41. The Lineage

41. The Lineage

Skylenna

“Skylenna, baby, wake up.”

My eyes feel sticky and sore as I pry them open. Warrose and Niles are looking past me. I follow the direction of their eyes to the opened cage door, flinching at the unexpected figures standing there in silence.

“Help me with the trays,” Dessin mutters in my ear.

The cooks from the kitchen hold out feeble trays with bowls and plates of food. A few more inmates behind them carry buckets of water and clean cloths.

After taking everything from their hands, they look to Ruth’s sleeping body, bow their heads, and leave.

“That was kind of them,” I say.

“It was,” Dessin agrees.

Niles dips a white cloth in the bucket of water and begins dabbing Ruth’s forehead with it. It breaks my heart the way he frowns at her appearance, blotting her cheeks with the utmost tenderness.

“We need to wake her so she can get some fluids in her system.” Dessin pushes a tray near Warrose.

“Ruthie,” Niles coos, kissing her knuckles. “Open your eyes. Just for a little while.”

Warrose taps her shoulder softly, whispering something in her ear.

It takes her several minutes to stir, groan, whimper, then finally open her eyes. They’re bloodshot, unfocused. She finally makes eye contact with each person surrounding her, wincing in pain, and finally gazing down at her bloody bandages.

“No,” she whines.

“We just need you to eat something. Then you can go back to sleep,” Marilynn says, and it’s the first time I’ve noticed how hard she’s trying to keep her facial expression slack and unmoving. A steel guard that she’s taken time to build and strengthen.

Ruth sniffles, turning her head, closing her eyes, and letting tears drip down the side of her face. Her moans are threaded with both agony and devastation.

Warrose doesn’t wait for her to come around. Instead, he lifts her head and signals to Marilynn to feed her. Spoonfuls of soup and a few sips of water later, they let Ruth settle back into Warrose’s lap.

It’s hard to watch.

Hard to listen to her groans.

Hard to stand by and do nothing.

“What good am I to you all now?” Ruth mutters against Warrose’s thigh.

“What?” Dessin blurts out first.

“They’ve taken my legs,” she whimpers. “I’m dead weight to you all.”

I grasp at my chest to contain the pain. It radiates down my spine. How can she think that? How can I help her when she’s feeling this hopeless?

Niles interjects, then Warrose, then Dessin. But a feeling hollow and gray fills my senses. That creeping suspicion that I’m being watched. An unsuspecting pair of eyes burning into me. I raise my sight to the corner of the cage behind Marilynn.

My posture stiffens. The hairs on my neck stand upright. And it’s close to the same feeling I had with Scarlett.

He’s here. But he’s not.

An old man, appearing to be in his seventies with thin tuffs of white hair, olive skin, and wise, brown eyes watches me intently. He’s dressed like a farmer, trousers rolled up mid-calf and a dirty cotton tunic with a drawstring around the neck.

I debate pretending he isn’t here. But it’s just as Scarlett said…I’ve reached a new level in my mind after Ruth’s tragedy. I’ve broken a barrier that allows me to see this old man now. Someone who has passed on.

“She’s very pretty,” he comments thoughtfully.

I look away, hoping he won’t realize I can see him. I’m not sure how this works. Do I have control over it? Is this invisible veil now lifted, and I can see them all the time? I wonder if I’ll ever have these answers to my new abilities.

“I never got to meet her, you know. Died of a heart attack in my chair when she was a baby.”

My breath hitches.

The old man laughs with a slow nod. His crow’s feet pinching together like compressed clay. He has her smile. The one with the upturned, scrunching nose. I relax a little.

“That’s my granddaughter. Can’t you see the resemblance?”

My eyes dart between them, processing their similarities and their differences.

“I’ve been waiting a very long time to tell a family secret. I think now might be a better time than any.” His voice is rusted over with old age and possibly smoking too many cigarettes.

“What is it?” Dessin’s voice makes me twitch in his direction. Of course he’s been watching me. He catches everything.

“I…” What am I supposed to say? Would she even believe me? Would she be willing to listen?

“What?” he asks again.

I’m torn whether to speak up or not. Dessin knows the truth, but Ruth is withdrawn so deeply into her own mind, she’ll likely tune me out completely.

“Ask her if she still adds two raspberries to her tea,” the old man requests.

I blink at him. Now everyone but Ruth is staring at me. I pull my lips behind my teeth, drumming my fingers against my thigh.

“Ruth? Do you still add two raspberries to your tea?” I ask.

To my surprise, her head shifts against Warrose’s thigh, she blinks twice as tears soak the pant leg under her face. Everyone else seems to stiffen, too.

“Tell her Grandpa Monroe thought that was very sweet of her.” He’s watching Ruth now with a knowing smile. A warmth that can only be described as a grandparent’s fondness for their grandchild.

I repeat his words carefully.

“Did you see that in the void?” Her voice is raw and beaten, yet she still doesn’t make an effort to look at me.

“No,” I reply quietly. A heavy pause impregnates my hesitation. “I’ve broken through the veil of the living and dead. He’s been waiting a long time to tell you a family secret.”

Warrose, Marilynn, and Niles shoot their startled eyes to Dessin for answers. But he only crosses his arms and smirks in response, pride rooted deep in his soul at the sight of me.

Ruth turns her head, moaning loudly at the sharp pains that small motion caused her. Those long lashes flutter before her swollen gaze meets mine.

Please, please let this be good. I can’t bear to disappoint her.

“Oh, it is,” Grandpa Monroe says. “Tell my granddaughter that there’s a reason we’ve taught our lineage Old Alkadonian despite strict Demechnef laws.”

“There’s a reason your family taught their lineage Old Alkadonian despite strict Demechnef laws,” I repeat slowly, watching the old man with my own questions hanging in the air.

Ruth’s brow furrows. And even that causes her to wince.

I listen to his next words with anticipation gathering in my belly.

“His mother went through great lengths to keep your family small and unnoticeable. But even she knew that one day the significance of your real last name would defy the hierarchy,” I announce, although my tone changes to question at the end. Where is he going with this?

Niles stirs in his seat, searching my eyes for answers the same way I search the old man’s.

Grandpa Monroe clears his throat. “Tell my granddaughter she’s made for greatness no matter her current situation. She will heal nations and change hearts.”

I say his words, feeling itchy with a need to understand.

“Come on!” Niles exclaims impatiently.

“I am the bastard child of Malcolm Mazonist. My mother smuggled her pregnant belly away to the shrill society of Demechnef before anyone could notice. My granddaughter’s true name is Ruth Mazonist, the heir to the Vexamen throne.”