Days and weeks passed by and still the girl remained in her coma-like state. Nurses continually changed the poultice wrappings and made sure to keep the girl hydrated and warm. Her temperature had gone up to a suitable level and had everyone breathing easy. Now, they just had to keep it from going too high. The girl was not completely out of danger yet though her condition, slowly but surely, continued to improve.
Everyone was speaking of the young maiden, within and outside the palace. They, like their prince, were eager to know what had happened to her that he should find her in such horrendous condition, floating in the Lucarno and nearly dead. They did not yet know that she was technically dead by the time she had been dragged to the riverbank, only to be revived by Tristan quickly afterward.
As for Tristan himself, he spent most of his time by the girl's bedside watching the slow up and down movement of her chest, willing her to wake up and solve this mystery for him. She had become an acute obsession of a sort for dark-haired young man…an obsession his friends and family took great pains to tease him about. The only one who did not tease him was the palace's most prestigious cook, Mandy, who was also Tristan's godmother.
On the outside, Mandy seemed like any other ordinary, middle-aged woman. With the exception of her phenomenal cooking skills and her special, cure-all tonic, Mandy was indeed no different than any other woman. Only four people knew of the woman's true identity and they were Ella and her three children. Even Char had no idea that the cook from his wife's family had truly been with Ella's family since before her great-grandmother's time. He did not know that his children and his wife were the godchildren of a fairy. It was strictly on a need-to-know basis for this and Ella had never found that Char really needed to know.
One morning,a little overthreeweeks after the girl had been brought to the Kyrrian royal palace, Tristan sat staring forlornly out of a window in the kitchens while Mandy chopped up carrots for stew. He had sought the kitchens for refuge from the rest of the world for a while. It was a place he could come and just think without much distraction for the servants working there understood to leave him be. Well, he could always do that in his bedchamber as well, but here there was food.
"Mandy, isn't there something you could do to make her wake up?" Tristan asked absent-mindedly.
Why he asked he had no idea because Mandy was strict about using her fairy magic. Magic of the sort he wanted used was known as "big magic" and his godmother did not do big magic. It was big magic that had entrapped his mother in a prison of obedience thanks to the lackadaisical Lucinda.
"No, love. You know I can't do that," Mandy replied gently, still chopping with unerring precision.
"Yeah, I knew that. Forget I asked," Tristan said glumly.
Mandy stopped chopping for a moment to look upon her godson. Sunlight slanting through the window shone upon the boy's near-black hair and made it gloriously shiny. His features were soft, almost feminine, but belied a strong will, a steady and bright mind, and a certain quirky charm. No doubt that particular charm was inherited from his mother, Mandy thought proudly to herself.
Though she never said it aloud, Tristan was her favorite godchild. He was the perfect mix of his mother and father whereas Lilly was almost completely like her mother and Ellie had grown into the mold of her father. It was fitting, she figured, since he was the only boy and the middle child at that. He was clever and witty like his mother, loyal and committed like his father, and he possessed other traits that were completely his own.
Her heart ached for the turmoil inside him caused by that insatiable curiosity of his and the girl in the infirmary. She set down her chopping knife and walked over to lay a comforting hand on his shoulder.
"Don't worry, Tristan, the lass will awaken on her own time and no one else's. She has a stubborn look about her. I'll wager she'll wake up when she's ready to be apart of this world again. You mustn't forget about the terrible things that must have happened to her. Perhaps it is those things that keep her in a coma because she is too afraid to face them."
Guilt filled Tristan's green orbs and he turned away from his godmother. How could he be so selfish and arrogant to think the girl would awaken when he wanted her to? Why had he let himself forget about what happened to her? Surely, whatever happened would have been quite traumatizing. But the complete lack of any useful knowledge was gnawing at his insides and kept him awake at night.
Sometimes, he wondered whether Lucinda had cast another curse upon the family, this time on him, giving him a voracious appetite of curiosity. But his parents had assured him that this was not the case and he was merely naturally this way. It didn't make him feel much better.
"I should probably go see if Jasmine needs some help in the infirmary," Tristan said far too casually to fool his shrewd godmother.
She cocked an eyebrow and smirked at his attempt in covering up his ulterior motive for going to the infirmary.
"Come now, Tristan, you don't have to lie to me. We both know you're going to sit at that child's bedside and try and make her awaken with your thoughts," she told him in exasperation.
Tristan merely shook his head in response with a slight smile to grace his features. He grabbed a biscuit and walked out of the kitchens and down the winding corridors to the infirmary. He waltzed in among the cursory bows of assorted nurses and physicians attending to patients and carting supplies around. He walked over to where a young nurse was wiping the girl's brow and another was changing the poultice wraps on her leg and around her abdomen.
"No change?" Tristan asked wearily, already knowing the answer to that question.
The nurse with the red-gold curls spilling over her forehead and around her crisp, white gown shook her head apologetically. "Sorry, Your Highness. Her condition is the same as always."
Jasmine appeared beside the nurses and she nodded at her apprentice's presence. "Tristan, fancy seeing you here," she drawled sarcastically. Her coffee colored skin glistened with sweat and her dark eyes looked tired and worn. She must have been up late with the poor victims of the fire at the market place.
Tristan sighed and pulled up a chair to sit in. "You look terrible, Jasmine. Why don't you get some rest and I'll take over for you?" he suggested kindly.
Jasmine looked about to decline his generous offer, but the lure of her soft warm bed tantalized her and she was forced to accept the proposal. In order to keep her reputation intact, she put on a very annoyed expression and huffed, "Very well, Your Highness. If you insist." She stalked off the premises with her head held high to crush any doubts about her stamina. Jasmine of Frell was an extremely proud woman…possibly too proud.
Tristan smiled wryly at his teacher's departure and shook his head. He sat there at the girl's bedside, just watching her like he always did, before getting up and attending to other patients like he promised he would. He examined injuries, ministered to those with illnesses, prescribed some forms of nostrum, and had young servants send medical supplies and medicines to the daily delivery carriage, which carried those things to the other villages of Kyrria. He was so intent on this work that it almost completely took his mind off the mysterious girl. She merely lurked there in the back of his mind as an ever-present shadow.
Around noontime, many of the nurses and physicians were taking turns for lunch breaks. He took the time to visit the girl out of habit. He was surprised to see his twin sister sitting by the bed, holding the girl's hand and humming softly under her breath. He had not expected Lilly to be so compassionate, but then he was quite the expert at underestimating people.
"Afternoon, Lilly," he greeted, sitting down across from her.
"Hello. I just wanted to see how she was doing. I thought she might respond to some musical stimulation," Lilly explained, reddening slightly that her brother had caught her in the act.
It was well known she had a very lovely voice…well known to everyone except Lilly herself. She never had that much confidence in any of her abilities. Tristan often wondered how she could be so self-doubting all the time.
"That's very kind of you. And yes, sometimes they do respond to music. Music is the abstract blood of life, after all," Tristan assured her, giving her an appreciative smile.
Lilly smiled faintly and then eyed him suspiciously. "How much sleep have you been getting, Tristan?"
Tristan shifted nervously in his seat as his sister's eyes burned a hole right through his inner most thoughts. He had the strangest sensation that she was able to discern his every secret at that moment. It was no use trying to lie to her then. It never really had been any use.
"Well, I've been having a bit of trouble sleeping," Tristan admitted sheepishly.
"A bit? Tristan, you look awful," Lilly said, her voice full of worry.
Tristan waved his hand to shrug off the questions and concerns. "I'm fine, Lilly. Really."
Lilly just sighed and shook her head at her brother's stubborn pig-headedness. He was so well adept at pointing other people's defects and illnesses, but he remained quite ignorant of his own. He left it up to the rest of the family to notice it for him.
Her heart thumped painfully in her chest when she felt the limp hand enfolded by her own stir. Her jade-green eyes widened and she whispered hoarsely, "Tristan, I think she's waking up."
Tristan, who had been turning to leave and cater to other patients, snapped around with wide, hopeful eyes. He stalked up to the bed and leaned in close. Sure enough, the girl's eyelids were flickering open and shut as if she could not decide whether she wanted to awaken or not. Soft moans escaped from her chapped lips as she pulled her hand away from the princess and laid it on her own forehead.
"Should I go get Jasmine?" Lilly asked her brother breathlessly, never taking her eyes off the stirring form.
"No, not just yet," Tristan replied.
The girl's eyes then snapped open with a sudden gasp for breath and she shot up into a sitting position, using her uninjured arm for support. Tristan and Lilly instantly came forward to grab a shoulder each as the steadied her. The girl continued to whimper uncontrollably, probably from the remembered terror of her ordeal.
"Slowly…slowly…my lady. You do not want to give yourself any more unnecessary stress," Tristan cautioned gently.
The girl shrank back from their touch and made out like she was going to fight for a moment before pulling her limbs close to herself while looking at them with those same wary eyes they had seen when they first encountered her. Whatever she had been through, it must have been really terrible because she was quivering in fear of them. They had to get it across that they were not going to hurt her.
"It's all right, my lady. You're safe. We mean you no harm. My brother has taken care of you since we found you in the Lucarno and you have been in this bed every day thereafter asleep in a coma. We are gladdened by your awakening," Lilly told her soothingly.
The girl's eyes flashed dangerously for a moment before being replaced with a multitude of emotions. Confusion seemed to be the most prominent of those emotions. As Tristan looked into her wild eyes, he noticed that they were a soft golden hazel color; quite lovely actually. Her hair adorned her head in a golden-amber curtain of shining locks that spilled over her narrow shoulders, covering up the bandage on her one shoulder.
"Maybe she does not understand us, Lilly. She looks quite confused," Tristan told his sister in a quiet voice.
"But she spoke to us in Kyrrian on the bank, remember? She said, 'never safe,'" Lilly reminded him.
A raspy, weak voice broke into their conversation. "Who are you?"
Her voice bore a peculiar accent, but it did not sound Ayorthian or like any neighboring kingdom he knew of. It was her tone of voice that was more noticeable and it added credit to the theory of the girl being of noble or royal background for it bore the tone of one who is used to giving orders and having them obeyed.
"I am Prince Tristan of Kyrria; son of King Charmont and Queen Eleanor of Kyrria. This is my twin sister, Princess Lilliana. You are in the Royal Infirmary in the royal palace of the city of Frell, Kyrria's capital," Tristan told her.
The girl mouthed Kyrria silently as if she had never heard the name before and looked downwards. Her brow was creased in a deep frown of utter bewilderment as she scrutinized the bandages on her arms and the splint her right arm was encased in. She lifted her head to her face to run her fingers over the faint scars left by the deep scratches that had to be stitched up; her eye wascompletely healed by now. After a few moments of stunned silence at her condition she swiveled her head around the infirmary slowly, studying her surroundings, before turning her haunted gaze back on Tristan and Lilly.
"What…happened to me?" she ventured, her voice still weak and raspy from weeks of silence.
Tristan and Lilly exchanged alarmed and confused looks as they sought to understand the girl's question. Tristan began to feel a thick, roiling mass of dread begin to take form in his gut. Oh, don't tell me, please.
Lilly raised an eyebrow and said, "We were hoping you would tell us."
The girl did not say anything to that, looking away from the penetrating gazes of Tristan and Lilly. She lifted a shaking pale hand and looked at the scarred limb. Her bruises and superficial cuts had healed nicely leaving lingering marks and scars, but not disfiguring marks.
"What is your name?" Tristan queried, hoping what he was thinking was not true. Oh please, don't let it be true.
Fearful realization and confusion passed over the girl's solemn features and she looked back up at Tristan with those wide hazel eyes. Her voice sounded clearer as she said in a humorlessly sardonic voice, "If you don't know that either then I daresay we're all out of luck."
She took a deep breath before continuing, "Because I don't remember a whit of anything. At least not a whit that makes sense."
The girl looked over herself again and cringed while muttering, "Probably just as well. It doesn't look very pleasant."
Damn. She had amnesia.
I would like to thank Cynthia and Quill Her Solitude Darkness (exactly how many times have you changed your penname?)for reviewing.
I already have three chapters written, and, unless I get better response, I think those will be the only ones written. I have other stories to attend to that are given far more review attention.