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Hi guys! For some reason quarantine has me really loving this story so here's chapter 14. This was written in third person limited for Queen Amberly and I had SO MUCH FUN diving into her head. I have always loved and admired her. Super excited to see y'all's reaction to this one!
Without further ado… Chapter 14 A Daughter Departed
*Queen Amberly POV*
Maxon wasn't sleeping. The dark smudges stained his eyes and his usually pristine clothes always seemed to look rumbled. Clarkson wasn't sleeping much either. She had woken up in the night at least three times since the ball and every time, light spilled into her room from the crack under the door connecting her suite to her husband's. She sighed, moving peas across her plate with a fork. She wasn't very hungry.
Maxon stood up abruptly. His chair scraped the floor and echoed through the almost silent room. She missed the noise. The girls stopped talking during meals the day after the ball. Now, only knives on the china and glasses clinking on the table rang in her head. Well… not exactly.
Amberly's mind refused to stop playing that moment. Maxon gripped her arms, whispering reassuring words, but her heart still stopped when she thought Clarkson was gone. And it stayed stopped. Because then she saw America's fiery red hair draped over Clarkson's arm and a growing circle to match it on her chest. Maxon went white and then he was yelling. There were tears in his eyes, but Amberly couldn't forget the tears in her eyes.
She lost three children before they were even born. Maxon was her light. She had thrown herself into raising him and loving him. And then Maxon met America. She watched his eyes light up when he saw her enter a room and subtle pairs of ear tugs. She watched her son fall in love. First, she wouldn't let herself do the same. What if she left? What if they decided it couldn't work? What if Clarkson wouldn't let him choose her?
The "What ifs" consumed her. They consumed her until Maxon showed her the delicate gold ring. Then she let herself fall in love too.
America was bold and generous and hopeful. In many ways, America was just like Amberly. They both came from a lower caste. They both fell in love. They both had big dreams. America was the daughter she had always wanted. She swallowed hard, rising from her chair. Clarkson looked up at her. Confusion flickered across his face.
"I just have a headache, dear." She murmured.
He nodded, grasping her fingers and pressing them to his lips. The edges of her lips tilted up. Her hand squeezed his shoulder before she walked out.
The halls were empty except for the guards lining the walls. It was so quiet. Why was it always so quiet? Only three weeks ago the corridors would have been filled with noise: low murmurs of conversations and casual jokes between the guards.
Now the guards stood with the weight of the world pulling them down. Amberly had meant to go to her chambers and get ready for bed. Maybe she would read a book. She was so lost it thought that it took her a moment to realize that she was in the hospital wing.
Amberly bit her lip. It had been three weeks. America still hadn't woken up from her surgery. Dr. Ashlar had told them that the damage from the bullet was extensive. It was a crude weapon-meant to inflict harm. It shattered on impact and tore into America's chest. He told them that she was lucky. The fragments missed her heart. They missed her heart, but it was bad. She might not wake up-ever. Maxon's knees buckled at those words.
"No. She needs to wake up." His voice cracked under the pressure of impending tears.
Amberly's stomach was twisted in knots, but she didn't cry. Sometimes she would come and sit with America when Maxon was forced into a meeting or if she couldn't sleep at night. Sometimes she would cry then. Other times, she would wake up in a sweat with wet cheeks. On those nights she would fall on her knees and pray to every God that would listen. Please let her be okay. Let my daughter live.
She hovered at the door to America's hospital room. Maxon was there, his hand clutching her like she was the one thing keeping him from floating into the clouds. His hair was rumpled now too. Amberly suppressed a small smile; Clarkson used to do the same thing when he was upset. America's father stood at her head, stroking her hair and whispering quiet words.
They had called her family as soon as she was out of surgery. They were in Angeles by the next afternoon. There were four new Singers: Magda, Shalom, May, and Gerad. Her sister looked so much like America. They had the same hair and eyes. Amberly could see the fear in those eyes when May looked away from her sister. It was that fear that made Amberly force them to go to dinner each night. All of them protested at first, but now only Shalom stayed.
"I won't leave her alone." He had said with enough steel that she hadn't pushed him further. She wouldn't deprive him of precious moments with his daughter.
Gerad played soccer and looked for bugs in the Palace Gardens. He smiled when his family was around. His eyes were bright when he told Amberly about Carolina and what it was like when America was growing up. But Amberly saw him crying into Officer Leger's shoulder when he carried Gerad back to his room at night.
Magda was silent. In three weeks, she hadn't said a single word. She stood at America's feet with tear tracks streaking down her face and a handkerchief clutched against her breast.
There was another sister, Kenna. She was too pregnant to take the plane across the country, so she stayed in Carolina with her husband. The phone rang each night with Kenna on the other end. Usually, Gerad or Shalom answered it, but sometimes Amberly would pick it up. Every time there was a sharp gasp when she heard Amberly's soft voice say hello. Kenna's own voice was broken and tired and the fear was always there. It was an undercurrent in every conversation. No one said it, but they all thought it. She might not wake up. She might be gone.
One of America's maids, Amberly thought it was Lucy, sat in a chair in the corner, quietly sewing. One of them was always there. Guards filtered in and out to check on America. It was usually Leger or Woodwork, but Amberly had seen most of them at least once. Marlee Tames left almost as infrequently as Maxon did. She sat cross-legged at the foot of the bed. Marlee smiled when she talked despite the tears racing down her cheeks. She read books and talked about the Palace.
Gavril Fadaye came in once a week. He whispered jokes and squeezed America's hand before dropping a basket of letters on the bedside table. The letters came from everywhere. One or two came from the foreign royals. Most came from Carolina and Angeles, but there were hundreds from all across Illea. There were so many from the lower castes. Amberly knew she would smile at that.
America was loved-deeply and fiercely. Every person she encountered was praying and writing and visiting. She would be such a wonderful queen. She would be such a loved queen. She just needed to wake up.
"It's good to see you, Amberly." Shalom's steady voice broke her reverie.
Amberly glanced up. "How is she?"
Maxon didn't move. But he answered, "The same."
Amberly nodded, stepping forward. She sat on the end of the bed, idly brushing her thumb along the curve of America's hand. "She's a fighter. She will be okay."
Shalom snorted. "Our America is definitely a fighter. I think Magda almost had a heart attack when she found out that America was the one that yelled at Maxon on the first night."
The echo of a smile flashed on Maxon's face. "She wasn't exactly yelling. Just calling me shallow and ridiculous."
Shalom rolled his eyes. "I can't say I am surprised."
"That's not fair." A familiar voice mumbled to Amberly's right.
They jerked to look at her. America's eyes were closed still, but a small smile flickered on her lips. Amberly's vision blurred. Maxon froze but hope glimmered in his eyes.
"America." He breathed thickly.
She didn't respond. Maxon's face fell. Amberly reached a hand over to her son. He looked up at her, tears filling his eyes. She had to be okay. That had to be real.
Maxon stood up, shaking his head. "I should… I'm going to…"
He looked down at America, letting go of her hand to caress her cheek. He dropped a kiss on her forehead. Amberly took a deep breath. He was going to say goodbye. He was going to give up. Maxon's voice shook. "Good night, America."
"No, Max." Her voice was clearer than before, but it crackled with disuse. "Stay."
"Kitten?" Fear tempered the hope in Shalom's voice. America's eyes fluttered open.
"Dad." There was a light in her eyes that Amberly hadn't seen before. America's eyes flicked to the end of her bed.
Amberly smiled at her. "I'll go get the rest of your family, dear."
She barely nodded before locking eyes with Maxon. Tears streamed from his eyes freely. Amberly smiled, wiping away her own tears. She wouldn't lose another daughter.