Page 8 of Ashes of Gold
“H-how did…” I clear my throat.
Jhamal folds open the book and his fingers slide down the page. “Drink more, it’ll help.”
I take the cup in my hands and they shake less. “How did we get in here?” I manage.
He squeezes my hand. “We have to hurry, while your strength allows. Your memory has been so spotty and you were hardly awake for a blink yesterday.” His cheeks push up under his eyes. “Come on, repeat after me,” he says, checking the book. “Ya, lindz.”
“Y-ya lindz,” I say.
He unfolds my hand, stretching and massaging my fingers. “Keep them loose.”
I flex and unflex.
“Good, there we go. Next one, fee-yel.”
“Feey’l.”
“That one’s for shifting energy or conjuring fire. Now, griska,mwepah, ya giz ya giz. Come on.” He turns the page and my mind clicks into the familiar cadence, more of it coming back.
“Griska, mwepah, ya giz ya giz. For twisting fire into, uh-uhm, static energy?”
“That’s it! You’re remembering.” His brow beads with sweat.
The drills continue until my head dangles from my neck. My legs ache and the cuts on my arms burn. Down, down. Then sideways. The world swims. Jhamal whispers something, but I don’t hear it. A heavy fog sets in…. I drift off to sleep.
I wake with Jhamal’s hand cupped around mine, his eyes glazed with something I can’t place.
“We ready for today’s rehearsing?” he says when he spots me studying him. I sit up and he reaches to help me, but I push his hands away and do it myself.
Guilt turns in me like a corkscrew. I straighten, the prison cell wall at my back, and sift through the collection of memories in my mind for any more hints. Meaning. They come back in a rush.
I remember waiting to gain an edge on the Chancellor when the dome fell. I remember smoke plumes from Yiyo. I can almost taste the bitter smoke in the air, screams scratch my ears. I blink and see long eyelashes.
What have I done?
“Ah!” I claw my hands through my hair, trying to push the images from my mind, but they take over. I can’t look away, vivid memories of the battle consuming me in a rush.
Yiyo burning.
“Rahk…”
Screams.
Piles of bloodied armor folded over fallen Patrolmen. I tug harder at my roots, trying to tear the haunted memories out of my head. Jhamal’s hand is warm around mine. He tugs gently on my wrist, trying to unlatch my hands from my hair.
“Jelani,” he says, and his words are soft as silk. But I don’t deserve to be wrapped in their comfort.
What happened to everyone? I sent them to the mountain. They couldn’t have all made it into Yiyo that fast, but still. How many survived? Are they still out there? How long have we been in here?
I grip Jhamal’s shirt. “Tell me what happened!” I don’t mean for it to come out like a yell but it does. He startles, biting his lip.
“I’m sorry for yelling.”
He sighs. “You—” The clang of our breakfast tray slapping the stone and sliding underneath the bars to our cell steals our attention. Breakfast Lady hovers a moment, eyes darting between us, before slipping a book out from her robes. She slides it between the grates. Jhamal hands back two hiding in a shadowed corner of our cell. She’s out of sight without a word to me.
“We should use this time to practice, my Queen, not dwell on things we can’t change.” He reaches for my fingers. His are warm and I remember how he worked over my wounds, put me back together, helped me heal. But I tug my fingers away, curling into myself. I need to get up, walk around. I wiggle my fingers, reaching for my magic, but only puffs of air float up from my fingers. What’s wrong with me? I hate this feeling. I hate feeling weak.
“It won’t work in here.” He runs his fingers across the bars of our prison cell. “These lead bars sedate magic. I overheard a guard say.”
