Time was of no consequence to Ella. It stretched like taffy and was just as fanciful.

In the cabin, she was adrift in the snow, lost in time like a boat in the sea.

The hours ticked by, as Ella stared at the ceiling. She counted the beams there; six on each side and one long one right down the middle. She found the small cracks between the boards, where minuscule rays of white light seeped through. She even resorted to trying to find hidden figures in the dark spots of the wood, as if staring at the clouds; she found one that looked like a duck, a cat, and a man with a beard.

All this to say, Ella was utterly at loss for what to do.

Try as she may wrap her mind around what she'd learned, she had to admit that it was above her capacity. It's not that she couldn't, it's that she didn't want to understand. She couldn't make sense of the fact that countless lives, hers included, had been derailed by her aunt. For what? A sense of envy? Sibling rivalry? Of all the answers Ella expected to find when she opened those letters, this was not one of them.

Her gaze drifted towards the floor, where the letters still remained in the open box. She'd read them many times since the day before, each time going through a snare of emotions. Devastation. Fury. Guilt. Bitterness. Hopelessness. Devastation again. And finally, quiet resignation.