by Anna Carey
Page 35
The King paced the length of the room. I saw his momentary hesitation, the way his brows knitted together, his fingers working at the side of his face. I was still wearing the uniform, the same shirt Caleb had unbuttoned, the vest he’d pulled from my shoulders. I could still feel his hands running over my skin. Nothing had mattered in that moment—the rest of the world so far away, the Teachers’ warnings losing all meaning.
Now, the rest of my life presented itself to me, an endless succession of days in the Palace, of nights alone in my own bed. The only thing that had carried me through in Califia was the possibility of finding Caleb, of being together again, in some future time and place. “You can’t kill him,” I said, my hands clammy and cold.
The King started toward the door. “I can’t discuss this anymore,” he said. He reached for the keypad beside it.
I raced in front of him, my hands on the doorframe. “Don’t do this. ” I kept picturing Caleb in some awful room, a soldier striking him with a metal baton. They wouldn’t stop until his face—the face I loved so much—was swollen and bloody. Until his body went horribly still. “You said we were family. That’s what you said. If you care about me at all you won’t do this. ”
The King pried my fingers from the doorframe and held them in his own. “He’ll be tried tomorrow. With the Lieutenant’s testimony it will all be over in three days. I will let you know when it’s done. ” He leaned down to meet my gaze. His voice was soft, his hands squeezing mine, as if this small, pathetic offer were some sort of consolation.
The door opened. He stepped into the quiet hall and said something to the soldier stationed outside. The words seemed far away, somewhere beyond me. I was trapped in my own head, the memories of the morning returning to me. The darkness of the plane, Caleb’s back as we walked through the City. The wind kicking up dust and sand, coating everything with a thin layer of grime.
It’s over, I thought, the smell of his skin still clinging to my clothes. In three days, Caleb would be dead.
twenty-nine
THE STILLNESS OF THE SUITE WAS INTOLERABLE. LATE THAT night, I sat on the edge of the bed, the minutes passing slowly. The moonlight cast strange shapes on the floor, menacing black shadows that hovered around me, my only company. There was no more pretending. A soldier stood outside my door now. Caleb was somewhere beyond the City center, sitting in some cell, both of us waiting, each hour bringing us closer to the end.
Footsteps echoed in the hall. The knock on the door raised the fine hairs on my arms. The King came in, flicking the lights on, the brightness stinging my eyes. “They said you wanted to talk, Genevieve. ” He sat down in the armchair in the corner, his hands folded together, his chin resting on his knuckles as he watched me. “Did you think about what I said? It’s a matter of safety—yours and mine. ”
“I did,” I replied. Outside, the sky was flecked with stars. The sun had disappeared hours before, slipping behind the mountains. I picked at the thin skin around my fingernails, wondering if I could actually say it out loud. If I had the courage to make it real. “I can’t let you punish Caleb for something he didn’t do. I did it. I told you—I was the one who shot those soldiers. ”
The King shook his head. “I’m not having this conversation again. I won’t—”
“You said I’m supposed to be with someone like Charles, that there are expectations for me as the Princess. But I can’t spend another day here knowing Caleb is dead. That he was punished for something I did. ” My voice cracked as I said it. The soldiers were everywhere now, some wandering the hallways, others stationed beside my door. There was no way out. I took a deep breath, thinking of what would happen to Caleb after the Lieutenant testified, if he’d be tortured, how he’d be killed. “I’ll marry Charles if that’s what you want—if that’s what you think I’m supposed to do. But you have to let Caleb go. ”
The King stared at me. “It’s not just what I want—it’s what the City wants. It’s what makes sense. You would be happy with him. I know you would. ”
“So you’ll agree to it?”
The King let out a long, rattling breath. “I know you can’t see it now, but this will be the best for everyone. Charles is a good man, has been so loyal and—”
“Tell me you won’t hurt him. ” My throat was tight. I couldn’t listen to any more about Charles, as if marrying him would suddenly open up something inside me, a riptide of feeling, threatening everything I’d ever known. As if love were a choice.
The King stood and came toward me. He rested his hand on my shoulder. “I’ll have the soldiers release him beyond the walls. But from now on, there will be no more talk of this boy. You’ll pursue a future with Charles. ”
I nodded, knowing that tomorrow it would all feel much heavier. But right now, sitting in my suite, it was bearable. Caleb would go free. There was possibility in that—hope, even. So long as Caleb was alive, there was always hope. “I want to say good-bye,” I said. “Just one last time. Will you take me to him?”
The King stared out the window, beyond the City. I closed my eyes, listening to the air coming through the vents, waiting for him to respond. All I could see was Caleb’s face. Last night we lay awake, his head resting against my heart. The plane was silent. I almost have it, he’d said, his eyes half-closed. One more time. I slipped my hand beneath the blanket, pressing my finger into his back and dragging it along his skin, spelling the letters out one by one, slower than before. When I was finished he looked up, his nose practically touching mine, a smile curling on his lips. I know, he’d said, burying his face into my neck. I love you, too.
When I opened my eyes, the King was still standing there. He turned away from the window. Without saying a word he opened the door, his hand up, gesturing for us to go.
THE PRISON, A MASSIVE COMPLEX SURROUNDED BY A BRICK wall, was a ten-minute drive from the City center. Two of the seven watchtowers were in use, the guards stationed high above the ground, their rifles at the ready. They’d shown me into a concrete room with a table and chairs bolted to the floor. The King stood outside with a guard, both of them watching me. I sat there, my fingers rapping nervously on the metal.
A minute passed. Maybe two. Memories piled on top of one another—moments between us—the feel of the horse beneath us as we hurdled over the ravine, the dank, earthy smell of the dugout on our skin. He’d grabbed my hand that night as we walked through the cool corridor, the warmth of it sending a fiery charge up my arm. It spread out in my chest, shot down my legs, awakening feeling in every inch of me, electrifying even my toes. Until then I’d been half-alive, his touch the only thing that could wake me from that sleep.
A guard led Caleb inside. They’d ruined his face. A bloody gash stretched from his right brow to his hairline, splitting his skin. His cheek was pink and swollen. He was hunched over, still in the same wrinkled shirt he’d put on that morning, buttoned all wrong, blood dried black around the collar.
“Who did this?” I asked, barely able to get the words out. I pulled him close, hating that they hadn’t untied his hands, that he couldn’t touch my face or thread his fingers through my hair.