by A. M. Hudson
“Morning, My Queen. Sleep well?”
“Knowing I had Quaid outside my door all night?” I grinned. “Of course.”
“I’m sorry.” He sat down. “I sleep better when I have a guard on you. I just. . .”
“Just?”
“You know I don’t usually order it every night. But, last night, I had a hunch.”
“A hunch?” My brow arched, the scepticism hidden behind my coffee mug as I took a sip. It was no creamy, sugary delight, like David’s coffee, but it was nice to have someone make it for me. “What kind of hunch?”
He exhaled loudly, swiping his thumb across his bottom lip. “Whenever I get those . . . feelings, you usually end up in some kind of trouble.”
“But I didn’t last night.” I flashed a cheesy grin, cocking my head like an innocent puppy.
“No. But we did pick up a suspicious scent around the border of the manor this morning. Whoever it was, they may have been on their way to see you.”
“Ooh, creepy.” I dusted myself off jokingly. “Anyway, I wasn’t in my room for most of last night. I was reading in the library.”
“I know.” He sipped his coffee. “What were you looking for? Anything I can help with?”
“Hopefully. That’s why I asked you here this morning.”
“Okay, so what is it?”
“I need to show you something,” I said, feeling a little awkward.
He sat back, folding his arms as if waiting for me to tell him I’d gotten myself into some kind of mess. “Need to show me what, exactly?”
“It’s nothing bad. I mean, I hope.” I stood and lifted my shirt, scooping my jeans down an inch to show where the black rash snuck down below my pubic line.
“The Mark of Betrayal,” he said, clearing his throat after.
“You know what it is?” I twisted at the waist a little to look all the way around at the back of my hip.
“I happen to have extensively studied anything to do with you, your body, your past, and your bloodline, Ara. Of course I know what it is.”
“You’ve studied me?” I lowered my top and pulled my jeans up again.
“Your Majesty, I am Head of the Queen’s Guard. That role comes with certain expectations.” He walked over to the sink and dumped his cup in there. “I should be the number-one most educated man in this manor when it comes to you.”
“So, how do you know what kind of Mark it is?”
“Because it wraps your torso from your heart to your hip—it’s the only Mark of its kind. And the question is, Ara—” He propped one foot on the seat of the chair, resting his arm over his knee. “What have you done?”
“I don’t know.” I leaned my butt on the tabletop. “I was hoping maybe if I could figure out what kinds of things would give me this Mark, then maybe I could—”
“Ara, what ever it is you’ve done, to be Marked with that symbol, it has to have been something pretty spectacular.” He dropped his foot to the floor, standing tall again. “That’s one of the Four Detriments.”
“The what now?”
“There are four things a queen can do that ultimately betray her crown, her people or herself. You don’t need to figure out so much what it is you did, but perhaps whom you did it to. And there should be a symbol somewhere in that mess of a rash all over you that reveals it.”
“Well, which one.” I lifted my top and poked at the black line.
“I don’t know.” He put my top down for me. “And stop doing that. If anyone walks past, they’ll think we’re being inappropriate.”
“Oh. Sorry, Falcon. That wasn’t my intention.”
“I know. Just. . .” His eyes drifted away from me. “Just be more careful.”
“Sorry.”
“Stop saying sorry.” He pulled the chair out and sat down, offering me my seat again. “How long have you had the Mark, Ara?”
“It started as a red rash after I fell off the lighthouse, and it’s just been changing since then.”
“The lighthouse?”
“Yes.”
“Did you jump?” he asked, and silence befell the room.
“I—” My mouth opened, but I was so shocked by the question I struggled to form an answer. “No way. I’d never do something like that.”
“Are you sure? Maybe you were so depressed about David being away that you—”
“No! Falcon, that’s ludicrous.” I jumped up and walked over to the sink. “It would take a lot more than that to make me want to die.”
“Bingo.” He appeared beside me. “Then, what did you do before you ended up on the lighthouse that night?”
My immediate reaction was to protest. But I stopped. What if something really bad had happened, and I did actually jump? I mean, David was there that night. What if he and I had an argument—what if he told me the truth about going to his death, and that’s why I jumped, knowing I didn’t want to live without him? It would make sense. It would explain why he was so hell-bent on keeping the truth from me. Or maybe it wasn’t that at all. Maybe, just like my gut had been trying to tell me, it had something to do with Jason. “I can’t think of anything that would be bad enough to make me want to die, can you?”
“Damned if I know, Ara.” He shrugged, stepping away. “Unfortunately, there are no books I can study that get inside your head.”
“But someone can.” A suggestive grin teased my lips. “Someone can get in my head and go back to that night—see what happened.”
He settled back on his heels. “Jason.”
“Yes. Maybe I could ask him to, I dunno, hypnotise me and take me back on a past-month regression?”
“Bad idea, Ara.”
“Why?”
“Because, A: he’s not allowed near you, especially when the king is absent. And, B: until we know exactly what happened and whether or not you did, in fact, jump, every person in this manor is guilty until proven innocent. Including David,” he added.
“Why David? He’d never hurt me.”
“I don’t know that. And neither do you, really. He’s pretty vial, Ara, especially when it comes to the law. For all we know, he pushed you off the lighthouse.”
“Why would he push me?”
“Who knows? All I know is that he was out there that night, and it’s a pretty convenient story that he just happened to return here to “talk” with you.”
“Yeah, but—”
“But nothing. It’s my job to protect you, Your Majesty, even if that means from the king.”
“That’s exactly why I should go to Jason, and—”
“And how do you know it wasn’t him?” He let that hang for a second. “He was the last one to see you that night, Ara. Not to mention, your memory is gone. How do we know he didn’t erase it?”
I rubbed my head. “So we tell no one?”
“Look, let me take a good look at the book of Marks, and another good look at your body—in private.” He looked around as if someone might have heard him say that. “And if we can’t come up with an answer, then we’ll discuss further investigation, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Right. And just until we’ve figured this out, I want guards on you at night.”
I took a deep breath and let it out. “Okay. If that eases your mind.”
“It will.” He nodded once.
“And, thank you, Falcon—for helping me out with this.” I motioned to my Mark.
“It’s always my pleasure, Majesty, and I know I don’t need to say it, but . . . you can trust this information will go no further than me.”
“Not to Mike?”
He held back a small laugh. “Especially not to Mike.”
Chapter Eight
“You wanted to see me?” I said, popping my head around Jason’s door.
“Yeah, come in.” His arm rose in a wave from his huddle over the spread of papers in front of him.
I stopped a second to look back at Falcon. “Coming, Fal?”
“It’s okay.” He gave a small nod
of approval. “I can hear everything from out here.”
I flashed him a grin and closed Jason’s door behind me, shutting us into his room, alone. “What’s up, Jase?”
“I know why the stone melted. But that wasn’t why I asked you here.” He leaned his butt against the table and folded his arms. “You were thinking about something at breakfast.”
“I’m always thinking about something.”
“Yes, but this thought involved me.”
“Okay.” I wondered over and sat on the blanket box at the foot of his bed. “What thought was it?”
“You have something you want me to translate into English.”
My fingertips slowly moved to my hip pocket. “Yes.”
He held his hand out. “Show me.”
“I have no idea what kind of spell it is—or if it even is a spell,” I said, passing him the page I found last night.
He considered it for a second. “It’s a junction fabricator.”
“What’s that?”
“It creates pathways over the dead.” He turned around and laid it on the desk, grabbing another sheet of paper and a pen.
“The dead? Do you mean, like—”
“Like brings dead things back to life, if the body isn’t damaged. But it’s not black magic,” he added quickly. “It’s simply a kind of highway, you might say, that guides a soul from one realm to another and puts it where you want it.”
“Realm?”
“Yes. Think of it as if we live in layers.” He laid one hand over the other in the air. “Up top, we have the spirit realm, and below, we have the mortal realm.”
“And this spell makes a path for a person to cross sides?”
“To cross back, yeah. Unless its body had no head, or something like that.” He leaned over the page again and started taking notes. I watched the symbols on one page turn to English on the other under his pen tip, picturing the actions of the spell in my head. “There’s something else,” Jason said without looking up, and I stared at him, waiting, but he didn’t elaborate.
“What’s something else?”
He stopped writing with a rather expressive full stop and dumped his pen down. “This rash.”
“What about it?”
“Show it to me.” He looked at my waist.
“Why?”
“Because it’s not what you think it is, and I want to see how much it’s changed.”
I reluctantly inched my shirt up my ribs and drew my tummy in a bit as his warm hands cupped my waist. He knelt down in front of me, his tepid breath calling the tiny hairs above my jeans to attention, and spun me this way and that, frowning, tracing lines over the black rash.
“I know you’ve already decided it’s a Mark of Betrayal, but it’s not because you’ve done anything wrong, Ara.”
“Then what’s it from?” I pulled my top down as Jason stood up again.
He propped his shoulder on the tall bedpost, his legs leaned out long, arms folded, making me feel small under his penetrating gaze. “It’s betrayal of the heart.”
“Of the heart?” I touched my chest absently. “In what way?”
He just shrugged, lowering his face to hide that sheepish grin.
“Oh, right. You think I love you, huh?” I said jokingly.
But he just shrugged again. “Maybe.”
“Jase—”
“Look. Just don’t, okay.” He raised both palms. “I didn’t bring you here to argue about your feelings, Ara. I just wanted you to stop trying to figure out what you did wrong.” His arms fell to his sides. “You’ve done nothing wrong.”
I walked a little closer, my eyes narrowing with curiosity, and stopped right in front of him. “I think I know what it is.”
“What?” he asked, his eyes a little wider than normal.
“I. . .” I had to tell him. I had to tell someone what happened between Arthur and I in the training room that night—the night I fell of the lighthouse. Or jumped.
“I already know, Ara. And that has nothing to do with the Mark.”
“You already know what?”
“I know about my uncle and the training hall, and the . . . turkey baster plan you came up with after.”
Invisible lava coated my cheeks. “How?”
He glanced back at his bed and reversed a few steps to sit on it. “I found you that night. You were . . . Mike was there, too. He was towering over you, yelling at you, and I—”
“You what?”
“I punched him in the face and took you up to bed.”
“What! Why?”
“He went down there to drop some cuffs off, and he found you half naked on the floor, wearing only Arthur’s shirt.”
“Oh my God.” I covered my mouth. “So he’s known? This entire time, he knew what I planned to do with—”
“No.” He looked up from the floor. “I erased everything about Arthur from his mind the next day. And then I erased yours, took everything from the moment he walked into the training hall that night.”
“Why?”
“Two reasons.”
“One?” I prompted.
“One: you were distressed about it all—about Mike knowing. And, two: he would have told David about this plan you and Arthur had.”
“So you stopped him?”
“Yes, but not just because David would freak out.”
“Then, why?”
“Because Mike. . .”
“Mike?”
“He was irate, Ara. He got scared. He thought you’d actually slept with Arthur—that David would hate you now. And all he could think about was the pieces of you he had to pick up last time David left. He just didn’t want to see you like that again. And. . .” His lips folded into a thin line. “He overreacted. He slapped you.”
“Slapped me?” My neck jutted outward like a jumper on a skyscraper.
“Yeah. It was just a shitty situation, Ara. I was mad with him at first but . . . I understand what he was going through then.”
“Delusions of grandeur?”
Jase laughed. “Probably. All that aside, though, he was packing his bag the next morning, about to quit and go back to Australia.”
“Oh my God.”
“I knew you still needed him, so. . .” he continued. “I erased it from his mind.”
“And then I jumped off the lighthouse?”
He looked up at me curiously. “What makes you think you jumped?”
I shrugged. “Just a hunch.”
“Hunch, huh?” He sighed, both hands going to his head as he flopped back on his bed.
“You know why I jumped, don’t you?”
“I may.”
“Then. . .” I walked over and sat down beside his leg. “Tell me.”
He opened one eye and looked out from behind his hands. “I can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s better left buried, Ara. Believe me.”
“Why?”
He sat up again, coming to stop with my hand in his. “You trust me, right?”
I nodded.
“And you know that—” He squeezed my hand. “I always have your best interests at heart?”
“Uh-huh.” I nodded again.
“Then, can you wait? Please. Ask me to tell you another time, maybe when David’s gone.”
“Why? Is it because of what happened with Arthur?”
He tensed, wincing. “Kind of. But not really.”
“Jase.” I laid my other hand over his. “You know I can’t just let this go. You’d be better off telling me the truth now—save me all the investigation and worry.”
He laughed, his lovely white teeth making me a little hungry for the bite. “I want what’s best for you, Ara. We all do. But if I tell you what happened that night, it’ll make you hate yourself.”
“Well, if I want to berate myself for something I did, that’s my prerogative, Jase. Not yours.”
“You’re right.” He nodded, his distracted gaze moving toward his window. “And I
will tell you. But not today.”
“Hmpf!” I mashed my features together in a scowl. “You’re starting to sound like David.”
“I’m sorry. That’s the last thing I want to say to you, Ara, but I have to protect you. And you know I always tell you the truth, but this time, I—”
“You’re between a rock and hard place.”
“Yeah.” He exhaled through a smile. “I just need your understanding on this one, just for now.”
“Okay.” I nodded. “Fine. But you’ve got two weeks, and that’s it. Then, you better tell me what the hell happened that night. Fair?”
“Very fair.”
“Pinkie promise.”
He laid his pinkie over mine and shook once. “I promise.”
“Good. Now, what was this conclusion you drew about my melting stone problem?”
“Ah.” He stood up quickly. “So, I was right about the lightning theory—the fulgurite.”
“You were.” I stood beside him at the table.
“Yes. You really didn’t wanna kiss me, did you?” He turned to me, smiling.
“Um. Kinda not really.”
“It’s okay.” He lifted my chin, green eyes meeting blue in a world of acceptance. “But, that fear—for whatever reason you didn’t want to kiss me, ignited your fight instinct in the method of which you've been practicing most, but when your hand heated up, the temperature acted to reverse the process of making rock, you might say, by turning it back to its original state.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah. Wow. And . . . did you get a headache when you used your light?” he asked, wearing a huge I-know-what-I’m-talking-about grin.
“Um. Now I think of it.” I touched my head. “No.”
“Right.” He grabbed a stack of papers and started writing. “That just confirms my theory.”
“What does?”
“You got scared, focused your concerns too much on the rock. You made it the problem, so, your electric energy rose up to protect you. Your skin melted, you felt the pain, thought I was causing it, and broke my arm to stop me.”
“Well, I gathered that much.”
“Right, but. . .” He tapped the page once with his pen. “I don’t believe your blue light thing is actually meant to be used as a weapon.”