Soul of Ice

Chapter Four

She awoke with a startled cry, hands already flying up to defend herself against whatever threat faced her next. It was dark in the... wherever she was. A small crack of light—was that a door?—lit up the shape of someone beside her.

"Shh." The person placed a dry hand on her forehead and pushed her back to lay down.

Astra scrunched up her nose and batted at the hand, but it remained firm.

"Thank goodness for your accelerated healing, at least you inherited that." The voice was soft, a little husky at the edges, young, and feminine.

Astra blinked the spots out of her eyes, trying to shake free her confusion. She had to get out of here.Wherever here was. She pushed herself upwards, against the protests of the woman, and kicked the thick, coarse blanket off of her. Underneath, she was no longer wearing her cloak, or even the tight, practical black suit she'd kept and worn all the way from Varaly. Instead, she was wearing a loose-fitting gray tunic and similarly loose-fitting gray pants. Gods. Who the hell had changed her? And where were her old clothes? She closed her eyes, trying to recall if anything else had occurred past taking her clothes off and switching them out, but her memory was a blank slate. No matter. She felt no different, other than that awful fuzziness in her head, and pushed aside the detail.

Astra set her feet on the ground and pushed herself into a standing position. A spasm of dizziness swept through her, and she had to grab the side of the bed to steady herself, but it was nothing like the blinding pain and blurred vision from before. She was fine. And if she wasn't... she would be.

The person beside her tried to catch her arm, but she snatched it away. "I really don't think that's a good idea—hey, hey wait!"

Her feet were bare and cold against the concrete ground, but she lurched toward the ajar door a few feet away.

The woman followed behind her. "Hold on!" Her hand grabbed onto Astra's.

She ripped her hand away and turned to focus on the woman's eyes—a burnish brown due to the light cast upon it—and glared. The woman flinched back even before Astra said with a growl, "Don't touch me." She flung open the door.

Voices and laughter permeated her ears. Outside was a huge hall—no, a sitting room. An enormous sitting room, with dozens upon dozens of people packed comfortably in the room. There were couches scattered about, rugs here and there on the concrete ground. Tables of varying sizes and heights and make. But it wasn't the mess of furniture that drew her attention first. It was the mess of hair colors.

Brown hair and like-shades—the defining hair color in Auxerre. But there were as many brunettes as there were blondes and redheads, and there were even a few people scattered about with raven locks like hers.

She paused and correcting her balance from her sudden stop. There was no clear way out. "Where the hell am I?" she directed toward no one in particular. Behind her, the woman answered.

"The palace barracks."

Astra whirled. "What?" She pressed a hand against her forehead and leaned back against the wall next to the door of the room she'd exited from. "The barracks of Venierre's royal palace?" she asked, confirming.

The woman nodded.

The memories were faint, but the scars weren't. She stared at her forearms. They were decorated with strips of gauze, white and clean. But beneath them... she started picking at the edge of the mesh.

"Don't do that now," the woman chidedas she gently pried away her hand and held them both in hers.

She had to resist the urge to slap her hands away again. The calm was slipping into her now, her training taking over as she gained more awareness. Information first. Analyze her situation. Then she'd see about getting out of here.