“Ivetta. Ivetta!”
Theresa’s insistent voice and rough hands shook me awake for the fourth time that night. I sat up, breathing hard and covered in sweat. She pulled me into a hug yet again.
“I’m sorry,” I mumbled for what seemed like the hundredth time.
“It’s not your fault, Ivetta,” she said reassuringly.
“Maybe you should just go to sleep, and I’ll…sit on the balcony, or walk around or…or something,” I suggested miserably.
“There’s no way I’m sleeping while you’re wandering around,” she replied. “But since neither of us is sleeping, how about I draw you a bath and then make us some tea? There are probably some snacks I can find in the kitchens, too.”
I nodded. “That sounds nice.”
Six days. Six days since Theresa had become my roommate, and I was just waiting for her to say she couldn’t do it anymore. I didn’t have nightmares on the nights I got pain medicine, but they came back with a vengeance on the nights without. Like tonight. And it was probably past midnight, too, which meant this day marked the end of eight weeks. A cursory examination from the doctor in the morning, and then he would release me from his care. No more pain medicine. No more restrictions.
No more sleep.
I was praying this was just because of the medicine. There had always been a pattern before. The nightmares got worse right after something bad happened, and then they gradually went away, with only sporadic recurrences until the next traumatic event. I should have had horrible nightmares right after Chevalier rescued me, but I didn’t because of the pain medicine. If it worked itself out the way it had before, I would have a few more nights of this, and then I’d be fine.
The coronation ceremony was in two days.
I sighed and sank into the bathwater Theresa drew for me. The hot water felt soothing to my tired body, and the smell of lilacs filling the air only increased my drowsiness. I could almost fall asleep right here. If only I could stay asleep.
Maybe Clavis could give me a sleeping potion the night before the coronation ceremony.
Theresa was waiting in the bedroom when I finished my bath. I thanked her and exchanged my towel for the clean nightgown she offered me.
“I thought we could sit out on the balcony,” she said, holding out my dressing gown. “Since it’s such a nice night.”
The memories of all those nights I spent sitting on the hillside behind my house came back to me. After Mother got sick, that was how I handled the nightmares. A cool breeze on my face, soft grass beneath my feet, the quiet babbling of the river - it was all so soothing.
“Okay.”
Theresa led the way with a tray loaded down with tea and scones. “The tea is probably cold by now, but I think it’ll still be fine.”
It was a nice night. A handful of wispy clouds blotted out a few stars in the otherwise clear sky, but the waxing moon was bright and unobscured. I didn’t go to the railing to look down into the gardens. The spring green cushions on the settee were calling to me. Once Theresa finished pouring our tea and dishing up our scones, we sat in complete silence, save for the rustling of the rose vines decorating the balcony in the evening breeze.
“Do you know what you say?” Theresa finally asked.
“Whatever I said when it happened,” I replied, knowing she was asking about the nightmares.
She nodded. “Then the first three nightmares were about you getting tortured. You kept saying, ‘I don’t know. Please stop.’”
A flash of darkness covered my mind. Flickering torchlight, the clanking and creaking of chains above my head, the overwhelming scent of blood, the thud of impact - first from a fist, second from me hitting the stone wall behind me.
“Yes, they were.”
“But the last one was different,” she continued. “You said, ‘It was my fault. Please stop hitting her.’”
I hadn’t had that nightmare in a while.
“That was when I was five,” I said, keeping my eyes on the stars. “I had nightmares before then, things I saw happen to Mother, but I don’t remember them clearly. That was the first one I remember.”
“When you were five?” Theresa asked softly.
I nodded. “Mother had to take me to work with her until I was old enough to stay home alone, and since people thought she was a prostitute, they didn’t treat her well.”
“But why were you saying it was your fault?”
I bit my lip, wondering how much to tell her. The memory was as fresh in my mind as anything that happened yesterday. The smile on Mother’s face, her singing as the end of the workday approached. She told me we would go to the grocery store to buy some food on the way home, that she would make us a hot meal with the money she earned today. She just had a little more dusting to do before the homeowner returned. And I was happy, too, and I just wanted to help. Even though she told me not to touch that vase, that it was too heavy for me.
Everything changed in an instant. The vase shattered against the floor; Mother’s singing came to an abrupt stop; and the door swung open as the homeowner returned.
I’d never seen anybody so angry.
Suddenly, he was yelling and cursing at me, and I was backing away from him, terrified. Mother was trying to calm him down, telling him she’d pay to replace the vase, I was just a child, there was no need to get upset. He grabbed her and threw her aside. I had nowhere to go. He raised his hand; I squeezed my eyes shut and turned my face to the side, bringing my arms up to shield myself; but I never felt the blow.
When I opened my eyes, Mother was in front of me, and this time, she wouldn’t move. I heard every sickening thud, every cry of pain, and all I could do was cower in the corner behind her. She never tried to defend herself. She couldn’t. I knew now that there was nothing within her reach that she could have used as a weapon or a shield, or maybe she would have, but she wouldn’t abandon me for even a second. Even when she staggered and I thought she’d fall, she just reached out to brace herself against the wall, staying on her feet and shielding me from his anger.
He eventually stopped beating her. I don’t know why. We went home without money or food. She collapsed into our bed and didn’t move until morning.
“Ivetta?” Theresa asked, bringing me back to the present.
“I dropped a vase. Mother took the beating for me,” I said in a flat, monotone voice.
“A beating? For dropping a vase?” Theresa asked incredulously.
I shrugged. It made no sense to me, either. Maybe he was angry about something else before he came home, and that just set him off. I didn’t know. But I knew that beating would have killed me.
I thought it had killed her.
I remembered how still she was when I washed the blood from her face, crying and apologizing and begging her to be okay. She didn’t put her arms around me when I huddled against her that long, miserable night. The relief I felt when she opened her eyes the next morning brought me to tears again.
“She did a lot for you, didn’t she?”
I nodded.
Theresa sighed and drained the last of her tea. “We should try to get some sleep. You have your dress fitting in the morning.”
I sighed, too, and looked at the bottom of my teacup. “There’s more to that nightmare. You woke me up before it happened.”
“What is it?” Theresa asked. The hesitation in her voice told me she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear it, but if I didn’t say it, she probably would, anyway. Now, or when I was asleep, thrashing around in bed.
“He beat her so badly that she couldn’t get out of bed the next morning. We didn’t have any food or money, and I didn’t know what to do, so I left to look for help. But I got lost, and I ran into a group of older kids who didn’t like me.” I pursed my lips and shook my head, still irritated with myself for making such a mistake. “I should’ve stayed home.”
Theresa took my teacup from me and wrapped an arm around my shoulders.
“They beat me until I passed out, and Mother had to come find me and carry me home when she could barely move. If you want to know what that one sounds like, I’ll probably be saying something like, ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bother you. Please leave me alone.’”
There was a moment of silence before Theresa spoke again.
“Why didn’t you move somewhere else?” she asked gently.
“It wouldn’t have made a difference,” I replied. “Moving meant starting over again, with all the old rumors and struggles. It took a decade for things to turn around for us here, and there are still people who think Mother was a prostitute and I was her bastard child. That’s just the way it is.”
“I still don’t understand why she wouldn’t come to the palace for help. You didn’t have to live like that.”
I didn’t understand, either, and I knew more details than Theresa did. But I couldn’t doubt Mother’s motives. Not when I had so many memories of her, suffering pain or going without, so I didn’t have to.
“She did what she thought was best for me.”
We went back inside in silence. Theresa set the tray on the table and climbed into bed. Mother’s Bible caught my eye when I sat on my side of the mattress. I kept it on my nightstand, but I couldn’t bring myself to read it. Before she got sick, we read it together every morning, and we went to church together every Sunday. After she got sick, I still read it to her every day, even though my anger toward God only grew the worse she got. She wanted me to read it to her, and so I did.
I wasn’t angry anymore. I was tired. And I missed her.
“Sweet dreams,” Theresa mumbled into her pillow.
“It’s not always like this,” I told her, picking up the Bible.
“What isn’t?” she asked. She sounded half-asleep already.
“The nightmares. They usually get better after a few days.”
“Mm.”
I slid under the sheets and hugged the Bible to my chest. It was just a book, just cold leather and worn parchment, but I knew Mother’s handwriting covered the margins of every page. Maybe I would read it in the morning, if only to see the notes that held her voice.
“Goodnight, Theresa. And…thanks.”
She didn’t reply. I closed my eyes and nuzzled into the pillow, imagining Mother sitting at the breakfast table, scribbling notes in the Bible while I ate breakfast. Her long, straight black hair fell in a curtain over one ear, and her lips moved in silence while she read. Either she’d finished her breakfast already, or there had only been enough food for one of us, and she’d given it to me with the excuse that she wasn’t hungry. She looked up at me, her bright green eyes sparkling with a smile that lit up her entire face.
Did you know you’re in here, Ivetta? Right here. Where it talks about blessings. That’s you.
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