by Shari Cross
“It was never my job.” He holds my gaze, his eyes searching mine. “I’m sorry, Addy. I should have never spoken to you the way I did.”
“You meant what you said though, didn’t you?”
“No,” he responds firmly. “Gregory has never asked me to follow you. Being with you has always been my choice.”
“Then, why . . .”
“I said those things because I wanted to hurt you. And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
The look he’s giving me makes me desperate to move closer to him, to tell him I forgive him, but the uncertainty and pain I still feel holds me back.
“Why did you want to hurt me?”
He inhales roughly and blows out a trembling breath. “I don’t know,” he says quietly, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I guess I was afraid I was about to lose you and I let my pride get the better of me.”
“You could never lose me, Drake.”
He looks up, a sad smile on his face. “Well, that’s good because I honestly don’t know what I’d do without you.”
In this moment it’s as though there’s an invisible force in the air, pushing us together. The need to have his arms around me is overwhelming, and leaves me breathless.
“What about the girls?” I ask, and the intensity of the moment dissipates.
“The girls?”
“Yes. What about what you said about the other girls?”
He glances up and a playful smirk develops on his face. “Oh, that part was true. They really don’t like you.” A laugh escapes my lips before I have a chance to hold it back.
At the sound of my laugh he closes the rest of the distance between us, hooks one arm around my waist, and pulls me against his chest. I wrap my arms around his neck, inhaling the scents of mint, leather, and smoke. He continues to hold me, slowly running his hands through my hair.
“Don’t take it personally though, Addy. It’s only because they’re jealous that you get to spend so much time with me.” He laughs as I take a step back and push him away, but I laugh too, mostly with relief.
“Is that what you think, that all the girls in the village are desperate to spend time with you?”
“Of course they are,” he says with mock arrogance. For several seconds we say nothing and I watch as the smile slowly leaves his face. He reaches his hand out and tucks my hair behind my ear. I close my eyes and lean into his hand, letting the sturdiness of it calm me. “Will I see you tomorrow?” he asks as he drops his hand back down, leaving me startlingly empty and unsatisfied.
“Yes.” I open my eyes and watch him as he turns away and moves toward my open window. “But I still want to spend part of the day with Mary.” It’s true that I want to see her and talk to her, but I also want to protect myself. I have to stop needing him so much. Today showed me that. Because right now I know, without a doubt, that if I truly lost him, it would kill me.
He turns his head toward me, giving me a mischievous, dimpled smile. “She can have you in the morning, but in the afternoon you’re mine.”
He turns back to the window and climbs onto the open stone frame.
“You do realize that you can go through the front door?”
“Where’s the fun in that?” He laughs and jumps down before I can respond. He lands on the ground below and his footsteps fade into the night. I make my way across the floor and catch a glimpse of something reflecting back at me through the mirror. I turn and see my sapphire pin settled in my hair, just above my ear.
Chapter 8
HER
1 Year Later
Travelers, merchants, items from far away villages. It’s all part of the summer festival. Every year the event is something I look forward to. But, over the last few months, I have been dreading this day. Well, in all honesty, it’s not this day in particular, but what this day represents—summer.
Every summer knights from the King’s Schild travel to Faygrene. They speak to the young men about joining the Schild, enticing them with descriptions of our kingdom’s capital, Synereal—its spiraled streets and bustling market, the tall, ivory castle nestled amongst the trees, the glistening lake so clear they say it seems to be a painting of the sky. All of this is very enticing. The catch, though, is that most men who join the Schild stay in it for the rest of their lives, never seeing their families again, never being able to marry or have children of their own. This reality holds many back. It’s not that King Theoderic forces them to stay—he gives them the freedom to leave at any time—but most don’t choose this. They settle into their life in Synereal and enjoy the honor that comes with being a member of the Schild. They strive for knighthood and finish off their days protecting the kingdom.
At the end of last summer, knights of the King’s Schild came and spoke with Gregory. Gregory wanted to join the Schild then, but he was worried about leaving us, and especially about leaving Mary. He thought about it for several months, but I knew he was going to join. He has wanted to become a guardsmen of the Schild since we were children. We both dreamt of it. And here was his chance to turn his childhood game into reality.
Of course I was right, and by winter, Gregory was certain he would join. He ended things with Mary, and told me that, although he loved her, he couldn’t ask her to wait for him. Mary told me that she would have stayed with him until he left, but Gregory didn’t want that. Apparently he told her he didn’t want her to waste any more time on him. She cried when she told me and my heart broke for both of us.
Then, under the blanket of snow, summer still seemed far away, a precipice lingering in the future. Now it’s here, and he’ll be leaving in a little over a month.
The thought of his leaving devastates me, but I placate myself with the hope that he’ll eventually choose to return home, or that I’ll somehow have the chance to visit him in Synereal. Besides, I can’t be angry with him for following his dreams. If I were able to, I know I would, but being a woman comes with its own set of rules. I can’t leave on adventures, I can’t join the Schild. I wonder if Lady Berrenger had dreams of adventure. Maybe that’s why she left last year, never to return to the life she once knew.
I put on my black riding boots and turn toward the open window. Under the heavy branches of the tree I see Gregory and Drake.
The sight of Drake tightens my stomach with knots. Ever since our fight last year, it’s as though we haven’t fully regained our balance. We have days that are wonderful and easy. We fall into our friendship and it’s as natural as breathing. Then there are days where things become tense and unsure. And things have only gotten worse since I officially came of age a couple of months ago. Now there’s a tug of war between our awkward tension and his overprotection. I don’t know which one upsets me more.
I glare at them through my open window. Gregory has of course joined Drake in watching my every move. They always happen to be going where I am and, on the rare occasion that they actually leave my side, they seem to keep me in their line of sight. It drives me completely mad. Their constant vigilance is suffocating and insulting. I’m seventeen years old! I’m capable of taking care of myself!
Well, they can’t stay out there all morning. They’ll eventually give up and go into the market, and that’s when I’ll leave.
“Addalynne!” Elizabeth calls, running into my chambers, her body a blur of red and green as she darts in front of me and lands gracefully on my bed. She sits on the edge with her legs dangling in front of her, a hopeful smile spread across her innocent face. The top of her curly red hair is loosely pulled back with a star-shaped, emerald pin, leaving the bottom half falling around her shoulders in long, perfect spirals. I lift my hand up and play with the tips of my own dark hair. It’s usually straight and untamable, but last night Elizabeth convinced me to let her roll my hair in fabric. Now I have delicate curls blanketing me as well. They’re beautiful, but unlike hers, they won’t last.
“Do you like my dress?” she asks, as she stands and spins, letting the skirt flare out around her. At first I just see a beautiful g
reen dress, making her look like a rose, but as I look closer, I realize that it’s no ordinary dress, and I’m instantly pulled back into the memory it invokes; I’m twelve and struggling to pull an unconscious boy out of a river.
She stops spinning, but the skirt continues to sway at her feet.
“I thought it had been destroyed by the river,” I say.
“Mother fixed it up for me. It was always one of my favorites.” The look on her face makes it clear that she’s looking for my approval.
I walk over to her and plant a delicate kiss on her forehead. “You look beautiful, much better than I ever looked in it.” She’s taller than I was at that age; the top of her head already reaches my nose, and though she’s younger than I was when I wore it, the dress fits her perfectly.
“Thank you,” she says, while reaching out and brushing her hand along the material of my skirt. “You look beautiful today, too.”
I’m wearing the dress Mother made me for my seventeenth birthday. The top is a white blouse that falls off my shoulders and ties loosely in the center of my chest. A black corset that strings together gracefully down my back, is situated over the top. The skirt is dark green and falls to my feet, where I’m wearing black knee-length riding boots. It’s not my most elegant dress, but it’s flattering. The corset definitely emphasizes my curves.
I look back out the window and see nothing but the trees. “I’m sorry, Elizabeth, but I have to go now.” I make my way toward the door.
“Well, I was hoping I could go with you today,” she says quietly, her eyes pleading.
“Fine, I’ll take you with me, but I’m going to find Mary. Maybe you can find some friends to run around with when we get there.”
Crowds of people converge around us as we make our way into the market. Some people I recognize, but many are wealthy visitors; dressed in vibrantly colored tunics, dresses, cloaks and turbans. The summer festival always brings hundreds of people from other villages in Silveria to sell and purchase goods.
The vendors are set up outlining the square shape of the market, selling everything from cloth, armor, swords, shields, fruits, vegetables, grains, livestock, ribbons and jewelry. Faygrene’s permanent shops are a little ways behind them, their doors open wide as people pour through them as well. In the center of the market, minstrels are playing flutes, harps and violins. Their smiling faces are red, and shining with sweat. The walls of the market are draped with black and gold tapestries that are adorned with the Berrenger family crest: a winged lion.
Elizabeth and I continue to make our way past several booths along the eastern wall. We pass a toothless elderly woman, draped in a pale grey shawl that matches her thinning hair. Grains in every shade of brown and gold imaginable stand before her on a splintered wooden table. A smile contorts her face as we pass, drool slipping down the side of her open mouth. I smile back, but keep walking.
The next booth is selling chickens and goats. The chickens are held three to a cage and the goats are tied to the wooden legs of the booth. They look broken down, defeated. I wish I could cut their ties. My eyes land on their vendor. He’s sitting on a cracking, wooden stool with his back leaning against the stone wall and his legs propped up on the booth. One of his hands is resting on his dirt-stained, white tunic, which is barely covering his bloated stomach. The other scarred and weather-beaten hand holds a turkey leg to his bearded mouth. He chews on the meat and the grease drips down his face, dampening the strands of his light brown beard. His blue eyes follow me as I pass. I turn my head and move us diagonally to the northern wall of vendors.
The first booth we approach is filled with jewelry. Elizabeth stops to examine an onyx hairpin. Though it’s beautiful, I don’t feel drawn to the jewelry and want to keep moving, but Elizabeth could stay at this booth all day.
“I’m going to walk around. I won’t go far. Stay in the market,” I tell her. She nods, her attention completely absorbed in the gold, silver, and gems in front of her. I leave her with her decorations and make my way farther down the line of vendors.
A streak of light shines toward my eyes, momentarily blinding me. I turn and find myself captivated by the most stunning dagger I’ve ever seen. Intricate vines are carved into the delicate silver blade, making it seem as though they’re growing around the blade. The vining pattern continues on the silver handle, along with shining emeralds, shaped like green leaves. I reach my hand out and slowly run my fingers along the length of the blade.
“Careful. Though it looks delicate, it’s rather sharp.”
I glance up and find myself staring into the face of a young man with sandy blond hair and dark brown eyes. He’s very handsome and startlingly familiar. He gives me a flirtatious smile as he casually leans next to me, against the counter of the booth.
“Do I know you?” I blurt, without thinking.
The young man laughs while running his fingers along a spiraled shield. “No, but I know of you, Addalynne Troyer.”
“How do you know my name?” I ask, feeling completely caught off guard.
“My father has told me about you. He did a decent job of describing you. Although, I have to admit, you’re much more beautiful than I imagined.”
I feel the blush spread along my face and fight the urge to look away.
“I’m Charles Berrenger, Lord and . . .” he pauses and his face momentarily pulls with pain, but as quickly as it comes, it’s replaced with a relaxed smile. “Lady Berrenger’s son.”
I remember hearing about Lord and Lady Berrenger’s son. He left Faygrene thirteen years ago, at the age of ten, in order to be educated in the capitol. I was only four when he left, and have no memory of the boy he was, though Gregory may remember him.
Charles reaches out his hand to me. I place my hand in his and he slowly brings it up to his mouth. He kisses my hand, and keeps his brown eyes on mine, his gaze piercing.
“Well, that explains why you look so familiar. You resemble your father,” I say. Though he has his mother’s fair hair, but that’s not something I think I should mention. “But I thought you lived in Synereal.”
He releases my hand. I drop it down to my side and discreetly wipe the back of it off on my skirt.
“I did. But I finished my schooling and decided to return to Faygrene. I must admit, I’m beginning to think it was a very wise choice.” A sideways smile follows his words.
The sound of someone clearing their throat saves me from coming up with a response. I turn in the direction of the noise and see Drake standing on the opposite side of the booth.
“Ah. You must be the young man who owns this booth. We were admiring your craftsmanship. I’m Charles Berrenger.” Charles extends his hand to Drake.
Drake reluctantly turns his gaze from me and sets it on Charles. He stares at Charles for a moment, his eyes weary and somewhat dismissive, before finally reaching forward and shaking his hand.
“Drake Walton, and yes, this is my booth.” Drake doesn’t bother to mask the irritation in his voice.
Why didn’t he tell me he was going to have a booth in the festival this year? I open my mouth to ask him, but close it. Now doesn’t feel like the right time.
I stretch my hand back over to the dagger, my fingers itching to hold it, while I try to think of something to say to help break the heavy tension that has settled over us. Animosity is pouring off Drake, and it’s making me flushed and uncomfortable.
“How much is this dagger of yours?” Charles asks, his voice light and friendly. “This beautiful young lady is rather enamored with it and I would like to purchase it for her.”
Drake swiftly takes hold of the dagger and looks it over for a moment before setting his cold, green eyes back on Charles. “This dagger’s not for sale,” he says firmly, and he begins to flip it through the air, catching it by its handle.
“Oh, I believe everything can be bought for the right price.”
Drake continues to flip the dagger in the air, his gaze never leaving Charles. “Perhaps where you’
re from that’s true, but here in Faygrene some things can’t be bought, no matter the price offered.” He stops flipping the dagger and pushes it down into his belt, his arms crossing over his chest.
They stare at each other in silence for several long seconds. Charles’s gaze is no longer kind and inviting—it has turned cold and calculating. I’m half expecting them to begin comparing sword lengths when Charles speaks.
“I see.” Charles turns to me and plants a charming smile on his face while he reaches for my hand once more.
“Addalynne, it was a pleasure to meet you. I’m sure I’ll see you again very soon.” He raises my hand to his lips and kisses it again. But this time he’s not looking at me as he kisses my hand. He’s looking sideways at Drake, and his eyes are filled with an unspoken challenge. I’m more than relieved when he lets go of my hand, turns on his heel and walks away.
Drake’s eyes are on me when I slowly turn to face him and they’re filled with questions. I watch as the questions fade from his eyes, replaced instead by a distant look that sends shivers down my spine. He averts his gaze to the people behind me while brushing his hand through his hair.
“I thought you weren’t going to come to the market today. I waited for you, but you never came.” His hands move to grip the edge of the booth, causing the muscles in his arms to stand out, tense and firm.
“I wasn’t going to come, but Elizabeth convinced me and I brought her,” I lie, feeling guilty about deceiving him, especially now with that look in his eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me you were going to have a booth?”
“Maybe I would have told you if you would have stopped avoiding me.”
“I’m not avoiding you.”
He raises one eyebrow in question, but doesn’t pursue the topic. My half-hearted response tells him the truth. I have been avoiding him, but it’s only because I hate being made to feel like a vulnerable maiden in need of protection. And though I know he didn’t mean what he said when he had our fight last year, his actions continue to bring back those words. I want him to be with me because he wants my company, not because he thinks I need protection.