Mark of Betrayal

by A. M. Hudson

  “You always disappear from your own head. A part of me wonders if you might actually be gone—maybe you have no recollection of it when you return.”

  I looked down at the backs of my hands, then my wrists and up the length of my arms. “I remember a dream I had once—where I felt my soul pull away from my own body, and when I looked back, I was watching myself sleep.”

  “Exactly.”

  I nodded. “Wow. I might try to do that a little more often.”

  “No.” He grabbed my wrist, his eyes wide. “Don't. We weren’t sure you were going to come back.”

  “I’ll always come back.” I slid my wrist through his grasp until my hand fell into his. “As long as I have you to come back to.”

  His fingers closed around mine. “And what if you didn't? What if, say…Drake killed me—what then?”

  “Then I’d kill myself and come after you.”

  “What if you had a child to care for—our child?”

  I thought about that for a second. “I…”

  He smiled, looking off to the wall across the room. “Good thing we don’t have to worry about that, right?”

  “Yeah,” I said shakily and laid on his chest, stuttering a little as I noticed my wedding ring—back in place. I wondered if Jason had given it to David—told him he took it off me, or if he just slipped it on when no one was looking. “Sure is,” I finished.

  Emily skipped into the throne room and held up her mobile phone.

  “What?” I frowned at her.

  She pointed dramatically to it, mouthing some word with a round sound between two short mm’s.

  “M…m…Mum?” I jumped up off my throne. “Is that Vicki?”

  She nodded.

  I waved my hands around in a criss-cross through the air.

  Emily nodded.

  “No,” I whispered gruffly. “I'm not here, Em. I’ll let something slip if I talk to her.”

  “Ara,” she said through her teeth. “You need to tell them the staying in Paris plan.”

  My shoulders dropped. “Fine. Give it to me.”

  She placed the phone in my hand, practically jumping out of the way after.

  I held it just by my ear and centred myself, taking a deep breath. “Vicki. Oh, my God, hi!”

  “Ara!” she practically yelled. “How are you? You didn't tell me Emily was on holiday over there with you. What have you been up to, when are you coming home?”

  “Uh—” I tucked my neck into my shoulders and walked back to my throne. “It turns out we’ve been having such a good time, we’ve…well, we’ve decided to stay in Paris.”

  “What!” she shrieked. “Why?”

  “David got a job, and I got accepted to university after I sat a test—even though I didn't finish high school, and—”

  “So the honeymoon to Paris that turned into a world tour, has now become permanent?” Vicki yelled down the phone. “Ara, we haven’t seen you since March. How do we even know you’re still alive? I mean, you ran out on your own wedding—” she softened her tone to a reasonable level. “Now, I understand that you realised your flight times were booked wrong, but you didn't even say goodbye, and now you're telling me you're not coming home?”

  “Vicki, I'm sorry, but David landed a great job. We’d be silly to leave now.”

  “Can’t you at least come home for a week? Just a week. I’ll pay for the ticket, and…”

  “Vicki. I can't. I'm starting school this week.”

  “But you don't even speak French.”

  “I do now—a little,” I lied.

  “Well, what does Mike think of this whole arrangement?”

  “He’s happy. He and Em have been keeping my house safe for me, and he made me promise to come for a holiday next month.”

  “Next month?” she asked softly.

  “Yes. I promise. But David's really happy about this job, Mum. It could mean setting us up for the future.”

  “Well, I don't like it,” she muttered.

  “I’ll be fine, Mum. David and I are happy, and I really love Paris. I’ll come home in a month, okay?”

  “You’d better.”

  “I will. So, how's dad’s conference been going?”

  “He almost didn’t go, since we hadn’t spoken to you in a while.”

  “But he always goes.”

  “I know. That’s how worried we’ve been.”

  “I'm sorry. I just lose track of time here; it’s so lovely and there's so much to do.” I looked around the empty courtroom. “I’ll take more care to call, okay. But I better go. I have to be somewhere in ten minutes.”

  “Okay. Well, you take care then, and keep sending emails or letters. I’ll be checking the post daily.”

  “Sure, Mum. I will. I promise.”

  “And tell Emily to take a picture of you holding a sign with the date on it to prove you're not just a voice recording.”

  “Okay.” I laughed.

  “Bye, Ara-Rose, and say hi to David for me as well, send him our love.”

  “I will. Bye.” I hung up with my thumb and glared at Em.

  “I'm sorry.” She shrunk. “She’s been calling my phone for, like, a week, leaving panicked messages ‘cause she can never reach you on the number you gave her; she said she was going to call the police. I didn't know what to do. I answered the next call, and I panicked—told her I was in Paris.”

  “Well, she’s going to figure out the truth when she checks her phone records, Emily. That wasn’t an international call.”

  “I know.” Emily winced. “I'm sorry.”

  “It’s okay.” I pulled my phone from the pocket of my light denim jeans. “I’ll get David to take care of it.”

  “I'm really sorry, Ara.”

  I shook my head, resting the phone to my ear. “Like I said, don't worry about it.”

  The Upper and Lower House filed into the courtroom and took their seats. I nodded to each one, keeping the phone to my ear, then looked at Emily. “He’s not picking up.”

  “You could send Jason,” she suggested.

  “Okay.” I hung the phone up and dumped it in my pocket. “Go tell him, please.”

  “Sure.” She bowed, then stopped. “Uh, I mean, yes, Your Majesty.”

  I smiled, shaking my head.

  “Morning, Queen Amara.” Morgaine bowed as she passed.

  “Morning, Morg.”

  “Where’s soon-to-be King David?” she asked.

  “He’s on a conference call with the FBI,” Walter said, without even looking up from his notepad.

  “Oh, right.” She slapped a palm to her head. “Forgot about that.”

  “Not hard when you have half a brain,” Blade scoffed, pushing past her.

  “Shut up, Butt-face!”

  I watched Blade walk over and sit down at the council table, then looked back at Morg. “Things didn't work out?”

  “No,” she said quietly, hugging herself. “Turns out he’s just a big fat jerk like the rest of the men around here.”

  “Hey!” Mike scoffed as he walked in.

  Morg smiled at him. “You don't count, Mike.”

  “What, as a man or as a jerk?”

  She bumped him with her elbow and they walked over to the table together.

  “Ara?” Emily stood behind me, her arms behind her back, her eyes to the ground.

  “Yeah?”

  “Jason’s taking care of that thing for us.”

  “Good.” I turned away and readied myself for Court, half noticing Emily walk off quietly and take her seat beside Blade.

  * * *

  “Ara?” Jason called as I reached the front door. “Wait up.”

  “Did you take care of the phone issue yesterday?” I asked, opening the door.

  “Yup. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” He followed me outside. “Where are you going?”

  I held up my book. “To the fountain; peace and quiet time.”

  “Why the fountain?” He frowned.

&
nbsp; “I like the sound of running water—it’s soothing.”

  “Oh. Okay. Well, can I sit with you for a bit?”

  “That kinda defeats the purpose of peace and quiet.”

  “I won’t talk.”

  “You just said you wanted to talk to me about something.” We stepped off the porch step into the hot August sun. “So what’s it going to be? Talk or quiet?”

  “Is something wrong, Ara?” He stopped walking. “You've been pretty cold to me today.”

  With a short huff, I sat on the edge of the fountain, setting my book down beside me. “It’s nothing. I'm just a little moody.” Itchy was the right word. I scratched my hip. “Anyway, what did you wanna talk to me about?”

  “Emily.” He sat beside me.

  “Emily?”

  “Yeah. She was crying last night.”

  “Why?”

  “She feels really bad about the phone call. She thinks you’re mad at her.”

  “I'm not mad.”

  “You're moody,” he offered.

  “Yes. But not at Emily.”

  “Well, she has this way of beating herself up for things that aren’t her fault. No matter what it is, she will trace a situation backward until she finds some way she can be to blame. You need to talk to her.”

  “Okay. I’ll go now.”

  “Wait.” Jason grabbed my wrist as I stood. “There's something else.”

  “What?”

  “I—I feel like I haven't seen you since you woke up from the mini coma the other day.”

  “Jason?” I huffed. “That was four days ago.”

  “I know, but four days is enough for me to feel like I haven't seen you in four years. Can we hang out this afternoon—maybe watch a movie or take a walk together?”

  “No,” I said quickly.

  “Why?” Jason stood up as I walked away.

  “Because it’s inappropriate.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I'm married.”

  “You were married before,” he called.

  I stopped and turned back to face him. “I know, but the people didn't know that.”

  “So you're breaking up with me?”

  “We were never together.”

  He stood quietly for a second, shaking his head. “How am I supposed to react to this?”

  “I don't care.” I turned away.

  “Yes, you do. Don't do that.” He grabbed my wrist again. “Don't pretend you don't care.”

  “Let go of me, Jason.”

  “Please, Ara. I know this is hard. I know you’ve never had to deal with having David and I in the same world, but if you just cast me aside now he’s back, I…” He swallowed, his brow furrowing. “It hurts.”

  “What did you expect, Jase?”

  He dropped my wrist, closing his eyes. “I didn't think that far ahead. I guess…I just liked it better when David was faking dead.”

  “Well, he still would be if I hadn’t gone diving off a lighthouse.”

  “I know,” he said, exhaling. “I just wish I could rewind time.”

  I sat down on the porch step, sweeping my skirt under my legs to hide my undies. “And what would you do differently, if time travel were possible?”

  “I’d make sure I was standing in the street by that phone booth the night you called your mum.” He stepped closer and squatted down in front of me, the height of the manor shading us from the sun. “I’d take the phone from your hand and hold you close—tell you everything would be okay. Then I’d drive you home and see you every day until I asked you to marry me—and you’d say yes, because you love me.”

  I let that play out in my mind—how different my life would be if I had never made that phone call. But my eyes snapped open again to the hot summer of reality. “You can't say that, Jase.”

  “Say what?”

  “Say that you think I love you. I can't let that be true. I'm sorry.”

  He opened his mouth to speak, closing it at the sound of gravel crunching under tyres.

  “Who is that?” I asked.

  “Post.” He stood up.

  “That's not a postal van.”

  “It’s unmarked. That’ll be official mail.”

  “Oh.” I walked beside Jason to the van.

  “Hey there.” The delivery guy jumped out and smiled. “Got some mail here from the First Order.”

  “I’ll sign for that.” Jason reached for the clipboard, scribbled his name and took the sack from the man.

  “Do they let just anyone sign for the mail?” I asked.

  He shrugged and handed the clipboard back.

  “Have a good one.” The driver tipped his baseball cap and jumped in the van.

  “Was he…?”

  “Human?” Jason grinned and set the sack down on the ground. “Yup.”

  “Wow. Don't see those much anymore.”

  “I see them at least every three days.” He threw the sack over his shoulder. “But they’re usually under my teeth, screaming for help.”

  “Ew!” I whipped the back of my hand across his chest. “That is really poor humour, Jase.”

  “Come on.” He laughed and stopped by the fountain to grab my book. “Let’s go sort this mail out. I’ll bet the letters your dad’s been sending are in here.”

  I looked at the sack; that was a lot of mail to sort. “It’d be easier if we could just have them sent directly to Loslilian.”

  “I know. But a part of keeping up a lie is putting up with inconveniences.”

  “It sucks.”

  “Not as much as being dumped because your girlfriend’s husband came back to life.”

  Each letter from dad said the same things; Sam’s doing well, Vicki bought something new to fill the empty space that used to be my bedroom, constantly changing it to be a room for some other hobby she couldn't stick to, and also told me about ‘Conference Season’—his annual fly-home-and-leave again period, where he’d give History lectures all around the country. He’d stopped asking so much when I was coming home, or if I was coming home.

  I dumped the pile of letters in my nightstand drawer and looked over at the dog sleeping on the settee across my room. He looked peaceful. I wasn't sure I’d ever actually seen Petey sleep before.

  As my gaze moved from the sleeping fluff-ball to the edge of my bed, something caught my eye; a thick, leather-bound book stared back up at me; it was small, like a diary, the aged leather brown and soft, with words in the ancient language embossed on the front.

  I sat on my dresser stool and thumbed the pages, looking up when Petey woke with a loud, whiney yawn. “Hey, boy.”

  He jumped off the settee, ran straight to me and snatched the book up in his teeth, dropping it to the floor by my feet.

  “What are you doing, Petey?”

  He pawed at it, his thick, heavy nails scratching up the ancient paper; I bent down to take it from him, but he turned his head, eyes sharp, growling at me.

  “Okay, fine. Do your thing.” I backed away, kneeling beside him.

  He came to a page showing several figures of various body parts—marked with patterns and runes, and sat back on his hindquarters, air snuffing from his nose in gusts. I studied his heaving chest and the little slightly discoloured patches of fur above his eyes that looked like brows.

  “You want me to see something on this page?” I said, knowing it was probably asking the obvious.

  He snuffed again, sitting tall like an army general. I rested my hands down by my knees and peered over the page; there were English translations of several Marks. I read each one, saying them aloud to myself. “I don't get it, Petey. What are you trying to show me?”

  He leaned across and nuzzled my ribs, biting at my top a little, making it soggy with his hot breath.

  “My rash?”

  After doing that sneeze thing that I’d come to conclude was a nod, he pressed his heavy paw to the page again, resting it over a picture of a torso. I shoved him off and leaned closer. “Now she wears the Mark
of Betrayal; the Cursed Rune of one who will eternally suffer the consequences of her own undoing.” I looked into the dog’s eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He stared me down.

  My brow scrunched, my eyes becoming small. “Petey, I don't get it.”

  “Where’s that beautiful girl of mine?” David said, coming out of the bathroom. “Ara?”

  “Down here,” I called, standing up. I went to grab the book, but Petey flicked it with his paw, sending it under the bed. “Enjoy your shower?”

  “Thoroughly.” David ran up behind me, scooped me into his arms and threw me on the bed, landing between my legs in nothing but a wet towel.

  “What are you doing?” I squealed.

  “Making love to my wife.”

  I giggled, pushing his hands off my ribs, trying to inch up the bed away from him. “Stop. That really tickles.”

  “I know,” he said.

  My body thrashed about under his, my face going tight with blood from all the laughing, and his fangs gleamed in the afternoon light, looking so white and sharp against those oh-so-kissable lips.

  He stopped then, and we both panted heavily, his sweetly-scented breath coming down on the bridge of my nose. “My coronation’s tomorrow,” he said, still a little puffed. “I want to make love to you now in case all the extra power affects my manhood.”

  I inclined my chin so my nose brushed along his, then kissed his soft, full lips once. “I want to, David, but I can't.”

  “Can't?” he scoffed, his voice high. “Can't what?”

  I rolled out from under him and jumped off the bed. “I…I can't have sex with you.”

  “Why?” He got up, too.

  “I'm just…not really in the mood.” I looked away from his eyes, worried he’d see I was lying. In truth, I just couldn’t risk falling pregnant to him until Arthur and I had done our deed with the turkey baster.

  “Not in the mood?” He pressed the back of his hand to my brow. “Are you okay?”

  I walked away and flopped back on the bed, huffing. “I'm just tired.”

  “Well—” He grabbed me from under the arms and slid me up to the pillows, cocooning me in the covers from his side of the bed. “Sleep. I’ll go take care of Court this afternoon.”

  “You can't. You haven’t been crowned.”