Just Surviving (#Clexa)

Red Is The Colour

Why am I here? Why with her?

I can only suppose that Titus brought me to her; no one else in Polis would have sufficed for him.

I let my hands wander over my stomach, brushing my fingers over the skin and the neatly stitched wound. The bullet didn't go through me – Wyn must have taken it out. I feel slight moisture on my fingers, and frown when I lift them to my face.

It's blood, my blood, but somehow the daylight is making it look red. Crimson red. Am I still dreaming? Is this another memory from my past? The difference between dream and reality is getting harder and harder to discern. Maybe there's always been a fine line.

'Wyn,' I call softly.

The old woman shifts groggily, opening her eyes and staring across the room at me. The irises are bloodshot and grey and search my face as if looking through me. I should thank her for saving my life, but my mind is still too blurry for me to figure out why I'd needed saving in the first place.

'Titus,' I whisper. 'Why did he bring me here?'

The woman leaps to her feet instantly, striding over and examining me from head to toe. 'A very long story... that I can tell you over breakfast.'

I blink at her. 'Breakfast...'

'You have been sleeping for days,' Wyn informs me, checking my wound and clicking her tongue against her teeth. 'I'd expected you'd never wake. Are you hungry?'

'I'm...' I wince as her fingertips press against a tender patch of skin. 'I don't understand why I'm here.'

'Because you cannot be anywhere else.' The woman finally finishes her checks and pats my cheek affectionately.

As she begins to head out of the room, I call after her: 'How many days?'

Wyn stops and turns back. 'Six, my Heda.'

Six days. I was sleeping for that long? If I wasn't already antsy before, now I feel as if I want to jump to my feet and run in circles. Something about the loss of time has anguish rising within me, and I'm desperate to stifle it.

'Why did Titus bring me here?' I demand. 'There are resident healers in the Capital Building...'

Wyn pauses hesitantly. 'Those healers,' she says, 'think you're dead.'

'Dead?'

My stomach drops, and all of a sudden I remember a blur of faces above me – a candlelit room, and I'm on the carpet with two pairs of arms around me, holding me as I shudder. Titus's face is one of the faces, and the other...

Clarke.

Clarke, Clarke, Clarke...

Something about her name has my whole body abruptly on the verge of panic, but I still can't quite figure out why. Clarke kom Skaikru - the sole reason I ever trusted her clan was because I trusted her. And there was something else, something more...

I had died, hadn't I?

It dawns on me – my neck is hurting. My neck. Ignoring the throb of pain, I lift my head and press two fingers to the sacred symbol, my breath catching when I feel the new stitches. It's been re-stitched. The Flame... it was taken from me.

And I'm still alive.

'Breathe, Heda. You'll get your answers soon enough,' Wyn promises me, sensing my panic.

'I'm not the Heda,' I snap. 'Am I? And this...' My hand returns to my stomach, and I point out the blood. 'What is this?'

'I don't have the answers to all of your questions.'

'Wyn – tell me! Tell me something!' Despite my pain, I push myself up until I'm sitting, the room spinning around me nauseatingly. 'Please!'

The woman sighs. 'You are no longer Heda.'

I blink at her, still touching the wound at the back of my neck. 'Then... the Conclave – who...? How did I-'

'The removal of the Flame had some adverse and unexpected effects,' Wyn explains uneasily. 'Titus brought you here to hide you. I suppose it would be dangerous for anyone in Polis to realize you're still alive.'

I swallow hard, staring at the woman. There's still a block in my mind preventing me from understanding what exactly happened to have had the Flame removed in the first place. My survival is impossible, and yet... here I am.

So who took my place?

'Wyn, tell me about the Conclave,' I demand desperately. 'Tell me everything!'

'You're too weak right now to-'

I shoot her a warning look, and she seems unsure of what to do. Maybe I'm no longer the Commander, but I still have power over her. And she knows it.

'You can't do anything about it,' she whispers.

'About what?'

'The Conclave finished before it began,' Wyn says slowly. 'Ontari kom Azgeda arrived... and she took the throne for herself.'

I let out a short breath of surprise, eyes widening. Something about her becoming Commander hits me with a sudden panic for Clarke, but again I cannot remember why exactly. The gaps in my memory are dangerously wide. I know for certain that the Flame would not have picked Ontari. It's impossible. Unless my spirit is no longer in it. Unless, upon taking it out, Titus failed in his job, and he has ruined the Commander bloodline.

'The Nightbloods,' I say quickly. 'What about Aden?'

Wyn shakes her head sadly. 'Their throats were slit in their sleep. All of them were killed.'

I feel as if I'm slipping down into a deep, dark hole. My vision tunnels, and I abruptly lay back on the bed again, staring at the ceiling and trying to come to terms with my current situation. Whatever happened to me, it's made me weak and given Ontari all the power of the thirteen clans.

No... twelve clans.

Skaikru are her enemies. She'll march on Arkadia and kill them all.

I'd tried to protect them, I think. Maybe that's why I feel so panicked. Some promise I made has been broken, and I have no power to bind myself to it.

'Lexa, I'll get you-'

'I'm not hungry,' I mutter. 'Leave me.'

Wyn is staring at me, but I shift onto my side so that my back is facing her. I have no time for talking or eating now. I need to think. After a while, I hear her footsteps leave the room, and I'm alone, wracking my brains to understand what the hell happened to me. Wanting to know how I ended up here and why I'm not dead.

There's one thing Wyn did not explain to me:

The colour of my blood is red.