by Katie Cross
“Are you going to the Anniversary Ball?” she asked.
He shook his head. “No.”
She expected her heart to plummet, but it remained, solid and strong. Of course you aren’t going. She couldn’t even pretend to be surprised. Dancing didn’t suit him—so brooding and focused. Ignoring the inner voice screaming, but what about romance? Camille tucked a hair behind her ear.
“Do you prefer swords or arrows?” she asked. To her surprise, his eyes narrowed in thought. She’d stopped attempting such inane questions long ago, quickly realizing that he’d never divert from algebra for a different subject. She hoped he’d answer tonight. He’d sought her out—that counted for something. Expecting Brecken to step into her desire for a romantic love had been immature—maybe a little selfish. But being his friend felt like the right thing.
“Swords,” he finally said, jarring her from her thoughts. “I’m not that good with anything else.”
“Running or hiking?”
He paused. “Hiking.”
She nodded. “That’s what I thought.”
Another stretch of silence drew out. The hiccup of pain caused by Bettina’s letter didn’t feel so encompassing with someone lying next to her. Even if they didn’t touch.
“If you could go anywhere,” he asked, tilting his head to the side as if to regard a new star, “where would you go?”
Home, she thought. I’d go home. Whenever I find it, that’s where I’d go.
“Somewhere cool,” she said instead. “Not so hot. I don’t like how my hair looks in the humidity. Also, I get tired of sweating.”
He chuckled.
“What?” she cried. “I wasn’t joking!”
He sobered, but had to roll his lips together to suppress another chuckle. “I know,” he said. “I know. I just … I think it’s funny that you admit these things. Out loud.”
“You asked,” she grumbled.
They fell into a steady, easy conversation for the next hour. Darkness crept over the field, overtaking them both. Just talking to him felt wonderful. She’d never imagined such easy conversation with a Guardian.
When a distant horn blew, he let out a long breath. “I need to go,” he said. “But thank you for talking with me. I’ve enjoyed our conversation.”
Camille smiled. “Me too.”
He stood up, holding a hand out after her. She accepted, a thrill zipping through her hand and into her toes when their fingers touched. As soon as she gained her footing, she pulled her hand away.
“I’ll walk you back,” he said, stuffing his hands in his pockets. She nodded. They strolled out of the garden and across the grounds. Camille stared longingly at the cool grass before slipping away, allowing it to disappear behind the hedges. What a lovely evening.
When they reached the lower bailey, Brecken nodded once. His eyes appeared soft in the torchlight.
“Goodnight, Camille.”
“Night, Brecken.”
She started up the stairs, looking forward to slipping her shoes off and letting her binder loose. What would Leda say about her late night? Michelle would likely be asleep already. Her early shifts—
“Camille, wait.”
She stopped, glancing over her shoulder to see Brecken a few steps away, one hand held out. He dropped it back to his side, his jaw working up and down.
“Yes?” she asked.
“Tutoring again?” he asked. “I-I mean … Can I tutor you again? I’ve missed our time in the library together.”
“Sure.” She shrugged. “That sounds great.”
“Tomorrow. Same time?”
She nodded. “See you then.”
Camille left him standing on the stairs leading into Chatham Castle, the glittering stars spraying in the sky behind him.
The weeks of summer slid by in a lazy blur of ivory silk, Witchery nights, and stuffy evenings with Brecken in the library. Camille’s incompetence in algebra smoothed into confidence. Brecken’s guiding comments came less frequently, and he even drifted into conversations about Guard duty, burrowing gnomes, and Camille’s rampant love of pastries.
“So,” Camille drawled when he dropped into the chair one sultry evening in the third month of summer. “I brought a surprise!”
She yanked a cloth off two bubbly cups of Fina’s special fizzy water. “It’s watermelon flavored!” she cried. “Fina squeezed fresh watermelon juice inside just for me. It’s so good, Brecken, you’ll die. This will be my third glass. Okay, fine. Fourth.” She pointed. “Don’t judge me.”
Brecken didn’t reach for a glass, even though she already held hers. He stared at a knot on the table, unblinking, his hands in his lap. She straightened.
“Breck?”
He shook his head. “What?”
She motioned to the cup. “Fizzy water. Do you want some?”
He shook his head. “No. Let’s just get started. What are you learning tonight?”
“The quadratic equation.” She frowned and shoved the book to him. “Miss Scarlett reviewed it, and I practiced with her, but I’m still confused. She said something about an incomplete square?”
“Completing the square.”
“Sure. Whatever. My point is—”
“No,” he snapped, driving a hand through his hair. “Not whatever. Completing the square is an algebraic method. You have to learn how to do it.”
Camille leaned back. “Oookay. Didn’t mean to upset you. What’s wrong, Brecken? You seem … haggard.”
Her eyes drifted over him. Stains littered the front of his white shirt. Bags drew his eyes into his cheeks, making him appear gaunt and weary. He rubbed one eye with a fist and mumbled under his breath.
“What?” Camille tilted her head. “I can’t hear you.”
“Just get your homework scroll, already,” he snapped.
Camille’s hand hovered over the scroll, then dropped back to the table. “Brecken, if something is bothering you, I can figure this out on my own. Leda will answer my questions as long as I don’t ask in the library. I think,” she added in a mumble.
His brow furrowed. For a long stretch of time, he just sat there, staring at the grooves in the table top. What felt like an eternity later, he drew in a deep breath and lifted his gaze to hers.
“I’m leaving for three months, Camille.”
The air left her lungs. Camille felt as if she’d been kicked in the gut. Leaving? She had so many questions she wanted to ask. Yet, she licked her lips and attempted to pull herself back together. Somehow in the interim of life and studying, Brecken had become her good friend.
The pieces of realization drifted slowly into place. No matter how much Brecken felt like hers when they spent time together in the library, he wasn’t. He belonged to his job. A job with increasing danger. West Guards in the Borderlands, she thought, recalling articles in the Chatterer.
Brecken, Captain of the Guard.
“Oh?” she asked, trailing into a squeak.
He growled, sinking lower in the chair. “My contingent was reassigned to the Borderlands for a three-month duty. I leave next week.”
Camille’s hands fell into her lap. “I see,” she murmured.
“I have to do inventory, order supplies, communicate with the other Captain, and plan our departure.” He gestured to the table with a helpless lift of his hand. “I won’t have time to help you in algebra.”
“Of course not. I understand.”
His heavy brow deepened. “That’s it? That’s all you have to say?”
For a moment, Camille plunged into her jumbled thoughts. You may miss the Anniversary Ball, and that would break my heart. I’m angry that you’re leaving. But I just want you to be safe—even if you’ll never be mine.
She swallowed it all back.
“What do you want me to say?” she asked, forcing her voice steady. “I-I-I’m not sure what this means.”
“Nothing.” He turned away. The legs of his chair squeaked as he shoved away from the table, nearly clattering ba
ckward. “Merry part, Camille.”
She shot to her feet.
“Wait!”
He stopped, shoulders tensed. A nearby librarian hissed at her to be quiet, but Camille ignored her, at a loss. Was he irritated with her? Except for their argument after Clive’s rally, she’d never seen him anything but focused or mellow. Could she really say what she wanted? If she unwound her bruised heart, would it bleed all over him?
I want you to be here, she thought.
The words died on her lips. Had it come to that? Her shoulders shrank back. Of course it had. All these weeks that she’d been convincing herself they were only becoming closer friends, she’d been falling madly in love with him.
Now, Brecken was leaving.
Any hope of a relationship with him would likely disappear with his departure. He’d miss the Anniversary Ball and the beautiful ivory gown that she realized she’d been hoping all along would win his affection. In three months’ time, they would grow apart. Nothing guaranteed he’d return to the castle once he finished, anyway. His contingent could be reassigned. Their duty extended. Anything.
Camille hovered on the brink of fear, empty and horrible.
Leda had been right; romance didn’t really exist. Not the way the books wrote it. Despite Camille’s best attempts, her war for affection had only led to heartbreak and confusion. But part of her, fostered by Brecken’s attention and strange love for algebra, had kept hoping.
“Be safe,” she said. “Please?”
His jaw flexed. He strode away. The heavy sound of his feet thudding across the floor disappeared into the background.
Camille dropped back to her chair, tears brimming in her eyes.
I am safe, she thought. Then she buried her head in her hands and let the tears fall.
Dear Brecken,
It’s been two weeks since you left. Not much has changed. I passed the test on quadratic equations—barely. On my second attempt. Miss Scarlett said that “passing” was a generous grade. She gave me a 2+.
Maybe you were my good luck charm.
Hope the Borderlands are going well and you’re staying safe. What’s your schedule like? Are you enjoying the time in a new place? Hopefully bugs don’t sleep with you at night. Ugh. Don’t tell me about them. My skin is crawling just thinking about it.
—Camille
Brecken,
Thought you’d like to know I re-took the quadratic formula test and passed with a level 4! It’s not a 5, of course, but it’s better than my previous score. Are you proud? I celebrated with a fizzy drink. Or three.
Did you get my last letter? I sent it two weeks ago. I have so many questions about the Borderlands. Do you ever see West Guards? Are there cactus? (Or is it cacti? I can never remember.) Luther and Zeke say you’re probably bored out of your mind without burrowing gnomes to chase down there. I dumped my punch on Zeke’s lap when he said it. He didn’t speak to me for three days. A lovely time.
Hopefully my letter comes through.
—Camille
Breck,
It’s been six weeks and I haven’t heard from you. Luther says the reports look good, which means you’re safe. I’m a little worried, even though Zeke tells me not to be. Things were weird when we split, but not that weird.
Right?
Write as soon as you can. Even a few words. I miss laughing with you in the library.
—Camille
Breck,
YOU ARE THE WORST AT RESPONDING.
—Camille
Camille,
The Borderlands are hot. Even hotter than the castle.
And yes. Things were weird. I had a lot on my mind, and you didn’t seem as surprised as I had expected at my news. I felt annoyed that I’d overestimated your response.
—Breck
Brecken,
Good thing you didn’t keep me waiting or anything. Your assignment is almost over, by the way.
You really won’t make it to the Anniversary Ball? It’s only a few days away … Luther said your contingent is preparing to return. I’d love some good news.
—Camille
Camille—
This is not a variable that I can control, so I will not promise.
—Breck
Three days later, Camille bit back a delighted squeal.
A trellis of elegant white flowers bloomed over the door into the ballroom, beckoning her with its saccharine scent. Her ivory gown, with every seam straight and dart perfected, drifted around her legs in a gauzy, sleek waterfall. She patted her hair out of her face and bit back a sigh. Jikes, but violins made the air sweet enough to eat.
One could almost call it romantic.
Michelle advanced into the ballroom at Camille’s side, her mouth hanging open. Paintings of Letum Wood alternated along the walls, blending with the subtle blooms and garlands crawling in between. A table burdened by an endless buffet of food filled the back wall. The High Priestess stood near the throne replicas at the top of the room, clad in a hideous lemon-colored dress.
Camille propped onto her toes. “Do you see Brecken?” she asked Michelle. “Is he here? I’ve asked around all day but couldn’t figure out if he arrived or not.”
“No. So many Guardians are here though.”
Camille muttered under her breath, but pasted a smile on when two Guardians slid by, dazzling her in their handsome, crisp uniforms. On Brecken’s wide shoulders and sculpted arms, the fabric would sizzle. Despite her most valiant efforts, she felt the giddy anticipation of seeing him again. He’s not mine, she reminded herself. He barely wrote.
Her galloping heart didn’t listen.
“It is beautiful,” Michelle said, fidgeting with the folds of her pink-waisted gown. Baby curls and sprigs of white flowers decorated her hair with hints of summer. Next to her, Bianca filled the air with nervous tension. As usual, her hair flowed around her shoulders. A slight shimmer in the long strands from Camille’s potion added a little dash of sophistication.
Jikes, Camille thought. Bianca looked lovely with her simple dress and shining hair. Even though her eyes darted through the room and fists remained clenched at her side. She walked like a coiled spring about to burst. Camille thought back to their skinny-dipping adventure the night before with a wicked blush, then a plunging despair.
What if she lost Bianca tonight?
No, she thought firmly. Don’t even think it. The High Priestess would come through. She always did. Bianca wouldn’t die.
“Really, Bianca,” Camille said. “You should have let me do something more than just rub a potion into your hair. It’s a ball, you know.”
“My hair is just fine the way it is.”
Camille let it go. Bianca hovered on a precarious precipice of life and death. If she wanted to wear her hair down, Camille didn’t care. She turned her attention to the crowd while Leda and Bianca sank into conversation. Michelle attempted—unsuccessfully—to find a way to employ her hands.
The minutes of avid searching ticked by. Camille drank in the heady perfumes and layers of chiffon with delight. So many witches. So much elegance. She’d never seen anything like it in her life.
Eat your heart out, Bettina, she thought.
A familiar head of hair bobbed through the crowd, heading straight for her. Camille’s heart sank. Brecken hadn’t come. Why else would Luther approach her?
“Oh, no,” she murmured. “Here comes Luther.”
Bianca, Michelle, and Leda all turned at the same time to eye the approaching Guardian, who, despite himself, cleaned up well.
“You don’t want to dance with Luther?” Michelle asked.
“No!” Camille cried. Her cheeks flushed hot as a sun flare. Pressing the backs of her hands to them didn’t help. Oh, she wasn’t being fair, of course. Luther did care for her as a good friend. There were worse Guardians to be asked to dance with than Luther. Brecken’s bright eyes flashed through her mind. But there were better ones, too.
“I don’t mind,” Camille continued with a
little sigh. “I-I just hoped to dance with Brecken first.”
Bianca eyed Luther with a queer gaze. “Is Brecken back?” she asked, angling her body slightly so she stood between the crowd and Camille.
“I don’t know!” Camille cried, turning her back to the crowd. “I haven’t seen or heard from him.”
Camille wondered if she could melt into the crowd. Leave the Ball. Romance, she thought, is a dirty old hag. Not real at all.
Tears made her eyes hot as coals. She blinked the moisture back. Any second now and Luther would reach her. She didn’t have the heart to say no, but she wanted to. Because even after months of almost total silence from him, she still wanted Brecken.
“Camille,” said a familiar, rolling voice. “You aren’t crying over me, are you?”
Camille sucked in a sharp breath. With a muted cry, she whirled around. Brecken stood behind her, seeming to glow in a crimson shirt and crisp, angled overcoat. Colorful emblems stitched to his shoulders and arms gleamed with every movement. The edges of his lips lifted into a full, devastating smile.
Camille’s knees trembled.
“As if you ever doubted that I’d come,” he said.
His hand claimed hers. He pulled her against his hard chest, wrapping an arm around her waist. Together, they circled into the bright shift and shuffle of the dance floor.
The second her breath returned, Camille’s head cleared. She didn’t even know the steps to this dance, but she glided in rhythm with him. She averted her eyes. The powerful line of his jaw and the muscled precision of his shoulders distracted her.
This is supposed to be romantic, she thought, viewing the whirling dresses. I should be flying. But I just feel … jumbled.
“I’ve never seen you speechless before,” Brecken murmured.
“You said you couldn’t dance.”
“I said I didn’t like it.”
“You said you wouldn’t make it.”
“No,” he drawled. “I said I wouldn’t promise.”