Mini Brain Dumps

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Trigger Warning: This novel contains references to sexual assault and mental health disorders. Reader discretion is advised.

Chapter 25:

Quentin stirred, his consciousness slowly emerging from the depths of sleep. Blinking against the light, he found himself back in his room in Seidonis. He looked around, his neck stiff. His gaze fell on Cate, sleeping peacefully in the chair beside his bed, her hand resting on his.

As Quentin shifted, Cate’s eyes fluttered open. She quickly straightened in her chair, removing her hand, a feigned look of surprise on her face. “Oh, you’re awake,” she said nonchalantly. “I wasn’t sleeping here or anything.”

Quentin couldn’t help the smile that pulled at the corners of her mouth. “Careful there, I might think you were worried or something,” he said hoarsely, his throat sore from lack of use.

She rolled her eyes, “If it were up to me, I would’ve left you for the fish to eat, but Caico and Sera said we probably need you or something. I couldn’t argue with reasoning.”

“Sure…” Quentin said as he straightened, every muscle in his body protesting at the sudden movement. “What happened?” he asked.

Cate hesitated for a moment before speaking, her expression turning serious. “One of the siren’s, Charlaine,” she began, her voice low. “Apparently, she coats her nails with some sort of slow acting poison. When she sunk her talons into you, well the poison got into your blood and had slowly been making its way to your heart.”

Quentin’s eyes widened in alarm. “But the healing potion…” he started.

“It slowed it down, but it wasn’t enough,” Cate interrupted. “They force fed you some sort of poison control potion and then rushed you here for observation. You’ve been out for a week.”

He bolted upright, his vision blurring from the stabbing pain in his head at the sudden movement. “A week?” he exclaimed. A week had passed where he had been lying in bed? “What did I miss?”

Cate leaned back, crossing her arms. ” A lot, actually. While you were busy napping, Elysia’s been running around like a chicken with it’s head cut off, and the Council’s made some decisions.”

Quentin raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to elaborate.

She sighed. “Well, they’ve started making me train with Elysia everyday, and not the fun weapons kind, the exhausting mental kind to…” she lifted her fingers and air quoted, “to refine my skills…” she rolled her eyes. “They’ve also started talking about some ancient prophecy, one where a person of immense power will either bring the salvation or the destruction of the world… I don’t know. It’s all kind of confusing. ” She shifted in her seat. “But whatever it is, they’re worried that Seidonis’ isn’t ready for whatever is coming.”

Quentin blinked in surprise, but Cate continued. “Besides that, they’re upping defenses around the grotto. Turns out, there are some backdoor passages that they discovered after we were attacked that they didn’t know about. They’re working on sealing those. Increasing defenses, things like that.”

“Good,” Quentin nodded. “The last thing we need is another surprise visit from them.

“I could do without anymore surprise naps,” Cate laughed, though the smile never reached her eyes.

Quentin ran his thumb over the where the slash from Charlie’s nails had been. The cuts were gone, the only remaining evidence of the injury a silver line of newly knit flesh.

Cate watched him closely. “You had us all worried, you know,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Quentin reached his hand out, brushing his knuckles against her hand. “Don’t worry, I’m still here to annoy the crap out of you Miss Sinclair.”

A faint smile came to her lips as she looked up at him. She threw herself at him, wrapping her arms tightly around him in a fierce hug. Quentin hesitated, his arms stiff at his sides before he returned her embrace. The warmth of her closeness was unfamiliar and unsettling. Cate, always sharp-tongued and self-assured, felt fragile now, and that fragility scared him more than any siren’s poison. Her fingers tightened against his back as if afraid to let go. For a moment, they remained locked in the embrace. Quentin could feel Cate’s heartbeat against his chest.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Cate whispered, her voice muffled against his shoulder.

Quentin closed his eyes. “Me too,” he said.

They pulled apart, and Quentin settled back against his pillows.

“So, the sirens? Any news on them?”

“Not much,” Cate admitted. “But the Council is taking the threat seriously. They’re trying to piece together what the sirens are after. I think they know, but they’re not willing to share.”

“Why do you think that?”

Cate rubbed her wrists. “They didn’t say much, but when I mentioned the sirens talking about a girl and a prophecy, one of the elders – the quiet one, what’s her name? – she dropped her pen. They all kind of exchanged this look.. ” she sighed. “I don’t know, something just doesn’t feel right.”

Quentin frowned, recalling the strange markings they’d found at the grotto and on the Sovereign. “And what about the marks we found? Did they know what those might be?”

“They said that those were ‘magical footprints’, like some sort of imprint that is left after the using powerful magic. Unique to the caster, apparently.”

“So no clear answers. Figures.” Quentin sighed, running his hands through his hair.

Cate smirked, a flicker of her usual sarcasm returning. “Welcome back.”

Quentin chuckled. “Glad to be back.” He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to take in everything he had just learned, when suddenly a loud rumble echoed through the room, breaking the tender silence that had enveloped them. His cheeks flushed with embarrassment, realizing the source of the noise. Cate’s laughter filled the room.

“Sounds like someone’s hungry,” she teased.

Quentin’s stomach twisted in protest, reminding him of the days he had spent unconscious. “I suppose I am,” he admitted sheepishly.

Cate swam towards the door. “Well, lucky for you, I happen to be an expert in the culinary arts,” she declared with mock seriousness.

Quentin raised his eyebrows at her, “I never would have thought that first mate of the Sovereign, Catherine Sinclair, would know how to cook.”

“Well… you’d be right. But I do know where the kitchen is and I am sure that I can get someone to whip something up quickly. Stay here. You look like you’ve been chewed up and spat out by a leviathan.”

Quentin laughed.

As she made her way towards the door, Quentin couldn’t help but admire the way her hair caught the light streaming through the window. For a moment, he allowed himself to indulge in the simple pleasure of watching her, a warmth blooming in his chest.

“Wait,” he called out.

Cate turned back. “Yes?”

A rush of emotions washed over him, his mind grasping at straws as he tried figure out the words that he wanted to say. But before he could form any coherent sentence, he simply shook his head and smiled. “Thank you,” he said softly.

Cate returned his smile before opening the door and disappearing into the corridor beyond. Left alone in the quiet of his room, Quentin closed his eyes.

___

Quentin lay in his room drifting in and out of consciousness. The worst of it was over, but the toll that the poison did on his body made him tire quickly, only allowing for him to keep his eyes open for twenty to thirty minutes at a time. Sometimes, he would wake up alone. On those occasions he would stare at the ceiling, or, if he was feeling up to it, swim a lap or two around his room before getting back in bed. On other occasions, he would open his eyes to find Cate or Elysia. Even Lyra came once or twice but she seemed distracted most of the time. They would tell him about their days or about any news from outside of the four walls that surrounded him. He preferred when they were there.

Cate was working on harnessing her newly found magical abilities. On one of her visits, she let him know that Elysia figured she had an affinity for air elements, to which they both laughed about the ridiculousness of being able to control air under water.

“Apparently, I will one day be able to manipulate the currents or the water pressure but for right now this is all I can do,” she said, spraying tiny bubbles from her fingertips that tickled Quentin’s face.

“Looks like you’re absolutely bubbling with potential,” Quentin quipped which earned him a glare from Cate.

Each day he felt better. A nurse came in to do exercises with him a couple of times a day to ensure that his tail muscles kept their strength. He was beginning to get restless from staying in his room all day. But, after a couple of days he was cleared to wander around once again. The excitement rushed through him as he swung his bedroom door open and wandered into the castle corridors. He didn’t really know where he was going, just that he needed to get out of that room.

As he meandered through the castle, he came across the atrium, where sunlight filtered through the tower windows, illuminating the vast space with a warm glow. He paused for a moment. The air was cool, laced with the scent of damp parchment and ancient ink. The gentle swish of tails and the murmur of distant voices echoed faintly through the cavernous space.

Light from the atrium’s windows danced across the water, refracting into shifting patterns of gold and azure on the walls. Quentin paused, marveling at the way the rays illuminated the scales of passing merfolk, turning them into living prisms.

He wandered further, finding himself drawn to the library. He pushed open the doors, taking in the rows and rows of ancient tomes lining the shelves. He ran his finger over the spines.

“It’s good to see you up and about, Quentin,” Elysia said. “How’re you feeling?”

Quentin, who had been lost in thought, started, looking up to see Elysia smiling at him.

He returned her smile. “Good. Glad to finally be out of bed,” he replied.

Elysia nodded, her gaze softening. “Just remember to take it easy.”

He nodded. “I will.”

They parted ways as Quentin continued to explore the shelves. His fingers trailed along the spine of an old leather-bound book; its title barely visible beneath the layers of sand that had settled upon it. Intrigued, he carefully pulled it from the shelf, blowing away the dirt to reveal the words etched in faded gold lettering: Intricacies of Seidonian Society.

Quentin flipped through the yellowed pages, each one filled with ancient symbols and diagrams, none that made any sense to him. He was about to give up when an image popped out of the page at him, an intricate designed that looked vaguely familiar.

His brows furrowed as he studied the design, a mesmerizing blend of curves and lines, swirling together in a way that seemed to dance across the page. At its center was a circular motif, surrounded by intricate loops and spirals that radiated outward like ripples in water. With a jolt he realized this was the same markings he had seen in the ruins. The same as the one Cate and him had found on the Sovereign.

Quentin squinted as he attempted to decipher the faded passed beneath the drawing.

he words were barely legible. Despite his efforts, only fragments of the text emerged clearly from the pages, snippets of phrases. “… voices from the past, guiding the chosen one…” as he read further another, he found another decipherable sentence “… the convergence of destines, bound by the ancient triad…” The words sent a shiver through him, as if the very ocean whispered in his ear.

He closed the book in frustration. He placed the book back on the shelf and made his way back to his room, his mind swirling with thoughts of the book and the tantalizing fragments of text he had read. With a heavy sigh, he pushed open the door to his room, flopping down onto his bed and staring up at the ceiling.

As he lay there something caught his eye – a glimmer of light on his nightstand.

Frowning in confusion, Quentin sat up. It was a glass bottle. He reached for it, turning it over in his hands. A message was nestled inside, tightly rolled, and sealed with wax.

His heart quickened as he popped the lid off the bottle, tipping it over to extract the parchment from within. As before, it glimmered softly around the edges, as if an air bubble had encapsulated it.

Quentin’s hands trembled as he unrolled the parchment, each word a tether to a life he’d thought lost. Relief swelled in his chest, a buoy in a sea of uncertainty. Yet, beneath it, guilt churned. If this was what he thought it was, how could he promise to return when the weight of Seidonis’ fate anchored him here?

Quentin,

He breathed in deeply, tears coming to his eyes as he recognized Lucy’s handwriting. He continued.

I got your letter, and I must admit, for a second, I thought I might be going insane to think that someone dead had written back to me. But when I found my bottle, with a different type of paper in it, I couldn’t resist opening it to see what was inside. And I’m glad I did.

As I read your words, I knew that it was you reaching out to me, just as I had reached out to you. It is as if the ocean itself conspired to reunite us, if only through the exchange of letters. Where are you? Why haven’t you come home?

I will wait for you, no matter how long it takes, for the day when we can be together again.

With all my love,
Lucy

Relief washed over him. It had worked. His hope that the letter would somehow find its way to Lucy, just like hers did to him, had not been for nothing. Knowing that she received his letter and that she knew he was sage was more than he could ever ask for.

He traced his fingers over her writing, feeling the weight of her words. The longing in her letter echoed his own, a yearning to reunite, for the warmth of her embrace.

Closing his eyes, Quentin took a deep breath. For a moment, he allowed himself to image being back in Marielle. The scent of lilacs and vanilla lingered in Quentin’s mind as he imagined strolling along the shores of Marielle with Lucy, their laughter mingling with the gentle lapping of the waves. He could almost feel the warmth of her hand in his, the softness of her touch.

But reality soon intruded, reminding him of what lurked beyond the castle walls. Despite the longing in Lucy’s letter, and the ache in his own heart, Quentin knew that he couldn’t return to Marielle just yet. There were still unanswered questions, secrets waiting to be unraveled.

Quentin pushed himself up from the bed. He glanced at the message from Lucy. “I’ll come back, Lucy,” he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath of air. “I promise.”

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