by Katie Cross
He won’t come, she thought, eyeing a painting of a naked wood nymph. He’ll be busy. Or forget. Weed in my hair. There was a weed in my hair! Why would he come?
She let out a long breath.
No. She shook her head. That’s not fair. He’ll come. He won’t leave me waiting. He’s too kind to leave me guessing. Isn’t he? I don’t even know him.
He probably won’t come.
Her thoughts spun out in wild abandon. The librarians bustled around with the quiet rustle of skirt and book. Leda’s table lay empty in the distance. Camille brushed Leda’s absence off. Procrastinating was always harder when Leda glared at her across the room. She could loll around all day when Leda was—
“Ready?”
Camille straightened up to find Brecken settling into a chair next to her. His wild curls bounced, still damp and coiling around his ears. The broad cut of his strong shoulders seemed more apparent than ever the way his shirt pulled across his chest. Camille swallowed.
“Er, yes.”
His eyes dropped to the book, her clean quill, and the blank, unopened scroll. “Were you waiting?” he asked.
“Uh, yes. Waiting.”
His lips twitched, lifting to one side. “You didn’t think I’d come, did you?”
A sheepish blush crept across her cheeks. “I wondered.”
His brow furrowed into two deep grooves between his eyebrows. He leaned back in his chair. “Really?”
“Well, I just didn’t know! I-I thought I wouldn’t be a priority. You’re a Captain, after all. I mean. You must be busy? Tell me more about what you do. I hardly ever speak with Captains, to be honest.”
He gestured to the book with a hand. “I told you I’d come.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have doubted you. I just … I worried that you’d forget. Bettina thinks I’m awfully forgettable,” she added in a mumble.
She sank lower in the chair, nearly disappearing beneath the edge of the table. His expression froze in place until he softened with a flicker of amusement. “It’s fine. But for the record, I don’t forget things like this.”
“Obligations?” she quipped with a light-hearted smile, pushing up in her chair.
“No. Algebra lessons. Let’s get started.”
Her face fell. Camille swallowed. Sweep me off my feet, why don’t you?
“Yes. Thanks.” She nudged the textbook to him. “Miss Scarlett wants me to work on ways to solve linear equations. She said that we’ll do a more in-depth review of the basics than originally planned. I think that means I didn’t do as well as she’d hoped.”
Brecken made a noise in his throat, already intent on the textbook.
The words graphing, substitution, elimination, multiplication, and factors ran through her mind in dizzying whirls. Working out math problems that combined numbers and letters was bad enough. But having to put the problems into actual words made it even worse.
Brecken shifted closer, sending the musky scent of leather in her direction. He leaned close, pointing out a paragraph in the textbook with a tap of his finger.
“It sounds complicated,” he said, “but it’s really simple. A linear equation is simply x + 7y = 15. When you plot that, it makes a line. That’s it. One you start adding in other variables, like exponents, it’s non-linear.”
He drew a graph. Camille’s confusion cleared as he demonstrated the first example. Her lessons from Miss Bernadette rushed back to her. This was familiar. She did know algebra!
“Oh.” She blinked. “That’s it?”
He nodded. “That’s it. Pretty simple, huh?”
“Well, when you put it like that.”
She spun the book back toward herself and re-read the paragraph. After asking him a few clarifying questions, and receiving his approving nod, a bolt of confidence set her thoughts flying. With quick slashes, she created a graph, solved the equation, and plotted the line.
“Ha!” she cried, setting the feather down. “Take that, Bettina.”
“Great. Let’s go to the next part.”
The next paragraph killed her budding enthusiasm. Increasing amounts of letters and numbers—large and small—blurred her mind.
“Jikes. What’s y = mx + b?” she asked, peering closer at the page. “There aren’t even numbers!”
“Slope intercept form.”
Brecken sketched out another collection of letters, numbers, and graphs one piece at a time. His easy instructions set Camille at ease. His steps built slowly on one another. She fell into the lesson with surprising ease. The low cadence of Brecken’s voice lulled her into a world where algebra made sense. Without Miss Scarlett’s intense gaze looming over her shoulder, her brain relaxed. For whatever strange reason, Brecken seemed to truly enjoy teaching algebra, and his enthusiasm wore off on her.
“Oh!” she cried. “So f (x) = and y = are the same?”
Brecken held up his hands with the widest grin she’d seen yet. Her small victory felt all the greater for his enthusiasm. “Yes! Good work, Camille. You got it.”
Camille warmed to the sound of her name from his voice. He set aside a quill, glanced to a clock, and stretched his arms behind his back. Camille followed his gaze, startled to see an hour had passed. He scooted his chair back.
No! she wanted to say. Don’t go. We haven’t even talked about your favorite food or game yet!
“Well,” he said through a yawn. “I better get going.”
“Oh, but wait!”
She reached over, setting a hand on his arm to stop him. The feel of his skin against her hand sent a jolt through her. She withdrew with a sheepish smile.
“Sorry. I, uh, just wanted to thank you. Before you go. For, uh, helping me.”
He smiled with that slight grin that made her knees tremble. The power of his full smile would melt her into a puddle.
“No problem.”
“Do I owe you anything for your help?”
He recoiled. “No. Of course not. I enjoy algebra.” A fleeting grin ghosted his lips. “Makes me feel like I’m hanging out with my little brother again.”
Camille’s heart sank. So, he was tutoring her out of a nostalgic sense of love for his brother? She brushed that aside. He’d given her a detail! She had to make the most of the opportunity.
“What’s your brother’s name?” she asked.
“Colton.”
He elongated his arms above his head again. Camille fought to keep her eyes on his face, determined not to look at the sculpt of his shoulders or the way his muscled arms rippled in the light.
“Well, I appreciate it,” she said, then glared at the book. “At least someone likes that stuff.”
He stood up. “Just keep going. It’ll click.”
Her heart plummeted. The lesson really was ending so soon? Then again, he had given her an hour. Surely, he didn’t get much time off. At this rate, she’d never win Brecken over or convince him to ask her to the Anniversary Ball. Weeds, she thought with bitter reproach, in my hair. Chucking my book across the room.
Absolutely nothing in their repertoire had a hint of romance.
She gave into her thoughts with a rueful sigh. Maybe romance wasn’t as important as she’d always thought.
“When do you want me to come back?” Brecken asked, setting his hands on his hips. Her head jerked up.
“What?”
“When do you want to do this again?”
She swallowed. “You want to come back?”
He let out an exasperated sigh. “Camille, I just told you. I—”
“Tomorrow! H-how about tomorrow? Whenever works best for you. I can make it work. Whatever you need. I mean, whenever you need.”
Brecken paused, his gaze narrowing as if in deep thought, before nodding. “Sure. I can come in the evening. After dinner. I’ll just meet you here?”
Camille exhaled in relief. Even if all they had was another algebra lesson together—hardly a tangle of romantic tension—at least it gave her time with him. And all f
rustrations aside, Camille couldn’t deny that she’d enjoyed the last hour of algebra with Brecken’s help.
An impossible thought.
“Great,” she said with a grin. “I’ll be here. Waiting.”
For your attention forever, she added with a silent quip, watching him stride out of the library with his easy gait. Then she dropped her head onto the table.
Romance is stupid.
“I just love shopping in Chatham City,” Camille said a few days later as they walked along Letum Road, flanked by the deep emerald of Letum Wood. Horses passed, their jet-black manes glittering in the sun. Her stomach rumbled with thoughts of Miss Holly’s Candy Shop and her mouthwatering sea salt caramels. Michelle and Bianca flanked her on either side.
“I’m almost out of caramels,” Camille continued, “so we’ll stop at Miss Holly’s Candy Shop first. Then we’ll get a few ribbons for my ball gown at the dressmakers.”
Camille mulled over her ribbon dilemma as they walked. Henrietta insisted on a colorful ribbon to play against the ivory shades of Camille’s ball gown. The purity of ivory marred by color? Unnatural. Like white, ivory could hold its own. Simplicity, Camille thought. Leave the extravagance for the Ball itself.
When Camille had suggested as much, Henrietta simply rolled her eyes.
Bianca peered at the forest, her raven-black hair fluttering off her shoulders in silky banners. Michelle squinted, her beady eyes nearly disappearing into her cheeks. After spending all morning writing a history essay, Camille looked forward to the buzz and excitement in downtown Chatham City. It would be just the thing to distract her from the ugly truth: Brecken still hadn’t asked her to the Anniversary Ball.
Michelle and Bianca’s conversation faded into the background as they passed into Chatham City. Tray, a Guardian with red hair and pale skin, winked at Camille. She ignored him. She wasn’t brazen enough to respond to such blatant flirting in public. Besides, who of the Guardians could compete with Brecken?
None.
Chatham City swarmed with witches, piles of garbage, and bouquets of fresh flowers. Nose wrinkled, Camille navigated her friends through the streets. The high-pitched clink clink of the blacksmith’s shop reverberated in her ear.
Camille jerked to a stop.
“Oh,” she said. “What’s going on here?”
A growing crowd blocked the street ahead, occupying the space with the scents of body odor and char. From a platform elevated above the milling witches, a thin witch waved his arms with belligerent passion.
“Our Protectors will soon be dying under his command if we don’t do something about it!” he yelled.
Bianca’s nostrils flared. “Clive,” she muttered. “It’s one of his rallies to get signatures against Papa.”
Camille swallowed a sudden rise of fear. Everyone knew Clive. The Guardians always talked about how much they hated working for him in Chatham City. Lazy, they always said. Doesn’t really care about security.
An unforgiving ideal, in their opinion.
“The High Priestess doesn’t want us ta know, but the fighting has already begun! The Guardians are in the Borderlands even as I stand in front of ya—facing the West Guards.”
“He’s lying,” Bianca hissed. “The fighting hasn’t begun yet.”
“Are the West Guards in the Borderlands?” Camille asked.
Bianca paused. “No … and yes. They aren’t in the Borderlands, they’re just along it on the other side of the border.”
“No one’s going to care whether they are fighting or not,” Michelle said. Her eyes darted through the unknown faces. “The fact that they are so close is bad enough. Let’s get out of here. I have a bad feeling.”
Camille’s stomach flipped. I’m safe, she thought, falling into the familiar mantra. I’m safe. Someone out there loves me and is happy I’m okay, even if I haven’t found them yet. Feeling marginally better, she grabbed Bianca’s arm. Bianca pulled away, stumbling when a wave of witches knocked into her.
“Wait,” Bianca said. “I want to hear what he says.”
Camille’s blood rushed in her ears. Someone shouted a comment about Tiberius.
“Bianca, let’s leave,” she said. “I don’t think we should stay. What if someone recognizes you?”
“Wait.” Rage flashed in Bianca’s gray eyes like lightning in a thunderstorm. “They’re talking about my father.”
Hisses and angry bellows rolled through the air. The sticky rage sent goosebumps down Camille’s back. Such an audience would be outright violent if they knew Bianca had come. They must leave.
Camille shook her head. “I know! That’s why we need to go.”
“She’s right, Bianca.” Michelle stepped forward. For a moment, Camille felt safe next to her broad shoulders. I am safe. The feeling faded when spittle flecked the back of her neck from a boisterous shout behind her. Witches laughed. Every moment paused, passing in lifetimes while Bianca listened to the vile insults.
Please, Camille wanted to plead. Let’s go!
“Bianca, come on,” Camille said. “Come on!”
“Yes,” Bianca finally said, swallowing. “Let’s go.”
Camille turned to leave, clutching Bianca’s arm. Suddenly, her hand lost its grip, and whirling around, Camille caught a glimpse of Bianca’s bare feet disappearing into the crowd. Anonymous hands shoved Bianca into the conglomeration of stained cloaks and old dresses, laughing uproariously at the sport.
“Bianca!”
“Bianca!” Michelle cried. Her voice died in the melee. “Bianca!”
Camille shoved into the crowd, attempting to elbow witches aside. “Let her go! She didn’t do anything to you.”
A glimpse of Bianca’s dark hair caught Camille’s gaze. Witches pushed Bianca back and forth, cackling like mad fairies, until one stopped and stood her on the ground. Michelle caught up to Camille’s side.
“Jikes,” Camille muttered. “She has the worst—”
Michelle paled. She grabbed Camille’s shoulder. “Oh no.”
“The good gods,” Camille heard the witch say. “You’re Derek’s daughter.”
Bianca elbowed him in futile attempts to wrench her arm free. “Let me go!” she growled. Michelle surged forward. Camille followed.
“Let her go!” Michelle yelled.
“She’s not who you think she is!” Camille screamed.
The crowd had tightened to see the debacle, blocking their passage. Frantic, Camille attempted to drive through two males with thick bellies, but they didn’t budge. The rancid scent of ipsum drifted from them in heavy waves, making her want to vomit.
“She’s here, Coven Leader Clive!” someone called.
“Bianca!” Camille screamed. “Transport!”
The quick crack of a slap rippled over the crowd. Silence fell over the immediate area. Michelle gasped. Camille paled.
“Bianca slapped him across the face,” Michelle whispered. Camille worked through the two drunken witches in time to see the crowd renew their onslaught against Bianca. They grabbed her hair. Her clothes. Tugged at her bare feet and ankles. The sound of Bianca’s name floated through the crowd.
“Derek’s daughter is here.”
“Bianca Monroe!”
“Tell Clive!”
A female witch in a revealing dress that smelled like cheroots pressed in on Camille, giggling. “Bianca!” Camille screamed, reaching through the bodies. “Take my hand!”
“She looks like a real tart, doesn’t she?” shouted the witch holding Bianca. “Just like her pretty Mama must have been!”
Camille held her breath.
No.
Through the press of bodies, she glimpsed Bianca’s profile silhouetted against the crowd. Bianca had become oddly still. Her body tensed. Fists clenched.
“No,” Camille wailed. “Bianca, keep it together!”
Someone reached for Bianca’s neck, but she swung an arm around. Brilliant white light exploded with a crack over the heads of the crowd. The witch fle
w back with a bloodcurdling scream. The rabid crowd stilled.
Michelle grabbed Camille and hauled her back, shoving them both through the tightly-packed bodies. Camille kicked, punching arms and legs at the witches surging toward Bianca. Three witches tackled Bianca to the ground.
“Let me go! Michelle, we need to help—”
“We need to get help, Camille! Bianca’s going to—”
A shimmering light exploded over the crowd. Camille heard screams just before a wall of air slammed into her, knocking her to the street.
Michelle stumbled. Witches screamed. Camille scraped her palms and knees on the cobblestones. Once she gained her breath again, she shot to her feet. Michelle straightened. Ten witches lay on the ground around Bianca like wilting petals. She lay in their midst, hands bloody, her expression twisted in pain. Camille scrambled forward.
“Bianca!”
“Camille, no.”
A deep voice and firm grasp on her upper arm stopped her. Camille whipped around to see Brecken standing there, his brow creased. “Brecken!” she cried, grabbing his arms. “We must help Bianca!”
He shook his head, his lips pressed tight. “No. Merrick has her now. She’ll be fine. I came for the two of you.”
Merrick’s lithe frame emerged from the crowd. He grabbed Bianca by the arm, helping her stand. Bianca wobbled, then took Merrick’s hand and followed him through the stunned crowd.
“Come on, Camille.” Brecken tugged her arm. “It’s not safe here.”
She hesitated until Bianca disappeared, then followed.
Stumbling through the thick press of witches, Camille held on to Brecken and Michelle’s hands as they wormed through the chaos. The crowd had doubled since they arrived. Murmurs rippled through her ears as they hurried past.
“Wild girl.”
“She’s killed them, ya think?”
“Shouldn’t have been here.”
“No one wants them here. Exile Derek and his wild daughter.”
Camille’s despairing thoughts nearly overwhelmed her. She should have forced Bianca to leave! The crowd thinned as they passed Miss Holly’s Candy Shop. Michelle released Camille’s hand and watched over her shoulder as they half-jogged away, witches streaming past them to join the crowd. A contingent of Guardians marched through the arch, nodding to Brecken as they passed. When Camille stepped through the arch leading to Chatham Castle, she drew in a deep breath. Brecken still hadn’t released her hand.