The Essence

by Kimberly Derting

  I smiled, but guilt coursed through me as Zafir shepherded me into the awaiting vehicle, a different one from the one we’d driven to the school this morning, and I wondered if the other had been destroyed. I wondered, too, where this one had come from. I said nothing, though. I just waited until the door was closed behind me before letting myself cry.

  I saw Max running toward our vehicle long before the palace had come into view.

  “Stop!” I shouted at the driver as I was climbing over Brooklynn to reach the door.

  I stumbled only a few feet over the pitted road before I fell into his arms, which came around me and lifted my feet off the ground as he hauled me against him. “You’re safe. . . . You’re safe. . . . You’re safe. . . .” he whispered over and over again.

  I was shaking all over but I somehow managed to find my voice. “It’s okay, Max. I’m okay.”

  I inhaled the scent of his skin—wondering when I’d stopped smelling the smoke, when it had stopped filling every part of me—while I ran my fingers roughly through his hair. I could taste his worry as his lips moved restlessly over mine, not settling in any one place, just pressing to mine and then moving on to my cheek, my nose, my chin, as if he were trying to memorize my every feature with them.

  Then at last, his kisses slowed, and his agitation became something gentler, something far more distracting. My pulse raced as his mouth traced my jawline and he whispered against my ear, his breath hot and teasing and filled with yearning, yet I couldn’t understand a single word he’d said.

  It didn’t matter, though. I understood his meaning well enough.

  We were together.

  “Brook’s father is already claiming responsibility,” Xander announced over breakfast. “He’s spreading the word that he plans to hit the queen where it hurts.”

  My stomach knotted. I stared down the table to where Brooklynn sat, wondering if she felt half the responsibility I did. If she’d lain awake last night replaying yesterday’s events over and over in her head.

  “We have to get you out of here, Charlie,” Xander went on. “All of you—your entire family.”

  My father pushed a loaf of hot bread toward Xander. “Are you sure that’s necessary? We’re safe here, aren’t we?”

  “Look,” I tried, hoping to stop all this talk about fleeing before it got out of hand, before my family had to be displaced. “I know Brook’s dad. I grew up with him. Maybe I could just talk to him.”

  “You realize what he did yesterday, don’t you?” Max’s voice was subdued, his dark eyes serious. “He killed innocent people, Charlie. I think we’re past talking now.”

  “Besides, you didn’t see him,” Brook said sorrowfully from her side of the table. “He can’t be reasoned with. I warned him what would happen if he tried anything—”

  Xander’s fist pounded against the table and the room went silent. He glowered at Brooklynn. “You saw him? Tell me you didn’t know about this.”

  All eyes turned to Brook.

  “It was before the attacks, before her tour. I told Charlie we should tell you, that we should postpone her trip into the city,” she explained. “But I had no idea he would actually make good on his threats. . . . Especially not like this. I thought . . .” She shrugged. “I thought he was harmless.”

  “Brook’s right,” I tried to intercede. “This isn’t her fault. It’s mine. If I’d have listened, none of this would’ve happened in the first place.”

  Max’s hand found mine beneath the table, and without meaning to, I blushed. “It’s not your fault either,” he said. “He’s a madman. Someone like that can’t be reasoned with. You need to listen to Xander. We’ll get your parents and Angelina to safety, and you’ll leave a few days early for the summit.”

  My eyes went wide as I turned to him. “What about you? You’re still going, aren’t you?”

  Xander’s voice drew my attention. “He can’t. Not now. Ludania needs someone who can rule in your absence, and Max is the most qualified. He was raised in the palace and he was in the military. He can keep the palace—and the country—running while we concentrate on keeping you safe. Eden and I will go with your family, to my grandmother’s private estate in the southern region. They’ll be safe there, no one knows where it is.”

  I glanced down at my mom and then my dad, and finally to Angelina. “They could go with us. To the summit, I mean.”

  Xander shook his head. “No, Your Majesty. Ludania is nothing without a queen. As second in line to the throne, Angelina’s safety is as important as your own. Separating the two of you is the only way.” His expression softened. “As her sister, surely you understand that.”

  I did. Of course I did, but it didn’t make it any easier to accept, and despite being the leader of an entire nation, at the moment, I was powerless. Less than powerless.

  They were leaving me with no options.

  “There’s more. These are already starting to circulate.” It was Aron, who’d been quiet up until now. He slid a piece of paper down the length of the table.

  I stared at it. On it was a picture, one that the photographer had snapped of me kneeling over Sydney’s body on the steps of the Academy. My skin looked as if it were reflecting the light from the camera’s flash, creating sparks of light all over the image. My expression looked dazed.

  Below the image, the caption read: “New Equality Brings Death to School Children!”

  “What is this?” I asked, blinking hard as I tried to focus, my eyes stinging.

  “It’s a periodical. They’re like the underground missives we used to read, only now they’re no longer secretive. It’s how news is being spread throughout the city and beyond,” Aron answered.

  “The irony is,” Xander added, “the person responsible for this periodical is only able to distribute it because of the New Equality he or she is condemning.”

  I folded the paper and slipped it into my pocket. Not because of the message it delivered or because I was proud of the changes I’d made that allowed for such a publication to exist. Instead I kept it because it was the only photograph I had to remind me of Sydney.

  PART II

  brooklynn

  Brooklynn stared out in the general direction of the Capitol. Not that she could see it anymore. The concrete wall that surrounded it and its jagged-toothed buildings hadn’t been visible for hours. Instead she watched passing shadows of a countryside shrouded by the cover of night, images that blurred into unfocused smudges, making one impossible to distinguish from the next.

  The floor beneath her feet rocked, and she reached for a handrail to steady herself. She waited until her stomach caught up with the lurching motion of the train; something she kept telling herself she would grow accustomed to with time. Train travel wasn’t nearly as exhilarating as she’d thought it would be. For her, it was the opposite, in fact. She felt endlessly queasy, and she longed to stand on solid unmoving ground once more.

  Unfortunately, fate had different plans for her and her queen.

  Everything had happened so quickly after the attack on the Academy. Yet it wasn’t until they’d left the school that day that they’d realized the assaults hadn’t been confined to only their location, but that nearly an entire section of the city—just barely rebuilt from the rebellions that Brook herself had been a part of—was on fire. Buildings had crumbled like oily black pyres that burned angrily and then collapsed into piles of charred rubble.

  Now Brooklynn, Charlie, and Aron were on a train headed north, along with Zafir and fifty of Brook’s best soldiers. They’d be arriving at the summit several days early, but at least they’d be arriving intact.

  It was now Max’s job to find those responsible for the attacks on the Capitol, those who’d dared to kill innocent children and threaten the life of their queen, those who included Brooklynn’s own father.

  She wished it were her instead of Max.

  She’d rather be anywhere but here, she thought, letting her forehead fall against the glass and t
rying to ignore the stomach acid burning the back of her throat.

  “Here,” Aron’s voice interrupted her, his hand finding the crook of her elbow and leading her away from the window. “Sit down and drink this.”

  She lifted her gaze to his, frowning as she took the steaming mug from him. Wrapping her hands around it, she inhaled deeply, expecting to breathe in something delightful, an elixir meant to soothe her stomach. Instead, she winced. “What are you trying to do, poison me?”

  Aron dropped down beside her, pushing her out of his way so he had room on the bench. “Don’t be so grouchy, it’s not my fault you can’t sleep.”

  “No,” Brook reluctantly relented. “I suppose it’s not.” She lifted the cup to her lips and blew on it before taking a sip. The bitter liquid scalded her tongue. “Where’d you get this, anyway?”

  Aron watched her closely, his warm eyes crinkling when she grimaced. “That bad, huh? The old lady in the galley swears it’s a cure-all for motion sickness.”

  She took another swallow, a more generous one this time. “I’m not motion sick, I just . . . I just don’t like trains is all.”

  “How would you know? This is the first train you’ve ever been on.”

  Brook’s scowl deepened. “Well, I don’t like this train.”

  “Because it makes you sick.”

  Brook nodded. “Right.” And then she frowned at him. “No,” she countered. “I mean, that’s not what I meant. I don’t trust it. It doesn’t feel . . . stable.” She glowered at Aron over the top of the earthenware mug, but she continued to sip the foul liquid inside. “What do you want, anyway, Midget?” He leaned back, and Brook had to duck to get out of his way. She wondered when his shoulders had widened, and she suddenly realized that the nickname sounded odd rolling off her tongue. “I mean, why are you even here?”

  He closed his eyes, and Brooklynn could’ve sworn he looked relaxed, that he actually liked the rocking of the locomotive beneath them. She narrowed her eyes, trying to decide if she saw the hint of a smile on his lips, or if fatigue was finally getting the best of her and her eyes were playing tricks on her. “On the train? Or here now, with you?”

  Brook weighed the difference before answering. “Either.”

  Aron opened one eye and squinted down at her, forcing her to admit that he’d grown taller too. “I’m here because Charlie needs us. I’m here because I don’t really have anywhere else to go.” He sighed, leaning his head back once more. “And I’m here because you’re my friend, Brook, despite how hard you try to pretend I’m not.”

  Silence filled the gap between them, and Brooklynn let the mug settle on top of her lap, her fingers clenching it a little too tightly as she turned to look out the window to avoid looking at him altogether.

  He was right, of course, even though it annoyed her to admit it. He was her friend; he always had been. Even when they’d been small and she’d competed with him for Charlie’s attention, trying to shut him out, to make Charlie choose which friend she liked best, Aron or Brook. But Charlie had never chosen, and Aron had always been there, doggedly pursuing the two girls, never complaining when he was the third wheel. He never worried that his friendship wasn’t as valuable as Brook’s, or that he wasn’t as important.

  Brook wished she’d been half as sure of herself back then. Her stomach burned as she thought of all the times she’d convinced Charlie to ditch Aron, to go out without him, or to lie to him about where they were going.

  Especially now, as he sat with her, his silent presence assuring her that he’d always be there for her.

  The train shuddered, rocking violently, and the liquid sloshed over the sides of the mug, spilling onto Brooklynn’s lap.

  “Damn,” she cursed, jumping up.

  “Here.” Aron took the mug from her and set it on the other side of the bench. “Are you okay?”

  She looked at the mess on her pants, splotchy and wet. “It’s fine. It’s not really that hot. Just . . . wet.”

  Aron grinned. “Do you want me to get you some more?”

  She shook her head, her eyes lifting hesitantly to his. “No. But thank you”—a small smile drifted over her lips as she tried out his name . . . his real name—“Aron.”

  He smiled back, his head bobbing in rhythm with the uneven motion of the train. “I like that. Does that mean I’m not ‘Midget’ anymore?”

  Brook’s eyebrows lifted and she exhaled loudly as she sat back down. “I’m not sure you’ve been a Midget for a while now. I was probably the last one to notice it.”

  “Hmm,” Aron uttered, his head still nodding thoughtfully. And after a moment, he said. “You know you have to sleep sometime, Brook. You won’t do Charlie any good if you’re exhausted.”

  “I will,” she finally answered when it felt like too much time had passed. “Eventually, I will.”

  viii

  I didn’t mind the train; I found the pitching and swaying motions comforting, if a little jarring. Besides, there were a thousand other things plaguing my thoughts, seeping into my consciousness and keeping me from sleep.

  I wondered where Angelina and my parents were right now, at this very moment. I wondered if they were as bothered by our separation as I was. If their hearts felt sick and hollow at our being forced apart. I hoped with everything I had that they were safe in their remote sanctuary, and that they were being well cared for.

  I worried, too, over Ludania. About those who would do her harm, putting their own needs above the safety and welfare of their countrymen. Namely, Brooklynn’s father and his followers.

  And I thought about the summit. About the queens I would meet, and the lessons that had been cut short by our premature departure from the palace.

  I closed my eyes, letting the worry rattle around in my brain as I listened to the metallic rasp of the iron wheels against the rails. My mind drifted and I speculated over whether he would be there, at the summit. . . . Niko Bartolo. Niko, and his golden eyes.

  I jerked suddenly, blinking hard and startling myself. Where had a thought like that come from? Why had I even thought of him at all?

  Taking a breath, I rolled onto my side and stared at the wall. I felt as if he’d snuck inside my head while no one was looking.

  Only that wasn’t entirely true, was it? I sat up then, yanking back the covers and throwing my legs over the side of my mattress. I knew what it was as I glanced down at myself. My skin was a mere glimmer of what it had been just days ago, after Angelina had tried to chase Sabara away once more. It wasn’t my thought at all; it had come from someone else.

  Sabara.

  But why?

  I shook my head. It didn’t matter, I could feel her in there, inside me, her Essence moving and shifting. Her grip tightened like a garrote around my neck, crushing my windpipe. Crushing me.

  I’m stronger than her, I told myself. I am a warrior.

  But I wasn’t. And Niko Bartolo was still there, anchored in my thoughts.

  All because of her.

  As soon as I admitted as much, her hold loosened. I waited until my breathing stabilized and my heart rate returned to something close to normal. Eventually, the savage birds that beat their wings wildly in the pit of my stomach subsided, settling once more.

  “Who is he?” I finally managed, my throat feeling scored by the talons of a million razor-sharp claws.

  The train continued on, lurching at odd intervals, and I joggled with it, letting it rock me as I concentrated on summoning her, concentrated on forcing her to listen to me, in the same way she’d done to me so many times before.

  But there was no response. Just the sound of my tremulous breaths and the increasing darkness as my skin continued to dim.

  And a yearning I didn’t understand.

  Angry black tides came rushing toward me, washing over my lips, my nose, covering my head. They choked me.

  “You don’t deserve to be here,” a voice whispered, undulating like the surf. And, for some reason, I believed the voice, allowin
g myself to submit to it, giving in to the churning waters. Letting them suck me under. Letting them drown me.

  And then I was floating, drifting somewhere beneath the surface. I didn’t breathe—I couldn’t. But I was still there. Somehow, still alive.

  I tried to blink, tried to move my arms, but nothing happened.

  I focused my gaze, willing my indolent body to respond, concentrating on lifting a finger, wiggling a toe. Winking an eye.

  The water around me pushed me first one way, and then pulled me the other. I moved in and I moved out, yielding to the force of the tide.

  Panic welled inside me as I realized I was a prisoner. Trapped inside a vessel no longer my own.

  Buried alive.

  I shot upright, gasping and blinking furiously.

  Blink. I could blink.

  And I could breathe and move and wiggle my toes.

  It was only a dream, but my shoulders dropped as I let the terror of the nightmare subside, like the rippling waters of a wave.

  I’d never seen the surf before, yet the memory was so real that I knew, in that moment, exactly what it would feel like, exactly how it would smell—the briny tang of salt lingering in the air.

  It wasn’t my memory, I realized, easing back against my pillow, which was damp with sweat.

  She was there, always inside me. Always trying to find a way out.

  This had been Sabara’s dream. Her nightmare.

  And just like before, with the mirror, and with her ability to speak to me during my waking hours, she was evolving. Before, she’d only been able to find her voice while I was sleeping; she’d only been able to speak to me in my dreams.

  Now, I was having her dreams. Sharing her memories.

  She was gone for the moment. I knew because of the silence in my head.

  And I needed to find a way to keep it that way.