Page 7 of Breaking Briar

“Pay attention, boy,” he spits out, whacking me on the side with the flat edge. “How will you help defend the kingdom if you lose your head at any given moment?”

I blink for a moment, trying desperately to get my bearings, but everything fuzzes in front of me. Wavy lines blur my vision, like a hot shimmer over the land. Only this time, it’s everything I look at. Dropping to my knees, I sink into the cool earth, hoping to find relief, but there is none.

Master Balcom shouts at me, doing his best to get my attention, but all I hear is an incessant ringing in my ears. Dropping my sword, I cup my hands on either side, hoping to force it out, but it only gets worse. Hands paw at me, dragging me off the ground and taking me somewhere else.

I cannot let them see me like this.

I won’t let them see me like this.

But what can I do? I can no longer see. I cannot hear anything besides a ferocious roar raging about in my head. Trapped in my mind, I see nothing but blood dripping down in front of me.

Though I long to touch it, to see if it’s real, I still cannot move. I am a prisoner, trapped inside my body. Heat surrounds me, threatening to suffocate me, but somehow, it feels familiar, safe, a cocoon instead of a place of torment and death.

Breathing in, I allow the acrid stench of sulfur and char to fill my lungs, scorching me from the inside out. My bones turn to liquid, melting away in the vaporizing heat. And still, I cannot move.

I try to cry out, to beg for release, but only fire races up my throat, ripping through the delicate tissue until there’s nothing left.

I am nothing.

Inside my mind, I scream and bellow, furious at being so trapped, so impotent.

But nothing.

There is nothing but a barren wasteland.

Nothing.

I am nothing.

* * *

Cool hands stroke my cheeks, giving me such blessed relief from the torment. Leaning into the hand, I draw in a breath, trying to determine who it is next to me. But I can smell nothing but ash. It’s as if my nose has burnt away, leaving nothing behind.

I reach up to touch it, but still, I find I cannot move. Only this time, I don’t seem to care. It’s as if all my anger has finally leached from my body, allowing me to rest. With a soft sigh, I nuzzle the hand, content to be in this state of tranquility.

A soft lilting voice washes over me, a nameless tune set to a hum. It runs the length of my body, easing my pain and shoring me up. I can tell now that it’s not my mother. That only leaves one other person who would touch me with such familiarity.

Forcing my eyes open, I look upon my eventual bride. She smiles down at me, radiating peace and happiness from her very being. Since she’s still so small, she sits at my side so as to not be crushed by my bulk. Her doe eyes sparkle as she runs her hand over my hair, bringing soothing coolness with each swipe of her fingers.

“There now, Prince Phillip. All better.”

I want to smile at her, to give her some of the same happiness back, but find it nearly impossible to do so. She’s so small and naïve, unable to fully understand how things work. A simple tune and a stroke of her fingers might be enough to keep her happy, but I wasn’t blessed with her graces.

My bones will not knit together simply because she wills it. Melted flesh won’t repair because she sings a little song. Granted, I’m grateful she still doesn’t know how cruel this world can be yet, but at some point, she will learn.

We all do.

Testing my limbs, I first move my toes, then my feet, legs, and hips. When those seem to move without issue, I arch my back, testing my spine. My fingers, hands, arms, and shoulders move of their own free will. Last is my neck.

I turn toward her, finally giving Briar a soft smile. When she beams back, my heart pounds in my chest, threatening to break through. Even at eight, she exudes such a magnitude of happiness that it almost hurts to look upon. It’s similar to staring into the sun—eventually, you will get burned.

The longer the silence drags out between us, I watch as her lower lip trembles a touch. This simply won’t do. Patting her hand, I do my best to smile again, giving her just a small bit back that she’s giving me.

“All better, Princess Briar. I thank you for your expert care.”

Again, she beams at me and pats my arm. “Does anything else ail you?”

I rest my hand over my heart, refusing to give in and tell her all the worries and fears bubbling up. She’s still a child and in no way a confidant for things of that nature. Instead, I shake my head and make my way to my feet.