Veracity (The Seven Cities Book 1)

by Lindsey Stell

  "What is wrong with you?" Amber squeals. "You are going to put me into labor scaring me like that."

  "You go right ahead and go into early labor you little devil," the old woman caws. "Then I would have proof that the baby in your belly was there when you married. Who gets pregnant their first week of marriage? Someone who is already knocked up! That's who!"

  "Mother!" the General warns. "Leave my wife alone. You know very well that child is mine. I know you had her checked before the wedding."

  "Damn right I had the filthy thing checked," she snorts. "She thinks she's hot stuff with that pretty face of hers. Who knows what she is capable of?"

  "Sometimes I wonder the same thing about you mother," the General scoffs.

  "That's because you are a smart boy," she grins, taking a seat between Travis and Grayson.

  "You'll be happy to know you missed dinner," Amber calls to her. "I went to the trouble of ordering your favorite foods tonight too."

  "Did I miss dessert?"

  "No, they will be bringing it out shortly, though I don't think you deserve it, you old hag," Amber says.

  "You take away my ice cream, and I'll put a hex on you and your low-born baby!"

  "Have you lost your mind?" the General cries. "You would put a hex on your own grandchild over ice cream?"

  "Damn right," she glares. "It's the best part of my day."

  "This baby will not be low-born," Amber seethes. "I am the wife of the General, don't you for get that."

  "How could I forget it? You throw it in my face every damn day."

  "Must you say damn quite so much mother?" the General sighs.

  "I say what I want, boy."

  "What do you even know of hexes, grandmother?" Travis laughs.

  "I know a great many things," she smiles, touching her twisted hand to his cheek. Even this monster of an old woman is completely charmed by Travis.

  At last dessert is served. A delicate mint ice cream that I have to agree is hex worthy. The entire meal has been wonderful, but this ice cream is probably the best thing I have ever tasted. I close my eyes as I savor my last bite, letting it melt on my tongue. I am startled out of my trance when I hear that low chuckle I have grown so fond of. Opening my eyes, I see Grayson grinning at me. I smile back, and for a moment, I can see the man I met in the safe house. It passes almost instantly, and he shuts down again, pushing his chair away from the table, and stumbling off.

  No one even flinches at his behavior. Is the Grayson I met the exception, and this Grayson the norm? I think back to the way he held me in his arms during my nightmare, and I crave his touch again. Until that moment, I had never had a true connection with another human being, at least not this side of the drugs. Travis leans over and whispers in my ear, wanting to know if I need any assistance back to my room. I accept his offer, hoping to ask him about Grayson on our way. Travis takes my hand, and we walk out of the dining room, heading back through the maze of hallways.

  "Grayson seems out of sorts," I say, absently. "He seemed much more upbeat on our way here. Does he normally . . . drink so much?"

  "He has had a rough couple of years, and unfortunately the drinking has been his way to cope. It started when our mother died, and has gradually grown worse since."

  "I'm so sorry," I say, softly. "I assumed when I met Amber, but I didn't really know."

  We enter my sitting room and take a seat on one of the ornate couches.

  "My mother liked you," he smiles sadly. "She was against our engagement from the beginning, but she liked you."

  "Why didn't she want us to marry?"

  "It wasn't personal," he says. "She just preferred an alliance with a different city. She felt very strongly that we put too much stock in our relationship with Axiom."

  Travis sits back heavily, his eyes sad as he looks at me; every bit a little boy who has lost his mother.

  "My father couldn't deny her anything, you know." he says. "It was only after her death that he tried to solidify the engagement. Our fathers have always wanted it to happen, but they never signed the documents to make it official. If my mother had lived, I doubt they ever would."

  "Do you mind me asking how she died?"

  "No," he says, his face growing dark with old wounds and unhealed grief. "You will be a part of this family, and should know our history. It is a hard truth, and one that isn't spoken often, but she killed herself."

  "Oh I am so sorry," I cry, shocked. "That must have been so hard."

  "It was completely out of the blue. We had no idea that she wasn't happy. She seemed perfectly herself, but one day she went up to the roof and jumped. My father found her and had to be sedated for days, and Grayson nearly went insane. They were very close."

  "I am glad you told me, but I feel awful for bringing it up. You shouldn't have to relive such things just to sate my curiosity."

  "It's an old hurt," he tells me. "Going on three years now. I have gotten good at opening the wound up and letting it air. Having you here helps to sooth it back again."

  It is such a sad, sweet thing to say. It means very little, though, just a pleasant way to change a difficult conversation. At my silence, Travis kisses me on the cheek, says he will be back for me in the morning, and leaves.

  Later, as I lay in bed, I think over the uncomfortable dinner, and fantasize what life would be like out in the forest; simple, wild, and uncomplicated. I purposely forget the horrors of my journey, and remember only my dreams of the young man. Maybe I could find a way over the wall and look for him. I know the life we had was a lie, but maybe he would consider making it real. At least with him life would be easy. No rules, no angry Amber, or confusing Grayson . . . With him I imagine I could just be myself, and not have to try and be who I was before. I could run free and spend my days barefoot and happy. Maybe we could find Ruth.

  Then I think of Travis, his polite kindness and small talk. The way I feel nothing but friendship when he holds my hand. This must be difficult for him too. To have your fiance taken and a stranger returned? I suppose time and distance would change any relationship. Does he feel anything for me still?

  In the end, I dismiss any ideas of leaving. Even though things are uncomfortable right now, I know that here is still better than out there. The dead couple in the hotel room cured me of ever seriously considering leaving Veracity. I am not strong like Ruth's mother. I am not made to be on the outside.

  My marriage will not be about love, but belonging. Once I am married, this place will by my home forever. These people, however difficult they may be, will be my family. I could learn to love Travis again, and maybe we can find happiness together. I may not be anyone now, but soon, I will be Travis' wife.

  11 – Garden

  KATHERINE

  Sleep is elusive, and when I grow tired of tossing and turning, I dress quietly and slip downstairs to the garden. Walking through the foliage, I envision my future here: wife, mother, and what else? Will I spend my days trapped behind these walls, never really accomplishing anything on my own? Without thinking, my feet lead me to a mimosa tree stuck in the back corner of the garden. Shucking my shoes, I climb up its low branches, finding a sturdy perch to sit among the blooms. The sweet smell of the silky, pink flowers drift through the night air, teasing my memory.

  Through the feathery leaves, I stare at the wall, letting myself fall back into dreaming of a life on the outside. What is wrong with me? When I was out there, I wanted to be in here. Now that I am here, I dream of being out there. A walking contradiction, I'm thinking about the mystery man, longing for Grayson, and pledging my loyalty to Travis. Why does everything have to be so complicated?

  A soft chuckle rises up from the base of the tree. Below me, I see a grinning face and big, brown eyes. Grayson. His laugh, or chuckle rather, is not infectious. It doesn't make me want to laugh; it makes me want to be closer to him, which isn't funny at all. An alluring and mysterious laugh, it sounds like an act of defiance, a sign of rebellion within him. It sounds as though he
knows he shouldn't laugh, but does anyway, all breathy and quiet. I adore it.

  "Haven't managed to tame you yet, I see," he smiles.

  "Not entirely."

  "They would have a fit if they found you up there."

  "I doubt it. Travis would pretend to think it's charming, Laura would find my lack of culture hilarious, Amber would find a way to use it against me, and your father," I pause lowering myself down from the tree, "would probably find a way to turn it back against Amber."

  "It didn't take you long to figure everyone out."

  "Not true. Try as I might I cannot figure you out."

  "Oh?"

  "You confuse me. On the way here from the safe house, you seemed happy. We got along so well and it felt like we had known each other forever. When we got here, you went ice cold and have practically ignored me. Every now and then, I catch a glimpse of the man I met, but he disappears so fast I'm afraid I imagined it."

  "I'm sorry I seem cold," he says darkly. "We were close when we were young, and I was happy out in the field because I had found you. We were not sure that we ever would, regardless of what the letter said. When we returned, I was reminded that we are not in fact children anymore, and as my brother's future wife, it wouldn't be proper for us to seem too close."

  "No, I suppose not . . ." I say softly.

  I don't know what I was hoping he would say, but judging by the rock in my stomach, that wasn't it. Our connection had felt like more than just childhood friends, and to hear that dismissed hurt a little. Not sure what to say next, I slip on my shoes and brush the leaves from my dress and hair. Grayson seems perfectly sober, but has a prominent blush about his cheeks. An effect of the wine?

  "I hope you are happy here," he says finally, trying to fill the uneasy silence.

  "It is a lot to adjust to, but I think I am happy, or will be eventually."

  "That's good," he says, staring at his feet as he kicks the dirt. He seems reluctant to go, but neither of us can think of anything else to say. We just stand there, apprehensive in each other's company. Why is this so different from just a few days ago?

  "Well I must be off," he says.

  "Have a nice night." I respond stiffly.

  Who would have thought talking to Grayson would be this hard? At least with Travis, the conversation is easy.

  GRAYSON

  Furious at myself, I leave the garden and head back to my room. What is wrong with me? Talking to Kat used to be the easiest thing in the world. We understood each other perfectly, even as children. She had the ability to see through all my walls, and wasn't satisfied until she tore them down. Our friendship was something unbreakable, and when that changed to something more, the whole world changed with it. I had no idea I was capable of loving anyone the way I loved her. She was the one I ran to when I was hurting, when I needed to be reminded that there was still good in the world. She was my rock, my foundation. Her visits and letters were the highlight of, well, everything.

  I will be the first to admit that she isn't the same. Her time away, and the loss of her memory, has stolen some of that strength and fire I used to love about her. Even though she seems like a different person, I can still catch glimpses of who she was. I see the potential to rediscover what we have lost. I know that if I could just reach out to her, to show her how much I love her, she would return to her old self. Why am I letting my father and Lucas get in the way? If she doesn't regain her memory, I will lose her. Not just the relationship that we had, but also her personality. The Kat I knew and loved will disappear.

  I storm into my room, slamming the door and pounding my fists against it over and over. How long can I stay in this prison? Forced to be polite, yet distant, to the woman I love?

  After my mother's death, Kat was the only person who could comfort me, the only light left in my world. When she was taken it was instant darkness, her sweet face nothing more than smoke and shadow. Now she has returned and I have been put aside, for the sake of what? Politics?

  A familiar rage builds in my blood, burning as it courses through my veins, riling up and demanding to be released. It claws its way through my chest, igniting my skin as it goes. My lungs constrict as I grasp at control. The anger is relentless, and boils me from the inside. Desperate for relief, I grab a frame from the side table and chunk it across the room, growling in fury. I triumph in its destruction, adrenaline rushing through me, washing away the rage. Then I realize it's a portrait of her.

  I move across the bedroom tentatively, afraid of seeing the broken frame. I pull it from the floor, her beautiful face shining through the thin cracks spreading across the glass. It reminds me of how they found her, smashed and shattered on the ground. With a strangled cry, I rip the battered frame apart, yanking her portrait out. I carry her image back to my bed, curling up with it like a child clinging to a favorite toy.

  My tears are those of a child as well, the pain of losing my mother fresh on my heart. What did we do so wrong to drive her away? What could have hurt her so deeply that she would leave us? I stare at her face . . . Travis' face. I know now that I could never hate him. No matter what happens, I could never harbor anything but love for my brother. I let the tears fall. For me, for her, for all of us.

  12 – Differences

  KATHERINE

  I dream of him lying next to me in our bed, telling me a silly story about a rabbit and a turtle. I laugh as he acts out the different voices, using his hands to draw pictures in the air. He has this way with words, a way of winding them so they wrap themselves in my imagination. His story finished, he rolls to his side, looking down at me with that adorable half grin.

  "You are so pretty," he says. "I can't get over how your eyes change color. It's fascinating."

  "They don't change color," I laugh, taking his hand in mine, intertwining our fingers. "My eyes are brown, and brown eyes don't change."

  "They do so. Sometimes they are so dark, I can't see the center . . . what do you call it?"

  "The pupil. The colored part is the iris."

  "Right. Sometimes they are so dark you can't see the pupil, and sometimes they are so light they are almost amber. I have never seen brown eyes more beautiful than yours."

  There is a loud banging on the front door, and I jump off the bed in a panic. I make a mad dash for the closet, heading for the small trap door we have cut in the floor. We jokingly call the small, dark space under the floor our last hope, but it is also my last resort. As I watch my companion creep out of the bedroom, I crouch near the open hatch, determined not to go in until I absolutely have to.

  Shouting begins to rise up from outside the cabin. I should continue to hide, but my curiosity gets the better of me. Creeping out of the closet, I leave the door open in case I need to make a hasty exit. Tiptoeing down the hallway to the living room, I crawl across the floor, moving the curtain aside slightly to peek out of the window. Outside, I see my usually calm and collected protector yelling at a man in a green and black uniform. The soldiers have found us!

  "I don't care what you say," he yells at the soldier. "She is staying with me!"

  "Jack listen, it is just not safe anymore. She needs to come with me."

  "No one can take care of her better than I can."

  "I am not questioning your abilities," the soldier says. "I am questioning the safety of these woods. What are you going to do when they find you? How are you going to explain all this?"

  "Then let me go with her!" Jack cries. "You can't take her out there without me. It's not safe. She could be killed or worse!"

  "I know you have feelings for her, but things have gotten a little more complicated than we expected. You chose to run Jack, and I am just trying to clean up your mess. If I take her back, you have a chance, but if they find you with her, you are as good as dead."

  "I won't let you do this, she is not going out there. You just see her as a pawn, someone you can move around for your own political gain, but she is so much more than that."

  "You don'
t think I know how important she is?" the soldier cries. "She is so much more than a pawn, Jack. She is the Queen in this damn game, and it's my job to see that she stays protected."

  "This isn't happening," Jack warns with a growl.

  "Tomorrow I will be back for her. The only reason I'm not taking her now is because you are my friend, and I owe you time to say goodbye. Don't run again Jack. We will find you, and next time my influence won't be enough to save your life."

  Ignoring him, Jack turns back to the house, and I run for the bedroom. I can hear the soldier calling out for him, but I don't wait to see if he turns around. My only thought is to get to the closet. I don't know what I am going to do with this information, but until I figure it out, I need to keep my cards hidden.

  I wake with a start. Jack! His name is Jack! I can remember the sound of his name on the soldier's lips as he threatened to take me away. Who was the soldier and where did he want to take me? Does Jack's passionate argument prove he really loves me?

  Maggie comes into the room and opens the drapes, letting in the sun and ending my time alone. I hide my head under the covers, the bright light too much for my tired eyes. Maggie laughs when she sees me, pulling the curtains closed some before ringing Sadie to start my bath.

  "Maggie?"

  "Yes, love?"

  "Do you get scanned?"

  She frowns at me. "Why would you want to know something like that?"

  "Just curious. I was just wanting to know if everyone gets scanned on a regular basis."

  "Most do," she says as she pulls me out of bed. "People who work in the big house are scanned often. Out in the city you can go a month or more without being scanned. It just depends on how busy the soldiers are, and if there is any reason to be concerned."

  "What happens if you fail the test?"

  "All these questions!" she huffs. "You don't want to fail a test. Tell the truth, love. It doesn't matter what you know or what you have done. Lying is the worst thing you can do."