Well, he already knows what a screw-up I am. He may as well think I'm crazy, too. “God told me.”
Unexpectedly, Paul scrambled to his feet, backing away from her and glancing at the dark corners of the room, then toward the ceiling. “He told you?” She could hear the panic, the stress, in his voice. “Just now?”
She wrinkled her forehead, watching Paul's gaze continuing to flicker to different parts of the room. He moved further from her without seeming to know he did so. “No, He didn't tell me just now.” She spoke slowly, struggling to understand Paul's actions. “He told me last night.”
Paul's gaze locked back on hers. He hunched his shoulders, as though to protect himself from an imminent bear attack. “Did you see Him?” His voice almost squeaked.
“What?” Incredulous laughter broke the word. “No, I didn't see Him.” She shook her head in disbelief. When Paul backed even farther away from her, she said, “Paul? What's wrong?”
“Uh, nothing,” he said hurriedly. “Everything's fine. I've gotta...” He let his words trailed off as he hastened to the door, casting a glance back at her over his shoulder. He disappeared from her line of sight.
“Well, that went well,” she muttered to herself, slumping back onto the weight bench. “He doesn't think your nuts, he just thinks you've got an 'in' with God.” She sighed heavily, folding her hands across her abdomen. “Watch out for the lightning,” she said to the ceiling.
Є
Galia had briefly considered going to the king's chambers, but the thought fled almost instantly; the queen was notoriously jealous, and she was reputed to be the only person more cruel and vengeful than Lady Jydda. Better to go to the queen's rooms and be seen there, though the chances of her plan succeeding were greater with the king.
It hadn't taken much for Galia to convince the queen's regular maid that Galia was just being helpful by offering to care for the queen's quarters that day. Galia knew, as any good supervisor would, when the queen was likely to be away from her room, and she increased her pace now to make sure she would arrive before Her Majesty returned.
Galia halted outside the queen's quarters and curtsied to the guard posted there, though she had no obligation to do so. Pleased by her show of respect, the guard opened one of the double doors and allowed Galia to enter.
The rooms were opulent, yet starkly simplistic. Featuring deepest black, glaring white, and a deep maroon color reminiscent of blood, the spacious rooms were not crowded with furniture or knick-knacks. Rather, the room felt sterile and unwelcoming. Knowing the guard would not have allowed her access if the queen were present, Galia moved further into the room, set her cleaning supplies down quietly, and turned to a nearby ebony table to dust. She picked up a sculpture, an artistic rendition of the symbol representing the Destine, and smiled wryly. If she succeeded in her ploy, she would see the real thing before too much longer.
Galia continued her rounds, removing every minute piece of lint, setting the room exactly to rights. As she worked, she kept one ear trained on the entrance, waiting for the queen's return. Just as she finished the sitting room, she heard the slight snick of the bolt drawing back. Grasping her cleaning tote, she eased back into a shadowy corner, bent her head toward the ground, and waited silently.
Several of the queen's personal servants preceded her into the room, moving to various areas. The rustle of expensive fabric swooped into the room. Galia remained motionless, waiting for instructions. After a time, one of the well dressed ladies' maids approached. “You may finish your labors later,” she said condescendingly, barely looking at Galia in the process.
Galia dropped a curtsy, murmured an assent, perhaps a bit louder than she would have normally, then veered in a wider arc than necessary in order to cross into the queen's peripheral vision. She was hoping that her plain, dark clothes would draw the ruler's attention. She almost smiled when her plan worked.
“You, slave.” Galia halted instantly, though the queen's voice was low and the other women's movements and voices overpowered the monarch's. The other women fell silent and turned toward their mistress. “Come here.”
Galia turned on her heel and walked silently to kneel before the queen, her forehead almost touching the antique rug underneath her. The queen coughed slightly, and Galia rocked back into a sitting position, keeping her gaze focused on the queen's hem.
The queen leaned forward slightly and raised Galia's face, lightly placing one finger underneath her chin. The other women shifted in the room, obviously upset that their leader would lower herself enough to speak to a slave, let alone touch one. The queen ignored them all and studied Galia in silence for several seconds. Finally, she spoke. “Are you not the one who cared for the mortal girl?” Her voice was soft, well modulated. Her finger remained under Galia's chin.
Wanting to pull back and break contact with the ruler, but refusing to, Galia murmured, “Yes, your majesty.”
A few seconds more passed. Seemingly satisfied, the queen leaned away and dropped her hand, releasing Galia from her thrall. Her back perfectly straight, the queen turned her gaze away from the slave and waved one hand in dismissal. Galia bowed forward once more, then rose fluidly to her feet and left the room, feeling the angry stares of the queen's aides pressing into the back of her neck. She kept her face carefully blank while inwardly rejoicing. The guard closed the dark walnut doors behind her as she continued down the hallway to her other duties.
Є
When she heard something scuff across her carpet, Integrity sat bolt upright in bed, heart pounding. Granted, she'd only been drowsing, but finding out she wasn't alone was a frightening experience, especially since she now knew that monsters really did exist. Her eyes locked onto the form in the gloom, her fists clenched around her comforter, then she relaxed and flopped onto her back with an exasperated sigh. “What the heck do you want?” She yawned expansively and stretched her legs beneath the covers, confident that Paul was within hearing range, should she need him.
She heard Evan move from near the door, where he had stood, toward the armchair on her right. He lifted it effortlessly and sat it down near her bed. He sank into it and placed one hand on the nightstand between them. “No, go ahead an make yourself comfortable; I don't mind,” she said sarcastically, doing her best not to look at him. Why did he pull that chair over? How long does he plan to stay? Unable to stop herself, she turned her head to look at him. “So?” she asked. He drummed his fingers on the nightstand, an irritating smirk peering from the corners of his mouth. He made no response. Uncomfortable, Integrity sat up and scooted next to the headboard so she could rest against it. She smoothed her hair reflexively. “You know, you're making this a real habit.”
“And what is that?” His tone was vaguely curious.
“Watching me sleep.” When he made no remark, she suggested, “So, what, you like to watch me drool? Or is it fascinating to watch eye crusties form?”
“Neither. I merely find it fascinating that there's a time when you are silent. It's quite rare.” He raised his fingers and let them drop on the nightstand twice, making a small, dull thud each time.
“If you enjoy my silence so much, why are you sitting here bothering me?” A yawn interrupted her sentence, but she kept speaking anyway. “You may not need to sleep, but I find it very beneficial.”
“You may not be inconvenienced by this living arrangement, but I find myself with far too much time on my hands. It's the least you can do to eat up a small portion of that, even if your conversation is impolite at its best.”
“Oh, I'm so sorry, my liege,” she said, bowing her head in mock servility. “What is that you would like to talk about? Perhaps the latest cricket tournament? Or, even better, the last person you killed?”
“I've never been a fan of cricket, and I don't keep track of who I kill. Do you know the name of the last cow you ate?” He drummed his fingers again, the noise louder this time.
“As a matter of fact, I do. Her name was Bossie and she died fro
m natural causes, thank you very much.” She sniffed, and he smiled briefly. As the silence stretched, she said, “I'm afraid you'll have to introduce a topic; my morning brain powers are exhausted.”
“Perhaps some ice cream or chocolate would help? Isn't that what you females survive on?” He tapped his index finger three times.
Irritated at his condescension, and the repetitive noise he made with his fingers, she said, “Oh, I think I know how I can wake up.” As she spoke, she rolled away from him, reached to the matching nightstand there, and grasped the steak knife that she'd left there accidentally after finishing her meal the previous night. She spun quickly and drove the knife toward his hand on the table, not taking the time to really aim.
She fully expected him to move his hand and was not prepared to feel flesh and muscle part beneath her thrust, the momentum stopped by the hard wood of the table underneath. Horrified, she jerked her hand back and covered her mouth. She stared at the knife standing at a slight angle, the last inch or two disappearing into the back of Evan's hand. In shock, it took several seconds for her to accept what she'd just done. She watched as Evan grasped the handle in his opposite hand; bodily control returned.
“No, stop!” She lunged forward and covered his hand with her own, pushing down. She felt the knife rise slightly, then sink back into his hand under the pressure from her own. Her stomach flipped over, and she tried not think about the blood involved. Instead, she looked at his face, and saw him frown. He noticed her gaze, and displeasure showed in his eyes. She blurted, “Don't you know you can't pull a knife out before you're with a doctor? You'll bleed to death!”
Evan stared pointedly at her hand covering his own until she flushed and pulled her own hand back. Returning his gaze to hers, he gripped the handle tighter and jerked it upward. “I don't think that will be an issue for me.”
Of their own volition, Integrity's eyes tracked down to his hand, her spine stiff at the impending carnage. She blinked and leaned forward, looking closer. The slit was slowly oozing blood, very slowly, but it wasn't like any blood she had ever seen before. Nearly black, Evan's blood was so thick it reminded her of pudding. It was perfectly smooth, yet all she could think was that it must be mostly coagulated already. Still staring at the wound, she asked, “Gawl, how fast do you heal?”
Evan pulled his hand toward himself and stared prying in the wound. Integrity's stomach felt as though it were trying to crawl out of her body, and she quickly looked away, trying not to think about what he must be seeing, or what it must feel like to dig inside your own hand. Her train of thought was interrupted when he spoke. “I don't heal any faster than you do. Vampire blood is thick, even in our systems.” She glanced up to look at him once more, saw that he was still holding his wound open and gazing into it, then looked over his head instead. He swore. Seeing different movement, she looked back and saw him wiggling his fingers, the middle two not bending or straightening, doing little more than twitching. “You got a tendon.” He swore again as he stood. “Surgery, here I come.”
Integrity scrambled off the bed, following Evan out into the hallway. “It's your fault, you know!” she spat at his back, feeling as though all her muscles were vibrating in fatigue.
Evan stopped and turned to face her again. “My fault?” he asked incredulously. “Oh, right, this is all very much my fault. How could I be such an idiot as to put my hand where you prefer to bury your knife at random moments? I suppose next you'll say that the knife leaped into your hand and stabbed me of its own volition. Please.” He turned and continued into the main sitting room. Bowman and Paul both jumped to their feet and asked what had happened. Evan was waving them off, telling them it was nothing. Integrity stood, frozen, in the middle of the room. Just as Evan reached for the doorknob, she gathered herself.
“It is your fault! I was just messing around. Why didn't you move? I thought vampires were supposed to have super-fast reflexes!”
Evan turned his head so she could see his profile, but he did not look at her. “My apologies. Rest assured, next time I'll be prepared for you to attack me unexpectedly.”
Just before the door closed behind him, she yelled, belligerently, “I'm sorry!” The door didn't even slow, but slammed home unimpeded.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Several days had passed before the king and queen came to Evan. When Integrity heard unfamiliar voices, she peered around the door frame and watched in silence as the trio argued.
“Would you rather I lost the use of my hand?” Integrity was surprised to hear anger lurking underneath Evan's normally blasé tones. She'd never been able to aggravate him, and the rulers had only been present for a few moments. Interesting.
The queen looked furious at Evan's impunity, but the king just laughed easily. “No, certainly not. Our only complaint is that you did not come to us. We could have handled the situation much more delicately.”
Evan inclined his head slightly in a brief bow. “Forgive me. I was not thinking at my clearest.”
“How did it happen, anyway?” The king gestured to Evan's hand, encased in a black brace, and Integrity finally gathered that the issue concerned Evan's hand and his consequent surgery. The king appeared mildly interested, as though it were only of passing interest.
Evan turned and gestured toward Integrity. “She stabbed me.” Embarrassed to have been caught eavesdropping, she pulled her head back into her room and backed up a few steps, but couldn't stop herself from straining her ears to hear more. After all, they'll probably come kill me for attacking someone. Best to be prepared, she justified to herself, not really believing she would be harmed. After all, why would they go to so much trouble to recover her only to dispose of her themselves after nearly a year?
She missed something that Evan said, only recognizing the tone of his voice. The queen said, mockingly, “Are you being true? You allowed that little snippet to stab you?” She laughed, the noise almost painful. “Her presence must be incredibly distracting for you to not defend yourself in a more acceptable manner.” Her teasing voice made her meaning clear. She must be completely dense. The last thing Evan feels for me is a crush. He might want to crush me, but he's not crushing on me. What are we, in fourth grade?
Evan said something, again too low for her to understand, the king responded in similar tones, silence reigned for a moment, then Integrity heard the sounds of clothing brushing against itself as the rulers of Westmarch left the room, the door closing softly behind them.
She hesitated for a moment, then forced herself to leave the room and march to the sitting room. I've already been caught eavesdropping, I may as well admit to it. At least then he won't think I'm as embarrassed about it as I am. She stopped on the opposite side of the room from Evan, who still stood with his hand resting on the doorknob, facing the door. “What was that all about?” she asked, hoping she sounded as though she expected an answer.
Slowly, Evan turned to face her, his face completely blank. “Why don't you tell me? You heard it all.”
She knew he meant his words to be a slap in the face, but they lacked the normal force. I must be building up a callous to him. “No, actually, I didn't,” she replied evenly, moving to sit in a chair, as though completely unconcerned with his response.
After a moment, Evan moved to the chair farthest from her and sat as well. “I take it you find being here as unexciting as I do?”
“Would I be here talking to you if I was entertained? This isn't exactly my first choice, you know. I'd rather be anywhere else.” Hearing emotion creep into her voice, she flashed a glance at him and steeled herself to become as inanimate as he was.
“Yes, I'm sure,” he replied wryly, his thoughts turned to Ben. Returning to the original conversation, he said, “I've just been reprimanded for your assault.”
“I heard that part. Apparently the queen doesn't feel you defended yourself properly.” Evan did not respond to her jab and she looked down at his hand encased in the brace. Gritting her teeth, forcing the wor
ds from her mouth, she said, “Could you really have lost the use of your hand?”
“It's hard to move your fingers when the tendons have been severed.” He paused. “Yes, you could have crippled me. Fortunately, our doctor was able to repair the damage and expects a full recovery. Not that you're concerned.”
Riled, her eyes flashed to his dark ones. “I do care.” Dropping her gaze again quickly, she forced herself to continue, sick of feeling guilty for hurting someone she hated. “I'm sorry. I sincerely did not mean to stab you.” She swallowed hard, trying to focus on what she owed to God for his direction in her life, knowing that He expected her to “bless those that curse” her. “I'm glad that your hand will be fine.” She sounded anything but glad.
He made no response, and she feared he hadn't heard her. It's hard enough to say it, Heavenly Father. Please don't make me say it twice. She lifted her gaze, keeping her head bowed, to study his face. He was staring at her with the oddest expression on his face, disbelief most prominent among other emotions. Uncomfortable, she asked, “What? You don't believe me?”
Still looking confused, he muttered, “No, the frightening thing is that I do believe you.” Seeming to come to himself, he stiffened, all emotion left his face, and he said condescendingly, “Apology accepted. Now please return to your quarters.”
Integrity opened her mouth to object, then snapped it closed. Just keep it shut, girl, and go. You don't want to talk to him, anyway. And he is being as civil as he ever is. Just run while you've got the chance. She missed a step and stumbled before recovering as she walked away, aware of his gaze on her back. You're mother's an idiot, she thought acidly, wishing she dared say it to his face, that she could get away with pulling out some of his short hair. I wonder if I could even get a grip on it.
Evan: Book Two of the Destine Series Page 7