They never told me I was adopted.
They didn’t explain why or how.
They had pretended like my birth had been at the local hospital.
They acted like if I needed a passport I could just get one. They had taken me to the DMV with paperwork to get my license when I was sixteen years old.
Why hadn’t I looked at my birth certificate then?
Because it had been a non-issue.
Man, I wished there was someone to ask about all this, anyone who was still alive — my uncle, I needed to call my uncle and talk to him. Why hadn’t I called him since I knew?
Because I hated for him to lie to me.
I could ask Aunt Claray, she might know.
But then I had fallen asleep, forgetting that I was sitting upright in a chair, outside, facing the direction of the woods, making soldiers guard me because I wouldn’t go inside?—
My dream was a rehash,not as deep and scary as it sometimes was, a voice saying, “Och nae, lass, hold on…”
I felt, as I often did, a kind of loss, that this was repeating, this moment?—
a nudge on my shoulder and a voice —Your Highness…
Who was ‘Your Highness’?
It sounded like a whole another different person was wanted, but then again,Your Highness…
It was directed at me and startled me awake.
“Who… wha…?” I rubbed my neck, ow, that was a dumb way to…Your highness there’s been a?—
It was a soldier.
My heart dropped to my toes.
His mouth was moving, but my mind exploded. His expression looked concerned. It was bad news, a soldier was delivering bad news.
Someone was holding my hand. It was Aunt Claray. I looked at her face, worried, and back at the soldier — time had slowed.
“Did he die?”
Aunt Claray said, “Dear, Torin is injured but…” She was talking slowly, too slow, being too emotional.
I needed facts.
I looked up at the soldier, he was standing, he looked official, he looked like he would tell me.
“What? Tell me fast, is Torin okay?”
He said, “Your Highness, your husband has been injured. He is expected to stabilize very soon, Prince Maximillian and Colonel Larson are both critically injured.”
My mouth opened and closed. “Who’s Colonel Larson?”
Claray said, “That’s your Uncle Charlie, Alexandria.”
Farther away I heard the sound of boots on gravel. Engines roaring to life.
