Page 5 of Legacy Ascended

The medic from the van checks my pulse and shines a light into my eyes. I try to jerk my face away, but I’m too slow.

“Take it off,” he says.

“What! Are you crazy, she–,” one of the guards says.

“She’s had four darts, she can barely stand, and I need to get to her side. Put two men outside the door.”

Nobody looks happy about it, but they listen.

Two men keep hold of my wrists while a third removes the restraints around my ankles. When they finally release my arms, they drop to my sides and start shaking. One of the guards grabs my elbow when my knees buckle, then lets go so quickly he nearly shoves me over.

The medic pulls away what’s left of the dressing and tapes fresh gauze over my side without asking. Someone sets a glass of water on the table. Another man says “ma’am” without looking at me.

Then they leave. The door closes and the lock turns.

The bedroom has a low ceiling and a tiled stove that makes the air almost too warm. Rugs cover most of the stone floor, and family photographs crowd one wall in mismatched frames. The furniture doesn’t match either, but everything looks clean.

Someone has left food on the table and folded clothes over a chair. The sizes are close, as if several people searched their closets for anything I might be able to wear. A ribbon is tied around a jacket, holding a handwritten note.

We are so glad you are here.

The door is solid oak, and the handle doesn’t move. When I put my ear against it, I hear muffled voices from the hall. The windows look too small to climb out and have newer looking iron bars over them.

Anything I could use as a weapon is gone. There’s no poker beside the stove. The washstand is empty. The wardrobe holds nothing but blankets and a paper bag of lavender.

I leave the water where it is. My wolf is still buried under whatever they gave me, but she’s beginning to stir. I’m not risking another dose until I know what’s in that glass.

The stone floor is cold. I lower myself to the bed and let it sink in that I am locked in here. I was so close to the gate, I really wish that little boy’s mom had kept a hold on him better. I sigh, hang my head and reach for my bonds.

I want them here. Not only because they could tear this place apart, although God knows I wouldn’t stop them. After a day of strangers grabbing, carrying, and restraining me, I want the men I chose.

The lock turns and I wipe my eyes.

I brace one hand against the bed and turn toward the door. It opens onto a corridor crowded with people. They stand along both walls, leaving a clear path down the middle. Some stare at me. Others look away as soon as I notice them. An older woman near the back has both hands pressed over her mouth.

An older man enters first. The angry man from the van follows him and closes the door. He takes up a position beside it, his back against the wall and his eyes on the floor.

The older man wears a dark wool coat that has gone shiny at the cuffs and boots that have been freshly polished. He isn’t carrying a weapon. His gaze moves over the blood on my clothes, the torn skin around my wrists, and the fresh gauze at my side. His throat works before he looks at my face.

Then he bows.

Not a polite dip of his head. He bends all the way from the waist and stays there long enough to make me uncomfortable.

“Welcome home. My name is Frances. My family has served yours for centuries.” He straightens. “House Luftemilen.”

In the Council records, it’s only ever called Fourth House. No family name. No people. Nothing that might make it sound as if someone survived.

“Luftemilen,” I repeat.

“That’s the name they removed from the records. It’s the House whose blood you carry.”

“Nobody has ever said it to me before.”

“Outside this valley, saying it could get someone imprisoned. Inside these walls, it was never forgotten.”

I use the bedpost to pull myself upright. The room tips to one side, and I wait for it to settle before I let go.

“My name is Jessica. And this isn’t my home.”