Free Memory's Wake Omnibus: The Complete Illustrated YA Fantasy Series by Selina Fenech Page B

bruise was a small tattoo in rough, dark ink. Like a symbol for eternity with a swirl through the middle. Their wrists matched.
    Brannon turned his attention to his son. “Roen, all done?”
    “I just got back when I heard screaming and came straight in here. I have news for you. I will tell you in a moment, needn’t do it here.” He gave a single nod to his father, and their eyes locked.
    Eloryn stood back up. “News-?”
    Isabeth spoke straight over the top of her. “Come then. Let’s have you both dressed and fed. Then we can talk more.” She flicked her head at Roen and Brannon, who turned to leave. On his way out, Roen gave Memory an apologetic smile. He started to smile at Eloryn, but then bowed shortly to her instead, making the rose in her cheeks turn bright.
    “Have you any clean clothing?” said Isabeth.
    “No, but I can clean what we wore.” Eloryn continued to speak a string of musical nonsense. Their muddy clothes strewn around the tub wriggled to life. Dirt and filth shivered off them, shed onto the floor as though the fabric repelled it away. Torn holes in Eloryn’s dress drew closed, threads weaving themselves back together.
    “You couldn’t have done that yesterday? We looked like we’d just left a mud wrestling tournament,” Memory said.
    “I didn’t want anyone to see what I could do. I’m sorry.”
    “Right to be careful too,” Isabeth said. “Few people could cast a behest that complex, and those are just the people Thayl is trying to find. My, you’re good with your words though, just like your mother. But we’ll still need a dress for Memory.”
    “I can’t wear my own clothes?” Memory was dismayed. Her jeans and t-shirt felt way more comfortable than the tent she wore now.
    Slipping into her dress, Eloryn looked at her with pity. “They stand out too much; we already talked about this. But we’ll keep them, of course.”
    Memory watched how natural Eloryn looked in her dress, with her long flowing hair and pretty rounded shape. She guessed that was what a princess should look like. She imagined herself in a dress - bony, bruised, boy haired - and shuddered. She grabbed a bristle brush from a side table and made an effort to smooth her teased hair.
    Isabeth dug through an inlaid wood chest filled with clothing. “I may have something that will fit. Roen brings such lovely dresses for me, but not always just the right size. Still, it’s the thought that’s sweet. He’s done so well to afford to look after us how he does, considering. Maybe… No that won’t fit, scrap of a thing you are.”
    “I can just wear this,” Memory offered, motioning to the gown she had on without enthusiasm.
    Isabeth rolled her eyes, muttering in exasperation under her breath. “That is an under dress, dear. No, here, this is what I was looking for. We should be able to lace it down enough to fit you.”
    She pulled a simple rust-red dress from the depths, dusted it down and instructed that it should go over the under dress.
    Grumbling to herself, Memory took the dress and struggled to make sense of the laces, layers and yards of fabric. While Isabeth was distracted brushing Eloryn’s hair, Memory slipped the flick knife out of her jeans. She tucked it up into the binding sleeve of her dress, then stuffed her clothes into Eloryn’s bag. She pulled on her skater shoes, glad the long skirt covered them, and stood back up.
    Memory flinched, thinking there was a stranger in the room. It took a moment to realize she saw herself in the reflection of a gold framed mirror. There were things she’d gathered about her appearance, just from living within her body for the last couple of days, but seeing herself now struck her greatly. She was so little, slim-nearing-skeletal, smaller even than how she’d felt. She knew she was about the same height as Eloryn, but if Eloryn had an hourglass figure, she’d be a minute glass. She wished she had managed to eat something last night.
    She frowned,