Hidden Spirit

Chapter Eight: Familiar Spirits

Amelia was trapped. Trapped in a place where she wanted to lash out; to claw at the ice that was covering every inch of her overly-hot yet freezing skin. She had tried to tell it to stop; tried to make it go away. She wanted to keep fighting. Her magic wasn't drained the way she needed it to be. Whatever was working on her didn't understand that.

When everything ceased to feel at all, she grew worried. Maybe she had over-exerted herself in a way she hadn't realized. Shapes of spirits she had never seen before danced before her eyes. There were her normal creatures, like the wolf or the deer or the birds; then there were creatures that she couldn't even remember summoning: a gryphon, an icy horse with a deadly, spiked tail, and then a tall dragon that had only come once and never returned as his name was one she could hardly form on her tongue.

All of this had happened so quickly that she'd forgotten there was a cool rag placed on her forehead; a comforting touch brushing against her arms that were covered only by a light sleeping gown.

Why was she wearing a sleeping gown?

"Wake up, Amelia. Let me see your eyes," someone pleaded.

That confused her more than anything. If Andrew was by her side, then where was she? Hadn't she burned her surroundings in order to scare away whomever was watching? To make them leave her alone?

She supposed that maybe the fire had sucked the last bits of her energy and she'd collapsed from the exertion, which would have left her no longer able to protect herself from the burns that enveloped both her and her spirits. She groaned audibly.

"Excuse me, miss. I am just going to place some medicine on your wounds," said a soft voice.

Amelia whipped her head in the direction of the voice, opening her eyes to glare at the woman in her annoying confusion. She recoiled from the two watching her. "Wounds?"

The surprised nurse jumped back. "Y-yes, princess."

"No. No, no, no. Leave!" she demanded, throwing her legs over the opposite side of the bed and standing, clenching her muscles at the feel of tender skin scratching against the sheets and whining in protest of movement. She could heal herself. She would heal herself, but not in front of the medicinal woman.

Her vision swayed the same way it had that one time her father had taken her across the ___ pass by ship to Kynoleva, their neighboring country to the north.

The large hand at her waist only made Amelia jump farther. A snarl fought up her throat until she turned defensively to see Andrew, his soft eyes worried and confused. The nurse had moved to cower by the door away from Amelia, clearly unsure of whether to leave or not. "Do you not need assistance with your burns?" he whispered to her.

"No," she replied, equally as quiet. She was partially glad that Andrew knew at least a little bit about her magic. Surely he was able to assume that she could heal herself more quickly and without the burden of medicines.

He nodded his head once, dismissing the woman. "Would you like me to leave as well?"

The question made Amelia hesitate. She didn't want him to leave. There was a part of her that knew she lacked the proper amount of magic to fully recover, and would probably end up sleeping through the day. Wouldn't it have been nice to have him there?

Jed wouldn't approve. He was mad enough that Andrew had seen a spirit. Even though it was only one of many, it could have been unnatural in the eyes of the Prince.

Amelia looked up at him with her violet eyes. He hadn't reacted badly to her summoning. The only thing Jed was worried about was his telling others. There was already another person who knew, not mentioning Rosa. Whoever had been watching her earlier that night knew what she was. And either way, wasn't it fair for Andrew to know what he was — what he was marrying?