Eadlyn Selects

The One Voice

I wake up in the castle infirmary. Kile is asleep in a chair pulled close to my bedside. His cheek rests on my bed, his hair adorably splayed over my thigh. His face is toward me. I am so glad to be able to focus on the slope of his nose, the curl of his eyelashes, the twitch of his upturned lips. It helps me to endure pain like I've never known. Everything is on fire. Everything is raw and twisted and burning.

I ignored most of the pain during my captivity as a way to survive. I guess it was instinctive. Now on the soft bed in this dim room with Kile nearby and tubes and machines monitoring me, the wall I built inside to stay alive comes crashing down. Tears glide down my cheeks.

My back is on some kind of gel cushion but every inch of my whip wound feels like alcohol is being rubbed into it. And my skin, everywhere, feels wrong.

My eyes catch on a figure standing in the corner. Dad. His head is in his hands. His posture is stooped and he is surrounded by darkness. No one else is here.

I wet my lips and realize my tongue and throat are improved. On that positive note, I let the pain swallow me back into oblivion.

Who knows how long later, I hear voices.

My dad, "I can't think about that right now."

Kile, "You have to, sir. We need him behind bars when we announce that she is safe and back home. They need to see him face consequences. And the bombs must be addressed. It can't be a secret that they were willing to use such measures. The world has to see them for what they are. Not oppressed free thinkers, but violent, careless liars who have no clear plan but death and torture."

My mind spins with his meaning.

"America will be back soon. I need to see her before doing anything."

"She'll be mad," Kile says.

"Furious."

I feel a palm on my forehead. It smooths my hair off and then traces my brow.

"She's home," Kile says, his soft touch almost reverent. "That's what matters."

"Yes, son. You're right," Dad's voice is muffled by tears. Have I seen him cry before? When Mom was near death, in surgery for her heart. That's when he cried. And now over me.

The next time I open my eyes, Kile is asleep with his head near my thigh and his arm draped over my waist. His large hand is entwined with my own bandaged one. My dad is not in the corner.

"Kile," I whisper. He shifts. The lights are out and the hall eerily quiet. He's asleep. It must be the middle of the night.

"Kile," I wiggle a bit to wake him, but the motion causes me to cry out. He sits bolt upright immediately.

He reaches for a button on the rail of my bed but I make a cluck noise and he stares at me.

"Eady," he cups his palm over my cheek. I feel bandages on my face, too.

"Bombs, Hale. I was taken. My back from Jayel. My neck from the loft. Kile."

"Shh, it's okay. Take your time, Eady. Your dad will be back in a sec. Your mom, too. She just arrived." He glances at the door. "She didn't know you were gone, Eady. Your dad didn't tell her until you were found."

"Found how?" I ask. I only remember the makeshift scooter and my descent into blind, pain-filled defeat.

Kile nestles even closer like he's worried I'll disappear from this very bed.

"From the moment Hale carried you out of that horrific factory, I was looking for you. We questioned every person there and held them. No one uttered a word. You were right about their allegiance." He grits his teeth, holding back anger at all the people that could have helped him find me but didn't. I watch as his flush rises and he visibly tries to rein in his fury. I blink patiently. I'm grateful that he cares enough to be so outraged.