Still, I let him go. Does that mean the debt has been paid? Somehow, I don't think it was an even trade.
As the sky begins to glow, a soft yellow hue spreading bluer and brighter with time, I rub my eyes, pushing my tiredness away. Pushing those thoughts away. They were supposed to remain buried in the debris of the city—they were not supposed to follow me home, to haunt my waking hours.
My weary legs stand, shuffle over to my vanity, and I plop down once more. Wrinkles line the bottom of my eyes, dark with lack of sleep.
I start with my hair.
It is long, somewhere between black and brown, almost like it doesn't quite know what it wants to be. Straight near the top then wavy as my fingers travel down. I grab my brush, combing through the knots, wincing as we wage war. When I've won, I twirl it tight, pulling it into an oversized knot atop my head, securing it with a few pins. Not the most magnificent hairdo I've seen, nothing compared to most ladies in the town, but it's the extent of my skills. So it will have to do.
Next, I hesitate before moving onto my face. I look drained, tired. My skin is golden, tanned like honey. A natural glow. But now it looks pallid in the candlelight. When I was little, before the world ended and began anew, the kids at my school used to ask what I was. I remember them teasing me, questioning me. It was only a few months of my life, just before the earthquake, but I still remember. And now I ask the question of myself. My mother never explained. She said she didn't want to label me, that I was a little of everything. Brazilian. Japanese. Irish. Spanish. Words that used to hold so much power but now seem empty.
I dab on some blush, putting life into my cheeks. It is the only form of makeup I've ever bothered to use, perfect for hiding my many sleepless nights. All the other brushes, pencils, and powders I've come across seemed frivolous and unnecessary.
Catching my eyes in the mirror, I pause. My namesake. Jade. Emerald. Two circles that pop. My mother said that before I was born, she wanted to call me Aurelia after her grandmother. But in the hospital, when they placed me as a bundle in her arms, she changed it. My big, beautiful eyes were curious and loving as they looked up at her, and the word just escaped her lips, sounding right.
They are gemstones now. Crystalline. Not soft with love. But I wonder if they still shine with curiosity, at least at times. Probably not.
"Jade!" The commander calls, voice echoing up the staircase. My time is almost up, so I stand, pulling my gaze from the mirror to the dress in the corner. As quickly as I can, I slip my feet through the top, sliding the dress higher up my frame until my arms can sliver through the long sleeves. I fumble with the laces at the back, tightening them as much as possible, and then I delicately knot a bow at the base of my spine.
I own no fine jewelry, so I slip on my black heart pin. It is the only trinket I need. And despite myself, I strap a knife to my inner thigh. But I am stronger that way, more secure, more like myself.
With my flats on, I finally open the door and rush downstairs, meeting the commander in our front parlor. He waits in his formal uniform—exaggerated shoulder pads, golden buttons in two rows down his chest, sword dangling from a fine belt. Fit for the queen.
I wish I could wear similar clothes.
Even though my skirt falls in folds to the floor and my arms are completely covered, leaving only my neck and a small portion of my chest exposed, I squirm, naked somehow.
"Are you ready?"
I nod yes and we exit, making for the painted carriage waiting outside. A footman opens the door and I glide in, resting on red velvet cushions puckered with pearl buttons. The queen sent one of her own carriages to pick us up. I'm uncomfortable, out of place as we bounce on the stone street, jittering around in this box. I wish for the saddled horse I am far more at ease traveling on.
"Are you nervous?" The commander asks.
It's a stupid question, but I don't say that. Instead, I shake my head, and he taps his fingers on his leg, impatient like me. Perhaps he is nervous. But somehow I can't imagine him that way.
"Do you know why the queen wishes to speak with me?" They are close. He often ventures to the palace for meals, meeting in private with the queen. Speaking of the town's security mostly, I'm sure, but perhaps they've discussed me as well. It's a thought I don't wish to dwell on.
"I do," he says, but he catches my eye before I can open my mouth to speak. I hold it shut, waiting, on my best behavior. "But I will not tell you."
I bite my lips together, trapping the protest in my throat.
Silence stretches between us for the rest of the trip. Not necessarily uncomfortable. Neither of us are the sort to babble on just to fill the air. Usually, we both prefer the quiet.
The carriage changes angles, so I am pressed back into my seat, pulled by my own weight. We have reached the hill, the road that circles up and around, winding its way to the gate.
Last time I was here, it was as a prisoner. Now, I come as a guest. The two don't seem very different. Not really.
The carriage pulls to a halt and the door opens. The commander offers his hand and I step down, looking up at the towers looming overhead, spiraling gracefully into the sky.
No guards man this wall. It is whispered that giants hide inside the castle, double the size of any grown man. The queen enlisted them to build her a home grander than any other in the land, taller than any human hands could reach, and once they stepped under her spell, she kept them like pets. Some of the guards who were alive during the war swear they saw them, swear that the giants revealed themselves to fight against the rebels, but no one has seen them since.
I shiver, a light tremble that pulses down to my feet. It's a foreign feeling, one I don't very much enjoy, but a tiny speck of fear leaks into my mind. The only emotion the queen lets us all retain—a bit of dread to keep the people loyal.
The commander ushers me forward, and I follow in step with him as we pass through the gate and walk up a tall staircase to the front door. When we're a few feet away, it opens mysteriously, pulled by someone from the inside, though there are no windows to give our location away.
Below my feet lies a tiled floor, a mosaic of scarlet accented with pearly highlights and onyx shadows. The walls are polished stone, giving the appearance of liquid as the torches cast a glow against the surface. No natural light fills the hall. It is dark, yet soft in the yellow ambiance.
The commander does not stop or turn, he remains straight until the hall opens into a wider room. Vaulted ceilings loom above while sunlight finally filters into view, falling in a beam toward one location.
The throne.
But the carved wooden seat is empty. Its red cushions are fluffed and don't retain the impression of weight. I step forward, past the commander, my shoes scuffling against the tile, wondering if the queen will appear out of thin air, wondering if she sits there now, invisible.
"My sweet Jade."
The voice comes from behind me, slithering across the floor, sliding up my back so it wraps me in a tight cocoon. I am trapped in the notes, stuck in my spot as her words pull me under, suck me in, drown me in magic.
My heart grows colder, smaller, sinking with heaviness until it is lost in a vast sea. The chill extends down my arms, along my spine, to the tips of my toes. My eyes go wide.
Queen Deirdre.
As if controlled by another power, my feet begin to turn.
"Your Majesty."
Even though it comes from my lips, that voice is unrecognizable. Quiet. Meek. Subservient. Not the voice of the girl who defied the commander by riding into the city at midnight. Not the girl who is the best in her training class. Not the girl who has a knife strapped to her thigh, just in case.
The steel presses into my skin, cold, sharp, and I try to hold onto its touch lest I drift away in the power of the queen standing before me. It is my anchor to the heart she controls.
My knees bend into a curtsy and a smile plasters my lips, womanly, like a lady of the court and not a soldier.
"Your
Majesty," the commander echoes, bending at his waist into a deep bow.
The queen waits, watches, with hands clasped in front of her hips. As always, red drapes across her narrow frame. Dark, deep, and in stark contrast to her ivory skin. Rubies decorate the crown nestled in her elaborately braided hair, popping against the icy blonde, alive in the candlelight.
Though I try to look away, my eyes are drawn to hers. An electric shock pricks my chest as her aquamarine irises grab hold, latching on, stilling me, freezing me in place. The dryness starts to burn, to itch, but I cannot blink.
"Welcome," she says and the bond is broken. My lids move rapidly, wetting my eyes, soothing them, and my gaze drifts to the safety of the floor.
"Did you tell her why she was summoned, Commander Alburn?"
The queen's shoes click as she walks farther into the room. My pulse slows to match their steady melodic pace. The effects of being in her presence are starting to wear off—or maybe she is just releasing me, giving my system a break.
"No, Your Majesty. But Jade has news of her own that I feel is pertinent to share first, if Your Majesty will allow it."
She stops walking toward the throne, turning back to us with one brow raised in interest, a small grin on her lips, as though excited by the turn of events.
My throat has gone dry.
I swallow.
"Do tell."
The commander steps forward, mouth opening to respond, but she silences him with one flick of her gaze.
"Jade, if it is your news, please share it."
"I…" A cough travels up my neck, followed by a deep breath that shakes my limbs. Stop, I command, yelling at my body. This is not who I am. And I don’t believe it is who the queen wishes me to be either.
I steel my veins, turning my body into a knife. The demure girl falls away—I throw her away, out the window, letting that mask break into a thousand tiny pieces as it crashes into the city below.
"I believe I saw Prince Asher in the ruins last night, Your Majesty."
Her brow rises higher, arching into a sharp point. "Continue."
"One of the mines exploded, and I went to investigate. When I arrived, I found a group of men waiting there. I believe they set the mine off on purpose to see how the Black Hearts would respond. Immediately, I recognized Prince Asher from the paintings we have all studied. When I tried to charge, I felt the building shift beneath my feet and needed to flee in safety. By the time I returned, the group had vanished, Your Majesty."
My fingers do not spasm. My lips do not dry. I do not even blink as the lie comes smoothly to my lips. Repeating the story a second time is even easier, even more natural. Part of me almost believes it is the truth, and that my other memory is but a dream, a mirage I made up, a falsehood my mind conceived.
The queen taps her fingers once, then folds them together, decision made.
"Leave us," she orders. The commander twitches, but then salutes in parting. His boots stomp like thunder in the silence.
"There is no need to lie, Jade," she soothes, voice nurturing, caring, like a mother's might be.
Silence is my answer.
"Come," she says, waving her hand as she spins, skirt shuffling against the floor.
I do.
Behind the throne rests an open door, and she leads me through, out onto a stone balcony. The wind is not gentle from this height, and I can feel hair slipping loose from the top of my head, falling from my messy bun. Still, she walks farther, until both of our hands grasp a thick stone railing, smoothly filed so it does not scratch my skin.
"What do you see, Jade?"
My eyes drop below, to the vast city at my feet. Our view points west. To one side are the farmlands, green and lush, extending as far as my eyes can see. To the other, the broken city of New York. The dried up waters of the Hudson River create a path my gaze follows to the ocean, a warm blue compared to the sky. Shifting up, I take in the massive expanse of air floating above me. I never realized how closely it matches the color of the queen's eyes, as though the clouds might be the only things stopping her from gazing upon the entire world.
"I see Kardenia, Your Majesty." I am not sure what she wishes me to say, but the obviousness of my answer seems almost rude. Still, she smiles as though she expected nothing else.
"Would you like to know what I see?"
"Please, Your Majesty." My fingers tighten on the rail. What does our queen see as she watches over us, barely leaving her towering castle, ruling from a distance?
"I see thousands of people, each one a little beacon of light, calling out to me, pulsing for me. Candles. The city always seems decorated in candlelight, the world even, as though the stars have sunk from the sky to dance in my eyes. I see my magic connecting all of us, connecting all of you to me."
"That sounds beautiful, Your Majesty."
"Does it?" She releases a light breath, a minute laugh. "I thought the same once, I suppose, when my mother described her sight to me. But it is not, it is terrifying, because hiding at the edge of all of that light, is the darkness. The rest of the world is a dangerous place, which is why I hold on to all of you, my children, so tightly. It is to keep you safe, to protect you from the dangers that lay just outside my hold."
"Like the rebels, Your Majesty?" I ask, trying to see the world the way she does, failing. The edges of the horizon are a mystery to me, one I wish more than anything to unveil, to discover with my own eyes. The world waits for me, right in that spot where sea turns to sky, where trees and clouds mold together into an infinite line of light—that is where my soul waits for me.
"Yes, Jade, like the rebels who stole my son, who stole your mother. The rebels who sit at the edge, waiting for the day my power weakens, waiting to destroy us all." The queen turns to me, placing her palm on my arm. Her fingers are icicles against my skin, yet they do not feel cold. "Now, will you speak the truth, Jade? How did you meet my son?"
"I was exploring the bomb site when he held a gun to my head," the words spill out, uncontrollable, because somehow she knows them anyway. Somehow she was with me, watching through my eyes as I let her son go free. No surprise flashes across her face, only satisfaction. "I fought to disarm him, but he was strong, and he threw me away. When I landed, the floor began to give out beneath me, but your son saved my life rather than escape. Once outside, I heard voices, and tried to knock him out, but he was too fast, and I thought it better to make my way back to the wall so I could report the news, rather than allow myself to get captured."
My voice remains even as the last little lie slips out. But I know I cannot tell the queen that I just let her son escape without a fight, without any real reason except that he saved my life. Somehow, that excuse doesn't seem strong enough, not while her gaze weighs on me, shrinking me down until my feet feel stuck in the stone, trapped.
"I know everything that goes on in my kingdom. I know where every human stands, when they move. Their breath surges through my veins. I know when someone enters my realm and when someone leaves, especially my own son. Why did you first lie? Was the truth so hard to speak?"
"I have never lost a fight, Your Majesty—never, until last night."
The queen's gaze softens as she fills in what I did not say. I can only guess what she is thinking, but my mind filters back to the day she placed the black heart pin on my uniform, murmuring about a woman doing the job of a man, and I hope she understands.
I could have used this lie all along. It is closer to the truth, but by saying it aloud I had to admit something—that I had been defeated. I, who have had to prove myself by besting every other man that I've faced, lost.
It is not something I wanted my commander to hear.
Not something I wanted to admit. But now I must.
Silence extends between us, mutual and comfortable, as though there is something unspoken that only we two understand, a bond we somehow share. A tether stretches between our bodies, invisible but growing stronger.
Part of me wishes to grab my kni
fe and chop it in half. Part of me wishes to leave it alone, to enjoy the connection.
"Good," she says finally. "I asked you here for a reason. Would you like to know what that reason is?" Without waiting for my reply, her arm lifts, pointing out toward the metal wasteland to our left.
"My son waits out there, and I have known it for days. He sides with the rebels against me, and together they plot my downfall. My first instinct was to send a guard to retrieve him, but I have since thought things through. It is not time for him to come home, the pieces have not yet fallen into place, but with your help they may."
"What can I do, Your Majesty?"
"Prince Asher is a good boy, a trusting one. He has always seen the best in people." The words sound as though they should be a good thing, but they spit from her mouth as though vile on her tongue, poisonous. "Take last night, for example. He will see your failure as a kindness, a sort of challenge. And we will use that against him."
As she continues to speak, her face glows with mounting excitement, as though her power surges stronger in her veins. Her eyes are in a far off dream, and I remain silent, watching her mind spin.
"I had a husband once, did you know that? I killed him, just after Asher was born. The man was weak, so easily controlled, so predictable. All the time, trying to save me from myself." She snorts, sneering as her fingers grasp the stone below our fingers. For a moment, I believe it might break beneath her strength, rupturing like all of us have.
"But you understand me, Jade, you understand what it is like to always have doubt whispering in your ear, murmuring that you aren't good enough, urging that the world was right to keep you contained. Like me, it only gives you strength. Like me, it makes you fight harder for what you want."
Her gaze slips to my face, a prickling sensation spreads across my cheek, but I keep my eyes forward, locked on the spot I wish to be—the edge of the world.
"I wanted to be queen, and here I am. And I know what you want, Jade, I see the yearning in your eyes." The queen leans in, her breath like a winter's breeze tickling my skin. My muscles tighten, hard as rock so I do not flinch.
Gathering Frost (Once Upon A Curse Book 1) Page 3