One Heart

14. Memories

It had been too long. Perhaps she had made a mistake? Drank too much for too long. Kensie paced the room, one hand on her hip as she held the tip of her thumb between her teeth. She ran through the process again, searching for the moment she'd gone wrong.

Other than the duration, the rest was just as Isha said it would be. Kensie wondered if Isha had known all along who she was. Isha was wise. She'd held a deep understanding of the world, though it was veiled beneath her mischievous exterior.

A knock on the door startled Kensie. She hadn't felt or heard her mother approach. "How's she doing?" Maggie asked, her tone hushed.

"Objectively speaking, fine." Kensie lowered her brow before at last looking Maggie in the eye. "It's been eleven hours."

"She's strong. She's named after the strongest queen to have ever lived. Besides, we expected this. With the way the world is right now, it's no surprise destiny chose her to be the strongest of queens."

"Yes, I suppose you're right."

"You watch," Maggi said. "She'll wake up soon, healthy and powerful." Her eyes flicked to Sorah, so still and quiet, the rise and fall of her chest even and slow. "Want me to take over so you can take a break?"

"No, I'm not leaving her."

"Thought as much. Can I bring you anything?"

It had been the longest night of Kensie's life, and now the rays of morning taunted her for her lack of sleep. She rubbed at her neck, kneading away the tension. "Just some water please." She could do with something stronger, from the bottle of aged scotch in the study perhaps. But she would keep her vigil and be sober and alert when Sorah woke.

"Of course." Maggie slipped away, closing the door behind her with a gentle click.

***

Fourteen and a half hours.

Kensie dug her nails into her palm as she paced. Such durations were unheard of. Even Sorah the First took only thirteen hours to awaken. Selfishly, she didn't want Sorah to be so strong. An average queen had enough expectations placed upon them. Enough pressure.

Insecurity wound its way around her. Had she done something wrong? Was Sorah's body aligning, or was she in a coma instead? It had been too long. She must have drank too much.

In her panicked rage she swiped a bottle of perfume from the cabinet and hurled it across the room.

"That one was my favourite." Sorah's voice was small. Hollow. But she was awake.

"How do you feel?"

The sunlight streaming in from the windows contrasted with the stark white of Sorah's skin. She was pale, her cheeks free of the usual glow. Kensie sat beside her, resisting the urge to reach out and touch her. It had been so long—the longest apart since they'd met.

The cawing of seagulls outside drew Sorah's attention toward the window, her movements slow and sluggish. She blinked, then again, before dropping her gaze to her lap. "I feel..."

"Overwhelmed?"

"There's so much... I can hear, see, smell, so much." Sorah squinted as she looked out the window again. "How long did I sleep for?"

"Fourteen and a half hours."

No reaction. Sorah picked at the quilt cover, scratching at some invisible stain. She seemed to run the information through her mind, her eyes narrowing for a moment, before her face went blank. "That's..." She blinked. "Sorah the First took thirteen. Well above the average of eleven."