Lincoln

by Christina Bauer

  Myla sits down beside me. Her body warmth radiates against my own. That heat makes all other thoughts melt away. Myla is with me. She goofs around with the grass a bit before lying down at my side. The thought hits me. If I shifted my weight, I could press my body against hers.

  Myla breaks the quiet. “So, what are you doing tonight?”

  “Official state dinner. Prince stuff. Boring.”

  “You got me out of school. The least I can do is return the favor.” We turn our heads to share another gaze. Our mouths are only inches apart now.

  I lift my brows. “What exactly will you do?”

  She gives me the mother of all sneaky grins. “I have some ideas … But I want it to be a surprise.”

  “Fine,” I agree. “Just get us both in big trouble.”

  “You got it.” For a long moment, Myla’s gaze roves over my face. After that, she shakes her head. “I can’t believe you’re the same guy I met before.”

  “I’m not.” There are so many things I want to tell her now, but in this moment, all I can do is grin. Trusting to this bond between us is both crazy and exhilarating. I lower my voice to a whisper. “I saw you once before the Ryder ball, you know.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Sure you did.”

  “You were chasing a pack of doxy demons through the woods by the mansion’s stables, as I recall.”

  A long moment passes while a host of emotions flicker across her face. It’s like watching one work of art after another. There’s surprise, recognition, and then, a gloating kind of joy. Myla speaks again. “I killed the demons first, didn’t I?”

  I mock-frown. Leave it to Myla to focus on the battle side. “Yes.”

  That gloat turns into something like a glow. It really works on her. “Let’s see, now. That means I beat you in jumping the hedge and killing the doxies. That makes not once, but twice.”

  I quirk my brow. “Is that a challenge, Myla?”

  “With you? Always.”

  A memory appears—the last time Myla and I discussed challenges. My girl specifically told me to do my worst. And in this particular moment? No question what that means. Fast as a heartbeat, I roll my body atop hers. She feels perfect beneath me, all soft curves against my hard planes of muscle. Her breathing quickens. I can sense her heart pulsing under my own. There will be time for us. But not yet.

  I lean in until my mouth hovers just above hers. “Are you sure?”

  She keeps staring at my mouth. “Sure, I’m sure.”

  Raising my hand, I slide my finger down the smooth skin of Myla’s cheek. Her breath catches. “I don’t mind the thought of you beating me, Myla.” I brace my arms on either side of her head, my knees straddling her hips. “Not at all.” Her gaze stays locked on my mouth, and I can’t help but grin. “Want to know why that doesn’t bother me?”

  Thunder rolls, which is no surprise. It’s constantly raining in Purgatory. And that fact is nowhere near as interesting as the woman laying beneath me.

  Myla nods.

  Leaning in closer, I lick my lips. “I don’t care because …” She’s ready for my kiss, but it won’t happen just yet. Anticipation makes everything so much sweeter.

  Myla nods again.

  “Because I’m about to beat your ass back to the stables.” Leaping to my feet, I race over to Bastion and mount up.

  Myla rises and shakes her fist. I’m happy to see her skin is still flush from our almost-kiss.

  Soon, Myla. I want more than a kiss from you.

  “You bastard!” she yells. “You lying sneaky evil sonuvabitch bastard!”

  Before replying, I make sure Bastion rears up on his hind legs. “Catch you later.” And then, I take off for the stables at a gallop.

  And Myla being Myla, she quickly recovers and mounts Nightshade. We race to the stables, but I’ve got a mighty lead. By the time Myla catches up, I’ve dismounted. As she approaches the stables, I stand beside Bastion, taking care to shoot Myla a smarmy grin.

  “Hey, loser,” I say.

  “Hey, cheater.” She points directly at me. “Besides, if I were you, I wouldn’t poke fun at someone who’s about to get you out of an evening of suck.”

  “True. And you’re still one up on me, after all.” I bow slightly.

  “That’s better.” She tosses her head, sending her hair flowing down her back. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a lot of prep work to do for tonight.”

  Once again, I’ve a smile on my lips. My face hurts, I’ve grinned so much today. “Have fun.”

  “I will.” She pats Nightshade’s neck. “Girl, take me to–” Night gallops away before Myla’s done speaking. What a horse. I’m sure Night already cast a spell to detect Myla’s plans.

  As the two race away, a rare thought crosses my mind.

  This will be fun.

  24

  After Myla left for her secret mission, I make my rounds at camp, checking in on my ministers. Jali still isn’t taking visitors, which concerns me. I worry for little Rashida. The Duchess of Kamal has already invested in new furnishings for her cabin, saying that Devak would have wanted her to go shopping. Who am I to disagree? Next I stop by the Striga cabins. No one seems particularly upset at Silvinio’s passing, except perhaps those he still owed money on lost bets. It’s sad to have lived for four-hundred years, and yet in the end, your closest relationship is with your bookie.

  Before I know it, the time has come for the official court dinner. After changing into my princely best, I head off for the mead hall. It’s a packed event tonight. All the upper nobles are here, including Aldred and Adair. The Earl of Acca must have rushed in order to return from Antrum in time for dinner. No doubt, the Aldred has already heard about my day with Myla. He’ll have something planned for the evening, of course.

  After making my greetings, I take my chair beside my parents. Mother raises her right brow. “Busy day, eh Lincoln?”

  “Quite,” I say simply. There’s no point recounting additional details. Doubtless, Mother’s spies already told her about my riding off with Myla.

  Father leans forward. “Damnest thing! The House of Acca had a water break. No permanent damage, but it took up most of Aldred’s day.” Father cups his hand beside his mouth. “To tell the truth, it was pleasant to have him gone.”

  “I got you all to myself today,” adds Mother. Not sure how she doesn’t stab Aldred; the Earl of Acca follows Father around like a lost puppy. It’s amazing my parents get anything done at all.

  Mother sips from her mead goblet, then pats the corners of her mouth with a white napkin. “Aldred has something special planned for the evening.” She shoots me a dry look. “Whatever could it be.”

  The way Mother says those words, one thing is clear. Octavia knows exactly what Aldred is up to, and she thinks it a terrible idea.

  Sure enough, the Earl of Acca stands up. “Perhaps the Scala Heir will honor us with a song?”

  Mother and I exchange a dry look. So that’s what he’s up to.

  Adair’s musical stylings are notorious. Typically, she sings traditional thrax ditties like Lady Mine, Thrax in Love, and Hearts of Acca. All the tunes have one thing in common: they wax poetic about an irresistible thrax woman. Adair’s parents forced her to sing tunes of self-love from an early age. Yet although Adair has years of practice, she’s still a horrible songstress.

  Honestly. There are goats in our royal flock who carry a better tune.

  “Of course, Father,” says Adair, who then speeds over to the minstrel. Lately, Adair has taken to wearing a white cloak, like the Great Scala. It’s an unflattering choice, but it’s for political reasons instead of fashion. Wherever Adair goes, she makes it clear that she now wields a new power. Maybe. I’m still not convinced Adair conjured actual igni. That said, Verus did proclaim Lady Adair the Scala Heir. No doubt, Aldred wants to emphasize how Scala power means I must marry Adair. My guess? This song will segue to a betrothal discussion in some way or another.

  Adair scans the room; the
place falls silent. She opens her mouth, inhales a deep breath, and pauses. With that, I know what’s coming next. A speech. Adair often gives one before her songs. At least, she isn’t singing.

  “I know you’re all wondering what it’s like to be the Scala Heir,” begins Adair. “Of course, it represents a massive power shift for the House of Acca.” She gestures to her father. The earl slaps on what can only be described as a grimace. My guess? Aldred is angry about called off to Antrum. Why? He knows I went off with Myla. With the water break, Aldred had no time to engineer perfect counter play for this evening. Adair’s song is a last minute effort.

  It’s rather unprincely of me to admit this, but I do love seeing Aldred uncomfortable.

  “I’m now more than a thrax,” continues Adair. “Maybe even more than a mortal.”

  These speeches take time, so I spear a few leaves of lettuce onto my fork. That’s when the hair on the back of my neck stands on end. I set the utensil down. My hunter’s sense tells me someone’s overhead. My pulse speeds. Myla. I won’t do something so obvious as lean back and gawk, though.

  The mead hall layout appears in my mind. This building’s a long wooden structure with an arched roof. The only windows are two high vent-holes, one on either side. A network of heavy wooden beams crisscross under the arched ceiling. Gentle scraping sounds echo from the rafters. No one else seems to notice but me.

  Perfect.

  Chances are, Myla’s crawling across the main beam.

  Excitement sparks through me. Lifting my goblet, I sip at my mead. The movement gives me a chance to scope things out without being obvious. Indeed, Myla is above. A case is gripped in her left hand. And my girl wears her dragonscale fighting suit.

  I adore her plan already.

  Adair scans the room. “Tonight, I wanted to share my personal Scala journey with you all.”

  All focus stays fixed on Adair. Myla uses the distraction to her benefit, creeping along the dining room’s main ceiling beam, still gripping the handle to her questionable cargo. An electric jolt of anticipation moves through my limbs.

  This will be epic.

  “I’ve written a song to the tune of ‘Are you going to Scarborough Fair?’” Adair gestures to the lute player who plinks out a quiet melody. Attention stays locked on Adair as she sings with a warbling old-lady voice:

  Who will worship the Scala Adair?

  All the thrax if given the time

  My powers are great, my face is so fair

  Who won’t want the love that is mine?

  She stares directly at me when she sings the ‘love that is mine’ part. There’s no way I want Myla getting the wrong idea here. Wincing, I shoot my girl a subtle glance. Myla catches my gaze and grins. And with that, it’s official. This is the finest meal I’ve ever had, despite the fact that Adair keeps singing.

  My powers are great, my face is so fair

  Who won’t want the love that is miiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiine?

  I mouth two words at Myla. No way.

  My girl grins so broadly, her teeth glint in the shadows. I think myself rather suave until she mimes showing off her arm muscle while whispering, can I touch you?

  Oh, no.

  That day at the garden party. Up in the library. Myla must have been there. Which makes sense, considering how I met Myla at that exact spot later on. My girl wears a shit-eating grin. In a spirit of healthy competition, I simply must respond.

  I angle my forehead in her direction. Then I smooth over my brows with my middle finger. Myla laughs so hard, she must jam her free fist into her mouth to stay silent. Questions appear. Must I continue to be prince? Is there a world where Myla and I just hang out and make each other laugh? It’s something to contemplate in my free time.

  Adair raises her arms. “Thank you, my people!” The room breaks into enthusiastic applause, no one more than the Earl of Acca. I clap politely, make a little small talk with Adair’s sister Avery, and wait for Myla to release whatever she’s hiding in that case of hers.

  I’m not disappointed.

  Seconds later, a troop of reperio demons come skittering down the walls. These are harmless little monsters who possess trash in order to create miniature men and women. Reperio are tricksters who love to cause all sorts of trouble. Before me, a pair of spoon-men make lewd hand gestures at the Duchess of Acca. Napkin-ladies do the backstroke through our soup. A broccoli boy jumps onto my plate and begins kicking my salad’s ass. I find it all extremely entertaining.

  My nobles don’t.

  As I’ve learned over the past weeks, what my court doesn’t know about demons is a lot. That said, they still imagine themselves demon hunters extraordinaire. Which means the nobles all go into action, stabbing at the little creatures. The reperio take this as an excuse for a food fight. I laugh so hard, tears stream down my face.

  Meanwhile, Myla scooches across the beam above and toward one of the exit holes at the ceiling. No question what to do next. Meet Myla outside.

  I slip through the crowd. Along the way, I’m especially happy to see Aldred get a face full of cranberry sauce. The white gown of the so-called Scala Heir is covered in so many different foods, it looks like abstract art. Beside Adair, a pair of fork-ladies imitate her singing skills. Reperio are clever mimics, and these two have the warble down perfectly as they belt out:

  Love that is miiiiiiine!

  Adair’s face pinches with rage. “How dare you?” she cries. Lifting her right foot, Adair stomps down on the pair of mimic reperio. Obviously, that’s a bad idea. Those two demon-ettes are currently made from forks. Adair screeches, gripping her injured foot in her hands while hopping. There aren’t many times I wish we thrax had modern conveniences like cell phone cameras. But now is one of those moments. Especially considering the look on Aldred’s face as he watches Adair hop about. Bewildered, that’s the perfect term for it. Couldn’t happen to a better fellow, in my opinion.

  Still, amusing as this is, it’s time to leave. I slip out the front door. Myla stands outside, every inch of her overflowing with energy and life. She grabs my hand and together, we run for it. I love the touch of her skin against mine. We don’t have to run anywhere in particular. As long as her hand is in mine, that’s more than enough for me.

  Once we reach the stables, Myla stops running. Instead, she bursts into a bout of belly laughs. “Did you see the look on Adair’s face?”

  “Adair? I was watching the Earl of Acca. I think he was going to cry.”

  “Do you need to go back and help?”

  My mouth falls open with surprise. “Absolutely not. I’ve been sprung. Is there a part two for this plan?”

  “Of course.” Myla points to Nightshade and Bastion, all saddled and ready to ride. “We’re going to break into the Ryder botanical gardens.”

  That’s a massive greenhouse behind the mansion proper. Now, I must be honest. Of all the things I expected Myla to say, let’s break into the botanical gardens wasn’t on the list.

  I love it.

  Myla tilts her head. I can imagine words hanging above her head in a thought bubble. Too much?

  I speak one word. “Nice.” And in that single declaration, I pack all the excitement in the world.

  Myla doesn’t wait for more chatter. She races over and hoists herself onto Nightshade’s barrel. Soon we’re both galloping over the darkened countryside to a massive glass building that towers over the landscape. A huge tree extends through the building’s ceiling, ending in an arch of branches and green leaves. Myla slows Night to a walk, pausing once we reach the back door.

  “Here we are.” Myla slide off Nightshade and yanks on the door handle. It doesn’t move. “Well, I should’ve seen that coming.”

  I address Nightshade. “Do you mind helping us out, girl?”

  The horse whinnies; the handle vanishes. Night really is the best horse ever.

  With the impediment gone, Myla pushes open the door and steps inside.

  We’ve many greenhouses in Antrum. It’s
amazing how much you crave green things when you live miles underground. This Ryder version is rather small by our standards. Still, the trees, vines and shrubs are all healthy and glowing. For Purgatory, that’s rare. Everything here seems in a perpetual state of yellow decay.

  Myla strides around the greenhouse floor, stopping before the massive tree at the building’s center. “And here we are.” Myla bows. “The very rare and beautiful Tumtum tree.” She sets her palms against the rough bark. “You only find them in Purgatory.”

  Her full plan comes into focus. Myla sprang me from a court dinner to come see a tree. How unexpected and marvelous, all at once.

  I steal closer. “You’re trouble, Myla Lewis.”

  My girl mock-frowns. “I am not trouble. We’re here on a mission of mercy.”

  “Really now?”

  She point to a nearby sign. “See? This poor thing has a huge ‘do not climb me’ sign, and that’s just not right. If anything ever screamed ‘climb me now,’ it’s this particular tree.”

  I rub my chin in an exaggerated display of consideration. “You have a point.”

  “Of course, I do.” She grips the trunk and starts to climb.

  Moving to the other side of the tree, I begin scaling up as well.

  Beside me, Myla anchors her tail on a nearby branch. Then she allows herself to swing upside down, giving the illusion that she’s standing underneath the branch. It’s a feat of extreme balance and skill, but Myla acts as if she does this kind of thing every day.

  Come to think of it, she probably does.

  “First one to touch the ceiling wins,” announces Myla.

  I firm up my hold on the trunk and scale up more quickly. “You’re on.”

  We climb for a time and if I’m not mistaken, Myla purposely ogles my butt. I’m being treated as a sex object and honestly? It’s rather grand. Too often, being prince means being treated as either a serial killer or a newborn babe. I like that Myla is comfortable with both me and herself. Plus, I’m about to win this race to the ceiling, which will make us even in the contest department.