by Wendy Wang
“Good,” he said softly. “I knew I could trust you.”
The energy between them changed, becoming strange and awkward. Part of her wanted him to just go and leave her alone. Yet another part of her wanted to know. Had to know. “What was it like?”
He broke out his grin and his white teeth shined. “Incredible. You would love it. Even if—even if you don’t want to be with me, you should experience it for yourself. How many Kaels can say they’ve walked through a painting?” There it was. A stab to the heart.
“At least one.” Neala forced a smile. “You know, it’s not a matter of wanting you or not. I—”
“I know.” A deep line formed between his brows and he nodded. Now it was his turn to stare at the floor. “You’re a good daughter.”
Neala looked anywhere but at him. “I don’t feel like a good daughter.”
Peter’s gaze lifted, settling on her face, and he smirked. “Curious as a cat. You’re coming with me.”
“Yes. But not today. Security is too heavy right now. My every move will be watched.” She almost warned him that he was being watched, too, but stopped herself. She couldn’t betray Cai and if Peter asked any questions, there would be no answers because she didn’t have the information to give.
Peter’s eyes glittered with excitement. “You won’t be sorry. I promise it will be worth it.”
A high, breathy laugh escaped her lips, “I hope you’re right.”
“I should go.” He moved towards her, wrapping his hand gently around her forearm as he leaned in and kissed her sweetly on the cheek before whispering, “Send me a note through your maid.”
Neala closed her eyes, nodding, and when she opened them again, he was gone.
******
With the palace security tighter than she could ever remember, Gordon shadowed her every move and after a while she began to feel like a caged animal. She split her time between reading in her father’s study and painting in the gardens. Without knowing what she was doing, she tried painting and breathing life into her output. Canvas after canvas ended up stacked near her easel, looking pretty but not one a passage out of the palace. When her curiosity could no longer be controlled, she sent Peter a note to meet her at the tunnel exit outside the city wall. She had to meet this woman he talked of. Had to know how she breathed life into a painting.
Neala emerged from the darkened tunnel holding her dagger up, the blade still glowing blue.
“Good morning, Princess.” Peter stepped in front of her, one side of his mouth cocked slightly higher than the other.
“Good morning. I can’t stay out long.”
“I promise to have you back before anyone can miss you.” His eyes glittered with mischief.
Once they’d stepped into the bright morning sunshine, she stopped for a moment, tilted her face upwards, closed her eyes and breathed in the clean, fresh scent of the pine and spruce permeating the air. Even though it was nearly the last day of May, mountain mornings were cold and days were mild, never reaching temperatures above the mid-seventies. Neala wore her favorite dark green cloak.
“Put your hood up,” Peter said. “Wouldn’t want anyone to recognize you.”
Neala pulled her hood low over her face as they walked along the outer wall of the city.
Within a few minutes, they were over the bridge leading into the city, headed for the port stone nearest the wardens’ base. Two wardens stood guard near the round, flat granite used for transporting from place to place.
“Where are we going?” Neala took a step back and pulled her hood closer to her face.
“Stay here,” Peter said and he left her waiting near the entrance to the stone. Peter approached the two wardens, speaking to one of them. His stare became as intense as his brother’s as he listened to one of the other wardens, nodded his head, then said something to them. Waving his hand at her, he signaled her forward and they stepped onto the port stone. Peter pulled his baton from his holster and raised his arm above his head. Circling the tip of the baton, it glowed deep red. Neala blinked, still able to see the glowing circle on the back of her eyelids.
“You ready?” he asked. Neala nodded “Take a deep breath.” Thunder rumbled in the sky as the clouds above them swelled and roiled. The smell of electricity stung her nose as a jagged bolt of lightning reached down from the sky. Peter wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her to him just as the lightning reached through the circle of red. Heat and light washed through her, knocking the breath from her lungs as he transported her out of the valley.
******
Her chest compressed, making it almost impossible to breathe and she thought she would pass out, but instead her feet flattened, and her knees buckled. Her teeth clattered together and she bit her tongue. Flailing her arms, the ground rose up to meet her. Peter grabbed her by the belt, keeping her from landing face first.
“Whoa.” He dropped her gently to the ground. He knelt beside her. “You all right?”
The laugh erupted from deep in her belly and Peter stared at her, confusion clouding his eyes. She jerked her hood from her head and brushed her palms together, dusting off the soil and leaves clinging to her palms. “I’m fine,” she said. “Just out of practice. I’m glad you caught me, though. Otherwise, I’d be spitting dirt about now.”
Peter grinned and pushed to his feet, offering his hand. She gazed up at the ruined tower in front of them.
“I didn’t think I’d ever come back here again.” She ignored his hand, rose to her feet and brushed off her pants. Her knee ached a little as she put her full weight on it.
“You sure you’re all right?” His hand reached to push her long hair behind her ear, but she flinched away from him, not wanting him to get the wrong idea. She was here for one reason—to pass through the painting. That was it. There wouldn’t be any more kissing or affection if she had her way.
“I’m fine. We best get on with it. I have a fitting this afternoon and I don’t want to be late,” she said, almost wishing she hadn’t come. He smiled and the flecks of gold in his dark blue eyes shimmered, despite the lack of light. Her stomach flipped. How did he do that? She crossed her arms.
“Come with me.” He held out his hand and gestured for her to enter the ruins. The light changed to a soft gray as he led her up the marble staircase and across the balcony overlooking the grand hall.
“Just a little further,” he said.
“It’s so sad, isn’t it? I bet this place was a marvel.” Her eyes drifted upwards to the arched stone supports in the ceiling.
After a while, she recognized the stained, silk wallpaper. They were close to the gallery of frescoes. Her heart beat faster as they turned the corner. The painting came into view but she felt it long before she could make out its details. It whispered and beckoned her, glowing around the edges. As they approached, the light inside it changed, as if the sun shined brighter today inside the world of the painting. Neala moved away from him and stood in front of it, half expecting to see blue sky peeking through the canopy of trees. The sharp scent of sulfur stung her nose and she leaned in as close as she dared, taking a deeper whiff. The leaves in the trees and fronds of the palms rustled and she could feel a warm, salty breeze coming from it. Where was this place?
“You know, I’ve looked through every book my father had on art and I couldn’t find anything about this painting.” She held her palm a couple of inches above it, and the elements inside it tingled against her skin. “Not one reference to the artist or the place it depicts.”
“It is fascinating, but it’s not the one I brought you to see today,” he said.
“It’s not?” She dropped her hand and looked at him.
“Nope.” He jerked his hand toward the row of frescoes on the other side of the room. Resisting, she let her fingers scrape the painting, disappearing into it for a second, before he led her away. She closed her hand into a fist, the bones still vibrating from the energy of the elements in the paints.
Stopping
halfway down the wall, Peter turned her towards a different painting. Waves caught in mid-crash on a gray-sanded beach, rocky cliffs stretched on either side of the deserted cove.
“Casilladin?” she said.
“No,” Peter said. “Squint your eyes.”
“What? Why?”
Peter quirked his eyebrow, his head listing to the right. “Why must you always argue? Please, just do it.”
Neala scowled, but closed her eyes until her eyelashes almost touched. The wave finished its descent and the clouds in the pale blue sky drifted. Stepping back, her eyes flew open. The waves were in the exact same place they had been just a minute ago, and so were the clouds. “Great Griselda,” she said under her breath. Squinting her eyes again, the waves continued to crash against the shore, the water moving closer and closer to the edge of the painting, as if the tide was coming in. The clouds had drifted further, looking more gray and ominous as they moved out over the sea. She heard a soft rumble in the distance. Thunder? Her eyes opened fully again and she took another step back. Peter laughed at her.
“Not funny.” She frowned at him. “Where does this one go?”
“Nydia,” he said.
“Nydia? Are you insane? We can’t go there. We’re at war with them.” Her face and neck grew hotter with each word.
“It’s a beach in the middle of nowhere. I promise you, we won’t see a soul.”
“Don’t do that. Don’t make promises you can’t keep. What if we’re caught? Do you know what they would do to me?”
“I would never do anything to put you in any real danger. Trust me. I’ve been here at least a half-dozen times and I’ve never run into one person on that beach.”
“I don’t know about this.” She glanced back towards the hall.
“Come on. This is your last real day of freedom. Tomorrow you’ll be caught up in pre-match festivities. Don’t you have some sort of dinner tomorrow night with the suitors?”
Neala sighed. “Yes. I do.”
“Then the next day is your match and you’ll spend the next month getting to know your future husband before committing your entire life to him. You’re going to be a busy girl,” he said.
“I—” she stopped herself. He was right. After tomorrow, there would be another person to consider.
“Come on. If we leave now, we can watch the sun set in about an hour.”
“How is that possible? It’s ten o’clock in the morning.”
Peter shrugged. “Time is different there. It’s ahead of us by several hours.” He pulled a timepiece from his pocket and glanced at it. “It will be six there. We’ll go, play on the beach a little, watch the sunset and you’ll be home in plenty of time for Madame Folger to put the finishing touches on your ceremonial gown.”
“All right,” she relented. “I’ll go, but—” She waggled her finger at him. “I have to be home absolutely no later than one o’clock.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He brought his hand to his forehead, saluting her. He smiled his usual reckless smile but it never touched his eyes, sending a chill crawling across her arms. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.” He disappeared the way they came.
Neala rubbed the gooseflesh on her forearms and once he was gone, she tilted her head, captivated by the painting again. Her skin tingled just being near it. Maybe it had sent the chill through her, not Peter. Her hand lifted as if possessed, reaching for the vibrant ocean. Her fingertips thrummed. Rubbing her fingers, she worked out the vibration. Was this residual from putting her fingers through the other painting? Taking a deep breath, she pressed her palm against the sky in the painting and it slipped through with ease. A pulse oscillated through her arm and something pulled her forward. Her feet slid against the floor, searching for purchase. With as much force as she could muster, she jerked her hand back, cradling it against her chest. Vibration sung its way up her arm and the hair on her arm stood at attention.
“Ready?” Peter asked when he returned with a bag slung over his shoulder and a picnic basket in his hand. Her face must have given her away because the smile on his lips fade and his brow furrowed. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I just—I just put my hand through the painting. It just feels strange, that’s all.”
“But you’re all right?”
“Of course.” She forced a smile. “What’s all this?” She gestured towards the bag and basket.
“I thought since this is our last adventure together that we should break some bread, drink some wine,” he said. “Toast to the next chapter for both of us.”
“You’re not trying to get me drunk, are you?” she teased.
“No, ma’am. How would I ever explain that to the Queen?” He chuckled.
Neala glanced at the painting, her belly fluttering. “And you have a way for us to get home?”
“I told you there’s a painting on the other side, just like this one that lets us pass back without worrying about warden checkpoints.”
“And this painting is on the beach? Isn’t that a strange place for a painting?”
“It’s inside one of the caves nearby and it’s no stranger than a hall of frescoes in a five-hundred-year-old castle.”
“And this woman you met painted it?”
“No. She didn’t paint this one, but she did breathe life into it.”
“Am I going to get to meet her? I’d really like to talk to her. I want know how she does it.”
“I don’t know.” Peter’s eyes darkened. “She’s fragile and doesn’t handle meeting new people well.”
Neala frowned, “Is she old?”
“No. She’s young, actually. But she’s had a rough go of it.” A shadow crossed his handsome features and he seemed lost in his thoughts for a moment. Finally, he forced a smile. “Ready?”
Neala took a deep breath and nodded. “Ready.”
Peter stepped through first. She watched as his body became a soft fog, before dissipating into nothing. She held up her hand again, flattening her palm above the painted blue ocean. The energy of it called to her and she pressed her hand into the image. Her whole body pulsated as each element passed through her. It felt as if her bones and organs might end up outside her skin. Then, her feet hit the soft sand. She fell to her knees, squeezing her eyes shut, trying to stop the nausea, but it crashed over her and she wretched. Peter touched her back and she yelped.
“Princess? Princess, can you hear me?” he said, his voice full of concern. Her hand flailed outward to tell him she was all right. He grabbed onto it and held it. “Breathe in through your nose. I know it’s hard but it’ll help.”
After a few minutes of breathing she finally opened her eyes. The brightness of the pale gray sand blinded her and she shaded her face with her hand. Yellow dots danced in front of her eyes and warm, salty air coated her tongue. She blinked, focusing on the rough, dark blue water pounding against the rocky cliffs flanking the cove.
“It’s so beautiful,” she said softly.
“I knew you would like it.” He smiled. “How are you feeling?”
Neala blew out her breath. “A little shaky, but better.”
“I probably should have warned you. The first time’s the worst,” he said.
“It’s hot here,” she said, unfastening the button to her cloak. The green felted wool billowed behind her until it hit the sand. “Is that water cold?”
“Why? You want to go swimming?” he asked.
“I’m thinking about it.” She managed a weak smile.
“Skinny-dipping? Princess! How shocking. What would your mother say?” he teased.
She looked down at their joined hands. Her mother would do more than just disapprove of swimming in an ocean with Peter, even if Neala had no intention of stripping naked to do it. She pulled her hand away from his and untucked the tail of her shirt.
“Uh…” Peter’s expression went blank and his eyes locked on her hands, watching her fumble with the buttons of her blouse. “I—I—I was just joking.”
�
�Oh, that’s right. You don’t swim.” Pursing her lips, she slipped her blouse off her shoulders and let it fall on top of her cloak. Her thin, white camisole whipped around her body.
“You could always teach me.”
Yanking her boots and stockings off, she stacked them neatly on top of her blouse to keep it from blowing away in the wind. Her toes dug into the soft warm sand and she unfastened the holster for her dagger, tucking it inside one of her boots for safekeeping. She rolled up the hem of her trousers to just below her knees and rose to her feet.
“Well? Are you going swimming fully dressed?” She glanced over her shoulder at him. “That didn’t work out very well last time.”
Peter laughed and shook his head. “You still surprise me, Princess. Just when I think I’ve got you figured out.”
“Come on. We don’t have much time.” She turned, walking backwards towards the water. Peter yanked his coat off his shoulders and pulled his shirt over his head, revealing his taut chest. Her breath caught in her throat as he stripped out of his pants, down to his loose-fitting underwear.
Neala giggled as she turned and sprinted for the water. She could never be with Peter, but for this afternoon, in this place she could be free to laugh and play, and love him, even if it was just for a moment.
Her feet dug into the soft sand until the first waves splashed up around her ankles. Peter caught up to her and grabbed her around the waist as she waded into the two-foot deep water. Picking her up, he spun her around and she laughed out loud.
A huge wave knocked them both down and she gripped Peter’s arm, not letting him get pulled too far into the water, afraid of having a repeat of their last encounter with deep water.
For the rest of the afternoon, they splashed in the water, built a castle in the wet sand and she swam out into the rougher waves under Peter’s concerned gaze.
The sun lowered close to the sea and they retreated to the shore to watch it sink below the horizon. The rose-tinged sky signaled their time was growing short. Peter wrapped her in a cotton blanket and built a fire using some driftwood he’d scavenged.
