Of Soot And Cinders

XII

SOOT

When I came to myself I was in an unfamiliar garden.

I blinked slowly, readjusting to having limbs and being trapped on the ground, not floating somewhere in the back end of my mind. I hadn't done it in ages, left my body, I couldn't explain it either. I probably would have sounded mad if I tried. But it happened most when— when Nightingale took me. It always left me feeling weak and nauseous, and with an immense pressure behind my eyes.

I blinked again.

The garden was quiet except for the soft tune of the breeze through the roses, and the birds telling each other stories. I was on a stone bench with a large, heavy, woolen blanket wrapped around my shoulders. My hair was loose, floating like chimney smoke around my head. Someone had touched me— and more than just moving me onto the bench—because only someone who hadn't had their hair used as a weapon of torture against them would let it down. It was too good a tool to cause pain, yanking and burning and— it was just safer to have it pulled back, tucked safe into a nice braid.

There was nobody else with me. I turned nearly expecting Jamie to be charging at my back with iron tipped whip in hand, or Florence, spinning a knife between his fingers. But there was no one. And it wasn't the palace behind me either, not the tall stone spires, or the stables or kitchens or the slave quarters on the far lawns. It was a smaller castle, only a fraction of the size of the royal palace. It didn't have craning arches and pillars but sat modestly and simply adorned.

It all seemed too—perfect. There was no noise, there was no one yelling at me or readying to hurt me again.
I turned my head at the sound of hoofs, digging up dirt. And found the end to my perfect dream. Because now there were people.
Of the two people riding I only immediately recognized one. He was on a large stallion, coat gleaming like white gold, a stallion he'd almost trampled me with on a morning not so long ago.
Maybe I was dead, it was the only explanation my mind could gather for why Grimm, cast in golden light from the morning sun, was quickly approaching on a stallion who seemed to be flying.

I wasn't sure if he saw me. He was too far off to decipher which direction he was headed. But a gust of wind blew past my head, my hair flicking in the wind like a flag. I could tell he'd seen me then, the stone bench I sat on being on top of a small hill. His horse turning with his body cutting hard into the wind.
The second horse and rider followed though they had been left behind at the urging of Grimm and his horse.

As Grimm got closer I found tears welling in my eyes though none fell. He urged his horse harder and I wondered if he'd be able to stop, or if he really would trample me. His horse leapt, clearing the hedge of roses, and landing just feet from me. Grimm jumped from the horses back, letting the stallion continue its momentum.
Grimm rolled on his landing, coming quickly to his feet.

I blinked more. It all still didn't feel real. Grimm scrambling to kneel in front of me. His hands resting gently on my knees. His eyes searching mine with so— so much care.

Though the wind whipped around us everything was quite.

"Am I dreaming?" Grimm spoke, his eyes still searching mine like he could find the answer.

"I thought I was." I whispered.

"What are you doing here?" Grimm shifted on his knees, before sitting on his boot heels.

"I—I don't know. I— I woke up here." I watched him furrow his brow. Slowly I moved a hand out from under my blanket. I lifted my thumb to his forehead gently smoothing the wrinkles away.

Grimm leaned into my touch. "How can you just wake up somewhere? I thought you were dreaming."

"I don't think we can both be dreaming. One of us must be awake." With the wrinkles gone I moved my hand to cup his face. I didn't know what I was doing, certainly I would be punished for this, but then again neither of us were quite sure if I was really awake.