The Emerald-Opal Heir - 4

The Reader

Emmeline wondered if her friends knew she wasn’t actually sleeping. 

Newt certainly did - it was the reason he read to her - he knew she was listening. She didn’t dare read the words herself out of a fear of reading in general. She appreciated the stories and when she tired of his voice, she would fall asleep. 

Not that it lasted long. 

Emmeline laid awake, Newt snoring softly beside her. Across the room she could barely make out the sleeping forms of Clara and Brooke. Exhaustion pressed down on her limbs like a blanket but she couldn’t let it take her. Not unless she wanted to go back. 

It’d been impossible to have restful sleep since Emmeline had once again escaped the grasp of death. Nightmares plagued her every time she closed her eyes, as though the world of the dark had taken from her and given part of itself in return. That tiny kernel of darkness inside her didn’t allow her to sleep. 

Newt’s warmth beside her was enough to chase away the shadows that crept close during the day, but it did nothing against the stifling darkness of night. 

She focused on breathing. In and out. She forced herself to match the rise and fall of Newt’s chest, forced herself to focus on something other than her fatigue. She wished Ernest had stayed to keep her company, but he’d left to help lead Forrest to where they were going. 

A place Emmeline was pretty sure she wouldn’t want to go. 

Weariness pulled at her again, begging her to rest just for a little. Emmeline wrung her fingers, trying desperately to stay awake. 

Shadows swarmed around her, trying to drag her back to the land of the dead. 

She found herself reaching for Newt’s hand, clutching it tight to remind herself that she was alive. Emmeline laid her other hand on her chest above her heart, letting her pulse hum beneath her fingers. You are alive. You are moving, thinking, breathing. 

There were shapes and faces hiding in the shadows, waiting for her to become vulnerable. Surrounding her like vultures. Watching. Waiting. 

A shiver ran down her spine. 

Emmeline. Emmeline. Emmeline. The things in the shadows chanted her name over and over again. Their voices were raspy like the dead. 

She could feel them creeping closer but her body was crusted in ice. The warmth from Newt’s hand was gone now, a phantom of a touch. The shadow creatures slithered across the floor and walls until they stood above her, poised to attack. 

Emmeline retreated into her mind, the fear biting at her with needle-like teeth. 

It wasn’t long until sleep carried her far away from the beasts that watched and waited for the day she would finally join them. As if they knew it was soon. 

Emmeline’s mind was a windstorm and she was stranded in the middle, the gusts and gales threatening to yank her away with every passing second. Swirling around her was a dizzying display of visions and images and memories. 

A small girl wrestles with her brother in the grass. Their pudgy hands whip at each other and they giggle with every hit. She lunges, gathering a handful of her brother’s hair and pulling it. He yelps playfully, returning with a pinch of his own. The girl grabs for her brother again, but then suddenly there are hands lifting her up and away. She meets her brother’s eyes to find he is being carried away as well. Voices dance around her, panicked. Slavers. Kidnappers. Searching for a new Royal Reader. Lifetime of pain and suffering. The boy begins to cry at the sound of his parents’ worry. The girl reaches out her hand to comfort him. Their parents carry them to a small cottage and lock the door behind them. The girl and her brother are shoved roughly into a hole in the floor and hushed before- 

A whip cracks across the silence and a young girl winces even though it strikes the air beside her. Above her is a dark skinned man holding a tattered children’s book. What is this word? He is pointing to letters that the girl’s mind struggles to unscramble. The picture is of a creature she has never seen before and the combination of letters is unfamiliar. I refuse to raise an illiterate Reader so tell me what the paper says! His fists slam down on the table in front of the girl and she bites back tears. No wonder your parents didn’t want you. Dull as a butter knife. He tosses the book to the ground, storming off with his whip in hand-

An older man sits on a throne with a crown atop his head. His eyes are peering into the girl’s soul, stripping her down in front of him. She pretends to be stupid, keeping her gaze at her feet. The man - the king - demands to know if she is a true reader. There are suddenly hands slithering down her arms and spine, searching for any powder that might disguise markings. The touch is rough and harsh. She wants to run away but shackles are fastened around her limbs- 

The girl is surrounded by people, crowding around her and pushing in. The bow and arrow in her hands wobbles shakily as she struggles to keep the string drawn back. Her heart thrums in her chest, a steady rhythm and a warning to run. Movement catches her attention and the arrow flies, slicing right through the neck of a young boy. He is dead before he hits the ground, the life seeping from his eyes- 

Several women burst into a room atop a tower. The girl freezes as they lift their bows, aiming straight at her chest. Just as an arrow arcs through the air, a silvery form leaps in front of the girl. A silver air pierces the chest of her mentor, sending him to goddess knows where as he is banished from the world of the dead. The girl turns to the window and jumps- 

A pen with a deadly tip descends towards the girl’s chest, digging into flesh and leaving a gaping wound. She feels life draining from her body, leaking into a pool of blood and ink on the floor. Screams surround her, dragging her deeper-

The silver metal is back, gleaming in the hands of the blonde prince. He pulls back the blade before sending it right through the girl’s chest. Cold. Darkness. 

Ice creeps through her veins as she struggles to keep the boy beside her alive. 

Her lungs seize as dust settles around the room. Burning flames surround her, closing in and shoving themselves down her throat. 

The face of death lurks near, waiting for the girl’s return. Death’s hand reaches out, closing around the girl’s neck with fingers like steel- 

Emmeline woke suddenly, gasping for breath, fingers scrambling for something - anything - to hold that would remind her that she was still alive. Her desperate flailing did nothing except awaken the predatory shadows around her. 

A sob burst from her throat and suddenly there was a hand pressing over her mouth. Another hand locked onto her side, holding her still. Panic latched on and she struggled against the grip holding her still, but to no avail. Goddesses. The shadows were going to consume her and no one would know-

“Shh,” a voice hissed in her ear. Emmeline clamped down on her fear, letting herself fall still. They won’t expect a surprise attack… 

“Emmeline, it’s me.” 

Newt. His voice registered in her mind and Emmeline relaxed a little, her chest still heaving.

“It’s me,” he whispered, removing his hand from her mouth. “Don’t wake Clara and Brooke with your screaming.” 

Emmeline nodded, still trying to catch her breath. 

Newt pulled her closer with the arm still around her waist. She let him, burying her face in his shoulder. Don’t let him see you cry. 

His fingers ran through her hair in an attempt to soothe her. Emmeline let him hold her close, afraid that if he let go, the shadows would return for her. Her whole body trembled in an embarrassing feat of fear. 

“You’re alright,” he whispered in her ear. “I’m here and I won’t let anything hurt you.”

Emmeline pulled her legs to her chest, trying to make herself smaller. Newt continued to whisper assurances to her, stroking her hair and holding her to his chest. She could hear his heart beating, used it as a reminder that she was okay. 

“Nightmares?” he asked when she had finally calmed down. 

“Yes,” she breathed, unwilling to tell him what they were about. Memories swarmed in to plague her but she pushed back, forcing them away. “I can’t sleep.”

“Neither can I with all your muttering,” Newt joked, but Emmeline still felt terrible for keeping him awake.  “I’m kidding, Em. If you want, I’ll stay awake with you. We can finish the book we’ve been working on.”

She shook her head. “We both need sleep-”

“But your nightmares,” Newt interjected. “They’ll come back, right?”

She was glad that the darkness could hide her blush. Newt was observant enough to notice that whenever she slept, it was never restful. 

“They will, but I can handle them,” she insisted, determined to prove that she wasn’t broken. 

Newt didn’t protest at first, but when she tried to move away, his arm around her waist didn’t loosen. “If you stay … If you stay close to me, will that help?” His voice was like the flutter of bird wings, breathless. 

Emmeline knew he wasn’t implying anything bad. He was simply offering for her to snuggle close to him, wondering if perhaps his presence would chase away his nightmares. 

“We can try,” she said at last. Why was her heart going so fast? 

She could feel Newt shifting beside her and together they slumped against the wall where Newt had propped up a few pillows. Emmeline curled up to Newt’s side, leaning her head on his shoulder as his head came down to rest on hers. 

She reached for his hand, their fingers entangling. Sleep hung overhead like the clouds before a storm and the shadows lurked in the crevices of the library, but Emmeline didn’t care. 

Her eyes fluttered shut, and this time, no dreams found her. 

“We’ve been walking for hours,” Brooke whined, smacking a few stray bushes with the stick she’d picked up. “Are we almost there?” 

Emmeline sighed, trying to keep her cool. “As I’ve said the past ten times you’ve asked, we’ll be there soon enough. Ernest guessed we’d arrive midafternoon if we left at dawn - which we did.”

Brooke let out a groan, grumbling under her breath. Emmeline caught Clara sending her a sympathetic look. 

Maybe all members of the royal family were obnoxious because Brooke acted just like Beckett. Not that Beckett was an annoyance so much as a backstabbing, little brat now. 

At first, Emmeline had been willing to accept that maybe Beckett was trying to save her and Newt by becoming a spy, but when he’d willingly given Baelle the location of their safehouse and helped her torture them, Emmeline had lost all sympathy. Beckett’s decision was clear and Emmeline still didn’t understand why he’d done it, nor could she figure out any reasoning behind the choice. 

“Look!” Clara called out, dragging Emmeline back to the present. “A sign!” 

Newt hung back at Emmeline’s side as Brooke and Clara hurried ahead to investigate the signpost. He reached for her hand and Emmeline let their fingers intertwine. When morning came, there had been no discussion of her nightmares. Clara and Brooke were oblivious and Emmeline wanted to keep it that way. 

 “What does the sign say?” Newt asked as they approached the two girls. 

Neither answered, though Clara did give a slight frown. Emmeline felt a sense of dread descend upon her as she read the sign. 

Raywield. 

Thousands of memories pounded in her mind. Emmeline took a step backwards, knowing she was overreacting. You’re fine. You haven’t set foot here in many years now… 

“What is this place?” Brooke questioned, sounding almost disgusted. 

Emmeline peered at the archway just ahead that led to the charred remains of Raywield. 

“A village,” she answered, her voice high and airy. “Or at least what remains of it. Raywield is the name.”

It only got a name because it was in the Crossover Forest. Technically no one was supposed to live here, but with tensions escalating between the two kingdoms, many sought the refuge of free land.

“Why would Ernest lead us here?” 

It took Emmeline a moment to realize Newt’s question was directed at her. She hesitated, the memories flashing before her eyes. 

“Because this was where we grew up,” Emmelin whispered, frozen in place. “This is where I was born, where I lived for the first few years of my life, and where my parents and brother were murdered.”

She pulled away from Newt, wrapping her cloak tighter around her. The air seemed chillier here as if the dead still haunted the ground. 

“I’m sorry,” someone offered, but Emmeline ignored them. 

She passed under the archway, the half-frozen ground crunching under her feet. Yes, beneath her was the stone path that used to wind through the village. On either side of the path were the remains of houses that used to hold families. Children, all dead because Baelle saw it fit to burn down an entire village in order to kill two Reader toddlers. 

Her breath caught in her throat and suddenly she wished Ernest was here at her side. If she was having a hard time she couldn’t imagine how it’d been for him to discover this place since he’d actually died here. 

Emmeline followed the path, vaguely aware of her friends following behind her, their boots crunching on the stones. 

The further into Raywield she wandered, the more intact the houses became, though their edges were still blackened. Emmeline could picture the flames crawling up the sides of the houses, the blaze consuming everything in its path. She could smell the smoke as though the town was still smoldering. 

She remembered how the village was laid out in a circle, how the path curved so no matter where you walked, you would always end up at the entrance. It wasn’t big - maybe twenty houses total. A close community. Her parents had liked that, she recalled. 

Her feet instinctively came to a stop in front of a house coated in white paint. The glass from the windows was shattered and scorch marks left ugly scars on the siding. 

Emmeline’s breath clouded in the air. She could still see a little boy and girl playing in the grass, wrestling and playing. She stepped into the yard, onto the tiny front walk leading to the door. The beautiful wreath that her mother had once hung on the door was now a withered circle of dead plants and twigs. 

She twisted the doorknob, the handle freezing beneath her hand. The door swung open easily. Emmeline took a breath before heading inside. 

She didn’t care that the roof might collapse or the floor might fall out from under her. The wooden planks groaned under her weight, singing songs of protest. Besides that, the house was entirely silent. 

Emmeline remembered more with each step. The house led directly into a hallway with a few doors to bedrooms and bathrooms, and then into a kitchen and living room attached. Everywhere she turned, she could envision phantoms of herself and Ernest and her parents doing everyday tasks. Making breakfast and eating meals. Storytime in the living room by the fireplace. 

A mouse scurried away when Emmeline stepped into the kitchen. Most of the pantry doors were chewed to bits, hanging off broken hinges. The kitchen table was covered in dust and cobwebs and looking out at the living room, she could see her mother’s chair had been torn apart by some animal looking for scraps. 

She crept back down the hallway, noting that her friends lay in wait at the door. Newt probably sensed the importance of this place to Emmeline - probably warned Brooke and Clara to wait a few minutes. Emmeline couldn’t help but be grateful for that. 

There was only one more room she dared look at before she would leave. She could come back later, alone, when her tears would be hidden. 

Ernest and Emmeline’s bedroom was the largest room in the house besides her parents’ bedroom. The twins had refused to separate, even after turning three - something Emmeline could vividly remember. They’d tried to put her in her own room, but she’d cried until Ernest came to find her. 

The two beds lay on opposite sides of the room, blankets still rumpled from the last time they’d been slept in. One dresser drawer was lying upside down on the floor, small clothing strewn about. 

And the ceiling … 

A gaping hole in the roof left the room exposed to the elements. Emmeline felt a sob building in her chest, but pushed it back down. Now was not the time to break apart. 

She blindly fumbled her way to the closet, overcome by visions of her and Ernest playing. Tackling each other in a fit of giggles. Taking turns playing hide and seek or tag, and occasionally a game of dolls if Emmeline could convince Ernest. Making up stories using the pictures from books… 

Emmeline tried to open the door to the closet but it crumbled apart at her touch. Ashes. 

The dark hole where the closet had been was filled with charred and ruined toys and books. She dug through the mess of junk, pulling out everything as if she could still save it. Ernest’s stuffed bear that he couldn’t sleep without. A thick book filled with drawings of birds. Even a doll made special in Emmeline’s likeness, with green buttons for eyes and dark yarn for hair. 

She threw the doll at the wall, hard. It dropped to the ground without making a noise. 

It still had ribbons tied in its hair, the same style that Emmeline always wanted as a little girl. Goddesses. 

She fell to her knees, tears leaking down her face. Goddesses. 

How different would her life have been if it weren’t for the fires? Her parents and Ernest would be alive. She never would have gone to the circus, never would have Read Beckett - and maybe there was a chance he wouldn’t have woken in the first place. She wanted to pretend like she might have met Newt one day when her parents might have gone to see a travelling circus. And he would have run away that night with his mom because they wanted to be free and thought Raywield was nice. And Emmeline would grow up with Newt and Ernest at her side, and they would become fast friends and maybe one day she would encounter the Sprite Hunters and find Coral and Forrest and Clara too. And maybe, just maybe, she wouldn’t be a Reader. 

Emmeline knew she was being selfish, but she didn’t care at this point. Her entire life was Baelle’s fault. It wasn’t fair that she had to grow up in the circus, punished for every wrong move. It wasn’t her fault that she had to witness her parents die in front of her. 

Pull yourself together. 

She scrambled to her feet, wiping her eyes as she retrieved the doll and hurried back to the front yard where her friends waited. 

Clutching the doll to her chest, she made her way straight to Newt, buried her face in his shirt, and cried. 

Two hours later, Emmeline had recovered what little dignity she had left. 

How embarrassing it was to sit by a makeshift campfire in the very center of the town while the others scouted for houses that could be used. And yet she couldn’t make herself get up. 

Newt, Clara, and Brooke found the houses least damaged by the fires and cleaned them out, replacing furniture with some from other homes if need be. 

All the while, Emmeline sat and did nothing. 

Her cheeks burned every time she thought about how she’d burst out of her childhood home in tears, clutching an old doll with all her might. That same doll was tucked away in the bedroom Newt had claimed for the two of them. Just the two of them. 

Emmeline hadn’t put up a fight when he told her, especially since there were two very separate beds. She’d sat there, as emotionless as the doll. 

Once the housing situation was sorted out, Newt took Clara and Brooke on a quick hunting trip but came back empty handed. They settled for using some of their leftover food from the village in Ibeni. Emmeline didn’t have an appetite, but Newt forced her to eat anyway. 

The sun was setting when they finally heard the approaching of someone nearby. 

Panic launched itself into Emmeline’s veins and she reached for the dagger at her side until a familiar bluish glow appeared around the corner of one of the houses. Ernest. 

Her brother gave her a smile and drifted closer, his ghostly feet never quite touching the ground. She stood as he came near, wrapping him in a hug. He returned the gesture and Emmeline knew he could sense what had occurred earlier in the day. 

Then emerged the rest of the group that Ernest had led. 

Emmeline didn’t know them all by name. There was a younger blonde girl with a bird on her shoulder. Beside her was another girl, this one with hair the color of burnt caramel and a staff in hand. Three siblings followed closely behind the two girls. A brother and two sisters, all with bronze hair and bright eyes. 

And Forrest. 

Emmeline didn’t wait, she darted to his side and flung herself onto him in a hug. Clara was there too and then Newt, all four of them embracing. 

Forrest let out a soft chuckle, gently pushing them away. His dark hair was littered with strands of silver and his normally tan skin seemed paler. And his eyes - they were completely empty of light. 

Emmeline knew why. She took a step back. No, she wouldn’t ask the question-

Clara beat her to it, the younger girl’s eyes darting back and forth, searching for familiar blue eyes that weren’t there. 

“Forrest,” Clara began, voice soft. “Where’s Coral?”

Only then did Forrest begin to weep.

Author's Note

I think for this book, Emmeline's chapters (along with Beckett's) are going to be the hardest to write for me, so let me know how it goes. Forrest and Clara I've written in before and kind of know how they think. Newt's will be a bit tough but I have an idea of how his internal monologue will sound. I know how Beckett's will sound too but it's in a different style than I normally attempt. Emmeline I have written in for two books now but we're finally at the point where she's beginning to change and "break" for lack of a better word. Let me know if you think she was too dramatic in this chapter, and as always, enjoy!