Odessa

Chapter Two

Odessa stirred, her fingers closing around something soft; a thick quilt, perhaps? And judging by her present state of comfort, she knew she must be lying in a bed.

She turned her head sideways and found that the effort caused great pain in her neck. She moaned miserably.

"Oh, thank the gods! I thought for sure you would never wake!" cried a voice that Odessa knew well.

Odessa opened her eyes; she had to squint against the morning light pouring in through the windows. Laira's chestnut brown eyes looked back into hers with immense relief. On the seventeen-year-old princess' head was an silver tiara crafted in an intricate floral design.

"What happened to you? When I heard the news, I feared the worst!" she said, closing a hand on Odessa's limp arm.

Odessa surveyed the long room, which was lined with rows of beds and crimson curtains. A wooden shield containing Thestria's revered animal, the eagle, hung from one of the white stone walls.

This was the hospital wing of the castle.

Odessa blinked confusedly. "Laira... why am I here?"

The princess' brow furrowed. "...What do you mean?" When Odessa did not reply, Laira's eyes widened to the size of coins. "You mean... Have you no idea how you got here?"

Odessa only shook her head.

"Your body was found lying in the streets last night--at first the peasants presumed you were dead. Thank Romneous, you were not; whoever beat you decided to leave you alive," Laira explained, sounding relieved and terrified at once. Of course she would be alarmed--few men were a match for Odessa in battle. It would take more than a common criminal to defeat her.

Odessa propped herself up with her elbows, struggling into a sitting position. The old bed creaked beneath her. "Beat me? No one beat me!" she said gruffly. "I know I was in the city last night, but I don't recall fighting anyone." She reached behind her neck and winced; at the base of her skull was a large bruise, which screamed at contact. "I must have fallen and hit my head."

Laira arched her brow, looking doubtful. "I really think... are you sure?"

"Yes, quite!" It was more possible to Odessa than for her to lose a battle.

Laira's brow wrinkled; she folded her hands in her lap and twiddled her thumbs. Odessa raised one eyebrow; she knew Laira too well to ignore these signs.

"What are you hiding from me?" she asked, tossing the quilt off the rest of her disoriented body; she was dressed in a comfortable, lavender nightgown.

Laira's eyeballs darted this way and that before coming to rest on Odessa's face. "Hmm?" Odessa threw her legs over the side of the bed and sat up, paralyzing Laira with the full intensity of her gray eyes. Laira cracked, and her words flowed forth in a nervous rush. "Fine, well, when the peasants discovered your unconscious body last night, your daggers... they were gone. I imagine that whoever beat you might have stolen them from you."

Odessa only stared at her, her hard facial expression not morphing one bit. She blinked a few times, processing this unexpected bit of information in her head.

It's not possible.

Her silver daggers? The fundamental instruments of her existence; her most prized possessions; her precious heirlooms... gone? Odessa always felt more powerful with her knives; they had her father's spirit in them. And she could not fight without them, thus she could not live.

"No one beat me!" she exclaimed again. "And I do have my knives! They must be in my room!" She rebelled against logic; the thought of losing her daggers was almost physically painful.

Shortly afterward, Odessa stormed up to her room and began to rummage through every chest and drawer she owned.

But her dresser only contained clothes. Wildly, she began to dig through the covers of her four-poster bed; she proceeded to check beneath the pillows and under the bed itself, where she was met with dust and empty space. Her precious daggers were nowhere to be found.

"NO!" She shrieked audibly, her voice carrying throughout the third floor of the castle.

She sorrowfully collapsed into an armchair by the window, having searched every last corner of her quarters. She dug into her mind, groping for some memory of the previous night, but remembered nothing useful--she only recalled flying through the village with the wind breathing through her hair. After that, the images came to an abrupt stop, as if she had awaken from some dream before its climax could take place.

Gone. I can't believe it. Who would steal my daggers from me?

What would father say?

She felt as if a part of herself had been taken from her. Guilt and anger welled up in her chest, threatening to burst at the slightest provocation. She balled her fists and made a silent vow.

Whoever had taken them would pay. Severely.