Page 30 of Lana Pecherczyk
You cry and get your way, and then I’m miserable all over again.
On the evening of the third day, Blake shuffled toward the bathroom, still in her hospital gown. With every step, she replayed another fact she’d learned about this world. The healing center was nestled inside the palace and run by the Seelie High Queen Ada. She was from Blake’s era and mated to King Jasper, who had once worked with River as a Guardian. He still had the same blue twinkling teardrop beneath his left eye. All twelve warriors of their cadre were fated to be mated to someone from the old world. This Well-blessed mating was rare, sacred, and revered above all else. It was also undeniable and irreversible. So when River had carried Blake in unconscious, they’d whisked her straight to this privileged place.
This all-powerful Well had deemed Blake important enough to drag her across oceans and millennia to be here. But she wasn’t important. She didn’t matter. Jeff was right. She was a shallow, glitter-obsessed upcycling influencer who’d probably fallen in the water when everything froze. Blake hadn’t offered the world anything of worth. Her life held no meaning. There were people in her day who’d given up their lives to save those less fortunate. So why her?
There was no satisfying answer, which led to one conclusion. A cosmic clerical error had brought her here. Sooner or later, the Well would realize it had made a mistake and take her back.
Blake padded down a hallway overlooking resplendent palace gardens. Lush greenery cradled vibrant flowers with colors that didn’t quite match anything she remembered fromher world. The meticulous landscaping was only the beginning of the palace’s opulence, yet the queen herself wore casual, modest clothes. At least they weren’t beige.
The glass citadel walls glimmered with moving light that fractured into rainbows—a constant reminder that this world might be the same planet, but it wasn’t the one Blake had left. Occasionally, she glimpsed the aerial dance of winged fae above the distant city, swooping and diving like falling stars.
Every time she passed this window, she plummeted right back into the first stage of grief.
Denial.
This couldn’t be real. She pressed a palm to the cool glass, the surface fogging around her fingertips. A dream was the only explanation. The blue glittering marks spiraling up her arm were beautiful but impossible. So if they weren’t real, then the slightly psychotic man with those ocean-deep eyes must also be fake. Only a nightmare would thrust her into some kind of forced-marriage situation with a dickhead like that.
After going to the toilet and glimpsing her reflection in the black glass vanity mirror, Blake cycled into rage. Her fingers gripped the porcelain sink until her knuckles whitened. What kind of world had worked out how to use magic for plumbing sewage but couldn’t apply it to a clearer mirror? Or phones. Or the internet! What happened to her followers? Her friends? Her family? Were they all out there floating aimlessly in the ocean, waiting for their moment to wash ashore?
She silently begged this all-powerful Well to give her an answer. She bargained with it daily to reveal a sign. To take her back to Perth, to her world. Where she wasn’t alone with her thoughts or with a stranger’s emotions in her mind.
So maybe her marriage hadn’t been perfect. But she’d have figured out a way to live on. She’d have gone to see her dad, to let him make her the one meal he knew how to cook—steakand eggs—and they’d sit down and speak two words to each other. He always overcooked the steak until it was tough as boot leather, but she never complained. Just ate every bite with a smile as he watched her from across the table, love hiding behind his gruff exterior.
Instead of accepting her help with doing the dishes, her dad would ask for a hand in the workshop. They’d work on some benign project until it was time for her to go. At the door, he would pull her into a bear hug and whisper,“She’ll be right, Bloss. Two feet and a heartbeat.”
In other words, she was still alive. Still standing. As long as she had two feet and a heartbeat, life would go on. Everything would be alright.
Finished in the bathroom, she shuffled back to the healing center’s main room, the cool stone floor numbing her toes.
Sooner or later, she had to decide what to do with the rest of her life here. Picking one of the outfits Ada and Trix had brought her would be a good start.
Trix—Beatrix—was another woman from Blake’s era. And another queen married to another Guardian-turned-king. Aeron had fought in a battle against the man who’d nuked their world. It made Blake’s blood simmer beneath her skin to know he was here, alive too, and trying to finish what he’d started. She’d never see her family again because of him.
His being here was proof that the Well made mistakes.
She wasn’t a hero like the others. Regardless, she still needed to make a decision. Option one was to head to the Order of the Well, the home of some kind of magic police or military, as far as she gathered. It was where the Guardians were trained. Going there meant facing why she hadn’t manifested a magical talent yet like the other old-worlders. She wasn’t ready for that inevitable disappointment.
Option two was to tag along with River—no thanks.
Option three was to stay here at the palace, couch surf, or rather, ornately-embroidered-chaise surf. The furniture here was intriguing, to say the least. Exploring the palace for a hint of razzle-dazzle potential might be fun. Upcycling a hidden gem would certainly quiet the buzzing anxiety in her mind.
Then again, seeing something old and neglected from her time might crack her open all over.
As she neared the main room, a familiar deep voice stopped her mid-step.
“You sure she’s not here?” River grumbled.
“Sheis the cat’s mother,” Ada returned, her sarcastic drawl evident.
“Whatever that means.”
“A cat is like a fee-lion.”
“Just say fee-lion then. You’ve been in Elphyne long enough to use our words.” A pause. “I know she’s close. Where is she?”
“Hopefully, she’s out exploring. A change of scenery and fresh air will help with her depression. Maybe you’d know if you’d bothered to check in on her, or through your bond.”
The sound of a curtain moving on rails accompanied River’s reply.
