‘No,’ she says firmly. ‘We’re friends because I want to be your friend. You’re one of the most awesome people I know and I love you to bits.’
I shake my head and nearly drop the phone from my ear. Her words hurt, more so because I really want to believe them, but I can’t ignore the facts.
‘True friends don’t lie to each other for ten years,’ I say.
‘I didn’t have a choice -’
A light knock draws my attention to the bedroom door.
‘Hold on a sec, Jen.’ I pull the phone away from my ear and go to open the door. Nan is standing there, on the landing and she looks a little upset.
‘Is everything alright, Nan?’ I ask.
‘I need to talk to you,’ she says.
‘Sure…’ I reply, and then say into the phone. ‘I’ll call you back later, Jen.’
‘But -’
‘Sorry, I really must go.’
I hang up on a protesting Jenne and focus my attention on my grandmother. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her come upstairs before.
‘What’s wrong?’
She perches herself on the edge of the window seat and pats the spot beside her.
‘We need to talk about this weekend.’
‘Okay..’ I take a seat next to her. ‘Is something special happening?’
Nan takes my hand.
‘Something very special, yes. Tristan’s parents are hosting the blood-promise ceremony for his cousin at their family lodge in Dalby on Saturday and I think it would be a good idea for you to attend with him. It will give you a chance to spend some quality time with your fiancé and you’ll have the opportunity to meet his family.’
I nod, unsure of how I feel. I’d love to see this ceremony that has linked me to Tristan but meeting his parents…
‘You’ll leave for Abbey Manor with Tristan and Kent on Friday and spend the weekend at his family’s lodge.’
‘Kent?’ I ask. ‘Isn’t one bodyguard enough?’
Nan drops my hand and sighs heavily.
‘That’s the other thing we need to talk about,’ she says. ‘I don’t know what’s going on between the two of you, Shaylee but you and Kael need to sort it out before…’ she breaks off and puts one hand over her eyes. ‘He wants Kent to take over your protection permanently.’
I stare at her.
I can’t fight you anymore.
Was this what he’d meant? The back of my throat closes up.
‘He doesn’t want to be my seastnan?’
My grandmother’s green eyes bore into mine.
‘It’s not that easy, Shaylee. Being a seastnan isn’t something you choose, it’s something you are born into and you can’t just throw it away,’ she says. ‘But I also won’t force Kael.’
I fling my ponytail behind my back and cross my arms over my chest.
‘Well that’s fine by me. I don’t need a protector and I don’t need him.’
Nan shakes her head and exhales loudly.
‘It’s no wonder he doesn’t want to be around you with that attitude.’
‘But -’
‘No Shaylee.’ Nan twists her body sideways to face me and grabs my chin with one hand. ‘Kael is your seastnan and nothing either of you do or say will ever change that, but for Kael’s sake, I’m going to honor his wishes – for now. Maybe some time away will make you appreciate him.’
Not likely, I think but I drop my eyes from hers and say nothing.
‘You’re just like your mother,’ she says. My eyes dart back to hers. I’m not sure whether it’s a compliment or an insult.
‘You’re my granddaughter and I love you,’ she says, ‘but you’re so damn pig-headed you can’t even see what’s for your own good.’ She stands up from the window seat and makes her way toward the door, pausing at the threshold. ‘You need Kael. The sooner you realize that, the better things will be for all of us.’
Chapter 31
Out of place
Tastes like: A strawberry in an Indian curry.
Smells like: Fresh bread inside a mechanic’s workshop.
Sounds like: Alternative music in an old-age home.
Feels like: The sand-paper tongue of a soft, furry kitten.
Looks like: A potato in a bowl of oranges.
The week passes in a blur and I find myself sitting in the back seat of Tristan’s beamer, on the way to Dalby. Kent lounges in the passenger seat, drumming his fingers against the dash in time with whatever music is blaring through his earphones.
There is an odd emptiness inside me that has grown this past week and I’m trying desperately to tell myself that it has nothing to do with Kael, but I know it’s just another lie. I’ve seen him only twice this week. On Wednesday, he’d walked into the Bistro where Michelle and I were having lunch. The minute he’d spotted me, he’d turned and left.
The second time I saw him, was in the rearview mirror of Michelle’s car. Since Kent still has to attend school, Jake and Nan agreed to let me ride with Michelle for the week on condition that Kael follows us in his truck. Every day, I have searched for him in the rearview mirror, but only once did I see him, driving discreetly a few cars behind.
At night, Kent has made it a habit of coming around to sit in the living room, watching those stupid comedies that he enjoys while I stare out the front windows at the shadows in the line of trees between our houses, wondering what Kael is up to.
Kent is fun and really seems to enjoy being on ‘protection detail’ as he puts it, but he is young…And he’s not Kael. I shake my head and try to divert my thoughts to the scenery that is flashing by.
‘You’re very quiet.’ Tristan observes. I meet his eyes in the rear-view mirror. ‘They’re not that bad, I promise.’
I give him a small, puzzled smile.
‘Who’s not that bad?’
‘My parents. They’re not easy to get on with, granted,’ he winks at me. ‘But I think they’ll like you.’
‘Oh?’ I say, relieved that he has put my silence down to nervousness about meeting his parents, but his words release a prickle of anxiety. ‘Will I like them?’
He grins. ‘You’ll love my dad. He’s funny, and a real gentleman.’
‘Sounds great, and your mother?’
His smile fades and he drops his eyes back to the road ahead. ‘Hhmm…we’ll see.’
An awkward silence falls in the car, broken only by the intermittent drumming of Kent’s fingers on the dashboard. The scenery flies past outside, evergreen and slowly becoming drenched in the steady rain that has begun to fall. The tap of the raindrops against the windshield is out of sync with Kent’s finger-drumming and seems to emphasize the unnatural silence in the car. I search for a ‘neutral’ topic of conversation and settle on the upcoming ceremony.
‘How old is your cousin?’ I ask.
‘Katelyn’s six months,’ he replies.
‘Isn’t that a little young?’
‘It’s the standard age for a blood-promise.’
I take in this bit of information with growing curiosity. I may have started this conversation just to break the silence, but I am very interested in what is going to happen this weekend. I’d like as much insight as possible into what I’ve missed from my own life.
‘Were we…was I -’
‘You were just under a year when we were promised.’
Tristan’s eyes meet mine in the mirror and I blush. It feels intimate to be talking about this ceremony with him, especially with Kent sitting right there.
‘And Katelyn’s, um…betrothed?’ I ask. ‘How old is he?’
‘Eight months.’
I glance at Kent, who is still sitting, eyes closed, bobbing his head to his earphones, then I ask Tristan:
‘Why was he chosen for Katelyn?’
Tristan glances at me in the mirror with raised eyebrows.
‘Well, he is of royal descent -’
‘No, I mean, why was he chosen? I mean, aren’t there others of royal descent to choose from?
Why him specifically?’
Tristan’s brows draw together as he studies my reflection.
‘There really aren’t that many of us, Shaylee, so the choice is very limited but - since the primary goal is the continuation of our line - the Tanistry tries to choose a boy who is healthy and closest to the age of the princess first. Then they start looking at peripherals like politics.’
‘So it’s the Tanistry who decides who each person should marry?’
Tristan nods. ‘Well, if you’re royalty, yes.’
I take my bottom lip between my teeth and glance out the window at the rain running down the glass.
‘It doesn’t bother you?’ I ask after a moment.
‘What?’
‘That you don’t get to choose for yourself?’
I meet his gaze in the mirror and see that look in his eyes again – the one that looks like hurt.
‘You’re not happy with the choice they made for you?’
‘No, it’s not that,’ I say, ‘I was just wondering. I mean…don’t you wish you had some say in your own life, in your future? Don’t you wish you could make your own decisions?’
‘I do get to make my own decisions.’
I shake my head and clasp my hands in my lap.
‘I’m talking about serious, life-changing decisions; like where you live, what you study and who you want to spend the rest of your life with.’ I sit forward and grip the back of his chair. ‘Don’t you want to fall in love?’
‘I do -’
‘No,’ I interrupt, ‘I mean real love; head over heels, heart-thumping, love. Not duty. There’s a difference.’
Tristan shakes his head and catches my eyes in the mirror. ‘I know what real love is, Shaylee,’ he says, ‘and it’s much more than the physical things you’re describing.’
I try to drag my eyes away from his face but I can’t. There is something so beautifully melancholy in the way he is looking at me.
‘You’ll see...soon, I hope,’ he says, and turns his eyes back to the road ahead.
If I’d thought Nan’s double storey home imposing, the sheer size of Abbey manor is astounding. The mansion rises, like something from a Jane Austen novel, from its valley of lush grass, tucked between the tall trees of Dalby forest. The entire eastern wall is covered in ivy that clings to all three storeys of the impressive building, right up to the slanted black-slate roof. The green lawns that surround the manor are dotted with rose-beds and a fine mist hangs just below the second-storey cottage-pane windows, like tentacles, seeking entrance to the luxurious bedrooms.
We are greeted by the hotel staff and shown to our bedrooms, all three located on the second storey and decorated in accordance with the exterior, with redwood armoires, starched white linen and a carved coat rack behind the door. The view is charming, overlooking a garden-maze with a statue of a merman as its centerpiece. Farther out, I can see a meadow, dotted here and there with color, and edged by the shadowy pines of the forest.
I’m grateful that I have a chance to change out of my travel-weary clothes into something fresh and worthy of a first-time meeting with Tristan’s parents. Apparently there is to be a cocktail party tonight, at which I am to meet Mr. and Mrs. Westwood and their other guests. I’m not sure who makes up the guest list, but Tristan did warn me that there will be other Royal guests, as well as members of the Tanistry. No pressure...
I shower in the adjoining bathroom and slip into a strappy, silky aqua number that ends just above the knee. It’s a simple dress, but I think I look decent enough in it and everyone says it brings out the color of my eyes. I add a touch of makeup, look in the mirror and sigh. On second thought, maybe the dress wasn’t such a great choice. It draws too much attention to my eyes, which are already too large in my pale face, but I don’t have any other dresses with me besides the one for the ceremony, so it’ll have to do.
I add an additional layer of pink lip-gloss, perch on the bed and page through the glossy magazine on the bedside table. It’s a local print that details the many attractions and activities available to Dalby forest visitors. I’m about three quarters of the way through an article on the protection of fauna and flora in Dalby when there is a light knock at the door.
‘You decent?’ Kent calls from the passageway.
‘Yes, come on in.’
I set the magazine beside me on the bed.
Kent swaggers in, looking smart but very out-of-character in a crisp white shirt and black pants that look a little too baggy on him.
‘Tristan asked me to take you down to the bar. Did you know they have their own arcade downstairs? This place is rad!’
I smile and follow Kent’s lanky figure downstairs to the bar, where a number of arriving guests are already congregating for cocktails. The minute I walk into the room, I feel underdressed and out of place. The women here are all in glittering cocktail dresses that look like something from the fashion channel. They all look up as I enter and their eyes pass over me to Kent, before they promptly dismiss us and return to their conversations. I breathe a sigh of relief and find a corner where we can watch the crowd, without drawing attention.
There are at least four other royals – well I assume they are royal because of the black and white clad men that shadow each of them – probably bodyguards, or seastnan. The other guests flock and flank each of these elegant women in discreet cliques.
Then Tristan enters the room and the conversations stop as all eyes turn to him. He stands in the doorway a moment and looks around the room. When his eyes find me in the corner, he walks across the room and I’m horrified when the groups of guests follow his line of sight, directly to me. I gulp back my nervousness and return Tristan’s smile as he pulls me forward, to a couple that I hadn’t noticed behind him. The woman, bedecked in glittering diamond and platinum jewelry, eyes me with disdain. I force my chin up and meet her gaze.
‘You must be Shaylee.’ The man beside Tristan steps forward, arms outstretched and face beaming. I had barely noticed him standing in the shadow of his wife, but now my eyes gravitate to his face and I can’t help the answering smile that spreads across my lips. His smile, so genuine, transforms his otherwise very plain face into something princely.
‘Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Westwood,’ I say, stepping into his firm embrace.
‘Tristan didn’t say you were beautiful too!’
I blush and step back from his arms. Tristan was right, I already like him.
‘Shaylee, darling,’ Tristan’s mother says and I have to force my previously genuine smile to stay on my face. There is something unauthentic in the tone of her voice and the way she kisses the air beside each of my cheeks. ‘I’m so thrilled you could join us this weekend.’
She turns to her son, the mirror image of her blonde beauty. ‘Tristan, where are your manners? Get your fiancé a drink.’
‘Yes, mother.’ Tristan inclines his head to his mother in a deferent gesture that is completely at odds with his usual confidence. He gives me a somewhat apologetic glance and heads off in the direction of the bar.
‘Come, darling,’ Mrs. Westwood links her arm through mine and I give Tristan’s back one last desperate look as she sweeps me into the milling guests.
Chapter 32
Guilt
Tastes like: The last piece of decadent chocolate cake melting in your mouth when you look up and notice a child, watching you.
Smells like: Cigarette burn on your grandmother’s favourite couch.
Sounds like: Retreating footsteps.
Feels like: Hot wax on your skin.
Looks like: A child’s hands, hidden behind his back when the teacher asks: ‘Who did it?’
It’s my worst nightmare come true. I’m the centre of attention as Tristan’s mother shows me around the room, like some prized butterfly specimen. I put on my best smile and greet each person politely, but my neck and cheeks are getting hotter and hotter and it’s getting harder to stop myself from running to the beckoning, breezy sliding doors
to slip away from the crowd.
Tristan joins us at some point during the introductions, hands me a wine glass and at my questioning look, whispers in my ear:
‘It’s just grapetizer.’ He puts one hand on my shoulder and squeezes gently. ‘Don’t look so terrified.’
‘But why are they all staring at me?’ I whisper back.
‘Are you kidding? You’re the promised one! You’re the biggest thing since the appointment of the Tanistry!’ Mrs. Westwood’s laughter tinkles around us and Tristan grimaces. ‘And mother is just loving it…’
I glance around at the group of Maor clustered around us and then at his mother, preening beneath the crystal chandeliers. Her head is tilted upwards and she is laughing at something one of the royals has said. Even her laughter sounds fake to me.
‘But where is your cousin?’ I ask, ‘Isn’t this party for her?’
Tristan smiles ruefully. ‘She’s a baby, Shaylee. Besides, half of the guests are only here because they heard you would be coming.’
He slides his arm around my waist and gives an encouraging squeeze.
‘Don’t look so scared. Lift your chin and go with it. You’re a Maor princess. Be proud of who you are. Besides, it will all be over soon.’
I squeeze back, comforted by the warmth of his body and vaguely aware of the tingling in my spine. I turn my attention and a mechanical smile to the next guest Mrs. Westwood is introducing.
‘Good morning sleepyhead!’ Kent’s voice breaks through my blissful slumber. I groan and bury my face beneath the pillow.
‘I’m starving,’ he says, ‘please can we go get some breakfast?’
I pull the pillow away from my face and squint at him.
‘What time is it?’ I ask in a voice thick with sleep. We’d been up till the early morning hours entertaining guests and I feel like I’ve only just laid my head down.
‘It’s eight o’clock!’ he says brightly.
I groan again and fling one arm across my eyes.
‘You go ahead. I need to catch up on some z’s.’
‘But I can’t leave you alone!’
Five: A Maor Novel (Maor series) Page 17