by Anna Carey
Page 17
The King cleared his throat, pausing before resuming the speech. “Becoming your leader has been the greatest honor of my life. We have embarked on a long road, and I will see you through to its end. ” His voice cracked. “I will not fail you. ”
The King took his seat beside me. He grabbed my hand, squeezing it in his own. Looking out at the crowd, it was easy to believe he was right—that he had saved the people inside the City walls. They seemed calm, happy even, in his presence. I wondered if I was the only one who thought now of the boys in the labor camps, or the girls who were still trapped inside the Schools.
There were children assembled behind us on risers. They were all about five—the same age as Benny and Silas—but much smaller. The boys were dressed in crisp white shirts and pants, the girls in the same jumpers we’d worn at School, gray dresses with the New American crest pasted over the front. “Amazing Grace,” a girl with a long auburn braid sang into the microphone. “How sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me. I once was lost but now am found …”
The chorus joined in, swaying back and forth as they sang, their voices cutting clear across the City. Their mothers might’ve been the girls who had graduated five years before me. Pip and I had watched them from our upstairs window. We loved how they walked, how they tousled their hair, how they seemed so womanly and beautiful striding across the lawn. I want to be just like them, Pip had said, leaning her head over the stone ledge. They’re so … cool.
The crowd was overcome. Some wrapped their arms around friends, others stood with their eyes closed. A woman lowered her head to cry, blotting her face with the sleeve of her shirt. I almost looked away, but something behind her caught my eye. A man was standing just a yard away from the metal barricade. Everyone else was engrossed in the music. He was in the center of them all. He didn’t move. He wasn’t paying attention to the children behind me, to Lieutenant Stark, or to the King. He was looking only at me.
Then he smiled. It was barely noticeable—just a tiny curl of the lips, a brightness in his pale green eyes. His head had been shaved. He was thinner, yes, clad in a dark brown suit. But my whole body knew him, the tears coming fast as we stared at each other, letting the truth of it sink in.
Caleb had found me.
He was in the City of Sand.
fifteen
THE SONG ENDED. I KEPT STARING AT HIS FACE, AT HIS HIGH cheekbones, the mouth I’d kissed so many times before. I had to force myself to look away. Caleb was alive, he was here, we would be together. The thoughts came at me all at once. Then I stared at the King’s hand covering my own. Stark’s presence, just two seats away, made my stomach seize. The troops were after him. Everyone wanted him dead.
The King stood, reaching for my arm. I let him take it, my legs trembling, uncertain, as we turned toward the Palace. It was a moment before I realized he was leading us back inside, up to the highest floors, far above the City. Away from Caleb.
I couldn’t stop myself. “Wait—I’d like to greet the crowd. ”
He paused next to the fountain, studying my face as though my features had rearranged themselves. I hoped he hadn’t seen the desperation in my eyes, the way my gaze was drawn back to where Caleb was standing, a cap now hiding his face. “That is a fine idea. ” He brought my hand to his mouth, kissing it, a gesture that stiffened my spine. Then he motioned for the Lieutenant and the Head of Education to continue inside.
Soldiers surrounded us. As we started down the stairs, I peered into the crowd. Caleb was there, just a few yards in, sneaking glimpses of me as he pressed forward, moving closer to the barricade to shake my hand.
The palms above us offered no relief from the heat. I glanced back. The Lieutenant disappeared into the Palace, swallowed by the sea of small children, their Teachers ushering them toward the Palace mall with promises of ice cream.
“Princess Genevieve!” a woman with crooked glasses called, nearly tipping over the metal barricade. “Welcome to the City of Sand!” She was in her thirties, clad in a faded flowered dress. Her skin was pink and damp from the midday sun.
I reached out, taking her hand in my own. “I’m happy to be here,” I said, the words suddenly feeling true. The King stood beside me, patting a twelve-year-old boy on the head. He was no more than a foot away from me, occasionally smiling, sometimes resting his hand on the small of my back. I kept scanning the crowd, tensing as Caleb shifted in its depths, his hat inching toward me. “Pleasure to meet you. ”
Caleb was only two yards away now, the gap between us closing with every passing minute. A man asked me to sign a scrap of paper for him; another asked how I found the City, if I’d been to the top of the Eiffel Tower yet, the miniature version that was just across the street. I answered in half sentences, silently wondering if the King knew what Caleb looked like. It wasn’t too late. I could still turn around before he came any closer.
But I didn’t. Instead I stole glimpses of him through the mass of people, taking in the angular chin I had once held, now clean of all stubble. His skin wasn’t the deep reddish brown it had been in the wild. He seemed thinner, but healthy, his lips fixed in a subtle smile.
A soldier paced in front of the barricade. He dragged his baton down the metal rungs, letting out a horrible bap-bap-bap-bap sound. I followed his gaze, taking in the scene as he did, wondering if he noticed the young man in the dark cap. But he settled his sights on a woman in a tight white dress, her breasts spilling over the neckline.
Caleb inched closer as I moved down the row, shaking hand after hand. I kissed a baby boy on the head, smelling the powder on his skin, enjoying how his soft hair grazed my neck. I reached out for a woman deeper in the crowd, feeling Caleb’s eyes on me as he approached. Her doughy hand gave under my touch, the bright midday light revealing the faint freckles on her pale skin. The King was still beside me. His voice was clear as he thanked a man for his support.
I took an older woman’s hand in my own, stepping away from my father. Caleb was right over her shoulder, not two feet back. “Pleased to meet you, Princess,” he said, stretching his hand for me to hold.
“Yes, thank you,” I said, offering a slight nod. We stayed like that for just a moment. I wanted to thread my fingers through his, to pull him close to me, so close that his chin was on my shoulder, his face nestled into my neck. I wanted his arms around me, pressing our bodies together so we were one again.
But the soldier turned back toward the crowd. He left the woman with the white dress and circled me, yelling at a man who was standing on a trash can to get a better view. The King stepped away from the metal barricade and signaled for us to return to the Palace. A young blond boy reached out, over Caleb’s arm, begging to say hello.
Caleb released me to them.
I stood there, strangers’ voices in my ears, my hand still warm from his touch. It took me a second to process the tiny piece of paper tucked between my fingers, folded so many times it was smaller than a penny. I clutched my chest, pushing it into the neck of my gown.
“Welcome, Princess,” the teenage boy said as he gripped my hand. “We’re so happy you’re here. ”
I stayed there, frozen in my father’s stare, as Caleb backed away. Then, as suddenly as he’d appeared, he pulled down his cap and was gone.
sixteen
