by Krystal Wade
“I will send someone up as soon as possible.”
“Visit you soon, Mirain,” I whisper.
“My father frowns upon people in his family entering stables. He considers it beneath us. You may not see her again until we leave this place.”
I run to Mirain, rub between her eyes, the best goodbye I can manage, then return to Perth. Following the others, I descend the dark stairs into my temporary prison. Each thud of the wood below my feet echoes in my ears and rattles my supposed pure soul. The door’s hinges squeal in protest when Perth pulls it closed. He slides the heavy metal bar over the braces then turns three squeaky locks.
Perth trots down the stairs then returns his hand to my back. The touch would be natural for Arland, but I jump from the chill in Perth’s hand, from the alien feel.
He leans into me and tucks loose hair behind my ear. “Remember, we love one another. You cannot jump every time I touch you. What will you do when we have to kiss? You know they will expect it.”
“I know you will expect it, but why would everyone else expect a public display?” I whisper.
“Cold feet?” Perth asks, grabbing a fistful of my tunic.
Stopping in the middle of the stairwell, I pull his hand from me and squint through the darkness to see his stony expression. “No, this is what must be done; however, I do not understand the need for everyone to see it.”
“Not everyone needs to see it, mainly my family … my father. We are near the bottom. Take my hand.” He grabs my fist. “Starting early with our unity is a good idea.”
Relaxing my tensed muscles, I lace my fingers with his. There is no strength or warmth, just cold and bones. “We would not want to make a bad first impression.”
At the last step, Perth leans over then kisses my cheek. “We are safe, my love.”
I catch sight of Arland standing with the soldiers, next to my sister, and shudder. He’s holding her hand. We haven’t even gotten into the thick of it and I’m ready to run away. Her hand shouldn’t be in his. My hand shouldn’t be in Perth’s. What are we doing this for? Maybe Anna was right; we shouldn’t lie. We should just be upfront about everything. Tell them all to go to hell if they don’t like it.
Perth wraps his arm around my shoulders, drawing me closer, drawing me out of my dark panic.
“Why, Perth Dufaigh. It has been years since I have seen you,” says a tall red-headed woman standing next to Flanna.
“And I see you have well forgotten about me.” This beauty towers over Perth by at least a foot, with eyes bluer than the bonnets of Texas, skin matching Flanna’s perfect cream, and gaze locked directly on me.
“I could never forget you, Vanora.” A crooked smile grows on his face. “Katriona, this is my dearest friend Vanora. Vanora, this is Katriona—”
“Wilde? Katriona Wilde your future wife?”
“Yes.”
Perth smiles, and I notice something cross Vanora’s eyes. Disappointment maybe? Anger? Sadness? I’m not sure, but it only lasts a second, then she shakes her head and offers me her hand.
“Nice to meet you, Katriona.” Her grip is firm, and her stare bores into me.
“Nice to meet you, too.”
The corners of Vanora’s mouth twist up.
I make every effort not to show how much her handshake hurts.
“Yes, well, your father will be pleased, Perth,” she says.
He releases my shoulders then takes my hand again. “Speaking of my father, do you know where we may find him—and High Leader Maher?”
She tips her head toward mine and Perth’s left. “They were in the great room, eating dinner about fifteen minutes ago. They may still be there, but I am not positive.”
“Thank you, Vanora. It is good to see you.”
“Good to see you, too.” She glances at Arland. “Where are the others, Leader Maher?” Vanora spits Arland’s status at him.
I gasp, but she doesn’t spare another look at me.
“They did not make it.” He walks away from her, ahead of the rest of us, and toward the great room, I’m sure. Arland has no reason to explain anything to Vanora, and from the sounds of it, she’s not friendly.
“Nice meeting you,” I say glancing over my shoulder as we leave, hoping to come across as the polite fiancée.
Vanora stares after us. Doesn’t speak, doesn’t move, just stares.
“She will warm to you. Everyone will warm to you, once my father instructs them to,” Perth whispers, a wide grin reaching up to his eyes.
I laugh. A genuine, happy laugh—the kind that, when allowed, can bring on tears. People are going to be forced to like me because of what I am, not who, and that’s supposed to make me feel better. The funniest part: Perth realizes how stupid this is; yet he still says it.
Arland hesitates before opening the door in front of us. He must want to turn around and see what made me happy, but after a split second pause, he pushes open the door. Everyone follows him into a huge, well-lit room.
A cathedral ceiling with massive wooden beams draped with dark, green ivy is the first thing that catches my eyes, then the sheer size. This one room appears to be larger than all of Watchers Hall. Hundreds of round-wooden tables with chairs parked around them are sprinkled throughout.
Potatoes and chicken and eggs and … oh there are so many wonderful, mouth-watering smells in here. My stomach growls loud and furiously for how long I’ve kept it empty.
Perth pats his stomach. “Hungry?”
I draw in a deep breath, savoring the yeasty scent of bread, the sweetness of carrots and the deliciousness of … everything. “Do you even have to ask?”
“We can eat as soon as we find my father.”
“Perth,” a man booms from the left side of the great room. He sits at a long table—not round, but rectangular—dressed with a red velvet cloth adorned with golden ropes. The gaudiness of the cloth can be compared to nothing I’ve seen in Encardia.
“My son has returned, with a woman in tow nonetheless. Tell me my boy, who is this beautiful jewel standing next to you?”
Leader Dufaigh. The cloth makes perfect sense now; it fits his twisted, rotten self.
I blush and smile at Perth, like a good actress. He tugs my hand, leading me through the room, past the mostly empty tables and right up to his father.
No one follows us.
“Father, this is Katriona Wilde.”
Leader Dufaigh’s fork falls from his hand and hits his plate with a loud clank. He pushes out his wooden chair—appearing more as a throne with intricate flowers carved into the edges, lined with red velvet—and stands, revealing an enormous round belly. He leans forward. “The Katriona Wilde? Does this mean her mother and father are here as well?”
Biting my tongue, I hold back the urge to blurt out my father is dead you sick jerk and manage another smile.
Perth keeps his head and eyes down. “Yes, father. This is the Katriona Wilde. Her mother is here, but her father is not.”
Leader Dufaigh glances at our hands then scans the crowd. “I should like to speak to your parents. Do you know your father’s whereabouts?”
I do not show the same submissiveness as Perth; I meet Leader Dufaigh’s cruel gaze. “My father died.”
“Oh, that is too bad. Too bad indeed,” he says, shaking his head, jostling his double-chin. “Your hands are joined. Does this mean … ?”
“Yes, Father. Katriona and I have … .” Pulling me closer, Perth smiles wide. “We have fallen in love, sir.”
Leader Dufaigh runs his fingers through his greasy, shoulder length blond hair. “I do not believe it. I do not believe it.”
“Oh God,” I whisper, glancing over my shoulder. I cannot look at Dufaigh. I think I’m going to be sick.
Everyone’s lives depend on our ability to pretend, but I’d never thought the Leaders wouldn’t believe the beginning of the lie. I try to find my mom or Brit in the crowd, but the only person I see is Arland, and he’s scowling. Those green eyes are suppose
d to adore me, look me up and down and make me blush while they do, not look at me as though I’m nothing but scum. He plays his role well—too well. My face burns. Fighting back tears with everything I have, I take a deep breath then let it out.
He doesn’t mean it; his anger is all a part of the lie.
Perth squeezes my fingers.
Cringing, I turn away from Arland and look toward Dufaigh, allowing those tears to fall. I can do this. “I love your son, sir. And it would be nice if someone would trust in us.”
Perth wipes my face with his thumb, leaving frigid trails on my cheek. “You are upsetting her. We have had a difficult trip, and we are all in need of food.”
Dufaigh looks beyond us, resting his hand on his belly. “There is no time for food now. We need to speak in private. I have many questions for you and also for Leaders Wilde and Maher.” He turns to his left then heads toward the end of the room.
A plate of unfinished food sits on the table. Potatoes, carrots, chicken … my stomach rumbles.
“Well, come now. Gather the others so we may discuss your Binding—amongst other things,” Dufaigh says, pausing in front of round, wooden doors.
Perth starts after Dufaigh, towing me behind. “But we need food, Father.”
He chuckles. “You have spent too much time with these Light Lovers, Son. Come with me now. Leader Maher, Leader Wilde, would you mind joining us?”
Mom, Arland, and Brit step out of the group of soldiers and approach us, but Flanna slinks back, keeping her arms around Keely. I don’t think Flanna will be able to keep her promise to help me fit in here. She’s still too wounded, and I don’t blame her.
“The rest of you may stay here and eat, then bathe. You lot smell awful and need to prepare yourselves for a celebration. My son is getting married tonight.” Dufaigh’s belly bounces with his laughter. He glances at me again then pushes through the door.
“To … tonight?” I ask, taking a step back, ready to flee, ready to throw myself into a fire before being forced into a life without choice.
“I expected this. Do not worry. When we speak to him, I will convince him otherwise.” Perth holds open the door then follows me through.
“Sorry,” he whispers then lets the door swing closed in Arland’s face.
“Why did you do that?” I demand.
Perth puts his mouth next to my ear. “You heard him yourself; my father already thinks I am weak from spending too much time with Light Lovers. I cannot be nice to Arland.”
I sigh. “Fine. It makes perfect sense.”
We travel down the dark corridor lit only by small, yellow candles in glass sconces on the walls, and follow Leader Dufaigh around corners, down stairs, and through doors. There are so many different passages I’m positive I could never find my way here again without a map.
Dufaigh stops in the middle of a spiral staircase leading further into the earth, turns to his right and pounds his fist against the gray, stone wall. An echo rolls around us; that was not stone he hit. The wall ripples. The gray rocks disappear, revealing a skinny wooden door I’m sure Dufaigh could never fit through.
“Follow me,” he says, turning to the side and squeezing his way in.
Perth and I enter at the same time with Mom, Arland, and Brit behind us.
The door slams closed, raising the hairs on the back of my neck.
“Where are we?” I whisper.
“I do not know,” Perth says.
“We are in the hall leading to the communications room, Perth. You would know these things if you paid attention during tours.” Arland doesn’t smile or walk any closer to us; instead, he keeps his eyes straight ahead and shows no emotion on his face.
Smirking, Perth glances over his shoulder. “Why would I pay attention during those early tours? I have no intentions of ever commanding the military. That will be your job, no?”
Arland laughs. “It will be my job. In fact, it will be mine and your wife’s job to lead Encardia. How do you feel about your wife being a High Leader while you are a mere Leader to your dwindling people?”
“My wife will make a better High Leader than both you and I combined. So as long as I can call her mine, that is enough to satisfy my needs.”
“Nonsense, my boy. No woman should ever be more powerful than her husband. She will relinquish her title of High Leader to you once you are married, and Arland will no longer be necessary. Only one man can lead at a time, and since you are one month older, Katriona’s title will be passed to you.” Dufaigh stops his forward progress, turns and puts his hands on Perth’s shoulders.
“You, my son, will become High Leader of Encardia.”
“On whose authority?” Mom demands.
Dufaigh peeks around Perth’s shoulder, the Leader’s face appearing as pleasant as someone removing toxic waste. “High Leader Maher’s. And you would not wish to go against a High Leader’s law again, now would you?”
“My father would do no such thing.” Arland towers over Dufaigh, hands spread out at his sides. “He is not even aware of Katriona’s presence. Why would he make such an arrangement?”
More lies. High Leader Maher knew we were on our way to Wickward; something has changed. Something not even Arland knows, and that frightens me more than anything.
Dufaigh drops his hands from Perth’s shoulders then steps in front of Arland, staring at my love in a way dangerously close to making my fire burn out of control. “Ah, Arland. You believe us all to be fools. Why is it your father is unaware of Katriona’s presence? Did you not inform him of her arrival because you were hoping she would fall in love with you instead of my son? You are quite lucky you are the son of a High Leader; otherwise you would pay severely for your lack of communication.”
Dufaigh moves on to my mother. “And you, Leader Wilde. Unless you wish to be punished for your abandonment crimes, I would suggest you not give the child any wild ideas for not relinquishing her title. Her title saves your life.”
He turns once more. “And who, may I ask, is this?”
Mom grips tight to Brit’s hand. “This is my daughter.”
“Your daughter? I was not aware you had another daughter.” Dufaigh looks Brit over as if she’s a piece of livestock at auction. “Does she come with the same powers as Katriona?”
Mom shakes her head. “No. She is nothing special compared to her sister.”
Brit sucks in a sharp breath.
Perth’s father paces in front of the three of them. “Tough living in the shadow of someone more powerful than you, is it not, child?”
She doesn’t respond.
Mom wraps her arm around Brit’s shoulders. I know the words were intended to protect my sister, but I don’t doubt they hurt.
Dufaigh stops his sinister march and stands before Brit. “It is okay, child, you do not have to speak it in her presence. Her shadow must be a tall one to live in.” He caresses her cheek.
Propping her hands on her hips, Brit huffs air through her nose. “You’re wrong. My sister doesn’t treat people that way—and there’s no sun, so there aren’t any shadows for me to stand in. Unless we’re talking about the ones surrounding you.”
“Brites,” Mom says, frowning. “You cannot speak to him that way. He is a Leader.”
Brit scowls at Dufaigh. “Well, apparently so am I.”
Perth and his father exchange glances.
“She reminds me of you, Saraid. Tell her to keep quiet or I will find a way to ensure her fate is the same as yours.”
Dufaigh pivots on his heel, marches another few feet, then passes through a doorway on the left.
“Please, Brit, control your tongue,” Perth whispers. “This is not where you and Katriona grew up. You may have been able to get away with speaking to people that way there, but my father is not the forgiving type. I do admire you standing your ground, and he will have a great deal of respect for you as well, but he will also have his eye on you. Try to speak as we do, try to act submissive, or I fear what may happen if you d
o not.”
“Thanks for the advice, but I’m not submitting to anyone, and I’m certainly not going to have him belittle me. Let me have the same fate as my mother. If more people would stand up to him, maybe he wouldn’t be so feared.” Brit brushes past us then follows the same path as Leader Dufaigh.
“Mom?” I ask, wondering what the hell happened to my sister.
Mom smiles but rubs her hands together. “She has had enough, Katriona. We need to find a Seer, or she will never be happy.”
“Ar—” Dufaigh steps back into the hallway, and I revise my words. “Perth and I discussed that earlier. We will see if we can find one. I believe it will help calm her. She should not speak that way to anyone, let alone a respected Leader.”
“Come along now.” He points toward the doorway with his stubby fingers.
“Coming, Father.” Perth places his hand between my shoulder blades and pushes me forward.
We step through the dark doorway opening into a room so familiar, I want to hide my face for fear the knowledge will somehow reveal itself.
I’ve been here before.
The communications room looks the same as the last time I was here, minus Arland’s father. I try to look around with nonchalance; the brown-haired man must be here, and if he is, he will likely recognize me.
I spot him standing in the far right corner of the room, deep in conversation with Drustan—the other man who was here when I visited via the chatter box. They stop talking and look up at all of us. Scanning through the faces, they each stop at me then return to their conversation.
Thank you, Griandor.
“Why did you bring us in here?” Arland asks, coming from behind Perth and me to stand before Dufaigh.
“There is a disturbance at Wickward. Your father is here monitoring it, and I brought you all back here to meet with him.” Dufaigh waves his hand as though the disturbance means nothing to him at all.
“What kind of disturbance at Wickward?” Arland pronounces the word disturbance slowly, probably trying to hide the caution in his tone.