Lucy at Last

by Mary E. Twomey

  “Hey yourself, roomie.” He took one look at the bed and shook his head. “Too small to share.”

  I forced out a chortle. “Ho, friend. You’re sleeping on the floor wherever we land. I don’t care which room you choose.”

  He turned and meandered down the hallway, lantern in hand, and turned left into the next bedroom. Though I’d never known where Charles’s room was before, there was no doubt it was his bedroom I was stepping into. It felt like walking over a grave, each breath the wrong one to take. “I… This is the wrong room. Pick a different one.”

  It was like I hadn’t spoken. Tucker sat on the black comforter, testing the springiness. There was a pillow on the head of the bed and one at the foot. The walls were gold, like the rest of the house, except for the one with windows carved into it. That one Mace had painted black. He had a black armoire and a black nightstand. The only surprising thing was the enormous portrait of a vase of flowers, framed in gold and hanging on the wall over the head of his bed. Despite my desire to run, I walked over to the picture and ran my finger along the rim, taking a layer of gold dust from it.

  “You like flowers?” Tucker inquired, trying to make polite conversation.

  “No. I mean, of course I do, but that’s not it. This was Mace’s room. My brother I met last year. He’s the emo type. Not the portrait of flowers on your wall type. I don’t get it.”

  “Probably to cover over a hole in the wall or something. Young men left to their devices can get up to all sorts of destructive mischief.” Tucker crawled on his knees over the bed and lifted the frame off the wall, nearly dropping it at my gasp. “What… Is that you?”

  My mouth dropped open and the hairs on my arms stood on end. The color drained from my face as I took in what could only be described as a serial killer’s wall.

  There was a picture I remembered posing for with my family. Christmas when I was sixteen, Uncle Rick insisted on getting a snap of us wearing matching smiles and the matching t-shirts he’d gotten us that each had various knock-knock jokes on them he’d thought were “hilarious”. There we were, grinning like we’d have decades more Christmases together.

  Scattered around that picture were several facts on separate scraps of paper, connected by lines of yarn going every which way. My yarn was red, and connected random facts concerning me, looking like spider webs all across the board. Linus’s was blue, Mom’s yarn was yellow, and Dad’s was orange.

  My fingers were tingling with the anticipation of losing all sensation if I didn’t get my shiz together. Air was all of a sudden thick, and pulling it into my lungs felt like a chore. By the lantern’s flickering light, I took in Charles’s scribbled thoughts about me that were gleaned no doubt from conversations with Uncle Rick.

  Likes cheese, but doesn’t like milk. Why?

  Blonde hair, short stature, but our parents are the same. How?

  Read “The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe” and talked with fascination to Alrik about the creatures in it. Must find and read this book.

  Loves peach pie with cheese on top. Must learn to make cheese.

  Doesn’t like outdoor activities.

  Fancies candy treats.

  Won’t wear dresses, but isn’t a man. Then next to that was a sketch of a dress that was shockingly similar to the gold and blue one my uncle had given me to wear when I first came to Elvage. Bile rose in my throat when I realized Mace had dreamed up the dress for me and had it made.

  My heart pounded when my eyes fell on, Her brother is her best friend. I am her brother. I am her best friend.

  Dozens of factoids about me were splayed out across the board, interspersed with ones about my family.

  Connected to my picture by a red yarn was a poem about… my hazel eyes.

  The specifics don’t matter, nor would I ever feel like discussing them. Suffice it to say that it was not the sort of poem a brother writes to his sister. I can’t actually think of what a poem from a brother to his sister might sound like, except maybe the fart-themed ones Linus used to scrawl out for me when I was bored. Those were not the same as the one titled “Hazel is the color, Lovely is the girl”.

  Jamie felt my distress from several houses down where he’d gone to beg a doctor out of bed in the middle of the night to help Jens. My favorite prince worked to cover over his shock so he could soothe my nerves. Lucy? Lucy, it’s okay. Take a breath.

  “Put it back!” I choked out. “Put the picture back!”

  Tucker obeyed, his eyes wide. For once, he did not have a snarky thing to say. “You’re right. We shouldn’t sleep in this room tonight.” He snatched up my hand and pulled me out of Charles’s room, shutting the door tight as if to keep the memories of the wall from seeping out and haunting us both. He led me back to my room and shut us inside, leaning on the door. He exhaled, feigning calm neither of us felt. “Let me make you some tea,” he offered.

  “No!” I shouted without meaning to. “No, thank you. I think I’ve earned the right to never drink anything you give me ever again.”

  He opened his mouth to protest, but caught himself. “That’s fair. How do you want to handle this? Do you want to go talk to Jens about it?”

  “No.” I shook my head about ten seconds too long. “Jens can never know about that. He… he suspected Charles had a little crush. I, he, um, I don’t want that in Jens’s head. I don’t want it in my head.” I sat on the bed, my hands shaking.

  Jamie’s tone was firm in my mind. I’m telling Jens. He should know.

  “No! It’s not his business. Charles is dead. No one needs to see that or make stupid assumptions about his life.”

  It’s not an assumption. It was clearly an infatuation!

  “No, it’s not! He was my… It’s not! Don’t take my good memories and taint them! Stop it, Jamie!”

  Tucker was on his knees before me, his hands resting on mine. “You poor thing. There’s just no chance for you to be normal, is there?” The pity I hated most in life looked out at me from Tucker, and I despised the fact that I actually needed it in that moment. I was lost and turned around and very, very hurt by the implications of the wall of horrors.

  “I just want to forget all about it.”

  Then Tucker did something new to me. He spoke to Jamie through our bond, addressing him as if the prince was standing in the room with us. “Jamie, leave it alone for now. Lucy’s right; we don’t know what that wall meant, or even if it was Charles’s. We’re assuming what it means, and it’s not worth dissecting. He’s not here now, so it changes nothing.” Then Tucker cuffed his hands over my wrists like shackles and stared into my eyes with more sincerity than I guessed he possessed. “Do you hear me, Lucy? It changes nothing. Charles was your brother, and there’s nothing shady about that. He was just curious about the family he never met and wanted to make sure he’d fit in if he ever came across you. That’s all it is.” He nodded his head, and I mirrored the action like a robot. “Charles probably wanted to be a reporter, that’s all. Nothing wrong with that.”

  “Nothing at all,” I echoed.

  If that’s how you want to explain this away, okay. But I don’t like the idea of keeping things from your Tom.

  I answered back with an even, Your Tom knows, so that’s good enough. I’m going to bed now. Call me down if Jens needs anything.

  I put up my mental wall just as Tucker stood and pulled me into his arms. I breathed in the comfort for exactly five seconds before the sweetness threatened to squeeze a tear out of me. I’d had a second chance at a brother, and now he was dead.

  I pulled out of the hug, making sure to keep my eyes from Tucker, lest he see the raw emotion there. “I’m turning in.”

  Tucker nodded, his expression finally serious. “I’ll go check on Jens and be right back up. Can I get you anything?”

  “No. Thanks.” As soon as Tucker left, leaving the lantern on the nightstand for me, I set about my sit-ups and pushups, making sure not to lose any muscle tone so as not to be the weakest link on our jour
ney. I was kidding myself thinking I’d ever measure up to the hulking stature of the guys, but in this case, it was a good thing my denial ran deep.

  My heart was heavy as I pushed off the ground over and over, trying to shove away the things that were too terrible and heavy to think about. I wanted to run, but knew I couldn’t. I wanted to confront Mace as much as I wanted to never talk about the stalker wall ever again. He’d been good to me until the very end, and now it was tainted.

  Tucker returned to the room just as I was finishing up my last rep of crunches. “Nice work,” he commented, smoothing out his white t-shirt. He looked odd so casually clad in khaki-colored pajama pants and bare feet. It was the lack of suspenders that really threw me and made me lose count of where I was at.

  “You look like you’re going to the bank, not to sleep,” I commented. “I had a running bet with myself to see if you slept in your suspenders.”

  Tucker smiled, and I could see how tired he was. “To bed with you.”

  I climbed into the bed, deciding against shoving Tucker onto the floor if he got in after me. He pushed the side of the bed to the wall with no windows, and then edged me toward the gold wall, placing his body between me and the door on the mattress beside me. It was his strategy on how to protect me while we slept. I was touched he’d done something so non-douchey.

  He pulled the covers over us, lying on his back as I rolled onto my side away from him. “Don’t turn out the lantern,” I cautioned as Tucker reached for the glass. “I don’t like the dark anymore.”

  Five.

  The Stable Boy

  “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked quietly.

  “The answer to that will always be no.”

  He was silent a few minutes, and I hoped he would let it go and allow us to sleep without incident. “Are you asleep?”

  “Yes,” I murmured, closing my eyes.

  I could hear the half-smile in his tone. “Fancy a bedtime story?”

  I sighed. “Sure. But nothing scary or mean, and nothing with clowns.”

  Tucker chuckled softly, and when he spoke, his voice was just above a whisper. “Once upon a time, there was a young boy who lived in a magical land.”

  “Let me guess. Undraland?”

  “You’re far too persnickety for a bedtime story. Perhaps you’d prefer a nightcap?”

  “Persnickety? You sound about ninety when you talk like that.”

  “Well, I’m older than that, so you should be grateful I don’t throw around words that would make you faint, like ‘hence’ or ‘heretofore’.”

  I rolled onto my back so I could look at him. “I’m sorry. I’m in a mood. Ignore me.” Tucker wrapped his arm under my head, his bicep dipping me into his nook. My chin landed on his chest, and I began to relax. “I’m listening.”

  “The boy from Elvage didn’t have power or prestige. He was a lowly farmhand who earned a living for his mother and two sisters herding sheep and tending to gardens.” Tucker’s voice changed from a fairytale to something darker. “He was unhappy, always feeling less. He couldn’t provide for his mother and sisters, and being the man of the house at the age of eight was sometimes more than he could bear.” His fingers traced the length of the gloved arm that rested on his chest. “These are coming off,” he ruled, dragging down the edge to reveal my star-spangled scarring.

  “Huh? Why?”

  He kissed my nose, and I blushed, despite myself. “Because I want something beautiful to look at. My own personal constellation.” He picked up my hand and examined my silvery fingers, tracing the spaces between them slowly, lulling me to restfulness. “The little boy wished with everything in him to one day be a man of great wealth and power. He wanted to dine in the palace and joke with the royals over tea. When a position opened for a farmhand at the palace, the little boy jumped at the chance. The wages were almost double what he was being paid elsewhere, which meant that his sisters and mother would have food for their table and cloth for new dresses.”

  “The little boy must’ve been quite proud.” I yawned and stretched like a cat next to him, my toes brushing against his leg. “Oops. Sorry about that. I’m taking up all the space.”

  Tucker tsked me and hooked his thumb under my knee beneath the covers, bringing it to rest atop his thigh like a hairy body pillow. He sandwiched my leg between his, inching me close with his arm under me so we were almost nose to nose. He ran his fingers through my hair as he continued. “Only he wasn’t a boy for long. He grew into a handsome young man and caught the eye of the queen. Queen Sorena watched the man go about his daily chores and quickly promoted him to indoor work around the palace. He repaired sconces, fixed uneven tables and eventually tended to the queen’s dressing room, which had a door that needed fixing.”

  “I don’t like where this is heading,” I breathed, closing my eyes through a particularly luxurious tug on my scalp. “Is this where it gets PG-13? Don’t Fifty Shades my bedtime story.”

  Tucker chuckled. “Yes. Yes, it does. The young man fell into the queen’s seduction several times over several months until it became an actual affair of sorts.” He kissed my nose. “It ended as quick as it began, and blew up as things of that nature tend to do. The king found out, put out the stable boy with a threat not to breathe a word of the indiscretion so as not to tarnish the throne, and paid him a generous sum to keep his mouth shut. The boy learned a powerful lesson that day.”

  “To keep it in his pants and not take what isn’t his?” I asked. “Because if you fast forward that story, I don’t think the boy actually held onto the lesson.”

  Tucker’s chest rippled with levity at my non-joke. “He learned how one really rises to power. I saw at a young age how to build up my mother and sisters, so I took that knowledge and put it to use, seducing older women who were more established in their wealth and had things I wanted. It became a game that, thanks to my long life, never ended. Each woman was searching for some exchange I was willing to give them. Companionship and affection for an estate they wouldn’t even need after they were gone. They won, I won. And that’s how the man whose arms you’re in got to where he is today.”

  I let the silence sink in around us for a few beats before speaking. “That’s a really crappy story, Tuck.”

  “Ah, but it’s not over. The young boy’s mother, who had been alone for many years, finally took in a husband. He seemed alright at first. He was kind to her and made her laugh. Until one day, the laughter seemed forced, and then it stopped altogether. I’d moved to the Other Side by then, so I only visited on occasion. The king wasn’t too fond of me, so it worked best for me to brave the outside world. The next time I came back was for my mother’s funeral. I’d had no idea he’d been beating her, or that he’d go so far as to kill her in one of his rages.”

  I wrapped my arm across his chest when he rolled onto his back to look up at the ceiling. “I’m sorry. That’s an awful story, Tucker.”

  “I’m not nearly finished with the worst of it, love. While I was away, my youngest sister married a man I’d only met a few times, and therefore, was skeptical of. I stayed longer in town after mother’s funeral to make sure Abellona was settled and taken care of. Her husband was a lazy good for nothing, so I stayed home for a few years to help her cope and pay off her husband’s debts. But when the laughter I’d always been able to lure out of her turned forced, and then stopped altogether, I knew what was going on. I spotted a bruise on her arm one day and coaxed the truth from her.” His eyes hardened as he looked up at the ceiling, his hand gripping the back of my head instead of teasing the strands at the base of my neck. “All it took was a visit to Jens, and the next day, her husband was dead after the two of us had a little chat with him. Mysterious thing, those loose sickles. Sometimes they just fling right off the handle and decapitate you without warning.”

  My hand went over my mouth to stifle whatever response might tumble out.

  “That’s how I earned my first arrest warrant. I’m still a little proud
of that one. Far more honorable than the others, but those stories aren’t for the faint of heart, darling.”

  “I don’t know what to say.” I gave his chest another squeeze. “I’m sorry you felt you had to do that.”

  He tapped the underside of my chin, raising it so my eyes met his sincere ones. “I told you all that so you know how crazy a man will go to ensure his sister has a good life. It’s not always pretty, but I would have done anything for Abellona, as you would do anything for Linus. And I’m sure Charles Mace would have done anything for you. Ulterior motives don’t need to be considered. That you are his sister is enough for a man to move mountains to make you happy. How’s Charles going to do that without taking a few notes to organize himself?”

  Moisture collected in my eyes, and as a solitary tear fell onto Tucker’s shirt, I cussed loudly and rolled away from him.

  “Lucy, come back here. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

  “Don’t look at my face!” I retorted childishly, wiping my cheeks to erase all signs of weakness in front of the man I didn’t want to trust.

  His arm snaked around my waist, and his chest pressed to my back as he whispered into my hair. “Darling, don’t you know the best time to fall apart is when you have someone holding you together?” He clutched my midsection, squeezing the tears from my body like a slow-motion Heimlich. I locked my mental door and put pillows and bricks in front of it to keep any traces of my breakdown away from Jamie. “Let it out, darling,” Tucker cooed, his unexpected tenderness breaking me down even further.

  I wept into my pillow I’m not sure how long, giving release to a lot of my sorrow without having to put words to it. I didn’t want to talk. The words would only make things worse. Words would put labels on the tears and multiply them until I was swimming in a sea of depression I didn’t have time for. I touched my Linus around my neck and sobbed harder as Tucker embraced me, turning me around so I could make good use of his shirt.