The Fractured Empire (The World Apart Series Book 1)

by Robin D. Mahle

  She still hadn't moved, so I put a hand at her back and gently propelled her toward the door. Honestly, it was as much to satiate my own curiosity as because I didn't see a graceful way out of it.

  The tiny cafe was empty, being right between the morning and lunch rushes, but you could see that it was well loved. There were many pastries missing from the display case, and the space had a cozy, bustling feel to it.

  "What brings you back here?" The woman asked with her back turned, preparing something for Addie and me. Addie still hadn't sat down. She was staring at a wall of pictures on one side of the cafe.

  "It's a long story." Those words, the first she had spoken, were flat and devoid of emotion.

  The cafe mistress turned around and leveled a look at Addie. "They usually are," she responded. Following the direction of Addie's gaze with her eyes, she went on. "I never did get to say how sorry I was. It was a shame, what happened in the explosion. So many lives lost that day, but your mother and Ami were among the first pictures up on that wall, right next to my husband." The tears the woman had kept at bay spilled over, but Addie's face didn't change. She only stared harder at what I now saw was a memorial wall.

  In the center, next to a picture of a man in military garb, was a sepia-toned photo of a stunning blond woman and a girl who could have been her twin. At a glance, I never would have known they were related to Addie if it wasn’t for the way she was staring at the photo.

  As I studied the picture more closely, I could see small things. The stubborn tilt of the woman's chin and the sparkle of mischief in the girl's eyes were purely Addie. Clearly, she had been here before, or grown up here from the sound of things. Her reactions made more sense now.

  "Thank you. It means more than you know," Addie finally responded in a quiet, even voice.

  The woman had been busy, and now she came out from behind the counter with two steaming mugs of hot chocolate, topped with whipped cream and cinnamon. She placed them on the bistro table where I had sat, as far from the pictures as I could get to give Addie some privacy. She returned with a plate of croissants and joined me at the table. Addie sat down last.

  "How's your father?" Something in her tone said she didn't care for him, and I liked her even more for it.

  "He is the same as ever. I apologize for my lack of manners." She had taken on a formal tone. The spark I had grown used to seeing in her eyes had dimmed. "Clark, this is Madame Croteau. She owns this cafe. Madame Croteau, Clark is helping me out of a sticky situation. And on that note, some people may come looking for me. I doubt it, but if they do—" She was cut off with a gesture from Madame Croteau.

  "The Emperor himself or that all-powerful father of yours, I don't care who comes looking for you. There's none in this town that would give you up."

  A ghost of a smile graced Addie's lips. "Again, thank you." This time, she allowed Madame Croteau to take her hand, but she stiffened slightly at the consoling gesture. Addie pulled her hand back to lift her heavy mug with both hands, but I suspected it had been an excuse to end the contact she was so uncomfortable with.

  She took a sip and sighed. "Amazing, as always."

  "You know, after my Denny died, it took me years to feel like it was okay to enjoy things again. I reminded myself how much Denny had loved me and how devastated he would be to see me refusing to live once he was gone. Life and love go on, and so must we. At least, that's what I tell myself," Madame Croteau finished up with zero subtlety.

  Addie actually smiled, whether at the words or the woman's obvious nature, I wasn't sure. Then the woman launched into a story about Addie and her sister Amelie getting caught stealing pastries.

  "And there they were, in the corner, covered in powdered sugar and looking guilty as sin. It was all their mother and I could do to keep from laughing long enough to reprimand them." The café owner was laughing so hard tears were streaming down her face.

  What's more, Addie was laughing with her. "I don't recall the laughing at all. My backside still hurts when I think about that day," she responded. Her mug was nearly empty.

  I had taken a few polite sips of mine in the ten or so minutes we had been here, but we both could see it was time to get going again.

  Addie asked after the powder room and disappeared. Madame Croteau leveled a scrutinizing look my way once Addie was out of sight.

  "Who are you really, boy?"

  "Like she said, just someone helping her out," I replied.

  "Hmph. That one's a bit prickly around the edges. She always has been, and I feared what so much loss would do to her. If she's anything like the girl I remember, though, those she does care for, she will love without reservation and fight for with everything she has."

  "It's really not like that with us,” I told her, forcibly pushing last night’s events out of my mind.

  She made another disbelieving sound in the back of her throat. "Just be careful with her,” she said.

  I was the one who wanted to snort at that. Addie was about as breakable as an ocean liner. It didn’t matter, anyway. After this mission, I would never see her again. The thought pulled at something in my gut, but I ignored it. I needed to focus.

  Why is that so damn difficult when Addie is involved?

  The Heiress

  It was a rare day with only Mama and me. Papa was at work, and Amelie had gone to a party, but I had begged off. I hadn't wanted to be around the other girls today. Mama didn't ask me why and didn't force me to go. She said she would be glad of the time with me.

  We walked from our townhouse to the streets of downtown Paloma Village, admiring the mountain view in the distance. It was an unusually moderate day, though there were storms hovering on the horizon. We stopped in shoppes here and there, buying a new hat for Amelie or napkins for the table. Mostly, we just talked. A bookstore caught my eye, and I bounded in. Mama called out to me, but I was already inside.

  The old bookseller held out a hand to stop me before I could touch anything. He looked at my mother, who had entered behind me, with drawn brows.

  "Did you come here by mistake? Surely there's nothing in here to interest a young girl." He emphasized the last word.

  My mother narrowed her eyes. "Is it your opinion, sir, that girls cannot learn to read? Empress Violet would be most interested to hear that, having redesigned the Royal Library herself only last year." Her voice was pure frost.

  "Of course not, Madame," the old man backpedaled. "I only wished to suggest that she would not be interested—"

  "I can assure you, my daughter is quite capable of determining what she does or does not find fascinating. Unlike some, she is unencumbered by preconceived, obsolete, ignorant ideals that only hinder the progress of society, and is therefore able to make entirely sound decisions with regard to her interests."

  The man could not help us fill our bags fast enough, whether because the scolding had taken hold or he wanted us out of his store, I couldn't say. My mother gave me a wink when his back was turned.

  After we left, she turned to me. "Let no one tell you what you are capable of, my love. Even the sky holds no limits for you."

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Adelaide

  I hated that my first trip back to Alpina Island since The Silent Explosion was being witnessed by the same person who had rejected me last night, but there was nothing I could do. At least I got to wear pants without judgment here. I had both missed and avoided this island for years. I wasn’t sure what had possessed me to insist on coming now, aside from a determination to be in charge of my own fate.

  The snow, the hot chocolate, the ethereal frosted mountains in the distance. They felt like home, and my comfort felt like a betrayal. Whatever Madame Croteau said, to enjoy these things when Mama and Ami never would again was almost too much to bear.

  Here on this island, I was overwhelmed with memories of them both. Often my mother's memory was eclipsed by Amelie's, but today they were both here in such stark clarity, it was like I could feel them walking the
icy streets next to me.

  I took longer than was necessary in the powder room, making full use of my tiny sanctuary. I stared in the mirror at the face that was so different from the ones depicted in the photograph on the wall. My hands gripped the sides of the pedestal porcelain sink, and I glared at myself through eyes that glistened too much for my taste. I took a deep breath.

  Five. This place has no hold over me. It cannot affect me if I don’t let it.

  Four. I will be damned if I let Clark see me cry.

  Three. I have a mission, and breaking down in the bathroom like a heartbroken child is not part of it.

  Two. There is no such thing as a good cry.

  One. I am stronger than my grief.

  My eyes were dry now, and any lingering redness could be explained by the cold.

  The necklace was still safely hidden behind my scarf. My cosmetics were intact. I schooled my face into a perfect mask of neutrality before I exited the lavatory.

  Clark stood up when he saw me. He thanked Madame Croteau with the charm he had pulled out of thin air. I braced myself for her hug. It wasn't that I minded casual physical contact, but anything that went into an emotional zone immediately put my guard up. Even Nell had known better than to hug me when she thought I was sad. In this case, I allowed it, because I felt like Madame Croteau needed it more for herself than me, but I couldn't help the immediate stiffening of my spine.

  I was grateful when it ended, when I no longer had to smell chocolate and baking spices and gut-wrenching familiarity. We had only been there around fifteen minutes, but it felt like a lifetime before we walked back out onto the street. She had told me not to be a stranger, and I had only smiled. I had no idea when I'd be back here. I could tell there were those on the street who recognized me, but none with whom I'd been close enough for them to greet me now. Madame Croteau had been right, though, in assuring me they would never give me up.

  Alpina Island took care of its own, and only loosely considered itself part of the Empire. When Ceithre had taken so many into itself during the war, Alpina Island had conceded for the sake of peace and unity, only because nothing in their way of life would change. They paid their minimal taxes and were granted the courtesy of being left alone.

  If we had stayed here like we had begged to, we could have been whole and left alone also. But my father knew better, and now my mother and sister were dead. Sometimes, the things that didn't kill you didn't make you stronger. Sometimes, they just left you broken and damaged for eternity, like a china teacup that had been shattered and super-glued back together. It might look like a cup, but try filling it up with anything of substance and see just how dysfunctional it truly is.

  I noticed Clark studying me and made a better effort to switch my thoughts off. Does he realize he has a hand on my lower back guiding me down the sidewalk? Is it for show, or because he wants to be touching me?

  His mixed signals made my eyes roll, and I stepped away from him. I was the one who knew where we were going, after all.

  Walking up the sloped, icy driveway to the large Victorian home was an excellent demonstration of how out of shape I was. Clark's breathing remained unchanged, so I tried to hide my exertion. I must have failed, though, because he overtook me and grabbed my hand to tow me uphill like I was a five-year-old. I scowled but, after a near miss with my backside and the frosted drive, reluctantly allowed his assistance.

  We reached the stately entryway, and I reached up to rap the gilded door knocker three times. Then we waited. A middle-aged man in black serving wear came to the door.

  "Can I help you with something?" He spoke in crisp tones.

  "We're here to see Professor Langston," I answered.

  "I'm sorry, he no longer receives visitors." The man made to shut the door, but Clark stopped him.

  "Please, it's very important. Perhaps he could make an exception?"

  "I'm afraid that's not possible."

  "Why not?"

  "He likes his privacy." He made to shut the door again.

  This is going nowhere.

  "Tell him Adelaide Kensington is here to see him," I said.

  The man's eyes widened slightly, but he didn't budge. I could see him on the verge of refusal, but there was a shuffling sound behind him, and a much older voice cut in.

  "Let them in, Bartholomew. I've been waiting for them to come back," the withered voice said.

  I exchanged a glance with Clark, who looked as bewildered as I felt.

  "But Sir—"

  "I am still the Master of this house, I'll remind you."

  "Of course, Sir." The servant moved aside to reveal a stooped man in a velvet dressing gown. What was left of his white hair was neatly combed, and he was clutching a wooden cane with his knobby hands.

  "Are you Professor Langston?" I asked, though I had little doubt.

  "I am. But you know that already." He led us through the foyer with his ambling gait to a large sitting room with a roaring fire already lit.

  Clark's relief was nearly palpable as he chose the chair closest to the crackling flames. There was a moment of stilted silence. Now that we were here, I wasn't sure how to begin.

  Professor Langston spoke first. "I knew you would find your way back. I never believed them when they said you had died in the war. Never a body, and here you are, looking not a day older than when you left. Hmm."

  The old man was staring at Clark, his brow furrowed. I looked around the room, my eyes landing on a large framed canvas of a family of three. The boy was close to our age and only vaguely resembled Clark, but I started to get an idea of what must be going on.

  "Professor Langston's memory occasionally fails him," Bartholomew said softly from his post in the corner of the room.

  I wasn't sure what to say to that. My first selfish thought was that we may have come all this way for nothing.

  "Can you tell us what you know about Hila's Tear?" Clark finally said.

  "Ah, yes. The great mythical amulet. I know many things about it, my boy."

  "Do you know how to unlatch it?" I asked bluntly. He stared at me for a moment, confusion in his cloudy eyes.

  "I am not aware that it has ever been latched to begin with," he finally said.

  My face fell, and my heart pounded. This is our last hope.

  But he kept talking. "I recall something in the legends about the necklace being intimately connected with the podium upon which it sat, but no more. My mind is not what it used to be, but I do have texts on the amulet that you may find useful. I could have Bartholomew take you to them."

  The man in question came over, eager to do his master's bidding. I stood and looked at Clark, expecting him to follow, but he hadn't moved. I raised my eyebrows.

  "I'll join you in a moment," he said, explaining exactly nothing.

  I ignored the slight twisting of my stomach at being separated from him, unsure where it had come from, and followed the manservant. He led me through the sweeping hallways to a vast library.

  My jaw dropped. Books lined the walls up to the towering ceilings, accessible only by a sliding ladder. There were shelves throughout the maze-like room, nearly as high as those on the wall. Any other time, I would have been awed and overjoyed by the sight, but right now I was overwhelmed by the magnitude of it all. It would take decades to comb through these tomes by myself.

  Why didn’t Clark come to help?

  Like so many of my questions, I moved that one to the back burner for now. I turned to Bartholomew.

  "Are you aware of any organizational system?" I asked without much hope. While a servant of his class would have a certain degree of literacy, the complex system before me was likely beyond him.

  "More than that, Ms. Kensington, I am the one who organized them," he responded with a slight smirk.

  My cheeks burned a bit. Is it something in my upbringing or my character that leads me to constantly underestimate those around me?

  "I would be grateful for your assistance," I replied, an apolo
gy in my voice.

  He nodded in what I hoped was acceptance, and we set to work.

  The Renegade

  Roughly two years had passed since Father had brought me on the ship with him. I didn't remember another way of life, but this one seemed like a dream to a young boy. There were downsides, of course, and days where not as many men came back to the boat as left it, but I was content with my life overall.

  On one of the days the men came back quiet and a few short, they also had one extra. Or rather, Father did. He led the already muscular, dark-skinned boy onto the ship with a hand on his shoulder. The boy looked haunted.

  Was he replacing me? Had I done something wrong?

  As though he knew what was running through my mind, Father smiled as soon as he saw me staring.

  "This is Xavier. You two can take care of each other now," he said, somewhat firmly. I was relieved that he wasn't planning on abandoning me. Xavier and I stared at each other, then he nodded. I smiled.

  That night, I moved out of Father's cabin to one I would share with Xavier. We would also share duty rotation, tutors, and endless competitions. I found it didn't bother me like I had worried it would. And though the word "brothers" wouldn't be used for months, that's what we were from that moment forward.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Clark

  I stared at the picture above the mantle, seeing a little of myself in the boy I assumed was Professor Langston's son. The old man followed my gaze, then looked back at me. His expression cleared.

  "I apologize. I get confused sometimes, but I can see that you are not my son."

  "No. I am General Noble's son." I watched him carefully for his reaction.

  "Are you here to kill me, then?" The withering man almost sounded hopeful.