Page 16 of A Queen’s Game (Aithyr Uprising #1)

Chapter Twelve

Marietta

B right sunlight lit Marietta’s room, stirring her from sleep. The brain fog that greeted her each morning still suppressed her thoughts. She was getting sick of it. Each day she woke in her room and remembered nothing of the day prior.

She swung her legs over the bed, noticing two bruises across her shins.

When did she get those? Yellow welts the size of her fists as if she ran into something.

The color showed they had already begun healing, but she couldn’t remember how they got there.

Confused, she inspected the rest of her body, trying to find any other spots that might give clues to what she did all those days.

A gasp escaped her as she examined her arms. Her burn scars had disappeared.

When she lifted her shift, she found the stretch marks on her hips and stomach erased from her body as well.

How did they do this? Doctors in the Enomenos never removed all the scars.

To her knowledge, only the healing magic from a temple offered that.

Had they brought someone here to heal more than her injuries?

It was as if Keyain meant to erase her past, erase the memories that made Marietta who she was.

Who would she become if she remembered nothing of her years with Tilan? Or of baking? Or the marks of her own body? Those memories, frozen in her mind, caused her chest to ache with longing, but she would rather endure the pain of missing them than never have had the memories at all.

The smooth, unmarked skin of her arms was foreign to her. The scars were proof of her work as a baker—a damn good one. Keyain took that away from her, too.

The first severe burn she had gotten at her bakery came to mind.

Alone in the kitchen, trying to prepare for the following morning, she pulled a sheet pan out of the oven, but her hand slipped.

The pan landed on her forearm, pinning it between the oven door.

At first, she felt nothing and yanked her arm free.

Then the excruciating pain hit, causing her to scream and drop to her knees, cradling her forearm, which already blistered on both sides.

Tilan burst through the back door, his breathing heavy.

She remembered the panic in his face as he called out her name.

When he found her on the floor, he ran to her, helping her stand.

Tilan insisted on getting a doctor, though it was late. He refused to leave her in pain.

It took two months for those burns to fully heal. Every time Marietta looked at them, she remembered Tilan’s reaction that night, both his fear and his wanting to help her.

Her eyes watered at the memory, her arm catching the tears as they dropped. Breath hitched in her tightening throat. It was too much. She needed to get out.

She stood, her head swimming. Still only dressed in her white shift, Marietta crossed the room and flung open the door, half surprised to find it unlocked. Small light globes lit the hallway as she stumbled into it.

Voices chattered from down the hall as her feet carried her in the opposite direction. It didn’t matter where she went. The sun on her face. The wind in her hair. Those sensations compelled her to keep going. Marietta needed to feel alive.

Her movements were sluggish, her head spinning more the further she walked. The wall gave support as her body moved across it. The checkerboard pattern of the floor shifted in her vision, threatening to topple her.

Only a little farther to go. The end of the hall became closer, the sunlight from the window within reach. A glimpse of the world beyond would be enough. Gods, please, anything.

Marietta’s vision faded to black on the edges, lights flashing in her eyes.

Her body collapsed against the wall, tears streaking down her face.

From behind her, the nurse shouted as footsteps pounded through the hall.

She wanted to escape; she wanted to be free.

But she couldn’t do it. She was trapped.