Burning Bridges

by Nadege Richards

  “It’s quarter past seven, Echo. Do you plan to lie in bed all day?”

  I peered over my shoulder at her and sighed. Just behind her the sun was rising through the curtains, shedding light on a realization I wasn’t ready to face. “Does it really have to be today? Don’t you th—”

  “Absolutely not,” she cut in. She pulled the blankets from over my body and threw them to the floor. “Time to get up, we have a long day ahead of us.”

  Not if I can help it. I groaned audibly and sat up in bed, rolling my duvet and plush pillows to the opposite side. Though I craved the warmth and security of the bed that wouldn’t allow me rest, I knew I had to get up and get on with the day. If it wasn’t now, it was later, and later was time I didn’t want to spend trying on dresses for some frivolous ball.

  “Up and at ‘em, Echo!” Mother’s voice rang in my ears. She went to the windows and slid apart the curtains, allowing the sun’s early rays to gleam right into my eyes. She turned to face me and shook her head with indifference. “I suppose you didn’t get much sleep last night. I’m guessing this is due to the excitement of the wedding, am I right?”

  I stood to my feet and stifled a yawn. “Yes, of course, Mother.” I made for my wardrobe across the large room and pulled a gown off its hanger.

  Nothing fancy, I thought, sifting through the closet to find my sandals. I’m only going to try on about a gazillion dresses to wear for only one night.

  I closed the wardrobe door, enclosing the other hundreds of dresses I had only worn for one occasion.

  No, nothing fancy at all.

  Mother threatened to drag me downstairs herself if I didn’t move faster, so I walked into my bathroom and closed the door behind me, immediately heading for the showers. I swallowed my pride, and within minutes, I was winding down the spiral staircase and strolling into the kitchen.

  “Decent,” was all Mother had to say. She stood by the door with her purse in hand.

  I frowned, but didn’t allow her to see it. ‘Decent’ was my mother’s way of saying, ‘you look horrible’. “Where’s Issy?” I asked, raking my fingers through my still damp hair. I grabbed a pear off the counter before sauntering out the door and into the overwhelming heat of Thediby.

  Just as Mother was about to answer, a shrill—more like a squeal, really—came from behind me. I turned and was met with Isobeli’s outstretched arms and jubilant smile. “Echo!” she yelled. She flung her arms around me in a tight, overwhelming hug. “Gods have I missed you! Guess what I heard?”

  Just like Issy, always straight to the point. “I’ve missed you too, but—”

  “Now is not the time for gossip, Isobeli,” Mother chided. “Perhaps another time?”

  Isobeli’s smile fell from her face instantly. “Why, of course, Auntie.” When Mother looked away, she made a face at her back.

  “Here is our ride now.” Mother watched as the horse-drawn carriage trotted down the path and stopped in front of the house.

  “It’s about the ball,” Issy whispered in my ear.

  I gave her an odd look that meant I wasn’t interested, but when she took my ear again and whispered, “And the Prince,” she had my full attention.

  “What about the Prince? I—”

  “Echo,” Mother called. She was already seated in the carriage, one of the servants holding the door wide open with a forced grin. I shook my head at Isobeli for her to let it go and climbed in after Mother. The carriage appeared small from the outside, but once you climbed in and were seated on the silk cushions of the seat, small wouldn’t even come to mind.

  “So, I thought we’d stop at Madam Renaldi’s first, and then we’d see if Juliette has finished your dress for the wedding,” my mother said, crossing her glove-clad hands in her lap. She seemed so busy with staring out the window that she didn’t even notice the look of disgust that passed on my face. Isobeli would have seen it too if she wasn’t so focused on her feet. She was quiet, which was particularly odd for her.

  “Sounds like a plan,” I said. For the rest of the ride, the three of us were relatively quiet. Issy would hum to herself every now and then while Mother applied and re-applied her strawberry-scented lipstick. When staring at the townspeople outside the window got boring, I resulted in daydreaming.

  Thoughts of what the world probably used to be before King Val was murdered flittered into my mind. Speaking about them, looking at them, or even talking to them was forbidden now when years ago that was the norm. As if words could kill you! It was ridiculous; I mean, they were people just like us.

  Weren’t they?

  Almost immediately, my mind shifted to thoughts of the boy named Ayden. His face was forever engraved into my memory—the way his lips turned up into a scowl when he’d looked at me or the way his eyes shone like two rare amethyst gems. His form and entire demeanor spoke volumes of aggression and pain. The way his eyes had watched me was fierce, yet so empty. They were eyes of a wounded heart, I knew, eyes that hid secrets not meant to be told.

  It was wrong to consciously or even unconsciously think about the boy, but he was so…different, if that made any sense. When you’re accustomed to being told ‘yes’ all your life and some unknown stranger comes along and tells you ‘no’, it’s a feeling so foreign…so remarkable, even, that it leads you to do crazy things. In my case, it was finding out exactly who this Ayden was.

  “Echo!” Issy’s hard voice pierced my thoughts as they veered back to reality. I glanced out the window and saw Clover, the city’s only decent tailor, waving over at us. The carriage slowed to a stop in front of her store and Mother was the first to climb out.

  “I already know the perfect dress,” she said, pulling a magazine catalog out of her purse. She flipped through it as Isobeli and I emerged from the carriage and made our way inside the store. Everything smelled like perfume and make up, hairspray and paint. Hues of pink here and colors of orange there. I knew they were going for a classy look, but the whole thing just looked tacky to me.

  “Welcome to Madam Renaldi’s, is there anything I could help you with, my Queen?” Clover asked, curtseying politely for my mother.

  I glanced around the small store, suddenly plagued by rainbows of dresses I was bound to try on. Dresses were Everlae’s thing, or even Isobeli’s. Dresses and me? That was a match made in Hell.

  “Good morning, Miss Othman,” Mother replied sweetly. “We’re not going to be here long, Echo just came to try on a few dresses for the ball tomorrow.” She indicated to a page on the catalog where a fairly thin woman posed in a dress the color of eggplants.

  “Oh, of course!” Clover’s eyes went wide with excitement. “The ball with the Prince, correct?”

  I nodded and allowed her to usher me to a dressing stall where she began taking my measurements and pushing dresses into my hands for me to try on. Not only did I hate dresses and all their overrated glory, I couldn’t figure the damn things out. When I tried on dress number one, the corset didn’t seem to want to stay in place and I’d worked up such a fuss to get in it that by the time I had it on right, the bottom ruffles looked wrinkled and disheveled.

  When I got to dress number fifty-four some hours later and Mother still wasn’t satisfied, I knew I had had enough. I held my face in my hands, back pressed against the wall, as I sat on the cold linoleum floor. I really didn’t want to go tomorrow, but what other choice did I have? Upsetting Father surely wasn’t a smart one.

  A soft whisper came from outside the window of the stall. It was faint at first, but it grew louder as I listened in. It was a humming—maybe of a song—and it was so compelling that it caused me to stop entirely. I crawled over and peeked out the curtains.

  It was the boy. His back was to me, but I knew it was him. His mussed, dark tresses were wild and unruly. He was too busy working in Clover’s garden, taking shovels to the dirt, to notice me or anyone for the matter. He whistled to himself as he worked and I couldn’t stop my eyes from taking advantage of his obliviousness. I’d noticed
his arms before, the inky tribal tattoos and the way they stood out on his Amaretto-colored skin, but not like this. His taut muscles flexed as he worked and beads of sweat dripped from him in the heat. He’s strong, I concluded. He carried a large sack of soil and over his shoulder and brought it to a shed. Again, his muscles worked as he moved.

  Very strong.

  I swallowed the saliva in my mouth and groaned. Echo, what are you thinking? I thought loudly to myself. I mentally shook myself off, but sighed when the feelings still remained. This is dangerous.

  “Darling, are you all right in there? How’s the dress coming along?” Mother called.

  I glanced over at the mirror hanging on the opposite wall and frowned. If having half the dress on and the other on the floor counted as ‘coming along’, then yeah, I’d say I was doing just fine. “I’m good, Mother. I’ll be out in a minute.” As I said it, my eyes went back to the window.

  I had to talk to him.

  In spite of all the alarms that had gone off in my mind between the time it took me to unlock the latch of the window and swing a foot out, I dropped myself into the bushes below and quietly made my way over to him.

  The plan was to talk to him, try to reason with him about the night before, but as I stopped a good feet behind him, words evaded me. What was I going to say? Sorry for bumping into you? The thing was, I didn’t know what I did to be sorry about.

  Suddenly he stood straight and jammed his shovel into the soil. Without turning to face me, he said, “What do you want?”

  I sighed, cover blown and fully exposed. “How did you know it was me?”

  “You mean besides the fact that I could feel your eyes burning a hole to the back of my head from that window? Hm, no, I really don’t know what gave you away.” He began digging again, carrying on with his duties as if I wasn’t standing there.

  “Excuse me, but I just wanted to talk to you.”

  He turned around and his violet eyes pinned me with a stare. “So talk.”

  “I—I just want…” I stammered. “I just wanted to apologize for whatever I did to upset you that night.”

  He cocked his head at me. “That was three nights ago.”

  “I know, but—”

  “But nothing,” he interrupted, wiping the sweat from his brow. “You’re forgiven. I suggest you head back to your tea party before the Queen throws a royal fit.”

  The words fell from his lips with every intention to hurt me. There was a second when I thought about going back inside, but he’d made a challenge out of this and I wasn’t prepared to back down quite yet.

  “What is the matter with you?” I asked him. “You—you look angry all the time and you have this weird air about you. I don’t see how I’m the cause, but you sure aren’t giving me any reason not to assume.”

  “Is that so?” he asked rhetorically. He laughed, but I didn’t find anything about this funny.

  “Yes, I think so. If I did anything wrong just—”

  The amused smile fell from his godly face. Anger became evident where indifference had once vacated and he dropped the shovel to reach for me. His hands came out, but they merely grazed my skin. He thought twice before laying a hand on me. Instead, he brought his face as close to mine as he possibly could without physical contact.

  “You should go,” he whispered, his warm breath tickling my nose. From his proximity I could smell the virile scent of clovers and leather on his skin. As overwhelming as it was, the temptation to get even closer pushed me a step forward. “You don’t want to be seen with me.”

  “I have every right to be here, you cannot make me go,” I whispered, my lips unwillingly trembling as I spoke. My eyes dropped to his biceps and a shiver broke through me at the sight of his markings. “You’re a Hunter…”

  I opened my mouth to continue on just as Mother’s voice called from the window. “Echo, what is taking so long!”

  He was first to break the embrace, and as the feet grew between us, a cold rush filled my lungs, leaving me speechless and confused. The desire to know this boy was stronger now than ever.

  I sighed. “This isn’t over,” I said to him.

  He smiled wryly, picking up the shovel to finish the day’s work. “Yes, Princess, it is.”

  S I X

  Ayden

  By the time King Valentine was dead and gone, this nation had evolved into something wicked and vile. Kylon, Thediby, Delentia, and Siphon’s City belonged to New Haven and the Warriors. Shadow Hills, Loracre, Prylyn, and Raycliffe remained with the Hunters. Eight cities and two havens all divided by a single border, in which rules not only controlled the amount of steps you took in a day, but was powerful enough to threaten your life, your family, and what little freedom you had.

  Painfully, as the Princess walked away from me and I discreetly watched her leave, I felt the urge to break every one of those rules and throw caution to the wind. It wasn’t conscious thinking, I knew, it was just impulse and being caught up in the moment with her. In reality, I despised her and her wretched family with a burning passion. Rules didn’t apply for them; they were shown mercy and appraised with every step they took. Time was nothing of value; life was nothing but a game.

  As for us—the unlucky chumps who’d lost this game of life over and over again—our days were measured by the breaths we took, tallied by scars and tears. Time was of the essence and every move you made was watched.

  Rules, I thought to myself with a shake of my head. Some rules they are.

  From around the store I could hear the Princess and her parade getting into her coach. The Queen was loud, of course, shouting things about posture and perfect etiquette. I had the urge to watch them leave, but instinct told me better. I had a few minutes left of work and I’d planned to stop by Giovanni’s afterwards. I had no time for distractions.

  I shoveled the rest of the dirt into the flowerbeds and carried the wheelbarrow back to the shed. Wiping the sweat from my forehead, I glanced around the small garden with a sigh. Gardening was the all time low. I knew I had hit rock bottom. I worked seventy-two hours a week, and yet the income was barely enough to put food on the table. Father’s debt with the King seemed to be going nowhere any time soon and Mother was too ill to work. Luck—again, that was the only reason why any of us were still alive.

  “I’m leaving now, Miss Othman,” I called to the store owner, making my way through the back door. The place was oddly quiet and empty, so I walked to the front desk where I was told to leave the shed’s keys. Today was only my first day and I knew I didn’t like the job. The woman barely looked at me twice before she barked at me to get to work.

  The stack of crisp bills and gold coins lying open in the cashier made me pause. I scanned the store for the owner or even a single customer.

  I was alone.

  I knew it would be the only time I’d ever see so much, the first and the last. It called out to me, pleading with a seductive command to take it and never think twice about the damage. Doubt sought out for me, but the pull of greed laughed wickedly as it drew me nearer to succumbing. I tried to convince myself that it was for my family, a onetime thing. I would pay Miss Othman back. I would.

  I closed my eyes for a brief moment and cursed myself for what I was about to do, and gathered the money in my pocket. My heart palpitated at a dangerous pace as I left the keys on the desk and left the store as fast as I could.

  I took all the alleys I found to get back home, not wanting to chance running into a guard with what I presumed was over a hundred thousand dollars in my pocket. Now that I had done it, I felt shamefully guilty for breaking a vow to myself. Stealing from the King was one thing, and no doubt any less despicable, but stealing from a retail shop not only humiliated me, but made me feel hopeless. Had it really come to this? Stealing, of all things?

  It’s for your family.

  I was desperate, and desperately so. I was striving for some sort of resolution, light at the end of the tunnel, a cease to all my struggles—really,
anything. My family wasn’t perfect, but they deserved more. With my mother sick and Father too drunk to notice that Milo was never home and Misty hadn’t eaten in weeks, a good majority of our welfare had befallen on me. Seeing as I had just stolen money—again—I’d say I was off to a pretty bad start.

  If things didn’t get better soon, they never would, a voice whispered in my mind. My conscious, maybe, but I knew it was the truth. I wouldn’t result to stealing, not again. I’d never been a dishonest man and I didn’t want to start. If my life was going to slowly deteriorate, I wanted to go a prideful man. I would find another way of caring for them.

  The money in my pocket felt suddenly heavy. The urge to turn around and return it all became overpowering, the guilt more than anything else. Lost in my strangling thoughts, I barely registered anything when a big, hefty hand fell on my shoulder and quickly spun me around.

  Tyron.

  The frown that settled on my face at the sight of him was obvious. I glared at his bloodshot eyes and his forced smile, his filthy hair and huge form. I managed to get out a shaky, “What’s up?”

  He smiled a devious smile. “Just taking a stroll,” he said. Behind him, from my peripheral vision, I could see his friends closing us in a tight circle. Suddenly, the air seemed sparse. “What are you up to?”

  “Going home.” My eyes went to his one-hundred-pounded-and-all-muscled friends. They watched me impassively. If the money was heavy in my pocket before, well, it was about ready to burst a seam now.

  “How come you don’t hang with us anymore, Ayd? It’s been awhile and we miss you.” The other guys laughed at his blatant mockery.

  “Has it been? I didn’t notice.” My jaw clenched as I spoke. “I’ve been really busy. We’ll hang out, just not now.” I pushed past the circle of boys in front of me and shuffled through the dirty streets as fast as I could without looking hasty. The need to get away consumed me.

  “Not so fast, pretty boy,” Tyron called.

  I froze and waited with bated breath.

  “What’s that in your pocket,” one of the guys yelled.