by Wendy Wang
“She only does it because she loves you.” He stretched his arm along the top of the bench behind her and leaned forward a little.
“I know she does and I know she means well. But honestly, it would have cheered me more to see you. You look well.”
“Thank you.” He smiled and the crinkles around his eyes deepened. “You do, too.”
Neala laughed. “Liar. I look awful.”
Cai ignored her comment and glanced towards the fountain. “Your mother said you’ve been painting practically non-stop since you came home. I see she wasn’t exaggerating.” He pointed to a stack of canvas leaning against the arm of another bench. A dingy painter’s tarp had been thrown over them, obscuring the images.
Neala shrugged. “It helps me relax.”
“But not enough to sleep,” he said, so softly she almost didn’t hear him. She forced a smile and her hands fidgeted in her lap. He put one hand over them, stilling them. “Your mother told me that you haven’t slept since you came home from the infirmary.”
Neala sighed and looked down at his large hand, covering hers. It was strange to her how much the weight of his hand comforted her. How safe it made her feel. “My mother needs to learn some discretion.”
“Have I overstepped a boundary? I thought we were friends now.”
“We are friends. My mother just has a loose tongue. It’s embarrassing. I’m glad to have someone to actually talk to about these things. I can’t talk to my family—they treat me like I might break in two.”
He squeezed her hands, and she latched onto one of his fingers. “You look tired, Neala.”
Neala’s shoulders slumped and she let her head hang until her chin touched her chest. “I am tired. I keep thinking if I could just sleep, I would get better–”
“What stops you?”
“You don’t want to hear this. It’s very boring.”
“I do. Please. I promise not to treat you like a china doll.”
Neala sighed. “When I close my eyes, I see things I shouldn’t be able to remember. Not if I was truly unconscious when—you know.”
“What sort of things?”
“Some are in those paintings. People and experiences that terrify me and I can’t tell my mother or Francie, because if I do, they will never let me leave the palace again.”
“It’d be good for you to leave the grounds.”
“I know. I miss wandering the city and the woods but every time I think about it, I can’t breathe.” She forced a smile. “Pathetic.”
Cai’s eyes filled with concern. “Not pathetic, but you are letting fear rule you, which is not like you. You’re stronger than that.”
She bit the inside of her cheek as she thought about it. Of course, he was right. She was letting fear hold her back. “I don’t feel strong.”
“But you are and I have an idea how to prove it to you.”
“What?”
“First, will you show me your paintings?”
“They’re not very good.”
He shrugged. “I still want to see them.”
She nodded her head. “What’s the second thing?”
“You need to leave the palace. With a security officer, of course. It would do you good to break out of this self-imposed prison.”
“This isn’t a prison.” How could it be? She could leave when she wanted. Cai quirked his left eyebrow and he smirked. Neala rolled her eyes and frowned. She kicked her toe against the dirt. “Fine. I will go outside. You assign someone to me and maybe later this week, I’ll go for a morning walk.”
“No.” He shook his head. “There is no later. I’ll be here tomorrow at 7 a.m. Sharp.”
“Cai, that’s ridiculous. There’s a war on, for Jerugia’s sake. Surely you have better things to do than deal with the Queen’s emotionally crippled daughter.”
“Stop that. Stop feeling sorry for yourself.” The sharpness of his voice made her sit up straight and stare into his cross face. “I’m sorry for what happened to you. But there is no taking it back. Are you going to let him own you for the rest of your life? You’re better than this, Highness.”
Neala’s cheeks burned from the truth of his words. “I think you’ve reached your quota of being right today.”
“There’s no quota. I’m always right,” he quipped and gave her a sly grin.
“No. You’re not.” Neala chuckled and pushed her shoulder against his. The sound of water splashing soothed her and they sat for a few minutes in comfortable silence. She never thought she would come to rely on Caius Declan for anything other than a ribbing about the law and her disregard of it. But having him here, holding her hand, made her feel safe and as much as she hated to admit it, he was right.
“Will you show me your paintings now?” he asked. Neala took a deep breath and let out a little laugh. She pushed herself to her feet and yanked the tarp off of the canvases. One by one, she laid them facing outward against the bench for Cai to peruse. “And these are from your dreams?” A shadow flitted across his eyes and she wasn’t sure if he was concerned or disgusted or both.
“They’re more like memories.”
His voice dropped low. “I see.” He stopped in front of each one and stared for a long time. Neala chewed on her thumbnail. Her stomach knotted as she watched him kneel down in front of one of the paintings–an image of a girl-child strapped to a table with red-hot needles protruding from her arms and face, her mouth frozen in a gaping scream. He scrubbed his chin, stood up and turned the canvas around so the image faced the bench. Behind it was another canvas, with a more benign subject. Blue waves crested against gray sand, surrounded by rocky cliffs on either side. Cai reached forward and scratched at the canvas. She heard his breath catch as his fingers pushed against it and it stretched in an unnatural way. He jerked his hand away and held it away from his body, as if the painting had burned him. Cai rounded on her, his expression full of confusion and fury. Her heart leapt into her throat and she took a step backwards.
“You painted this?” Cai asked.
“Yes. But it doesn’t work very well. It is supposed to do more than just stretch.”
“This is like the paintings you described. The ones that were destroyed?”
“Not quite. When I get it right it will be. A passageway.”
“Why would you paint this?”
“I thought we could use it to our advantage. If I can figure out a way to make it a two-way passage instead of just one-way, perhaps you can use it to strike at him. I don’t have the intention right yet. Nothing I’ve tried so far has worked.” She shrugged her slim shoulders.
“And you’re planning to go through this passage?” Cai planted his hands on his hips and his voice grew louder as he reached the end of his accusation.
“No.” The defensive pitch of her voice made her wince and she turned her attention to the paint supplies on the table next to her. She grabbed a dirty brush and swirled it in a small wooden bucket half-filled with linseed oil. “I can’t even bring myself to leave the palace. Crossing to another realm? That would be insanity.”
“Indeed, it would. Which leads me to a broken promise,” he said more calmly. He seemed to be trying to get himself under control again.
“What promise?” Neala cut her eyes towards him and his angry gaze locked onto hers.
“You promised me you wouldn’t do anything dangerous. What if you succeeded with this two-way passage? We could be flooded with Nydians. Did you think of that?” The lines of his brow deepened. Neala opened her mouth to speak but couldn’t form the words. An icy finger touched her heart—he was right. Not only had she put herself in danger, she’d exposed the whole realm. Heat filled her cheeks and chest and she cast her eyes downwards, unable to look at him, as she fiddled with the brushes.
“You’re right,” she whispered. “I’m sorry.”
“No, you’re not,” he glowered. “The only thing you’re sorry for is being caught.”
“Yes, I am!” she said, her voice growing loude
r. “I thought I was helping. I thought you might be able to use this to move troops. I didn’t think –” She closed her eyes and clenched her teeth together. Her voice lowered. “I didn’t think. I truly am sorry.”
Cai’s hand landed on her shoulder and his strong fingers pressed gently into the bones and flesh. “It was a good thought. Maybe not a complete thought, but your heart was in the right place,” he said. “I don’t think I could move enough men through a painting to really strike at them.”
“Cai, you don’t have to move whole battalions to hurt them.” She glanced into his face. “You just need a small group of wardens that can target things like—armories and food stores. If you cut off their resources, it will hurt them. If we do it enough, it will cripple them.”
“Have you been studying up on military tactics as well as art techniques?” he teased.
“Very funny. Who knew the Chief Commander of Wardens had a sense of humor? Someone call The Chronicler.” She scowled.
“What you’re talking about is unfair tactics. Things we don’t practice.”
“Well, maybe we should.” She put her hands on her hips. “They are. And they’re expecting you to follow the rules. Counting on it. You can’t plug every hole in every fold around the realms. But we can punch our own holes and maybe we can figure out how to beat them while we do it.”
“You shouldn’t be thinking about these things.”
“Why? Because I’m a woman?”
“No, of course not. You should be concentrating on getting well, not obsessing about ways to get at Peter.”
“I am not obsessed!” Her eyes scanned the table and landed on a cup of used brushes to be cleaned, some still wet with paint. She grabbed the cup and flung it at him. Several of the brushes hit his face and chest, dotting him with color. He stared, his mouth agape. She folded her arms and sighed. “I am doing the best I can.”
Cai’s jaw clenched and his hands twitched. Was he going to strike out at her? Had she finally pushed too hard? He took a breath and glanced away from her before he said, “No, you’re not.”
“What? How can you say that?” She crossed her arms to keep from throwing something else at him.
“You’re hiding. You’re letting fear rule you and everyone around you is just helping you do it. And I won’t do it, Neala. I can’t. You are too strong for this wallowing.”
Her shoulders slumped and her eyes blurred with tears. She whispered, “But I’m not.”
He glanced towards the ground as if there might be answers written in the dirt. When he looked up at her, his eyes bore into her. She stepped back, bumping the table. Glasses clinked together. Her breath drew in as he walked towards her, stopping right in front of her.
“Neala.” His voice softened but she couldn’t bring herself to look at him. He brushed his hand over her upper arm, letting it rest near her elbow. “You are.”
“How am I supposed to believe you when all you want is for me to worry about trivial things, like what I’m wearing or being matched?”
“You’re putting words in my mouth.”
“No.” Her voice lowered. “I’m just plucking thoughts from your head.”
Cai pressed his lips into a flat line and his cheeks reddened. “Damn it, Neala. That’s not fair.”
“You’re right, it’s not. But neither are these.” She pulled the cuffs of her sleeves up and thrust her wrist in Cai’s face. He tried to look away at first, but she kept them in his view. “The healers can’t make them go away. In fact, they tell me they may never fade. I’ll have to look at them for the rest of my life. So if I seem a little obsessed, then maybe you can understand why. There are better ways for me to spend my time than worrying about finding a match or what useless role I’m going to play in my mother’s schemes.”
“You’re not useless,” he said softly.
“I am. And I accepted that a long time ago,” she said. “What I can’t accept, Cai, is if he can do this to me, he can do it to anyone.”
The muscles around his mouth tightened. His lips pursed and his feet shifted as he appeared to think it through. Once his brow relaxed, she knew he understood. “I wish I could go back to being a silly girl whose only worries were whether anyone noticed that she’d snuck out of the palace or broken some trivial law. But she doesn’t exist anymore.” Neala ducked her head. “I’m sorry. I know you liked her better.”
Cai took one of her hands in his and turned it over, exposing the veins of her pale wrist. He stared at the shiny, pink line that bisected her hand and arm. The skin there was still sensitive and the mark would always make her think of her life in terms of before Peter and after Peter. Cai brushed his thumb over it and the softness of his touch made the skin of her arm pebble. “What do you want to accomplish, Neala?”
“I want to destroy him,” she said plainly. “I want to make sure he never does this to anyone again.”
“All right,” Cai sighed. “You planning to do this alone?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. I haven’t figured it all out yet.”
“I see.” He frowned and a line formed between his brows. “I think you’re very brave. Did you know that?”
“No,” she said.
“And I work with some of the bravest people in all the realms. I know brave when I see it. I also know a fool when I see one.” He paused for a moment. “This is just pure revenge. And revenge is something fools pursue.”
Neala pulled her hand out of Cai’s and tightened her arms across her chest. “If you don’t have anything helpful to say, perhaps you should go. I have work to do.”
“You didn’t let me finish,” he said. Neala raised her eyebrows and shrugged. “If you do this alone, you’ll get yourself killed, or worse.”
“I’m not stopping just because you think I should and honestly, I don’t care if I die. He can’t hurt me more than he already has.”
“I have serious doubts about that, but–” The intensity of his gaze made her want to run away, but he had her trapped against the table. “But I can’t let you do this.” Neala opened her mouth to protest and Cai placed his hand gently over her gaping lips. “I know this is hard for you, but let me finish before you throw something else at me. All right?”
Neala closed her mouth and narrowed her eyes. “What I was going to say is I can’t let you do this alone.”
“I can’t ask you to help me.”
“You didn’t ask me. I’m offering,” Cai said.
“He’s still your brother.”
“Yes, he is.” Cai’s lips flattened to a straight line and his voice dropped lower as he spoke. “But he’s also a traitor and a thief.”
“A thief?” she asked, confused.
“Yes. He stole one of my favorite things in the world.” He brushed his thumb over her cheek and a shiver shimmied down her back. “The light in your eyes.”
Neala sighed, closing her eyes as she leaned into his palm. She covered his hand with hers, letting him cup her face. Her heart fluttered against her sternum. It wasn’t fair. Cai cared for her—she could feel it in the way he looked at her, the way he touched her, even in the way he spoke to her. She wished more than anything she could reciprocate. She wanted to—she craved the safety he offered. But her heart wouldn’t let her.
“If it’s that important to you, I’ll talk to my senior staff; get their input on this painting idea of yours. Perhaps it could work,” he said.
“Truly?” A smile tugged at her lips. “It will work. I know it will.”
“I hope you’re right,” he said.
“I am and I want to go. When you send an expedition. I want to go with them.”
“One step at a time,” he chuckled. “Before you go on a crusade, we should first get you out of the palace. Don’t you agree?”
Neala rolled her eyes and shook her head. “The comedic genius never stops, I see. I am serious about calling The Chronicler. This is breaking news.”
“None of my troops would fear me if they knew,” he teased
and winked at her.
“They wouldn’t truly believe it anyway,” she quipped and he laughed. She grinned at him. “Thank you Cai.”
“There’s nothing to thank me for. Yet.”
“Yes, there is. You take me seriously. That means more to me than you’ll ever know.”
“You’re a formidable force, Neala Middlebyrne, and I always take such forces seriously.” He gave her an easy grin. His hand found her shoulder again and gave a gentle squeeze. “I hope you realize destroying him won’t truly heal your heart.”
“This isn’t about my heart or not only about my heart.” She took a deep breath and blew it out but it did not bring calm. Her voice shook as she spoke. “He is going to hurt other Kaels and it terrifies me that we might not be able to stop him.”
Cai reached for her, offering comfort, and she let herself sink against his chest. His arms tightened around her. “We will stop him.”
“How?”
“I don’t know yet. We need to find out more about his plans, his operation,” he said quietly. “But you’re right. We do need to stop him.”
“Did you mean it when you said you’d train me?”
Cai’s arms tensed around her. “I did. You learn to fight like a warden, Neala Middlebyrne, and you’ll be the most fearsome opponent he’s ever faced.”
“I like that—fearsome opponent.”
“If I do train you—you must follow my rules.” His firm tone told her he meant business. “I won’t tolerate risky behavior. Do you understand?”
A smile widened across her face, and her cheek scraped against the soft wool of his coat. Maybe if she could throw fire like a warden she wouldn’t feel so afraid all the time. She traced her finger over one of the gold bars adorning his uniform. “I understand.”
He pressed his lips close to her ear. “And you must promise me you will not cross over alone, once you’ve been trained.” Neala squeezed her eyes shut. She didn’t want to lie to him or make a promise she knew she might break. “Neala?” he said, his voice a warning. “Promise me.”
“I promise.” She breathed the words, committing to it.
