Chapter Text
Ava thinks, sometimes, that her life began at seven. The years before that were just dreams of an idle, wanting mind. Did she truly have a mother? Or did she just dream of warm arms holding her and the sense of pressure against her skin? When life was dull numbness except for the slight feeling in her shoulders, the sense of sweat and a lumpy pillow she couldn’t control at the back of her neck, and the limp hair in her eyes was as immobile as her arms, it is easy to feel like everything that existed before was the dream. That the nightmare her life was was the only reality that had ever existed.
Ava holds as much as she can to the little things. The idea of attending university is so far from her. Hell, the idea of surviving on her own after she’s kicked from the orphanage is impossible. But making Diego smile? That she can do. She can’t move the hair from her eyes but she can piss off Frances and talk Diego or another of the orphans into flipping the page in her Popular Mechanics magazine. Or stealing another from the corner store by the school they attend. Or renting a book from the library for her to read.
Ava exists on the kindness of others and her only control, her only rebellion, is the kindness she gives to them. And if sometimes the kindness is cruelty, well, it’s not entirely unexpected. Ava has a good sense of people.
Most people pass through her life so quickly that they don’t realize it. She doesn’t always have proof of her good sense but she knows . Diego, whose been her longest-lasting roommate so far (at eight months), thinks it’s her family magic. His family magic is creating the scent of freshly baked bread whenever he draws bread. It’s led to a few late-night kitchen raids by their neighbours.
Ava’s less certain that her sense for people is family magic. It’s not exactly like she has any other options, as reliant as she is on other people, but to be aware of their moods and their character. Ava thinks she’s just particularly attentive. Up until the night she dies. She’s never seen Frances face the nights her prior roommates died. Ava can only see from the limited perspective of where ever her head is placed. The night Ava dies she sees Frances's face, sees how Frances fiddles with Ava’s medical equipment and she knows . Ava bites back every word and plea that fills her throat. Frances would care to hear them only to get some sort of sick enjoyment. Ava can’t say anything, not now when Ava understands. Her room is cursed and the devil that haunts her is named Sister Frances. She’d always known Frances was evil but had never thought to question how evil. It’s too late for her. Even if she shouted her new knowledge loud enough for everyone to hear. It’s not too late for Diego.
Ava keeps silent as her thoughts slow, her eyes blink heavily, and Frances sneers one last time before leaving. Then Ava bites her cheek so hard she tastes blood and breaks her silence. “Diego,” Ava slurs frantically, “Frances killed me. You need to tell someone, Diego, you can’t let her kill yo u t o -
She wakes up, groggy, with a different off-white ceiling over her head. A different pillow beneath her head. Something is seriously wrong because Ava would swear she’s also in a different body. One that feels. One that moves .
She brushes her shaking hands against the rasp of the sheets and grins through the wet trail of tears down her cheeks. Ava doesn’t care if this is hell because it feels like heaven to her. Ava grips the thin sheets around her, shifting the weight she feels on top of her, and laughs.
knock, knock
Ava looks right (marvelling inwardly at her ability to reposition her head) to see someone dressed in scrubs come into her room. The woman smiles gently as she approaches and Ava gets the sense she genuinely cares. Not necessarily for Ava. More for her patients or for healing.
“Hello Ms. Silva, how are you feeling?” She asks as she checks on the various monitors around Ava’s bed.
Ava grins, bright and happy, “I’m feeling lots!” She crows victoriously.
The woman smiles brightly back. “That’s good to hear. Any pain or numbness?”
Ava tilts her head and thinks. Pain should stand out in her awareness but how would she notice numbness? Maybe a section of her body that feels normal? She lets her awareness spread over her body, twitching long unused muscles experimentally. Everything she can think of responds, everything she can notice feels . “No,” Ava’s tears are back and she feels more her than she has since she was seven. She missed herself terribly. “No pain and no numbness.”
“Excellent,” the woman says like it’s expected for a quadriplegic to feel no pain and no numbness. That catches Ava’s attention and draws her away from experiencing her body. “I’ll let the palace know.”
The words settle heavy in Ava’s ears and around her shoulders. Important in a way Ava doesn’t know yet. “The palace? Why?”
The woman raises a questioning eyebrow like the answer to Ava’s question was obvious. “Why? Because you are the Areala heir dear. Of course they'll want to know you’re recovering well from your ordeal.”
Ava’s stomach, newly reacquainted, drops.
*****
It turns out Ava’s unknown father was Queen Suzanne Masters’ brother. Her dad was the younger brother of the current head of the Areala family line. He was a reprobate and well known for ‘spreading the Areala line’. A polite way of having plenty of bastard children. Siblings that Ava never knew of and has never met. The palace (at the time his parents) had not cared as the only ones who had the family magic to any great extent were the ones publicly acknowledged as Areala’s. Largely the current head of the house, her heir, and a few extremely distant cousins.
It was the signature effect of the Areala line. That every Areala contributed a tiny bit of their personal magic into the line resulting in a sort of halo of light for those who bore the full family magic. A halo that enhanced the effectiveness of any other family magics the wielder had. Ava had learned some of this in school, along with the fact the country’s magic was geared towards enhancing the halo for their Queens. She’d also learned the current heir of House Areala was Shannon Masters, Queen Suzanne’s niece from her younger sister.
The people around her, loyal House Areala servants, carefully dodged every request, plea, and demand Ava had to find out why Shannon was no longer heir. They insisted her time was better spent ‘preparing for the mantle’.
It was a lie. She knew it was a lie because they knew it was a lie. Her Silva family magics were so much louder and more obvious with the power of the halo flowing through her. She knew something about why Shannon was no longer the heir was important to how Ava spent her time. That was the first strike. The second strike was when they insisted on training her but not on her inherited family magic. They trained her on royal courtesies and diplomatic talk. They said it was what she’d most need and she was confused for a while because they were both lying and not, something Ava had never been able to pick up on before. It took Ava a while to figure out that she would need training for this but she would also need training in her family magic and they knew that. The third and final strike was how they didn’t allow her to leave.
They let her walk around so long as she was accompanied at all times. By just a single nurse if she was inside and by a whole team of people if she dared step foot outside. Ava for sure hasn’t played sports since she was seven. She can’t remember playing any before then. But even Ava knows it’s three strikes and then she’s out.
Ava runs.
For someone who has never run for twelve years she’s damn good at it. It helps to be able to run through walls. At least, she can run through the thin walls of her recovery room. The walls around the palace itself are far too thick for Ava to run through. Her trainers had been sure to point this out to her. Ava’s only true avenue of escape was through one of the gates. The heavily guarded and monitored security gates.
Ava can heal now. Even damaged nerves that should never be able to heal. She’s not sure if she can heal gunshots quick enough to actually escape. Ava's snuck out for three nights now to watch who is allowed through the gates and when. It’s her same plan tonight but tonight is different. There are far more cars coming in than normally happens after dinner. The cars look unique, not in shape but in the little flag they fly. It’s not the Areala flag. She doesn’t recognize it on sight but she knows enough by now to know that those cars aren’t spending the night. She could sneak into one and hide away while being driven through the security checkpoint. It would be easy.
The temptation grows until Ava sneaks down (as stealthily as she can with magic that lights up her back with a halo every time she uses too much). She’s just about to dash past the entry door, towards the grouped cars, when they bang open. Ava drops down into the dark on instinct. A man comes out.
He’s handsome enough, thick muscled shoulders slightly slouched, hair dishevelled, intense brown eyes. Ava knows enough about fashion to tell that he’s well dressed if a bit sloppily so. Ava knows at a glance he’s selfish and vain. If she approached him for help he’d do so only if it benefited him. He’d stop helping when it stopped benefiting him. At another time, perhaps when she already had her freedom and wouldn’t be dependent on him for anything, Ava might be tempted. He is, at least physically, quite attractive. Ava would rather risk it on her own than trust him with her very freedom hanging on the balance. So she watches silently as he storms in a circle ranting to himself.
A car is heading in their direction. The man runs his hand through his hair. “This is fucking bullshit,” he growls as he kicks at a rock. “Like it’s my fucking fault their dyke heir had to step down!” Ava knows he’s not really lying but she’s more interested in what he just said about Princess Shannon. “These ungrateful Areala fucks, they need me!” He rants and Ava’s slightly concerned that he feels mostly truthful about that statement. “They don’t get to whine and complain when I’m the one bailing them out of the fire. They should be thankful I’ve agreed to marry their precious hidden heir!” He stomps some more but Ava’s heartbeat is ringing too loud in her ears for her to care.
She’d wondered why it was so important she stay here. Ava had known it went beyond them wanting an heir, wanting to make her their queen. Now, here, this man was the reason. She recalled reading somewhere that Princess Shannon was set to marry the Prince of the Tonterri kingdom. The same Prince she saw now throwing a tantrum. Ava knew he was being honest about him having agreed to marry the Areala heir. Her. Her aunt and family had sold her to this spoiled child and hadn’t even had the courtesy to tell her.
Ava feels golden anger sparking through her veins and grits her teeth. The car pulls to a stop in front of the Tonterri Prince and he yanks the door open while shouting at the driver for taking so long. Ava watches with rage dark eyes as the car heads down the road. She’s distracted from her watching when the entry door opens again.
***
The meeting was an absolute waste of time. Beatrice had known it would be when she was told to attend. The Areala House had legitimate concerns about Ben’s promiscuity and failures of leadership. Her parents had nothing but displaced blame to placate them. They’d started the meeting by blaming Beatrice for Ben’s lack, ignoring that she’d been on the front lines for most of the last year and thus unable to rein him in. When that failed to convince House Areala they had twisted the meeting into discussing their concerns about the Areala’s hidden heir.
It was legitimate concern that the heir the Areala’s had assumed was their heir, in fact, was not. It was also pointless to argue about because the Arealas could do nothing to change it. They'd used their one opportunity to do so in acceding to her father's demands that Shannon not be the heir. Nor could either side change the arrangement their ancestors had set down in a magically binding contract five generations ago to advert war. Both kingdoms were equally bound, equally unable to escape the joining of their families and their holdings that was imminent. Beatrice blamed her father for this situation personally. He’d only escaped marrying Queen Suzanne by finding a family with magic that would enhance their own line. The singular exception for age-paired heirs executing the arranged marriage to blend their kingdoms. Even that had not been truly successful as the contract had enforced Suzanne’s inability to marry anyone except the Tonterri heir.
Beatrice was glad for Shannon. She didn’t know the other woman well but she knew Shannon would have done her duty to her country. If Beatrice’s parents hadn’t insisted Shannon step down as heir after they discovered Shannon was gay. They’d played one of the only cards they had and their current complaints about not knowing the new Areala heir fell on deaf ears. Both kingdoms spend longer arguing than anyone wants to, getting nowhere. Until Ben decides he’s had enough. He storms out of the room more like a petulant child than the next King of their lands.
Beatrice stands while the door is still banging shut behind him. “Apologies, your majesties,” Beatrice nods to Queen Suzanne first before nodding to her own parents as protocol dictates. “I believe my presence here has become unproductive. I’ll see myself out.” She doesn’t ask to leave. A generous person would say it was because she was an adult, a respected soldier, and perfectly capable of deciding how she spent the night herself. Her parents would say she should go after her brother to soothe him and control the bender he’s no doubt going to go on, as they presume she is doing. She’s not. Beatrice fully intends to go home, to her small estate just outside the Areala capital, where she can pretend she’s no more politically important than any other general.
She sees herself out with a measured pace that should allow Ben to be gone by the time she leaves. Beatrice opens the door in time to see his car drive off and allows herself a smug smile at her excellent timing. She barely has time to process her success when she’s distracted by a light flickering just to the left of the doors.
There’s a young woman there.
She’s got short brown hair, tan skin, and her eyes look almost black in the semi-darkness. The flicker of light is a dying glow coming from behind her, gone before Beatrice even fully processes it. Both her hands were semi-raised and open between them, a clear gesture of vulnerability. She’s wearing a plain black T-shirt and grey sweatpants. Her feet are bare against the cold stone and she looks as startled as Beatrice feels. She’s gorgeous and Beatrice is as distracted by that thought as she is by the woman’s sudden unexpected appearance.
“Save me,” the woman blurts. It looks like the words came out on their own given the slightly betrayed expression on her face.
Beatrice blinks. Surely she didn’t hear that right.
“Please,” her voice is high and soft. Earnest. “Save me.”
Beatrice hesitates. How damning her hesitation is. They’re in the Areala palace. Only thoroughly vetted people are allowed in and almost certainly no prisoners are allowed to leave. If this girl is their captive there’s likely a good reason for it. Taking this girl away might start a war that five generations of House Tonterri have tried to avoid. Beatrice could be responsible for starting that war. It’s unacceptable. Without question. So why is she even thinking of it?
“I just want to live.” Her sad eyes are burning into Beatrice, laying Beatrice bare. Her protective walls crumble in front of the woman’s pleading.
Beatrice closes her eyes, slowly, resigning herself to this insanity. “How unseen do you want, or need, to be?”
The woman bounces a step closer, excitement clearing the sadness from her features like sunshine after rain. “No one can see me.”
Headlights flare off Beatrice’s jacket as her driver pulls around. She takes a half step forward, pressing the woman between herself and the wall with her back to her driver. Her driver climbs out to open the door and Beatrice interrupts him. Her back is facing him and she hopes she’s covering the woman in front of her with her body. “Private Jordan, I’m feeling a bit peckish. Would you please run inside and ask the kitchen for a snack?”
“Of course, Sir,” Private Jordan agrees immediately. If he thinks this request is odd he makes no move to verbalize it.
“Thank you Private. I’ll seat myself.” Beatrice says. She listens as Jordan goes inside. The woman is shorter than her, looking up at her through her lashes. His boots crunch against the gravel and scuff the pavement. Their breath is mingling in the air between them, close enough that if they both inhaled at once their chests would touch. The door opens with a whoosh and closes softly behind him. “If you will, my lady,” Beatrice gestures to the car.
The woman snorts indelicately and Beatrice should not find that as charming as she undeniably does. “Yeah, I’m no lady. I’m Ava.”
“Ava,” Beatrice repeats just to feel Ava’s name in her mouth. Ava shivers, the fine hairs on the back of her arms standing up and Beatrice realizes how cold it is to be standing barefoot in only a t-shirt. “I’m Beatrice,” Beatrice steps around Ava to open the car door and gestures for Ava to enter.
Ava bends down to look in the car, murmuring “Beatrice” in a way that makes her body clench.
The car is bigger than the typical sedan-style cars but smaller than any other her family arrived in tonight. There’s space enough for Ava to sit beside her. If Ava does not only will Jordan see Ava, so will security when they’re exiting the compound. “You’ll have to hide or security will see you when we drive out,” Beatrice explains. “I would prefer you be buckled but if getting you out without being seen takes priority then I’m afraid we must concede some safety. Private Jordan is a diligent driver and the vehicle has the latest magi-tech protections so it shouldn’t be too much of a risk.”
Ava looks around the bench seat that takes up the back of the car and the open space in front of it. “Where, exactly, am I hiding?”
Beatrice flushes and is thankful that the dark of the night hides the evidence from Ava. Beatrice slides past Ava to sit in the middle of the seat. She spreads her legs wide, resting her foot furthest from Ava on the wall across from her. Beatrice picks up a thick blanket and gestures shyly between her legs.