Descendant

by Giles, Nichole

  The laces on her silver-trimmed gown are pulled tight, making breathing difficult. She hides her struggle by tossing loose strands of golden curls over her shoulder and patting the pile of them atop her head. The emeralds at her throat sparkle in the bright light of thousands of candles. She picks up her skirts and cuts through the dance floor. The crowd parts, and she glides to the empty throne next to the king. Rhys stands just behind and to her right, acting as bodyguard.

  “Damon,” she says to her husband. “Have you seen Theron and his new bride?”

  The king chuckles wickedly. “Of course not, my dear Isleen. Our son is too smart to waste his wedding night socializing with commoners and snobs.”

  “Well, where is he then?” She perches on her throne.

  “Where do you think, darling? I imagine Theron and Raina have already given great efforts toward the creation of an heir.”

  A blush creeps across Isleen’s cheeks. “Someone should rouse them every so often. After all, this is their party.”

  Damon motions to Rhys. “Captain, if you had the choice between spending the evening in the privacy of your bedchamber with your new bride or rubbing elbows with a ballroom full of courtiers, which would you choose?”

  Rhys smiles, avoiding the queen’s gaze. “Privacy, Your Majesty. Of course.”

  “He could at least show his face every few hours or so.” Isleen leans against the throne as far as her full dress will allow. “I grow weary of making his excuses.”

  “Shall we send everyone away?” Damon sips from a silver goblet to hide his smile.

  “Not yet.” Isleen turns to Rhys. “Captain, fetch Theron. Inform him that I shall retire soon and expect his goodnight wishes immediately.”

  Damon snorts. “Surely you do not mean to interrupt the boy?”

  “Damon! The Prince has been raised to respect his mother.”

  Rhys bites back a smile.

  “Shall I bring him here or have him meet you at your chambers?”

  The smile Isleen turns on her bodyguard is intimate. “My chambers will be fine. Thank you, Captain.”

  Rhys doesn’t smile, but his expression betrays a hint of adoration as he bows. “Anything for you, Majesty.”

  The buzzing doorbell startles me awake. Was I really asleep? It’s late afternoon, nearly dinnertime. None of my visions has ever lasted so long, and they usually involve a blue-eyed boy. Maybe it was a dream.

  Erda barks as I trip to the door, stub my toe on the entry table, and bang my elbow against the wall. On the stoop, Rose and Jen are bundled in heavy coats and snow boots. Jen’s eyes are hidden behind a pair of wrap-around sunglasses, which she shoves in her hair as she follows Rose in from the blinding sunshine.

  Rose wastes no time getting to the point. “Did you really faint in the hall?”

  I pull my fingers through my tangled nest of hair with a groan. “I guess the whole school knows by now.” Especially since Rose has—no doubt—spread the whole embellished story through the grapevine.

  Jen says, “You’re under way too much stress. You probably need a break.”

  “She definitely needs a break. A sleepover of epic proportions.” Rose shoves past me and into the living room. She drops her coat on the floor and plops in the recliner, reaching out to scratch Erda’s head. “You’re coming with us on this trip. No more arguing.”

  “Make yourself at home.” Shaking my head, I close the door. I haven’t argued so much as flat-out told them no—no fewer than twelve times. And the three of us have only been hanging out for a few weeks. I like them—both of them—but I have no idea why they’re trying so hard or why they care if I go to Yellowstone. It’s not like they have a shortage of friends, and I haven’t exactly been Miss-Abby-sunshine-full-of-cheer since my arrival. “Remind me when you’re going?”

  “Duh. After school tomorrow. Spring break kick-off.” Jen folds her coat over her arm and sits on the end of the sofa. It has gotten a bit warm in here since they arrived. “Haven’t you been listening to anything we’ve told you?”

  “Come on, Abby. It’ll be wicked fun. Epic.” Rose slides off her boots and crosses her ankles on the coffee table. “If we can scrape enough money together, we might even be able to rent snowmobiles and soar through the back country or something equally entertaining.”

  Since they both look comfortable, I decide to make an attempt at hospitality. “Do you want hot chocolate or something?”

  “Marshmallows?” Rose asks.

  “Of course.” I start toward the kitchen. “Cookies?”

  “Sure,” Jen says.

  When I come back with three cups of mint-flavored hot chocolate and four cranberry oatmeal cookies, Erda is writhing in ecstasy while Rose rubs her belly. “She’s going to expect that every time she sees you now,” I warn.

  “I don’t mind.” Rose keeps rubbing. “She’s a sweet dog who deserves to be treated like royalty. Don’t you, Erda?” Erda groans in response, and I try not to feel betrayed.

  Jen accepts a mug of chocolate. I toss a cookie to Erda, who jumps up and runs for the kitchen, catching the cookie in her mouth midflight, and crumbles it to bits all over the tile.

  “Where’s your suitcase?” Rose’s mouth is full of cookie. “We’ll help you pack. You’ll need to get plenty of rest so you feel better for tomorrow.”

  “I haven’t even checked with my mom.” It’s my last line of defense.

  “Oh, we did that already.” Jen sets her mug on top of a new-looking burn mark on the scarred end table. “We stopped by her office on our way here. She wants you to go and even signed permission papers. Now we just need to help you pack. Where can we find a suitcase?”

  “How much is it again? I don’t know if I can afford it.”

  Rose grins. “Your mom gave me cash. No more excuses.”

  “I wouldn’t know what to pack.”

  “That’s why we’re here.” Rose pours her whole mug of chocolate down her throat, unconcerned about the temperature.

  “Trust me, Abby. You won’t be sorry.” Rose steps around Erda— who is now flopped on her belly, asleep—to open the coat closet. “No suitcases in here. Next.”

  Jen follows Rose to my room. I look at Erda. “A lot of help you are, pup.” She opens one eye. “You were supposed to help me out, and instead you let her pull you in.” I set my empty mug on the coffee table and follow my friends upstairs.

  As I lie in bed that night, excitement vibrates through me and I roll onto my side to stare out the window. The moon gleams through the glass, turning the white curtain pale pink, and ice crystals sparkle like diamonds around the edges.

  Rose and Jen have railroaded me into going to Yellowstone, but part of me is glad I’ve been stripped of excuses. If this trip wasn’t good for me, I would feel it. Know it. Instead, what I feel is anticipation for something big—much bigger than an overnight excursion with my new friends.

  A movement outside the window catches my eye and I jump up to pull the curtain back. Through a cluster of trees, a creature nibbles on a shrub. Its white hide reflects the moonlight like a pearl, giving it an unearthly glow. A great rack crowns its head as if the animal is king of the forest. If not for the antlers, I might have mistaken it for a cow.

  The great beast lifts its face, gazing in my direction, and a tingle makes the hairs stand up on the back of my neck. It’s watching me. I press my hand against the cold glass. As if sensing my desire to touch it, the beast backs into the trees then turns away and bounds through the foliage up the mountain.

  “Wait.” I whisper. “Come back.” But the creature is long gone.

  My bed beckons to me, but Gram’s box catches my eye from a shelf on the wall. Reverently, I take it down and switch on my bedside lamp. Except for putting the ring away before we moved, I haven’t opened the box since that horrible day.

  I hold the sealed letter to my nose, inhale the faint scent of lavender, and then replace it in the box, not quite ready to read Gram’s last words to me. Reading the l
etter will only make her absence more real, and I can’t bring myself to open the envelope, to probe that still-healing wound.

  Instead, I slide the ring on my finger. My skin warms where it touches, and an electric spark zings up my arm. The stones glitter in the lamplight. The crystals I’ve neglected wink up at me, demanding to be taken out of the box and carried in my pocket. I touch each one, feeling faint pulses of energy in them.

  “How can I Heal other people when my own heart is broken?” I whisper to myself.

  I play with the diamonds I was never allowed to touch when Gram was alive, and sniff the letter again, wondering what Gram would think of me going to Yellowstone. When I’m finished, I close the box and place it in the back of my bottom desk drawer, still wearing the ring.

  The comforter cocoons me in warmth as I snuggle in and close my heavy eyelids, letting my mind drift. A fluttering sensation tickles my forehead and the scent of lavender touches my nose, the way it did when I was little and Gram tucked me in. “You’d love my new friends, Gram.”

  I must be dreaming already. The voice that responds sounds distant and far away. I already do, baby. I already do.

  SEVEN

  A Chance Meeting

  Rose slams the trunk, scowling at my heavy duffle when I struggle to keep up. “If you’d let us take your bag last night, it would already be loaded with the rest of the stuff.”

  “I told you, I’d rather load it myself.” No way am I taking chances with Gram’s crystals.

  “Throw that thing in the luggage compartment and meet us on board. We’ll save you a seat.”

  Jen sends me an apologetic glance and follows Rose.

  “Wait!” A mass of people moves after them, shoving me aside. “Hang on, I’m coming.” They don’t wait. Teenagers crowd the door and I end up at the end of the line, unable to see my friends anymore.

  Someone knocks me off balance and I manage to stay upright by grabbing on to a random person, dropping my duffle bag in the process. I release the person’s jacket, muttering, “Sorry,” without looking up, and bend to pick up my bag, but someone else already has.

  “Not cool,” says a familiar voice. I jerk my head up, meet the gaze of the person I’ve grabbed, and find myself staring into Kye’s crystalline blue eyes.

  I struggle to find my voice, to force words out of my mouth. “Sorry.”

  “Not you, the guy who plowed into you,” he says, handing my duffle over to the chaperone loading the last of the bags. “He didn’t even apologize.”

  “No manners.” I force a smile, take a breath, and try to remember what I’m supposed to be doing. “Um. Thanks.” Lame. Lame. Lame. Say something. You’ve only practiced this conversation two thousand times. Nothing comes. One corner of Kye’s mouth quirks up in a sort of half-smile and he nods. The silence is awk-ward.

  Eventually, I make it to the door and try to step aboard the bus, but the driver looks down his nose, frowning. “Sorry, kids, this one’s full.”

  “What?” Kye puts his hand on the door before the man can close it on me. “Seriously?”

  The driver starts the engine. “Another bus should be here soon.” When I still don’t move, he narrows his eyes. “Look, you’re going to catch up with your friends in a few minutes. You and your boyfriend will still get your weekend together—along with everyone else. Step back.”

  Heat floods my cheeks. The driver thinks I’m going to Yellowstone with Kye. “He isn’t my boyfriend,” I manage to squeak.

  “I’m closing the door.”

  I take a step back and look helplessly down the row of windows. Jen opens hers and sticks her face through the opening. “What happened?”

  “Bus is full. I have to wait for another one.”

  Jen turns, says something to Rose, and then sticks her face back out again. “Meet us in the lobby. We won’t do anything fun until you get there.”

  Rose sticks her face out next to Jen’s, but only her mouth clears the glass. The bus lurches forward. “Don’t bail on us, Abby. Whatever you do, get on the next bus! Remember, you promised.”

  “I didn’t promise anything,” I murmur, though minor details like that rarely matter to Rose.

  A pile of suitcases and duffle bags waits on the curb. The chaperone who was loading them earlier stands guard, watching down the street as if he expects a new bus any minute. I can see my bag on top and allow myself to feel relieved. I can still back out if I want. But I don’t want to anymore. It’s only one night. Not exactly life or death. Besides, my friends will be waiting for me.

  “This sucks,” Kye says.

  A giggle bursts out of me. “Yep. Could be worse, though.”

  “Too true.” Kye fiddles with a string of leather tied around his wrist and glances up at the sky. “It could be snowing.”

  “Ugh. Don’t say that. Snow is my enemy.” We find a bench, and Kye leans against it as I sit and curl my knees up to my chest.

  “Hate to tell you this, but if that’s true, you’re in a losing battle. It snows seven out of twelve months here—at least.”

  I push my hair out of my face. “I was afraid of that. Too bad my mom loves Jackson, or I’d talk her into moving near a beach.”

  Kye doesn’t respond. He’s staring—mouth open, a strange expression on his face—at my hands.

  “What?”

  He shakes his head. “Where did you get that ring?”

  I hold both hands in front of me, displaying all four rings. “Which one?”

  Kye grabs my left hand and touches the only one that really matters to me. Gram’s ring. Two sparkling diamond hearts—one blazing blue, the other brilliant white—twined together with swirls of shining platinum, each stone set opposite the other so one heart is always upside-down, the tips touching. “I ... from my grandmother. I inherited it when she died.”

  Kye slides it off my finger.

  “Hey. Give that back,” I yelp, jumping to my feet. “It isn’t a toy.”

  His only response is to move away and hold the ring up to the cloudy sky, turning it so both the stones catch the weak sunlight.

  “Are you listening to me?” I grab his bicep, squeeze. “I said give it back.” Though Kye’s muscle tightens and flexes, his arm doesn’t move, even when I use all my weight. Desperate, I resort to a reaction I haven’t used since kindergarten and pound on his chest. “Give. It. Back.” I emphasize each word with a little more power.

  Finally, Kye catches my hand, returning the ring to my finger. A flash of memory startles me when he does this, a feeling of déjà vu that only lasts a second before it’s gone.

  I’m shaking. Probably in anger, but I’m not sure.

  Kye stares at me, his eyes full of speculation. “By any chance, do you know how or where your grandmother got that ring?”

  I wrap my arms around myself and hide my hands, hoping to ease the shaking. “Why?”

  Kye snorts. “Why, indeed?”

  I walk away to put space between us, waiting around the side of the building until I hear the roar of an engine grumbling into the parking lot. My heart sinks when I realize a line has formed in the very spot I just vacated. I’m at the end. Again. As expected, the bus is almost full by the time I climb the steps, lamenting my bad luck. A hand waves at me from the back row.

  Kye saved me a seat. I ignore him and slip into an empty spot in the front. “Sorry, miss.” The driver turns the key and the engine roars to life. “That one’s reserved for a chaperone.”

  Resigned, I drag my feet down the aisle to the only seat left—the one next to Kye. He struggles to hide a smile, but his eyes dance.

  “You want the window or the aisle?” he asks.

  I’m already crafting a witty retort, but make the mistake of looking into his eyes. His smile fades for real. I’ve spent the past three weeks convincing myself that I imagined my original gut-clench reaction to him. All over again, I’m disconcerted by the way his gaze reaches deep inside me.

  Kye’s expression gives no indication of wh
at’s going through his mind, though mine is moving about a thousand miles a minute. The outside storage compartments bang closed, and the moment passes. The connection breaks as the final passenger stomps onto the bus.

  “Sorry, gang. Running late, as always.” Mr. Akers sets down an armload of stuff and strips off his oversized camouflage coat. Kye grasps my forearm and pulls me past him to sit next to the window. “Best seat in the place.” His voice sounds rough, different. “More room, more privacy.”

  “Oh.” I gulp, and my heart races. Privacy? With Kye? I like the idea, as much as it terrifies me.

  While we ride in silence, I focus on how the descending sun lights the sky on fire, when what I really want to do is stare at Kye. Something about him heats my blood, stirring feelings I’ve never experienced and wouldn’t know how to describe. Even though I’m not looking at him, I feel his every movement, hear the odd rhythm of his breathing that makes me wonder if his thoughts are as focused on me as mine are on him. Part of me wants to believe he’s been plunged into the same type of turmoil I’m currently experiencing.

  When his knee bumps mine, a vision appears in a blinding flash

  Fingers trailing over the bare skin of my arm, lips pressed against my throat, a hand caressing the small of my back.

  Kye taps my shoulder, bringing me out of my daze. “Akers has a cooler up there. You want a drink?”

  I realize my mouth is dry and nod.

  The road is far from smooth, but he moves down the aisle easily, chatting and joking with Mr. Akers like they’re best buds, and helping himself to the contents of the cooler like it belongs to him. A few minutes later, Kye returns, handing me a can. “Here you go.”

  “Thanks.” I pop the top and sip, needing something to do with my hands, something to cool the flames I can still feel in my face.

  “Will this be your first time?” He fidgets with the leather on his wrist.

  I gasp, nearly choking on a mouthful. “Um, what?”

  He purses his lips, doing battle with the urge to laugh. “I mean in Yellowstone.”