Gray wings stretched across his chest, drawing attention to his narrow, toned frame. The feathers unfurled as if the wings of an angel, and they appeared so soft and life-like that she reached out and touched one. Her eyes darted to his face to see if he responded to her touch. When he remained still, she allowed her fingertips to brush along his skin until they rested upon a human heart, shaded in black and white. Thorns wrapped around the organ and blood dripped from the center where it rent in half. “Your heart is broken,” she whispered, “just like mine.”
A sound echoed from the hallway and she snapped attention toward the door over her shoulder. Heartbeats ticked away in her head, and she sighed in relief when she and Fillion remained uninterrupted. Twirling a strand of hair, she studied him once more, conjuring explanations should he awake and find her reveling in his exposed condition. The cad would probably enjoy it, she mused, biting down on a smile once more. Never would mortification burn so hot, though. Still, she could not keep her eyes from soaking in the sight of him.
Celtic knots circled around his right bicep, similar to the carvings in the stairway leading to the second story apartments. Outlines of stars trailed from his upper chest, just beneath his right arm toward his stomach, growing smaller with descent.
Out of all the tattoos decorating his body, the one upon his left arm intrigued her the most. A tree, similar to the one engraved upon The Door, stretched from his elbow to his shoulder blade. Just like the feathers, it was remarkably life-like. The long, narrow leaves pointed in various directions, dotted by red fruit akin to pomegranates. The roots tangled into a Celtic knot, similar to the ones banded around his upper right arm. But what intrigued her most were the flames that licked the branches in swirls and curled over his shoulder, even singeing the tips of the wings on his left side. Whatever did it signify?
“Drink up and drink fast,” she whispered to the morning air. Knowing she needed to leave, Willow bent and pressed her lips to his cheek. “Thank you for my gift,” she whispered against his cool skin. “My heart is full beyond measure.”
His face leaned into her touch and a soft, breathless sound left his mouth, his lips full and relaxed from sleep. “Anything for you, Willow,” he rasped. Eyelashes fluttered open for a moment, tickling her skin, before shutting once more. “One day,” he murmured, “I’ll spin the tales ... weave the stories together...”
The last word faded into the shadows of the room as he pressed into her touch even more. Slow, rhythmic breathing returned and she reluctantly drew away, straightening her posture, her pulse in a race with her thoughts. He had recognized her voice and sought her nearness. Whatever did he mean by spinning tales? A tremor began at the nape of her neck and jolted to her feet as she pushed away the confusion and grief that wished to take root, fury rising in replacement.
Weary and resolute, she lifted her chin and exited the bedchamber. Skylar rested against the wall with eyes closed. Upon seeing her, he tipped his head and entered her father’s bedchamber, resuming his post as before. She continued into the living room, grateful when she found Leaf alone.
“Who poisoned him?” she demanded, taking a seat beside her brother.
In a low hush, Leaf answered, “Skylar and I are quite certain it was Timothy.” He looked toward the entry door and back to her. “And that he is also the owner of the Curse Card.”
“Curse Card?” Her eyes grew large. How is it she always forgot about this insufferable card? And yet, she continually felt the guilt of its existence. Willow thought over the inscription and shook her head with disgust. “How could a man be so cruel?”
“Yes,” Leaf replied simply. “A thing and a person were damaged. That leaves only a place.”
“But there are several places I love.” Willow covered her mouth and stared at Leaf wide-eyed. “My tree. You do not believe Timothy would harm my tree, do you?”
“No, Hanley.” Leaf closed his eyes, an anxious gesture, and rubbed his face with the palms of his hands. Upon noting the look of confusion she cast him, he explained, “The Curse Card is meant for Hanley. I heard him declare it personally.” Willow’s mouth fell open, but he held up a hand. “He claims that the spinning wheel was destroyed as a warning, for he spins the tales and weaves together all the stories.”
The hairs on her arms rose as she recalled Fillion’s words to her just now and she twisted toward the corner where the wheel sat. “Tell me you jest!” Willow clenched her fists and jumped to a standing position. “All this time I have felt responsible for the grievances befalling our home, Leaf Dylan Watson. I knew Fillion had met with Hanley. When did you personally do so?”
Leaf winced. “A fortnight ago. Hanley did not know I was present during his and Fillion’s meeting.” Leaf’s eyes dimmed as he took her hand and kissed it, bowing his head as his shoulders slumped even further. “I did not intentionally withhold this information from you. Sometimes I become so consumed with various responsibilities, I simply forget. ”
Willow sighed and withdrew her hand, turning her head to the side. “Why my spinning wheel? There are six spinners in our community.” She lowered into the chair with stiff movements.
“Fillion believes you were specifically targeted because of your resemblance to Mother.”
“Dear Lord in Heaven...” Willow leaned her head against the back of the chair and closed her eyes. Then she popped forward with another thought. “I was under the impression that Hanley did not possess love for his son. Did not the Curse stipulate the person, place, and thing were objects of love?”
Leaf’s face sobered even more. “A father could love his son for many reasons and still hold no affection for him.”
“Truly?” Willow looked at her hands, resting in her lap. “Such thoughts break my heart even more, if that were possible.”
“Aye, mine as well.”
“Why would Timothy go to such lengths?” She asked, falling against the back of the chair once more. “Has he taken leave of his senses?”
“Perhaps.” Leaf studied the door and window once more. “Fillion is rather convinced that Timothy was in line to be The Aether before our mother was given the official duty.”
The anger rose within her once more and she seethed through gritted teeth. “He killed our father for power, destroyed my spinning wheel to deliver a message, deceived two families into leaving, created division in our community, tried to destroy your friendship with Skylar—then blame you for it—and harmed the future owner of New Eden Township...” She stood and began pacing, grunting with fury. “How shall I face that despicable man? He has never heard anything on the wind quite like the hurricane brewing inside of me!”
“We do not know if he killed father nor if he truly held the Curse Card, but the evidence thus far leans mightily in Timothy’s direction.”
“How could you defend him?”
“I am not.”
“Perhaps we need to bring him before the community for questioning?”
“I refuse to publicly accuse a man outright as a means to satisfy my anger.”
“No,” Willow said. “You shall hide behind whatever glimmers of peace you fancy solves every problem. I, for one, believe diplomacy is no longer a path worth pursuing where he is concerned.”
Leaf released a long, heartfelt sigh and stretched out his legs, rubbing his eyes once more. Then he stood with fluid motions and trudged to where she paced along the floorboards. Eventually, she stilled long enough to notice her brother’s hardened features.
“You shall face him this evening, as you must, and you will hold your tongue,” he admonished. She pinched her face in anger and her brother narrowed his eyes, his voice lowering even more. “This morning, following Mass, I shall give an account of Fillion’s suffering. I worry that the residents shall panic upon learning that the Son of Eden was poisoned and by one within the community who surely conspired with one from the Outside. Do you realize how this shall fan the flames of the faction? And, of course, I shall have to reveal the hatch in or
der to justify my claims. But I must.” Leaf paused and placed weary hands on hips. “Do not add to the load I must carry this day,” he said firmly.
Willow gaped at Leaf with his insinuations and promptly turned her back to him, crossing her arms over her chest with a huff and an ill-humored chuckle. “Do not trouble yourself, Your Majesty. I shall refrain from publicly humiliating you. Please excuse me. I no longer wish to be reminded of what a burden I am, especially while processing information you have known for weeks!” Clenching her fists at her side, she marched toward the archway leading to the hallway with as much dignity as she could muster.
The front door opened just as her toe stepped into the shadows of the hallway and Willow halted her steps, internally groaning. Laurel called after her and Willow looked over her shoulder as several matriarchs and village matrons spilled into their apartment, followed by Rain with Ember close behind, carrying a copper basin.
“Good morning time, Your Majesty,” Verna said with a slight dip toward Leaf. “Felicitations, Willow Oak.” The head matriarch met Willow’s eyes. “Shall we begin?”
Willow fidgeted with the folds of her dress and drew in a shaky breath. She look at Leaf who stood with his head down, refusing to meet the eyes of those gathered in their home, a muscle twitching in his jaw.
“Yes, Madam.”
“Your Majesty, would you be so kind as to fetch heated water from Cook?” Verna asked.
Leaf bowed and left the apartment in quick strides, not even sparing a glance at Ember, who also directed focus upon the wooden floor. The door shut with a slam, and Willow flinched. Others, however, appeared ignorant of the tension.
Mistress Katie came forward and approached the spinning wheel, covering a gasp with her hand. “Your Highness, how lovely! From whom did you receive such a splendid gift?”
“My Lord, Fillion Nichols,” Willow said, weaving a strand of her hair between two fingers as she turned away from the women. “He crafted it for me.” The women exchanged looks, then broke into an assortment of reactions from giggles, excited chatter, to knowing smiles. But Rain offered a conspiratorial grin.
“We are glad to hear of his recovery,” Verna offered softly, and regarded Ember with a frown. “Your brother shall investigate and ease our fears.” Willow nodded, still averting her eyes. “Come, show us to your chamber and we will transform you into a vision that shall bring your young man to bended knee.”
This very moment, the ground could reveal its dank, grave maw and Willow would willingly jump inside without hesitation. Instead, she faced her caretakers with a tight smile before she spun toward the hallway, heels digging into the floor as she stalked to her bedchamber.
Armed with toiletries, pots and pitchers of cold water, henna, leaves, flowers, and the stories that accompanied such occasions, the matriarchs and matrons poured into her room and settled in to their tasks. The clamor of activity grated on each of Willow’s nerves and increased the pounding in her head, but she masked her emotions behind a veil of quiet stoicism. But, oh, how she wildly stormed inside!
As the women slowly undressed her down to her shift and bindings, Willow studied Ember’s wedding gown, draped across the oak chest. Tonight, she would be presented to the community as a bride. However, the sight of this dress evoked entirely different thoughts and emotions of the day several weeks prior when one man left and another arrived. Goosebumps pricked her body as she shivered. A matron wrapped a blanket around Willow’s shoulders with a kind smile, mistaking the chill.
Trepidation steadily increased as she pondered her father’s absence this day. Come evening meal, her father would have escorted her through the gathering and stood beside her upon the stage. He would comfort her sorrows. He would understand how helpless she felt, allowing her to fight for those she loved. And he knew what it is was like to have a relationship full of nevers because of Hanley Nichols.
Instead, she must suffer her brother and his insensitivity. Ember came forward to retrieve her cast-off garments and met her eyes, her sister-in-law’s mouth set in a thin line. It appeared the Daughter of Fire shared Willow’s sentiments as well.
“Power is an illusion,” Willow said softly.
Ember arched her eyebrow, her familiar small and mysterious smile forming in reply. “Indeed.”
***
Modern as the style of Pascal’s writing is, his thought is deeply impregnated with the spirit of the Middle Ages. He belonged, almost equally, to the future and to the past.
— Lytton Strachey, British writer and critic, 20th century A.D. *
This week’s celebrity ship should be no surprise to anyone who has paid attention to the buzz the last few weeks. It looks like love is in the air for a certain Eco-Princess and her Martian guest. Thank you, Daddy! We sent our Cupid undercover to provide you, loyal followers, with a gallery of delectable images. Seriously. Just scroll through. Warning: Your screen might catch on fire. They’re hot! Our favorite? When Lynden Nichols leads Coal Hansen blindfolded through the suburbs of Portland to meet what our sources say is his grandma. If that’s not love, folks... And freaking adorable. And this almost-kiss? Enough to make even the sun melt. If all Martians look like the Son of Fire, then bring on the alien invasion. We give this ship a solid five stars. Not every day you can say someone’s relationship is literally out of this world. Iheartotakulife wants to hear from you! What’s your favorite picture? Do you ship Coal and Lynden? Comment below.”
— RainyMonday0427, “Celebrity Ship,” Iheartotakulife.com, October 29, 2054
***
The muscles in Coal’s jaw winced with tenderness as he clenched down once again. All day he had waited for something to happen, anything to justify why he had to fly out at first light. Now, it was evening, and he had yet to see Hanley or Dr. Nichols, and only visited with Michael on occasion. Nor had he seen the Carsons or Moores. Rather than wait in his room, he had decided to wander the building, eventually ending up in the main meeting room.
Shifting in his seat, his focus traveled back to the aquarium bubbling in the corner. The little blue and brown fish no longer haunted the glass box. Instead, happy, healthy fish swam in circles. Each minnow trailed a predictable pattern, blissfully unaware of their environment.
Could he become a fish once more?
He knew the answer to that question before he even asked it of himself. It was the same question he had asked himself the vast majority of the day. Still, as he studied his fingers, noting the telling absence of carbon stains, he continued to wonder.
The burn of longing to see those he loved pulled mightily upon his heart. But the ache of leaving Lynden felt as though shards of glass were embedded into his body. Each breath was tight and shallow, eliciting sharp stabs of pain from his stomach. And his gut already felt on fire with swirling, agitated motions.
When he left New Eden, his anxiety was steeped in a desire to fight. Curiosity was there, too. And soon, wanderlust had claimed his adventurous spirit. Today, the mere thought of returning to New Eden indefinitely caused his pulse to race.
Would he even fit in with his community anymore?
When he picked up hammer and iron, would he slip back into familiar routines with satisfaction?
Physically, he looked like an Outsider, even his vocabulary and speech patterns had changed. He was no longer of his world, but neither was he of this one. Rather, he was stuck in a strange form of purgatory until the moment Hanley decided to finally grace Coal with his presence and seal his fate. Literally.
Restless, Coal strode out through the large double doors and strutted down the hallway. In bondage pants—the metal loops and chains clinking with each step—a visual kei-inspired button-down black shirt, and combat boots, he clashed with the crowd of sterile, pristine lab coats. He emerged from New Eden as an anomaly in a tunic and breeches, and he returned as a different one. Now, however, he no longer felt shame with the stares and whispered conversations.
Warm light spilled into the hallway and he shifted atten
tion from the bland walls and carpet to a large window. As he passed, he caught his reflection and searched his false self for answers. Platinum blond hair poofed in the very back while black and red strands draped across the front of his eye at an angle. A hooped bottom lip ring glinted in the light from the window. So, too, did a hoop in his nose. Small, black faux plugs in his ears competed with his naturally dark eyes. Coal lowered his head, distressed over his appearance. Yet, despite the changes, he only saw the man who, just weeks prior, inspected his full reflection for the first time in wonder.
What would Oaklee think when she saw him?
Would she forgive him for his behavior prior to The Exchange?
Could they still be friends?
How would she respond to his declaration of love for Lynden?
Was there a way to keep Oaklee and her family—his family—safe while living in the Outside?
The olive tree beside the kitchen garden swayed in a gentle breeze and Coal stared past his reflection to the Outside. Lifting his eyes, he settled upon the white, wispy clouds high above, their thin smudges painted across the azure atmosphere with fine strokes.
Michael had shared during their brief time this morning that Coal was to remain indoors. It was maddening. A trapped, confined feeling encroached upon Coal as when he first heard Michael’s rule, and Coal’s chest expanded with rising panic as his throat went dry. He forced his attention back toward the hallway, and then he was walking, not able to distance himself from the view fast enough. Still, his mind remained anchored to the wide-open landscape beyond the window, even as his feet moved swiftly upon the carpet.
Elements (The Biodome Chronicles series Book 2) Page 56
