by Krystal Wade
My sister and I drop hands and separate; Brit goes to the enclosure on the left while I go to one on the right. Placing our towels on small wooden tables in front of the enclosures, we draw the linen curtain between us then slip out of our clothes.
Dust rises in a cloud around me. Remnants of war and death—including mine—all fly up to greet me. I sneeze.
“Bless you,” Brit says.
It’s the first thing she’s said to me since we found out our Mom might die, and for whatever reason, it makes me laugh.
“What could possibly be funny?” Brit asks, voice flat.
“This—all of this. It’s stupid and pointless. Dufaigh is an idiot. I have the power to destroy him, but Griandor wants us all united, and here I am, about to play dress-up and pretend I’m in love with someone I’m not, and you say ‘Bless you’. It’s so normal and appropriate, and right now our lives are anything but.” Still laughing, I step into the water.
“I think you’ve lost your mind. You died, Kate. Arland saved you … again. You’ve seen blood and battles and—”
Faces of people from Watchers Hall flash before my eyes. Glenna, Enid, Lann, even the people I hadn’t become friends with. Old and young alike, people have lost their lives because I have not ended this war. I swallow hard. “I know. I was there, remember? But I don’t know how Arland saved me the second time. What happened?”
Air bubbles linger on my skin and occasionally tickle my back and arms as they rise to the surface. How simple it is for the air to return to where it belongs. I wish there were a way for me to make it to the surface, breathe fresh mountain breezes, soak in a healthy world, but I’m trapped. Stuck in a lie. Forced to play chess with a bunch of selfish men and women.
“I kept thinking you were going to turn into a werewolf or something after the hounds scratched you.”
”Brit?” I can’t help but giggle.
“I know it sounds stupid, but I always loved scary movies. Anyway, your body turned bright-red, blood poured from your arm, and you just froze. Seconds went by where you didn’t move a single muscle, then you just kind of fell over.”
The poison the hounds carry must have the ability to cause paralysis. I wanted to move, wanted to see Arland or go to him, but was like a statue.
“Arland must have killed a hundred daemons at once. So much magic poured out of him. Blues and golds filled the sky, and they were all coming from him. That’s how I knew you weren’t dead—at least, that’s what I told myself. You need each other for this magic to work. So you couldn’t be dead, right?”
Picturing what he must have looked like, a tinge of regret hits my heart. I wish I could have seen him. Seen how powerful he was. For me. For us. For Encardia. “I think so.”
“Anything that tried to get near him just died. When the stupid things realized it, they backed off and attacked everyone else. He couldn’t save you and protect us, but you were more important. Mom and Keagan flipped you onto your back and told Arland what to do. He slammed his fist into your chest, then it was just like CPR.”
Because of me all those soldiers and children are gone, because I died and was more important for Arland to save than them.
I grab a bar of soap from the ledge then scrub it all over my body, trying to get any remaining venom off my skin, any blood of my friends. Everywhere I look there’s more, more loss, more proof of the senseless war going on around me. The water turns cloudy and brown, but it all flows away with the spring, flows outside with the rest of this dead world. As though the horrible things in the forest never occurred, the enclosure is clean, pure. “There was this white cloud or something. The most flawless white I’ve ever seen—seriously, cotton balls, sterile rooms, I’m sure nothing on the planet could compare. I stood up and took a step forward, and when I did, something smacked me in the chest and wherever I was turned black. Voices became clear, memories flooded back to me. Brit, I’m pretty sure I was in Heaven.”
“Which would explain why after a few minutes of CPR, the magic faded, and the rest of us had to find a way to protect all of you. That’s when most of the soldiers were killed.”
My chest constricts. I rub my hand across it, pressing the tender flesh with the tips of my fingers. My skin is swollen, and I’m sure it’s bruised, but even if every rib was broken, the pain would never be greater than the guilt I feel for all those lives lost because of me.
Brit says nothing for the longest time. The water swirls around me, and the room fills with the scent of sweet lilacs, but after what Brit just told me, the smell does little to calm my nerves.
Water splashes, the sound jolting my already tense muscles.
“Sorry. I had to wash my hair. The next time you die, don’t go into the light. You really should have watched more movies with me, Kate.”
Her sarcasm has played a horrible trick on me. Tears trickle down my face, splashing into the water. “Do you think they’ll really kill—?”
“I won’t think of it; I can’t. But promise me if it comes to that, Kate, you don’t allow it. You are powerful enough to destroy him. Those were your words. Promise me you will if you have to.”
Such an awkward conversation to have while bathing and unable to see each other, but I don’t have to dig inside her head to know how serious she is. “I promise.”
“Thank you.”
We fall silent, and I close my eyes and rest my head against the ledge but cannot relax. Hounds and coscarthas attack children in my mind, children I know—or knew. The serpent’s humid breath full of the pungent smell of death has replaced the lilacs. Arland’s comforting warmth is what I crave. These lies already hurt more than I ever expected. We don’t need to break a Binding Spell to punish us; I’m already burning.
“He doesn’t think he’s good enough for you.”
I bolt upright at the sound of Brit’s voice. “How did you—?”
“I’ve always sensed when you were thinking about him—even before we knew he existed. And I can tell he thinks that by the way he looks at you: always sad.”
“Right. Well I know he thinks that. It’s crazy, though, Brit. The gods practically created us to be together,” I say, relaxing again.
“I’m sorry I taunted you in the communications room. If it makes you feel any better, his hand was sweaty and tense. The only time I think he was comfortable was when he was arguing with Dufaigh.”
My stomach turns in on itself. “I cannot sit in here anymore.” Dunking my head, I rinse the last of the grime from my face and hair, then climb out of the stone enclosure and grab the towel.
“I’ll be out in a minute,” she says.
Wrapping the towel around me, I leave my old clothes in a heap on the floor. I walk out of the washroom and bump right into Arland. He grasps me at my elbows to keep me from falling backward. His warmth floods my body; his eyes mesmerize me.
“I … I—”
The hall is empty and lit only by faint candlelight. There are no windows, no paintings, no carvings like the ones at Watchers Hall. It’s just as dark and gloomy in this hall as the Darkness is outside.
Arland looks both ways then closes his eyes as if trusting his hearing is better than his sight.
“All clear,” he says, looking my toweled body up and down. “No visits from Dughbal while you were in there?”
“No.” We have precious moments with each other, and he chooses to speak of this?
“I love you,” I whisper. “I hate these lies. I hate this place. Your father caves to Dufaigh, why?”
“These are not conversations we should have while you are … you. Tonight, during the celebration, through Brit we will talk.” He leans in then places his lips on my cheek. His kiss tingles my skin. “And I love you, too. You are so strong, so beautiful. I wish I could hold you in my arms right now.”
Arland squeezes my elbow. “We will make it through this.”
I stare into his eyes, into his soul, soaking in my other half. “I know we will. You always say that, at least.”
Arland turns and looks over his shoulder, drops my arms then backs away. “Someone is coming,” he whispers. “We should get you back to your room before anyone sees you like this. Did Perth not provide his lover with more adequate clothing? I am shocked. Usually that family is so … put together.”
An unfamiliar man appears behind Arland. “Arland Maher?”
He turns. “Leader Murchadha, it is very good to see you.”
Leader Murchadha is tall—much taller than Arland—with tan skin, lean arms and legs, and a white beard down to the center of his chest. They embrace each other, slapping backs in happy greetings.
“Who is this lovely young lady behind you?” Murchadha tips his head in my direction.
“This is Katriona Wilde, sir. I would give you a proper introduction, but as you can see, she is not decent.” Arland looks over his shoulder then winks.
For a second, I forget I’m supposed to hate him.
Murchadha glances at me. “The Katriona Wilde?”
“Yes, sir.”
He clasps his hands behind his back. “Does Dufaigh know she is here?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Why are you with the girl? Has he changed his mind? Have you two fallen in love the way the prophecy stated you would?”
I stop breathing. No one is supposed to know about that. Leader Murchadha knows more than most. He must be well trusted, but I must do something to end this conversation before Arland or I say or do something we shouldn’t. “In love? What prophecy said I would fall in love with him? He is my guard, and he is failing miserably at keeping me protected. Arland, can you take me to my room now?”
Arland points down the hall. “Walk that way. I will be right behind you.”
“What kind of bodyguard does that? Good thing I am as powerful as I am, otherwise I would be dead.” I storm past the men and trudge off in the direction Murchadha came from. If Arland tells the Leader anything, that’s his choice, but no matter how much I hate it, I have to play this role so no one else dies.
Once I’m in the shadows, I stop. I have no idea where I’m going. Arland must not have actually wanted me to leave. And what I said to him … .
I was so mean.
He already feels he’s not good enough, and I basically told him he was a lousy protector.
Keeping my back pressed against the wall, I whisper the concealment spell and hope to the gods it works.
“She seems nothing like her father or mother.” Murchadha glances over his shoulder.
I hold my breath and stay as close to the wall as possible. Murchadha turns around to face Arland again, and I exhale.
“Her anger did not seem genuine, though, Arland. I am aware you do not trust many, but you do know you can trust me?”
A faint smile cracks on Arland’s face. “I have always known I can count on you, but she has no interest in me.”
Murchadha sighs. “I pray for all our sakes you are wrong. The way that girl looked at you, I can hardly believe she loves anyone else.”
I’m failing already.
“You must have misinterpreted her behavior. Moments before you arrived, she was yelling at me for looking at her. I have to admit, she is like her parents—although blind to the games played by the Dufaighs—she is strong, stubborn, and confident. It is unfortunate Perth was able to sweep her off her feet before me, but I did not lose everything. Her lovely sister came as a consolation prize.”
Murchadha places his hand on Arland’s shoulders. “I have known you since you were a child, Arland; in many ways you have been the son I lost when this war began. Will you forgive me if I say I do not believe a word you speak? If you feel there is something important enough for you to hold back the truth, I will not press you any further.”
“Sir—”
“I understand it must be quite important. You have always been the most honest man. I saw the way you looked at her, as well, and I have never heard you speak of a woman as some sort of prize to be won. Be careful. The others may not know you as well as I do, but if you are going convince people, you are going to need to try harder than that.”
The hinges of the old wooden door to the bathroom squeak like they haven’t been opened in a hundred years. Brit pokes her head out.
Murchadha nods, drops his hand from Arland’s shoulder, then walks away.
“Who was that?” she asks.
“Someone I did a terrible job of convincing.”
“Convincing of what?”
Arland offers his arm to Brit; she’s wrapped in her towel, and I imagine I look just as silly as her—if anyone could see me.
“We have to find Katriona before anyone else does. Apparently our eyes have a terrible way of giving us away.”
“Tell me you weren’t caught looking at each other.”
He doesn’t speak.
Stepping out of the protective bubble of my spell, I allow them to see me.
Arland glances up first, big creases lining his forehead. “You heard?”
I attempt to smile, but nerves probably make it look more like a grimace. “I concealed myself.”
“We need to get you back to your room, and to Perth,” he says. “Stay in front of us while we walk, put your best worst expression on your face, and pretend to be mad.”
Turning around, I march down the hall in my ridiculously skimpy towel and do my best to scowl. We pass doors and passages leading in other directions. No one crosses our path, and there are no sounds to be heard; however, smells of chicken, potatoes, fruits, and so many other wonderful scents fill my nose and set my mouth to watering.
“Something smells really good,” Brit says.
“That is the feast for your sister and Perth, my love.”
I do my best not to fall over my feet.
“Arland!” A man calls from behind us. “Hold up.”
“Sorry, Brice”—Arland says without stopping—”I must get these two ladies to their rooms. You may follow us if you wish, but I would advise keeping your eyes pointed at the floor.”
I don’t even give the man the time of day. Failure seems to be the only thing I’m good at lately, and adding one more suspicious person to the list is not what any of us needs.
“At the floor? Why am I not allowed to look at them?”
“If you look at that one, the Dufaighs will kill you, and if you look at this one … .”
Whoever Brice is, he sounds young—at least no older than any of us. “Understood. So who is she … the one belonging to the Dufaighs?”
“Katriona Wilde.”
“Oh. You were not having a laugh; they truly would kill me for looking at her. Well, I have been summoned to the great room for some sort of spell casting. Now I know why. We should talk more later, Arland.”
“Nice to meet you, Miss … ?”
“Brites Wilde. I’m Katriona’s sister.”
“What does your father say of you holding on to her arm the way you do, Arland?”
“He says I should be Bound to her, Brice. So I advise you avert your eyes from her indec—”
“But … ?”
Arland growls. “You have things to take care of in the great room. Go.”
Curiosity piqued beyond control, I spare a glance over my shoulder. Brice is young—no older than Arland—his light brown hair is the only thing I make out before he disappears back into the shadows.
Arland points to his left. “This is it, Katriona.”
This door is different from most I’ve seen anywhere in Encardia; it’s wooden, but has black steel reinforced bars across the front of it.
“Lot of crime in this neighborhood?” Brit asks.
He tips his head toward the door. “It is a safe room for valuable people. Go on in. Rhoswen should be waiting for you.”
“Who?” I wrap my hands around one of the prison cell bars for support. My legs are weak. My will to meet anyone else or go into the great room for a party—actually my will for any of this is just gone.
“Du
faigh’s dresser.”
I stare at my sister’s arm hooked through Arland’s. “Where will you guys be?”
He points to a door right next to mine. It doesn’t have bars on it. “Brit will be there, and I will be outside. Always here for you. Knock if you need anything.”
Expecting to find it locked, I slowly turn the handle on the door, but it opens right up. The room is well lit by a thousand candles. Crystal chandeliers hang from the ceiling. Glass jars line the floor, and polished silver candelabras rest atop a large oak table between the four poster bed and vanity—everything reeks of extravagance. These must have been Dufaigh’s quarters.
A short young woman with long blonde hair stands tapping her toe, hands on her hips. A green velvet dress and a pewter brush rest on the table in the middle of the room.
“Rhoswen?” I ask, securing my towel around my chest.
“Yes. What took you so long? We have to get you ready for a celebration and look at you … .” Her lip rises to her nose like I smell bad. “This is going to take quite some time.”
“Right, well I will leave you to it. Again, Miss Wilde, if you need anything, just knock and I will be here.” Arland backs out of the doorway.
The metal hinges creak behind me, breaking my resolve. “Wait!”
He flashes a cross look, but pushes open the door enough to poke his head through. “Yes?”
“Do not get too cozy with my sister,” I whisper so low Rhoswen cannot possibly hear me.
Arland looks past my shoulder then places his fist over his heart. “I promise to love you—and only you—through life and into death, Katriona. Remember that.”
“You, too.” I cannot imagine what me kissing Perth in front of everyone will do to Arland, but I know what him touching my sister has already done to me, and I don’t like any of this.
Chapter Twenty
Rhoswen leads me to a mirror in the back of the room. With a hand on each of my arms, she smiles at my reflection. The girl looking back at me is not Katriona Wilde; whoever this girl is, the most obvious thing about her is how battered she is. A light mustard color creates a circle under her left eye. Cuts and scratches cover her face and neck—wounds she didn’t even know existed—and she appears ten pounds underweight.