Page 26 of Song of the Shadow Prince (The Dragon’s Ballad #1)
ARYA
M y eyes fluttered open, and a sharp, blinding light seared into my vision. I groaned, trying to lift a hand to shield my face, but my arm felt like lead and I felt a pinch in my forearm. The air was thick with the smell of something bitter and unnatural—not the fresh, woody scent of the Ryder residence or even the crisp salt of the sea. Everything around me was wrong.
I blinked rapidly, forcing my eyes to adjust. The ceiling above me wasn’t stone carved by master masons or adorned with intricate tapestries. It was smooth, sterile white, like nothing I had ever seen. There was a needle inserted in my arm that led to some liquid bag overhead. The bed beneath me was soft in an unnerving way, and the fabric of the blanket felt strange against my skin, too smooth, too foreign.
A low hum filled the room—a sound that wasn’t wind or water or anything natural. It set my teeth on edge. I pushed myself up on weak arms, my breath hitching as the room tilted slightly. My heart pounded as I took in the alien surroundings: sleek furniture, glowing devices, walls that looked like polished ice but weren’t cold to the touch.
“Where am I?” I croaked, my voice hoarse and unfamiliar. My throat burned, and I clenched my fists against the irritation. Someone would pay for this indignity.
“Cat?” a voice called out, sharp and tentative. A woman appeared at the edge of the bed, her clothes an eyesore of mismatched colors and strange shapes. Tight trousers clung to her legs, paired with a loose shirt emblazoned with garish symbols. Her hair was short and wild, and her face was round and flushed. She looked like a jester who had wandered into my chambers by mistake.
I glared at her. “Who are you, and why are you in my room?”
The woman froze, her mouth falling open. “Uh… it’s me, Angie? Cat, are you okay?”
“Cat?” I snapped. “Who is Cat? My name is Arya Ryder, daughter of Lord Zacharia, Minister of Rites to the Emperor. How dare you address me so casually?”
The woman’s eyebrows shot up, and she let out a nervous laugh. “Okay, wow, you’re really leaning into this whole method acting thing, huh? Cat, come on. It’s me—Angie. Your best friend?”
“Best friend?” I repeated, incredulous. “As if someone like you would befriend me. Enough of this nonsense. Where am I? What is this place?”
Her face twisted with concern, but there was something else—a flicker of doubt. “Cat, you’ve been in a coma for a month. Don’t you remember? The accident? The lake stunt?”
I blinked, my head throbbing as her words rushed past me like a torrent. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, and I certainly didn’t give you permission to interrogate me. I demand to speak to someone in charge. A steward. A healer. Anyone with actual authority.”
Angie stared at me, her expression shifting from concern to irritation. “Okay, this isn’t funny. What’s wrong with you?”
“What’s wrong with me?” I echoed, my voice rising. “What’s wrong with you ?” I pointed at her accusingly, wincing at the pinch of the needle in my arm. “Who allowed you into my chambers? Why am I in this… this abominable room? And where is Maeve? She should have been the one to wake me.”
“Maeve?” Angie frowned. “What are you even…” She trailed off, her eyes narrowing. “Okay, seriously, what’s going on? You’re acting super weird. Did you hit your head harder than we thought?”
“I didn’t hit my head,” I snapped. “I fell into the water during the storm. My sister—” I stopped short, the memory flooding back. Gianna’s wide, pleading eyes. Her soft, trembling voice begging me to stop. She was always so perfect, so unbearably kind. The thought of her made my chest burn with resentment. “Never mind. Just tell me where I am.”
Angie let out an exasperated sigh. “You’re in Los Angeles . In a hospital. On Earth. Ring any bells?”
I stared at her, stunned into silence. Earth? Los Angeles? Hospital? None of those words made any sense. My chest tightened, and my hands clenched the blanket beneath me. “You’re lying,” I accused. “This is some kind of trick. Who sent you? Was it Gianna? Did she put you up to this?”
Angie’s jaw dropped. “Gianna? Who the hell is that?”
“Don’t play dumb with me,” I hissed. “I won’t tolerate this insolence. Answer me!”
Angie took a step back, her hands raised defensively. “Alright, chill. You’re clearly confused. Maybe the coma messed with your memory or something.” Her eyes flicked to my arm, and her expression shifted again, this time to confusion. “Wait… where are your tattoos? It’s been bugging me since they rescued you. I can’t imagine you getting them removed overnight. You literally had one done the night before the accident. What’s going on?”
I frowned, following her gaze to my bare arm. “What are you talking about?”
“Your sleeve,” Angie said, her voice rising. “Your tattoo sleeve? You had it done years ago. Where did it go?”
“I have no idea what you’re babbling about,” I said coldly. “What is a tattoo?”
Angie gaped at me, her face a mixture of shock and disbelief. “Okay, this is officially freaking me out. You don’t know what a tattoo is? You’ve got to be kidding me. Did you lose your memory?”
“I haven’t lost anything,” I snapped. “Except my patience. Enough of this nonsense. Fetch someone competent to explain what’s going on.”
She crossed her arms, her earlier concern giving way to irritation. “Listen, Cat—or whoever you think you are—I’ve been here every day for the last month, waiting for you to wake up. So maybe cut me some slack, huh?”
I glared at her. “And I should care because?”
Angie let out a short, humorless laugh. “Wow. You really are a piece of work, aren’t you?” She shook her head and began pacing, muttering to herself. “This doesn’t make any sense. You look exactly like her, but you don’t act like her. And no tattoos? What the hell is going on?”
“What’s going on is that you’re wasting my time,” I said sharply. “Bring me someone in charge. Now.”
Angie stopped pacing and turned to face me, her expression hard. “Fine. I’ll get the doctor. But don’t think this conversation is over.”
“It never started,” I muttered as she stormed out of the room.
Once she was gone, I let out a shaky breath and leaned back against the pillow. My hands trembled as I gripped the blanket, my mind racing. This wasn’t Elaria. It wasn’t even the Northern District. Wherever I was, it was foreign and unnatural—a place I didn’t belong.
The hum of the machines filled the silence, and my eyes wandered to the glowing rectangles perched on stands around the room. One of them displayed numbers—a time, perhaps? Another emitted a soft beeping sound that made my head throb. These strange devices, these alien surroundings, they mocked me with their incomprehensibility.
I glanced at the door Angie had disappeared through, my lip curling. Who was she to speak to me that way? To question me as though I were the one at fault? If I ever got back to Elaria, I would see her scrubbing floors for the insolence she dared show me.
But the thought of Elaria sent a pang of doubt through my chest. What if… what if I couldn’t go back? No. I shoved the thought away. That was unacceptable. This world, with its glowing devices and brash women, would not defeat me. I was Arya Ryder, daughter of Lord Zacharia, and I would not be cowed by anything—or anyone.
If I had to tear this strange place apart piece by piece to find a way home, I would. Let them call me difficult. Let them think me demanding. I would bend this world to my will, just as I had bent so many others.
I was no one’s victim. And I would not be broken.