Seven Crowns (Bellaton Book 1)

by E. V. Everest

  She would never drink again. What did Hugh see in the stuff? She fought the urge to vomit.

  Ophelia stood with one hand on the door, blocking Adam from entering. Adam loomed in the doorway.

  Ana needed to put an end to this. The Fleurs had been nice enough to let her stay, and she didn’t want to create a scene. Plus, she wanted to go back to bed. “What do you want, Adam?” she demanded.

  He looked up and saw her poised by the metal railing. His eyes drifted over her messy hair and bare legs, and he swallowed. His white hot anger extinguished. “Ana, can’t we talk? Please.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about.”

  Adam’s anger returned. “Nothing to talk about? Are you kidding? You walked out on me in the middle of the ball.”

  “You deserved it.”

  “And who was that guy? The one you danced with?”

  Ana was silent.

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m not leaving until we talk. Get dressed. We can get lunch, or, well, breakfast for you.”

  She came down the stairs a few paces. So, the shirt made him uncomfortable. Good. He deserved to be uncomfortable after what he had done. He had used her. She tossed her hair over her shoulder and paraded down the stairs.

  “You want to talk. Fine. Talk.”

  The great Adam Rockwell struggled for words. Finally, he cleared his throat. “When you went out in the city, I was worried. It’s not safe to go out alone.”

  “I don’t need a babysitter, Adam. Or a fiancé,” she added.

  His face fell.

  For a moment, she felt horrible too. She liked Adam. No, she corrected herself. She used to like Adam. Now she knew nothing had ever been real. Everything between them had been one long calculated play by the Rockwell family. She had to cut him out completely. She couldn’t afford a chink in her armor. Not here in the capital with the council close at hand.

  Adam’s expression resolved into a mask of veiled neutrality, the diplomatic face he used for teachers and adults. “Fine. I guess I’ll be going then.” He turned his back and walked toward the door. “Have a nice life,” he added.

  “Right back at ya,” she yelled.

  27

  Samuel

  Ana and Ophelia decided to return to the academy early. Ophelia needed to tend to some plants, and Ana wanted to get as far away from the capital as possible.

  The campus was empty. Most of the students wouldn’t return until after the New Year. Ana was glad for the solace. It gave her time to think.

  She had screwed everything up, royally.

  She no longer trusted Adam. She had ruined her friendship with Samuel. She had let her guard down. Now, she had until the end of the school year to show her family’s gift.

  The only upside to her current situation was the decrease in academy security staff. Ana found it easier than ever to come and go from the academy grounds.

  She spent her days wandering the town. She found a stationery store and purchased art supplies. She took to drawing and painting late into the night. Every night.

  Finally, her feet led her to the bakery. To Samuel’s doorstep. Did she dare ring the bell?

  The thought of facing him was terrible. She had replayed the moment in her head over and over. The loud, grungy bar. The alcohol pounding in her veins, making her feel invincible. Their faces inches apart. His breath on her ear. Her lips on his. And then the pull back.

  It was so embarrassing that she wanted to die. How could she ever look him in the eye again?

  She knocked anyway.

  Samuel opened the door a crack and upon seeing her, opened it the rest of the way. He looked more tense than usual, maybe even a little paler. She followed him silently up the stairs.

  Was all of this over her?

  He moved to sit in the windowsill. The window itself had now been blacked out with old paperback book pages, leaving only a faint glow of daylight trickling in. A small hole had been left in one corner.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” he said.

  Ana took a deep breath and burst out, “I’m sorry. I was an idiot. I should have never run into the city. And I never should have, you know, tried to kiss you.” She said the last part so fast it blurred together.

  He looked through the tear in the papered windows at the street below. His jaw clenched, and he stood abruptly. “You have to hide. Now.”

  “What?” she asked. “Samuel, I said I’m sorry. I—”

  “Now!” he roared. He grabbed her arm and prepared to drag her to the coat closet. Then he thought better of it. “Under the bed.”

  Ana started to protest, but then she heard the downstairs door explode open. “But Samuel—”

  “They’re here for me. Not you. Please,” he said. His voice shook. He was begging. Something she thought she’d never see.

  She crawled under the bed. She heard heavy footfalls echo on the stairs. The upstairs door splintered as laser beams hit it, and wooden debris rained down in the apartment.

  From under the long bedspread, she watched it all unfold.

  Samuel didn’t run or hide or even flinch. He stood stock-still in the center of the room as he was surrounded. Resigned to his fate. Ana couldn’t help but wonder, Did he know this moment was coming?

  The men and women who captured him did not wear the dark green of the Bellaton military. Instead, they wore all black with no insignia. Were these the secret police? The ones she had read about in the tabloid in the capital? She thought so.

  “Samuel Jacobs, you stand accused of treason. You will answer for your crimes in the capital. You have the right to family counsel.”

  One of the police snickered. “But I doubt that will help you.”

  Ana fought the urge to spring out from under the bed and plead Samuel’s case. But who would listen to her? Who would listen to an impostor?

  Samuel was muscled through the door and down the steps.

  As soon as they were gone, Ana ran to the window, hoping Samuel would escape. He did not. Samuel was pushed into a gunmetal gray helicopter. They lifted off.

  The streets were barren. Not a single person walked the cobblestone sidewalks. No, the townsfolk knew better than to get involved in capital business. But every single set of blinds had an eye peeking through, just like Ana’s.

  All united in their powerlessness.

  * * *

  It was hours before Ana had the strength to drag herself back to campus. She tried to walk as though nothing had happened, to keep up a calm facade, but she couldn’t do it. What if they came back for her? Samuel had said they were here for him, but who could be sure?

  She picked up her pace, glancing around the street and into the adjoining alleys. Then a thought hit her. What if they were waiting in her dorm? The campus was so empty, she could be taken, and no one would even notice.

  Madame Bali wouldn’t be back from the capital for several days. The only reason she had allowed Ana to leave was that Samuel was supposed to watch over her. She was alone now. There was no one left to protect her.

  She hid in the grove for over an hour, but she saw no signs of a presence on campus. As it began to grow dark, she gave up. She was cold. She was hungry. She was hopeless.

  What could she do against such power? If they were here for her, they would have her. Now or later.

  Her dorm was empty. She should have felt a sense of relief, but she didn’t. There was only one person in the whole world she wanted to talk to—her mom. But she wasn’t exactly available.

  Or was she?

  28

  The Letter

  Ana reached into her bedside table and pulled out her mother’s letter. It hadn’t left this spot since she had arrived on Bellaton. It was time to read it. She needed to read it. What if the letter contained some clue that could help Samuel?

  The envelope gave way easily. The glue now old and disintegrating. She took a deep breath as she looked down at her mother’s handwriting. It reminded her of grocery lists and birthday car
ds. A silent tear ran down her cheek.

  Dearest Ana,

  It is with deepest despair that I write this letter. If you are reading it, then I have failed you. All I ever wanted was to protect you. I am so very sorry. But if that terrible time has come, and you are reading this letter, then I must tell you my story. Our story.

  We are from a world far away but not that different from Earth. There is beauty and love there but also darkness and greed. Our family was powerful once, but our enemies were determined and ruthless. We were slaughtered, one by one, in a series of staged accidents, illnesses, suicides, and even outright murders. My family could not protect me, as I cannot protect you, though I will try until my dying breath to do so.

  When I first felt you move inside me, I have never been more joyful or more frightened in my life. I had never loved anyone more, and I hadn’t even met you yet. I knew that I had to protect you.

  Your father and I made plans to escape our world. On the eve of our departure, we were discovered. Your father held off the men, while I ran to the ship. When I reached the door, he was far behind. I was foolish. I would have waited for him forever, and we would have all died. But the pilot, a dear friend of ours, forced me inside the ship and sealed the door. I screamed and cried and beat at the glass. But to no avail.

  As the ship started, I watched helplessly as your father fell. They shot him in the back by people who were once his friends. My world fell away before my eyes, and I swore you would never known Bellaton and the heartbreak it holds.

  The man who raised you was that pilot, that dear friend. He had three young boys of his own and had lost his wife. He was eager to leave our world and its memories behind. Over time, I fell in love with them all. They became my sons, and though I will always miss your father, Gregory became a true partner.

  Please do not let this change your feelings. Family is so much more than blood. The boys helped shield our identity. No one was looking for a mother of four. Poor little Hugh was nearly ten when we arrived. His memories of Bellaton have been hidden.

  You are not alone. But above all, trust yourself. Trust your instincts. And be careful, little one.

  All my love,

  Mom

  At the bottom of the paper in fresher ink, her mother had added a postscript.

  P.S. I have entrusted Samuel with this letter. Listen to him. He will help you.

  Ana flipped the letter over.

  Nothing.

  How could there be nothing? How could her mom leave her with this bombshell? How could she keep so many secrets from her own daughter?

  Ana crumpled the letter into a little ball and tossed it across the room. An angry tear slid down her cheek. Why did she have to die? If the Halts could heal people, why was her mom dead? Why couldn’t she heal herself?

  The words of the letter echoed back, My family could not protect me, as I cannot protect you, though I will try until my dying breath to do so.

  Miraculous healing drew unwanted attention. Was it possible her mom died to protect her secret and their family?

  A part of her deep down knew it was true. The council said all the Halts had the gift. It was common enough to use as a litmus test.

  Ana was furious. How could she leave her alone? How could she think this was better?

  She thought of the long, terrible days in the hospital and the dark moments after the funeral when she thought she would never be happy again. She thought of all the stolen moments that they would never share.

  Her mom would never meet her first love, heal her first heartbreak, attend her high school graduation, celebrate her first job, dance at her wedding, or hold her children. Ana would never see her mom’s hair turn gray. She would never put up tacky decorations for her 50th birthday. She would never watch her live the full life she deserved.

  It was unfair. It was so deeply unfair she couldn’t stand it. She kicked the bed frame, and a puff of dust drifted into the air. It wasn’t enough. She picked up a pottery vase on her bedside table and threw it against the wall. It smashed into a million pieces, and she looked on with satisfaction. She knocked over a small wooden console table next, listening to the thud echo around the empty room.

  As quick as it came, the anger left her body, and she sunk down against the wall, sobbing. Finally, hours later, Ana crawled into the dusty bed and fell into a deep sleep.

  * * *

  Ana visited the little chapel at the end of the hallway. The one she never entered. The one with stone walls and vaulted ceilings. She sunk into the first pew and stared at the last shreds of daylight filtering through the skylights above.

  Ana cried. In a way she hadn’t at the funeral or even the hospital. She had never admitted to herself how angry she was at her mother. How abandoned she felt. She had felt too guilty to even acknowledge those emotions.

  Ana finally let herself mourn her mother—all of her, not just the good parts. She cried for the secrets her mother had left between them. She cried for her brothers who she missed deeply. She cried for both of her fathers—the one who had left her by force and the one who had left her by choice. She cried for Samuel who was also alone.

  “Momma,” she whispered. “I wish you were here.”

  I wish you were here to tell me what to do. To hold me and tell me everything is going to be okay. It’s been a long time since things were okay. I don’t know how to make this right.

  She cried until she could cry no more. Until there was nothing left.

  In the front of the chapel, there were candles of every size, shape, and color. She found matches on the windowsill. She lit one candle to say goodbye to her mom. She lit two for her fathers. Then, and it was probably sacrilegious, but she lit one for herself. For the wild, carefree little girl she had left behind. The girl she would never be again.

  She sat in front of the altar, her face in her hands, and watched the candles until each and every one burned out, leaving her alone in darkness.

  29

  Hope Floats

  Bright midday sun crept through the windows, but Ana couldn’t bring herself to climb out of bed. She pulled the covers up over her face.

  What was the point? She’d lie here and let this horrible new year start without her.

  An hour later, she heard movement in the rooms beyond. No one was supposed to be here.

  To her surprise, Zora entered the room and sat on the edge of the bed. “Ana,” she said in her soothing slow cadence. “Why do you sleep so late in the day? Do you not want to welcome the new year?”

  “No,” Ana said. She could feel her eyes start to water again.

  “Madame Bali sent me. She was worried about you. She told me what happened with Mr. Samuel.”

  Ana said nothing.

  Zora lay a gentle hand on her side. “I was wrong about him,” she said quietly. “He is a good man after all.”

  “Not that it matters,” Ana mumbled.

  “Of course it matters. Goodness always matters.”

  “I’m not so sure.”

  Zora cleared her throat. “Let me take you to the harbor. I think I know something that will cheer you up.”

  Ana didn’t think anything would cheer her up ever again, but she could see it was important to Zora. Reluctantly, she agreed.

  The sun dropped in the sky as they crossed the dewy grass. The campus grounds were empty. Most of the students were still at the capital. However, outside the gates, in the harbor beyond, a crowd had begun to form. Boys and girls chased each other across the docks, shouting and playing. Men and women clasped hands and greeted their neighbors.

  As the last shreds of daylight began to fade, the townsfolk took out parchment and began to write on it. Then they folded each piece into a paper boat.

  “What are they doing?” Ana asked.

  “Here,” Zora said, pulling several sheets of thick parchment paper and some pencils from her coat. She handed them to Ana. “It’s tradition. Write your prayers to the angels.”

  “Do you really belie
ve in angels?” Ana asked.

  “Do you not?”

  “If there are angels…why would they let my mom die?”

  “We all must die someday. Without endings, there are no beginnings. We humans need bookends. Just because we don’t understand the plan doesn’t mean there isn’t one.”

  Ana folded two boats. One for her mom and one for Samuel. A few teardrops fell on each, and she wiped her eyes.

  “A few tears will not harm these boats,” Zora assured her. “The ocean likes salt.”

  * * *

  As the sun set, the locals began to pass out candles.

  An old man approached them. He inclined his head to each of them and grasped Ana’s hands in his gnarly ones. “A light to keep out the darkness,” he said.

  “I’m going to need a bonfire,” Ana muttered.

  The man locked his watery eyes on hers. “May peace be with you. Through good times and bad too.” He inclined his head.

  Ana mimicked the gesture. “You too,” she added.

  He handed her a candle and repeated the blessing to Zora.

  Neighbors visited and wished each other peace and wellness in the new year. The light of the candles was passed from neighbor to neighbor until the crowd was bathed in the warm glow of candlelight.

  Little tealights were placed in the paper boats, and they were lowered into the water. To Ana’s surprise, none sank. They moved forward on an unseasonably warm wind, bringing glowing warmth to the dark night.

  A gentle, quiet melody broke out among the crowd. It felt achingly familiar. And across the water, voices multiplied, joining in their song. Ana squinted into the night sky. There was no land for many, many miles. There were no boats either, other than the tiny paper ones.

  Zora whispered in her ear, “Do you hear them? Do you hear the song of your people?”