Killian nodded and they left the station. He expected them to return promptly to the palace, but instead, Fedya led them deeper into the city. Killian didn’t complain, longing for more human contact. But he couldn’t help but notice that no one paid any attention at all to Fedya. Certainly they recognized him, casting quick glances here or there as he passed, but no one stopped him. No one spoke a word or so much as smiled. Killian kept his head down and walked a little closer to Fedya’s side.
But even as they picked up the pace, Killian couldn’t stop his eyes from darting around. They passed a large fountain with sculptures of oxen and maidens in the middle, a flock of pigeons coating the ground. The stores were all open today, the streets overcrowded with visitors and too many buggies and carriages. Doors were flung open wide, welcoming anyone and everyone inside, the sound of bells everywhere.
Killian recognized the chapel, and as they passed by he couldn’t help but try to sneak a peek through the cracked open door, catching a quick glimpse of the blazing fire.
He wanted to stay longer. At the chapel. By the shops. Anywhere. But Fedya kept walking, stepping briskly through the gray slush. Beads of sweat prickled at the base of Killian’s neck, but he didn’t dare remove his coat. Finally he glanced at Fedya. “Where are we going?”
“Away.”
The stilted tone in Fedya’s voice made Killian’s nerves prickle. He sucked in a breath and tried again. “Don’t you need to be back for the coronation?”
Fedya shot him a sharp glare, and continued walking without response. Killian clenched his jaw and quickened his pace, fairly certain Fedya wouldn’t care if he was left behind at this point.
They reached the middle of the town square when Fedya stopped on the corner of a curb. He clutched his coat tighter around him, but Killian had a hard time believing he was cold. Suddenly Fedya turned to him. “Do you want a real view of the city?”
Killian didn’t know what to say, so he nodded numbly instead. Instantly Fedya took off again, turning down another overcrowded road. They walked for a couple more minutes in silence before approaching the domed auditorium where Fedya had given his speech the day before. Killian glanced around nervously.
“Don’t worry,” Fedya said as he led them across the grounds. “There won’t be any Shielders here today.”
Without all of the crowds, the auditorium somehow felt smaller inside. Sacred almost, as though they shouldn’t speak or walk too loud. Apart from a few men and women polishing the brass fixtures, the room was empty.
Fedya took Killian behind the stage, to the back dressing rooms and up a flight of stairs. Though he knew it was irrational, Killian half expected a guard to pop out from behind a door and arrest him at any turn. But they were completely ignored, climbing higher until the stairs disappeared and they reached a worn-looking door.
“They used to store lights and decorations up here,” Fedya said. “But they stopped when the floor fell in.”
Killian hesitated as the wooden slats creaked beneath his boots. “Did they ever fix it?
“No.”
Fedya pushed the door open. It swung easily, its rusted knob hanging by a crooked screw. Killian glanced back down the stairs and crept inside after Fedya. The temperature instantly dropped, and a blast of cold air slapped his face. He squinted, burrowing deeper into his coat.
Everything was coated in a thick layer of dust; broken bulbs littered the floor amidst scraps of rope and chains. On the opposite wall, three round windows let in sunlight, the largest in the middle completely smashed in. Bits of red and yellow glass crunched beneath Fedya’s shoes as he approached and waved back to Killian. “Come on then.”
Killian eased toward the window and halted with a sudden gasp.
“Wow.”
The top of the city stretched out before him like a sea of white, red and gold. Everything glistened against the fresh snow, the palace an opus of candy-colored jewels. Gray horses pulled their buggies, as prim and delicate as toys, the flurry of skirts and bonnets encouraging the illusion.
Killian leaned in closer, and the crisp air burned his nose. He breathed in even deeper. It was more than a painting or a photograph. More than stories in his head or a name on a map. It was all real and living and right there in front of him. He couldn’t explain it, and maybe it was all a dream or a hallucination. Maybe he was dead. But it didn’t seem to matter anymore. He could taste it, smell it, touch it, and he wanted even more.
“So, do you ever plan on going back to them?”
Killian jerked back from the window with a start, and looked over at Fedya. “Go back to whom?”
Fedya shrugged. “Parents. Siblings. Whoever. Or did you not leave someone behind?”
The enchantment of the city disappeared and Fedya’s words rattled inside his skull. Maman. Melchior. Annette. He swallowed hard and wished he still had his cup of coffee, anything to occupy his hands. He wrapped them around himself instead. “I hope to return to them someday.”
Fedya nodded and glanced back out the window, taking a sip from his cup. Killian watched him, but he couldn’t look back out.
Had he forgotten them so easily? His family, his home? He didn’t belong here. He eyed Fedya carefully. There had to be a reason he was here, that all of this was happening. “Who was that woman you were talking to?”
“Hm?” Fedya paused. “Oh. Her name is Marina, she was my nanny growing up. I’ve known her for as long as I can remember.”
He took another long drink, but when he stopped, he sighed. Killian held back, watching as Fedya stared into his cup. Finally he shook his head.
“I know I shouldn’t talk to her that way,” Fedya said, but he was quieter this time, each word restrained. His grip tightened for a moment, his shoulders tensing. “But she wants to pretend like everything is how it used to be, when it’s not. It’s like she thinks if we all just ignore what happened then it won’t hurt anymore. Like we’re all just supposed to forget.” His eyes flicked back to Killian, sharp. “Why would you do that?”
Killian faltered. “I…I don’t know.”
“Are you ready to forget about your parents?” Fedya growled. “Is that what you came here to do? To get away from them so you don’t have to think about them anymore?”
A sickening lump balled in the pit of Killian’s stomach. He tried to swallow, but it wouldn’t work, and he shook his head. “No.”
“Then why should I?”
No words came out. Fedya turned away, slamming his cup on the windowsill, the amber liquid sloshing onto his hands. He didn’t wipe it away, hands balling into fists as he stared back out the window. His whole body trembled, and the swirling in Killian’s stomach began to creep to his chest.
He sucked in a slow, quiet breath, but when he looked back out at the rooftops he could still see Fedya, arms clamped tight, each breath sending tremors down his spine. He closed his eyes, and his mouth was dry. “I…”
His eyes flashed back open. Fedya hadn’t moved. He forced the words out. “I’m sorry about your parents.”
Fedya didn’t answer. Killian chewed the inside of his cheek, but he couldn’t move. Not yet. He shouldn’t have said anything, but it was too late now. He licked his lips, but instantly Fedya cut him off.
“It wasn’t quick.”
Fedya’s voice sounded like stone. Hard. Impenetrable.
“That’s just what we told everyone to make them feel better.”
Killian opened his mouth, but then Fedya closed his eyes and he let out a shaky breath. “The truth is they actually made it onto the boat. They boarded, ate dinner, slept, and less than twenty-four hours later, one of the engines was on fire.”
Fedya paused. Cleared his throat. “Even now they won’t give me details. Did they make it to a lifeboat, or did the flames get to them first? Either way, it must have been excruciating.”
Killian couldn’t move. His chest felt empty.
Fedya barked out a hollow laugh.
“She wants me to play a song for my brother’s wedding. Can you believe that?”
It took Killian a moment to realize they were talking about Marina again, and he blinked and shook his head, trying to wash away the image of Fedya’s mother and father’s final moments, but everything felt dizzy. “His wedding?”
Fedya glanced at Killian, one brow lifted. “You really aren’t from around here, are you?” he scoffed, but even as Killian tried not to fidget, Fedya only rolled his eyes. “Yes, the whole country can’t stop talking about it. It’s like they think a marriage will just turn back time, make everything how it used to be.”
Killian looked down at his hand, and for the first time he realized he was no longer wearing the ring Dmitri had given him the night of their engagement. When did he lose it? Had it ever been there at all since he’d woken up in Eskor? He couldn’t remember, and he glanced back at Fedya. He spoke carefully, trying not to sound overly interested. “And your brother’s okay with marrying him too?”
“Him?”
Killian’s stomach sank. Wrong words.
Fedya frowned and shook his head. “Are you talking about that prince? No, that washed out months ago. His mother wouldn’t agree to half our negotiations, something about her health. Personally, I just don’t think she wanted him to leave her.”
Mother. Killian blinked rapidly, but the tears sprang forth hot and stinging. He cleared his throat, hoping his voice wouldn’t catch. “Maybe she was sick.”
“Perhaps.” Fedya shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. It’s not as though Dmitri was ever very keen about marrying another man anyway.”
Killian’s cheeks burned. He knew it wasn’t personal, but that didn’t help at all to stop the heat from rising higher, scorching his ears. He leaned against the windowsill, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. His fingers wrapped around something soft and warm—the wax flower. “So, who is he marrying, then?”
“The Empress of Bruai Shia.”
The empress. Merav. Killian tried not to frown; he could have sworn she was engaged to someone else.
Fedya sighed. “I guess I should be thankful for that. He’s known her since before I was born, she’s practically lived half her life here and I know he cares about her.”
Killian lifted a brow. “But you don’t like her?”
Fedya shot Killian a dark look. “Of course I like her, didn’t you hear what I just said? I’ve known her like a sister, and she makes Dmitri happy. She’s the best person for him.”
“But you don’t want them to get married.”
“I never said that,” Fedya snapped.
Killian pressed in closer. “Then why are you upset?”
“I’m not upset.”
“So, why don’t you want to play at their wedding?”
Fedya’s jaw visibly clenched. He looked away from Killian, just for a second before he instantly bristled and looked right back.
“Dmitri marrying Merav isn’t going to make everything better. Just because the public adores them doesn’t mean they know any better than anyone else. It doesn’t mean they know how to be king and queen.”
Killian hesitated, and softened his voice. “But they can learn.”
“They wouldn’t have to if my parents were still here.”
His words strung between them, loud and flat. They swirled in Killian’s ears, over and over again until they lined with the crashing of his heartbeat. Fedya’s chest quivered with each breath, his eyes suddenly rimmed in red and glossy. His clenched his jaw, the muscles in his neck tensing, but Killian couldn’t say anything. His voice had gotten lost, his words meaningless.
Fedya loudly cleared his throat and placed his hands on the windowsill. He dug his nails into the wood and looked through the shattered window to the streets down below.
“Have you ever thought how it would be to start over?” he said quietly. “To wipe away everything, and begin all over again?”
Killian wavered, eying the window. “How do you mean?”
Fedya gripped the wood tighter and almost stood on his toes. He leaned further, closer to the edge. The cold wind whipped his hair back from his face, his eyes suddenly bright. Killian stiffened, but Fedya’s body was calm. “Maybe we all get a second chance.”
The windowsill creaked beneath Fedya’s weight. He leaned out more, the shattered glass scraping his shoulders.
“Fedya!” Killian grabbed Fedya’s arm, yanking him back inside.
Fedya stumbled back a step and jerked out from Killian’s grasp. “What?!”
Killian met his eyes, wild and unafraid. His ears rang, mind reeling in desperation. Fedya stared back, fists shaking at his side. Killian reached into his pocket, clumsily pulling out the half-melted wax flower, and shoved it into Fedya’s hand. “Here.”
Fedya stared down at it, frowning.
“You’re supposed to light it. I mean, you light it when you think about people you love, or…or when you want to remember them,” Killian stammered out. “It’s like a memory candle.”
“I know what it is.”
“Oh.” Killian felt light-headed, out of breath. Slowly Fedya turned the candle over in his hand before glancing back up at him. “Where did you get this?”
“I made it,” Killian mumbled, cheeks burning.
Fedya looked back down at the candle for a few more seconds before he slid it inside his coat pocket and cleared his throat. He avoided looking at the window, at Killian, and his eyes darted to the side when he spoke. “We should head back.”
Killian nodded, not trusting himself to speak. His nerves tingled, and he glanced back at the windowsill one final time. The indentations from Fedya’s fingernails lingered on the wood. Fedya’s footsteps echoed away, and he quickly followed him out of the room, shutting the door tight after them.
Instead of winding through the town square, Fedya cut through the rail yard. The palace loomed ahead of them, half concealed in thick emerald trees and powdery snow. The steam of the engines filled Killian’s nose, but when he closed his eyes he could still catch a hint of the fresh scent of baked bread wafting over from the platform.
Fedya walked on top of the track, balancing one foot in front of the other atop the rail. He didn’t say a word since they left the auditorium, and Killian just tightened his arms around himself, glad for it. But the hardness in Fedya’s final words scratched the inside of his skull.
He tried to remember when exactly Fedya’s parents had died. Had Fedya told him? Had Killian even bothered to ask? He kicked at a dirt clod. No. He wouldn’t have. Not before any of this.
A train whistle blew, jerking Killian from his thoughts. He glanced around and spotted a train puffing out steam on the opposite end of the track Fedya was walking along. “Maybe you should get off.”
Fedya glanced up, but only shrugged. “Its fine, it’s still far away.”
The train whistled again, picking up speed. The tracks began to vibrate, and Killian froze. Fedya didn’t stop, still walking straight ahead.
“Fedya…”
Fedya kept going. The train engine thundered. Faster. Closer. Straight toward him. The thundering shook the ground, rattled Killian’s bones. It was going to hit him.
“Move!”
Killian grabbed Fedya’s arm, yanking him from the track. They stumbled back and slammed to the ground, hard. He groaned, blinking hard as Fedya furiously shoved him back, kicking him away as he scrambled to his feet.
“What are you doing?!”
“The train is coming.” Killian panted, easing up to his hands and knees. “You needed to move.”
“It’s still far away!” Fedya waved at the oncoming train, still on the opposite end of the track. “What did you think I was going to do?”
Killian swallowed and stood up, his legs wobbling. “I…I don’t know. I just wanted to help you.”
He reached for Fedya’s arm, but Fedya shoved him back. Killian stumbled again, his legs almost giving.
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“I didn’t ask for your help,” Fedya snarled. “And I certainly didn’t ask for your pity either. I took you in, remember? I kept you safe, gave you a job.”
Killian nodded. “I know.” He couldn’t catch his breath. He remembered this conversation, they’d had it before.
“Good.” Fedya’s entire body shook, his face drained of blood. He looked up as the train rolled past, another ear-splitting whistle slicing through the air. He waited for it to pass before looking back at Killian, eyes narrowed. “I’m not here to make you feel better about yourself.”
Killian tried to speak but his mouth was dry, his voice cracking on his lips. “I never wanted you to.”
“Leave me alone, Killian.”
Fedya stepped back across the tracks, tightening his arms around himself. His words sliced through Killian’s heart, cold and poisonous. But Killian’s body bristled, a spike of something fiery flooding his veins.
“Fedya. Stop!” He lumbered across the tracks, still trying to steady his legs. “You can’t just keep running away from me like this.”
He knew Fedya didn’t know what he was talking about, but he didn’t care. The words poured out, faster than he could keep up. “Look what’s happened to us, look where we are. This isn’t a dream or a memory, it’s real, and it’s all happening for you! I don’t know how, but I do know why. Because this is supposed to change everything, it’s supposed to fix it all someway, and we need to figure out how.”
He remembered what Dmitri said, that very first night they met. “I know Fedya is skilled in pushing people away. I’m glad he didn’t push you too.” Killian’s pulse pounded his temples as he reached the other side of the tracks, his throat scorched as he panted in the frigid air. “Trust me for once.”
Fedya jerked away, eyeing Killian like he was mad. “What are you talking about? I don’t even know you.”
“Well, I know you,” Killian pressed on. “I know that you hide your fear behind anger, the same way you hide your hope behind doubt. You’re cautious and you like to follow the rules. I know that you love your family, and maybe now that they’re gone, you’re too afraid to let anyone else get close in case they’re taken away too.”
FAIRYTALE Page 21