Five: A Maor Novel (Maor series)

by Caroline Greyling

  I stare at the babies, now cooing happily at each other and slowly turn my own wrist over to examine the fine silvered scar that I once thought was the result of an unfortunate accident with a coke bottle.

  ‘That’s the power of the bond, Shaylee,’ Tristan whispers, his breath warm against my ear. He turns his own wrist over so I can see the scar that matches my own and slides his wrist over mine, scar to scar. The familiar tingle shoots through my wrist, but tenfold in intensity. Our eyes meet, and my gaze dips involuntarily to his mouth, then back up to his stormy grey eyes. I know he feels it too, this desire that seems to stem from our shared scars and multiplies with each touch.

  I feel myself leaning toward Tristan, and then I hear Katelyn’s mother’s voice, announcing that the reception will be held in the adjoining dining hall and I pull back, blushing. Tristan smiles sheepishly at me and I know that, in that brief moment, I wasn’t the only one who forgot where we were.

  I stand, pretend to smooth out the creases in my dress and take a deep, centering breath. Right now, I feel like I’m losing control – of my body, my mind, my soul – and there is nothing that terrifies me more. When I’ve gathered myself enough to fake a smile, I follow Tristan into the dining hall.

  White lily arrangements sit on each table setting, white silk drapes the tables and bright red sashes adorn each chair. Long buffet tables run along the side of the room, laden with everything from caviar to curry, and at the front, near the French doors, a string quartet plays.

  Within minutes, Mrs. Westwood whisks me off into the guest fray, leaving Tristan and his father staring helplessly from the circular table. When I see Katelyn and Justin’s families sitting quietly in one corner of the room, I feel embarrassed. This celebration is supposed to be about them, but hardly anyone has even bothered to speak to them this afternoon. Instead, they crowd around me and Mrs. Westwood, making small talk while they assess the ‘new royal’. I know they must have heard about me by the way their eyes roam over my skin, until my hairs stand on end and I feel like ripping away my dress and screaming: there’s the mark, take a look and then leave me the hell alone!

  Kent follows me through the room, but keeps getting pushed aside by the other royal bodyguards who all seem to be double his size and age, until eventually, I take pity on him and send him off to the arcade with the assurance that I will be perfectly safe in a room full of Maor and seastnan.

  As the sun begins to set behind the tips of the Dalby trees, I find myself standing beside the French doors. Mrs. Westwood is engrossed in conversation with yet another royal and so, with a quick glance around to make sure nobody is watching, I slip away into the garden. Once outside, I breathe in great gulps of fresh forest air and feel my shoulders sag in relief. I make my way to a bench in a small alcove near the entrance to the maze, sit down and close my eyes.

  Is this what it’s like to be a royal Maor? I don’t think I can take much more of this attention. My face already feels stiff from the forced smiles and I wonder how many more times I can talk about the weather while some stranger checks me out.

  ‘Not fond of the attention, I see,’ a voice says from behind me. Startled, I twist around on the bench and then jump to my feet when I recognize the sharp green eyes and straight, thin form of Tabitha Fern.

  ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there,’ I mumble. She smiles, sits on the bench, and pats the wood beside her.

  ‘Come sit.’

  I look at her for a moment and perch myself on the edge of the bench next to her and twist my hands in my lap. This woman looks a lot like my own grandmother; in the way that she speaks and the grace with which she moves, but she’s missing the softness Nan has.

  ‘Why are you nervous?’ she asks, indicating my hands.

  I flush and clench my hands tightly together to stop their movement.

  ‘I’m not…I mean, you’re Queen Tabitha Fern, from the Tanistry and…’

  ‘Oh posh,’ she says, ‘my reputation precedes me but you should know, we don’t like being called by our titles, Ms Greene.’ She flashes me an oddly mischievous grin that seems so unlike her hard exterior, I can’t decide whether she is friend or foe. Maybe she is neither.

  ‘Are you settling in then?’ she asks.

  I manage a nod and she continues, seeming satisfied.

  ‘I’m glad to see that you and Tristan are getting along well. I must say, we’re all quite looking forward to your wedding.’ She leans forward slightly. ‘The sooner the better, I should think. We don’t want to take any chances with our future, you know.’ I feel blood rush to my cheeks but I hold back the angry stream of words on my tongue. Our future, she says, but really it’s my life she’s referring to.

  ‘Speaking of protection…’ Tabitha continues, oblivious of my reaction. She glances around the alcove and then back to me. ‘Where is Kael? I haven’t seen him all evening and he shouldn’t have left you alone.’ She gives me a stern look.

  ‘Um, Kael’s not at Abbey manor,’ I reply.

  ‘What do you mean ‘not at the manor’?’ Tabitha says in a sharp voice.

  ‘Kael had some – things - to attend to back in Aylburton,’ I say hesitantly, unwilling to get into the details. ‘His brother, Kent is here in his place.’

  Tabitha’s expression turns incredulous.

  ‘Do you mean to tell me that your seastnan left you in the care of another? Does Tanya know of this?’

  I nod, unable to speak.

  ‘I’ve never heard of such a thing!’ She stands and gestures around the alcove. ‘And where is this replacement protector? Why has he left you unattended? Does he realize what is at stake?’ She inhales sharply, as she glances behind us toward the dark forest at the edge of the lawn. ‘It’s not safe for you to be alone out here, especially not with so many Maor royals in one place. I want you to go inside immediately.’

  ‘But -’

  ‘No arguments. Inside. Now.’ She crooks her finger toward the edge of the maze and as if by magic, a black and white suited bodyguard appears. ‘Pedro, please take Ms Greene inside to her fiancé immediately.’

  He bows slightly and she turns back to me. ‘You will stay with Tristan in the safety of the manor for the remainder of the evening and I think I’ll have a little word with this replacement protector of yours.’

  ‘But -’

  ‘Go!’ she says, giving me a slight push in the direction of the manor ‘I will not risk our one chance!’

  ‘It’s simply unheard of, Tanya!’

  Kent, Tristan and I sit in a row on the brown-suede couch in Tristan’s en-suite sitting room. Tabitha Fern is at the small writing table near the door, speaking into the telephone. I can’t hear my grandmother’s replies on the other end but I can tell that Tabitha is not satisfied with her answers.

  Kent has already endured a tongue-lashing for leaving me unattended and my nerves are ragged as we wait for the verdict of this conversation. Tabitha Fern is not just a Maor royal, she’s a member of the Tanistry, and even with the little knowledge I’ve gained about our society, I understand that she holds power over me. How much power, I’m not sure. Can she punish me in some way – or worse yet, can she bring the wedding forward? I’m sure she doesn’t know about the deal Nan struck with me, but I’m also sure that she wouldn’t care enough to honor it anyway.

  The telephone clicks back into its cradle and I turn my attention back to Tabitha, sit up straighter, and inch forward on the couch.

  ‘Well,’ she says, standing up from the straight-backed chair and regarding us with one hand on her hip. ‘I don’t understand this little arrangement that you, Kael and your grandmother have, Shaylee and I don’t like it one bit. If I had my way, you and Tristan would be married by tomorrow.’

  My heart sinks as she shakes her head and lowers herself into the single arm-chair opposite us.

  ‘But Tanya and I go back a long way.’ She exhales loudly and continues. ‘I’ll give her the benefit of the doubt and assume she knows what she’s doing�
��for now…’

  My face must reflect my relief because she gives me a sharp look and adds:

  ‘I don’t know why she entertains you, especially since there is so much at stake, but I’ll warn you that the other members of the Tanistry will not be as open-minded as I am.’

  She frowns at Kent.

  ‘You, young Gregor, have a lot to learn. I will let your in-attention slide this time, only because you’re lucky that nothing happened and because I’m certain you will spend the remainder of the weekend with your eyes glued to your charge, before you deliver her safely back into the hands of her seastnan.

  Kent’s face turns a shade of purple but thankfully, he doesn’t respond to Tabitha and she turns away to Tristan. ‘I trust you will keep your betrothed in your sights at all times for what’s left of this weekend.’

  Tristan inclines his head and Tabitha looks at me, and gives a tired sigh.

  ‘I must take my leave now, Shaylee,’ she says. ‘Unfortunately I cannot remain for the entire weekend as the Tanistry has need of me in Thailand.’ She motions me forward and I obey, stand before her and put my hands in her outstretched palms. ‘I hope you understand the gravity of your situation,’ she says. ‘There are many who covet the power in your veins and would stop at nothing to get to it. The Tanistry cannot allow our one last chance to fall through our hands. We’re keeping an eye on the situation and we will step in if need be.’

  She squeezes my hand, probably as a soothing gesture, but it feels more like a warning and then she turns and leaves the room.

  Chapter 34

  Pressurized

  Tastes like: A Rosa tomato, bursting in your mouth.

  Smells like: Brake fluid.

  Sounds like: Steam, whistling from a pressure-cooker.

  Feels like: The blade of a knife against your throat.

  Looks like: A taut guitar string.

  ‘Can you believe her?’ The minute the door closes behind Tabitha Fern, Kent is on his feet, pacing. ‘As if I would ever let anything happen to you!’ He gestures wildly toward the door and practically shouts at it. ‘I’m not an idiot, you know!’

  Tristan jumps up from the couch and grabs Kent by both arms.

  ‘Unless you want her to come back in here and give you another scolding, I suggest you shut your mouth!’ Tristan hisses as he rounds on Kent. ‘You underestimate her powers and besides, she’s right.’

  Kent’s face turns from surprise to anger again. ‘But -’

  ‘You did leave her alone,’ Tristan turns his back on Kent, which only fuels the younger boy’s anger, bringing an unhealthy, mottled flush to his face.

  I spring up from my position on the couch and throw myself between the two.

  ‘Come on guys! There’s no sense in arguing about this.’ I give Tristan a pleading look, since he is the older of the two and presumably the more mature. ‘Please, just leave it.’

  His expression is hard, but he pauses, heeding my silent plea.

  ‘You’re right,’ he says, taking a step back, ‘but I’m also not leaving your side.’

  ‘I don’t need your help! I can take care of her myself!’ Kent shouts. I twist around to placate him.

  ‘We know you can, Kent,’ I say. ‘But how about we all do something together, indoors tonight, okay?’ I glance quickly around the room and my eyes find the wide-screen plasma and DVD-player. ‘What movies do you have, Tristan?’ I take his hand and pull him toward the stack of DVD’s. ‘We could have a movie night in?’

  Tristan glances from Kent to me, and slowly nods.

  ‘Sure, it’s mostly classics but -’

  ‘Classics?’ I ask with genuine interest. I ignore Kent’s grimace and flick through the DVD’s. ‘Oooh, you have Pride and Prejudice!’

  ‘Yes, it’s one of my favorites,’ Tristan replies. He takes the DVD from me, slides it into the player and motions me back to the couch. Kent grumbles but takes a seat on the single chair nearest the door.

  ‘I’ll make some popcorn.’ Tristan hits play and walks across to the counter that holds a small microwave, kettle and toaster. I hear the pop of the kernels and the beep of the microwave as the opening credits roll. Tristan hands Kent his own bowl of popcorn and deposits himself beside me on the couch with the other bowl.

  Soon, I’m lost in Jane Austen’s world of matchmaking and it’s two hours later when I realize Tristan’s arm is draped around my shoulders and I’m curled, legs beneath me, against the curve of his side.

  I glance self-consciously across at Kent and stifle a grin. He is sprawled across the chair, legs dangling over one arm, mouth hanging open. The half-eaten bowl of popcorn teeters dangerously on his lap and he is snoring softly, a funny kind of whistling sound.

  ‘Want to watch another movie?’ Tristan asks.

  ‘It’s late…’

  ‘Come on, one more. You could sleep here tonight?’

  ‘I don’t think -’

  ‘I’ll sleep on the couch.’ He glances over at Kent. ‘I don’t think your protector is going to be much use tonight anyway.’

  I follow his gaze back to Kent and we both laugh softly.

  Tristan puts Frankenstein in the DVD player and returns to the couch. This time though, he doesn’t pretend to put distance between us. He keeps his eyes on my face as he sits and slides slowly, deliberately closer, until his knees are touching mine and I can smell the sweet cologne on his shirt. He takes my wrist in his, brushes his thumb gently along the silver scar there and I shiver involuntarily.

  ‘Do you understand now?’

  My gaze shoots up from my wrist to his face. Tristan stares at me in the flickering television light and his expression sends another little quiver through my body.

  ‘A little,’ I whisper, unable to tear my eyes from his.

  Moving slowly, he raises his wrist and presses it against mine, scar to scar. He holds my gaze, watching my expression as the contact sends tiny pulses up from my wrist. His own eyes seem to melt and gleam in the blue and white shadows.

  ‘You feel it, too,’ he whispers, ‘how your blood calls to mine.’ He raises his other hand and trails it gently across my cheek, down to my lips. My eyes close of their own volition and I tremble. I feel him shift on the couch beside me, the proximity of his body giving off waves of heat and the whisper of his words against my face, like a warm summer breeze. ‘You want me, Shaylee,’ he breathes against my cheek, my ear, my neck; slowly dissolving my thoughts, along with my will-power until I am nothing but nerve-endings and anticipation. ‘Don’t fight it.’

  His lips make contact with my nape and the consequential surge of electricity and that shoots through me sends a jolt to my brain. My eyes fly open and I jerk back from him.

  ‘No,’ I say, scrambling off the couch. ‘I don’t…I’m not ready for this.’

  I spin on my heels and run out the door, down the passage. Tristan’s footsteps sound behind me, echoing the beat of my heart, which seems to accelerate unnaturally with each step. I hear his voice, begging me to stop but my body is in fight or flight mode. I reach my room, slam the door behind me and slide the lock home.

  ‘Shaylee,’ Tristan’s voice sounds through the door.

  ‘Go away.’ I press my hand against my chest, confused by the erratic beating of my heart, the sudden tightness in my chest. I lean my back against the door and feel the vibrations of Tristan’s hands against the wood. Something is not right. This isn’t just panic over a kiss. Something strange is happening to me and I don’t understand, I can’t think.

  ‘Please…I’m sorry. I just want to talk,’ Tristan pleads.

  ‘I can’t– Oh God!’

  I cry out as a familiar wall of pain hits me. My eyes go blurry and I collapse to my knees.

  ‘What’s wrong? Shaylee? Open the door!’

  Tristan’s voice is full of panic but the pain in my chest, head and stomach makes it impossible to do anything but curl over and whimper as the alternating visions of fire and darkness engulf me.

/>   ‘Shaylee!’ There is a loud thumping and somewhere on the pedestal beside the bed, my cell-phone buzzes. I lay there, paralyzed and horrified as the fire draws nearer, licking at my limbs, consuming me until there is nothing left but charred blackness.

  Chapter 35

  Fatigue

  Tastes like: Two minute noodles.

  Smells like: Sweat.

  Sounds like: Heavy breathing.

  Feels like: The last five miles of a marathon.

  Looks like: A mother, with a twin on each hip.

  Tristan’s voice is the first thing I hear when I regain consciousness. It’s such a soothing, gentle sound to wake up to, that it brings a small smile to my lips as I open my eyes. The relief on his face is clearly visible as he leans over me on the bed and brushes my hair back from my forehead.

  ‘Shaylee,’ he squeezes my hand so hard, I actually wince and he gives me an apologetic look. ‘Sorry. Are you alright?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ I say. I try to raise myself to a sitting position but the muscles in my stomach protest the movement and I sink back down against the feather pillows. My head is throbbing and every muscle aches.

  ‘Should I call a doctor?’ Tristan’s father asks, peering over his son’s shoulder at me, a deep frown of concern etched into his brow.

  ‘No, I’ll be alright. I just need to sleep.’

  My eyes move over Tristan’s dad, to his mother and Kent, sitting beside the window in the two arm-chairs. Kent’s cell phone rings and he throws me an apologetic look as I flinch at the piercing sound. Tristan glares at him and with a mumbled: ‘Sorry,’ he steps away to answer it. My eyes follow his retreat and stop short at the door. The frame is splintered along one entire side and the door dangles on one hinge against the wall.

  ‘What happened?’ I ask.

  Tristan’s gaze follows mine to the devastated entrance and he shrugs.

  ‘I had to get to you.’

  ‘I’m sorry-’