I’d plucked several free from their spots, and found myself perusing topics from art to war to animal husbandry, and pretty much everything in between. The variety of languages was just as diverse as the topics themselves. I suddenly wished I had time to spend days—maybe years—flipping through the tattered volumes to discover the secrets of the world beyond the borders of Ludania.
When Avonlea burst through the library doors, she practically knocked me to the ground as she thrust herself at me, throwing her arms around my neck. “I heard what happened,” she breathed against my cheek. “I’m so glad you’re okay.” She turned her teary gaze toward Zafir. “Thank you,” she whispered, and I thought I saw his chest puff up ever so slightly.
“Oh, brother,” Brook said, rolling her eyes. “Don’t you dare thank him. If he hadn’t let her go out there in the first place, none of this would’ve happened.”
I grinned. I couldn’t help it. “Come on, Brook. We all know it’s not Zafir’s fault. Besides, if he hadn’t pushed me out of the way, I’d have been . . . well, you know . . .”
Brook glared at the royal guard, who glared back with equal animosity.
“Avonlea’s right,” Aron told Brook, dropping onto a chair near the fireplace. He slouched down, looking like he hadn’t a care in the world. “Zafir should probably be rewarded for his heroics. . . . Not cursed.” His mouth twitched, and he winked at Avonlea. But I saw the way he glanced sidelong at Brooklynn, and I wondered why he was provoking her.
“Look,” I intervened. “It was bound to happen eventually. Let’s call it like it is: Someone wants to kill me. And clearly they’re taking any opportunity they can. Maybe it’s better this way. . . .” I wondered if any of the optimism I was shooting for was making its way into my voice. “Who knows, maybe they left a clue behind.”
“Yeah, right. And maybe whoever it is’ll just step forward and turn themself in. Save us all a lot of trouble.” Now Brook was glaring at me. “I highly doubt that, Charlie.”
At least I wasn’t “Chuck” anymore.
Brook shook her head, more exasperated than I’d seen her in ages, and then she threw her hands up. “Whatever. You guys sit here and pat Zafir on the back.” She stormed toward the door. “I’ve got better things to do.”
brooklynn
Brook stalked down the hallway, her boots pounding against the marble and giving away her position. Making her less than stealthy. Not that she was trying particularly hard to be stealthy. If she’d wanted to go unseen—unheard—she could have. She’d have been a ghost. A mere whisper.
Now, however, she didn’t care who heard her. She’d convinced herself that her foul mood was because of the conspirator in their ranks, that she was on edge and irritable because she was still no closer to discovering just who had been planted among her soldiers to assassinate Charlie.
She’d gone through the list a dozen times, and then a dozen more: counting the reasons it could be each of her men, and then discarding those reasons one at a time, because she knew these guys. She’d served with them and trusted them with her life. She’d handpicked them for their valor, their superior skills, and, above all, their loyalty.
She’d been unable to come up with so much as a single name.
Her mood darkened, and she clamped down on her lip, assuring herself once more that her temper had nothing at all do with Aron. That it meant nothing to her that he continued to tease and taunt her. That she felt nothing at all for him.
Of course she didn’t! she insisted, as she caught herself stomping her foot in hallway, the sound echoing sharply.
The low rumble of laughter made her jump and she turned to locate its source.
“I hope I’m not interrupting anything.” Ambassador Bartolo’s voice drifted from the shadows.
Brook’s cheeks flushed when she saw him there, wearing an amused expression as he watched her. “Of course not, Ambassador. I was just trying to sort some things out. I needed a minute alone.”
“Call me Niko, Commander,” he said smoothly, stepping out from the shadows and into the sunlight. Brook could see the way he wore his easy charm, like a suit or a skin he could shed if necessary, and she wondered what was hidden beneath. What secrets he concealed there.
She decided to play along. It was an easy game for her, a role she’d grown accustomed to during her years with the resistance. “Then call me Brooklynn.” She pasted a small, languorous smile to her lips. “What are you doing out here, Niko?”
“Brooklynn,” he repeated her name, letting it roll off his tongue, tasting it. Almost absently, he reached out and pushed a curl from her cheek. She didn’t pull away, but she could feel him mentally circling her—sizing her up—in the same way she was him. “I came to check on Queen Charlaina. To see how she’s holding up.”
“She’s fine,” Brook answered, her smile becoming tighter. “I guess what I should have asked is what, exactly, are you doing here, Niko Bartolo? Not much to do at a summit without your queen, is there?”
He studied her from beneath hooded eyelids. “More than you’d guess,” he answered quietly. “There are many things to learn, much news to carry home. And there are other matters to consider, things that have nothing at all to do with my queen and her land.”
“Things like . . . Charlie?” Brook prodded, remembering the way she’d caught the two of them the night before. “What is it you want with her, anyway?”
“It’s”—he closed his eyes—“complicated.”
Brook’s smile fell away completely as she glowered at him. She was tired of this game. “Well, then uncomplicate it. Leave her alone, Ambassador. She may be my queen, but she’s also my friend. And I’m warning you: Back off.”
And she left him standing there, false charm and all.
aron
Aron didn’t wait long before following Brooklynn, giving her just enough of a head start to think he didn’t care that she’d stormed away. He couldn’t stop himself from wondering when he’d started caring at all.
When they were kids, and Brook was always trying to ditch him with Charlie, he’d thought of it as a game, a challenge. To tag along with the two girls—Charlie with her flyaway silver-blond hair and Brook with her untamed mass of tangled black curls. He would follow them as they spent their days wading in the shallow streams formed by the river’s runoff, climbing the gnarled trees that grew in the park or along the concrete walls, building fortresses in the sewer passages, or scavenging for “treasures” in the garbage bins that awaited incineration behind the warehouses and shops in the west end of the city.
Most days, they returned home looking like outcasts—orphans who belonged in the work camps—rather than the offspring of respectable vendor families.
It was kind of incredible to imagine that those same kids had grown up to visit palaces at the invitation of foreign queens.
Vannova was a far cry from sewer drains and waste bins.
Yet here they were, still playing games, he realized, as he turned the corner and stopped short.
She was there, as beautiful as he’d remembered, dressed all in black and clutching the gloves she’d stripped from her hands in a fit of anger. But she wasn’t alone. She was with Ambassador Bartolo from the Third Realm. They stood facing each other, their gazes intense. Even from as far as Aron was from them, he could tell that Brook’s words came out like a purr.
She was flirting.
Aron clenched his fist, wishing he hadn’t bothered coming after her at all. He should have known. Nothing had changed; she was the same old Brooklynn. The same girl she’d always been, still trying to ditch him as she searched for someone better to play with.
He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but it certainly hadn’t been this.
He watched as Bartolo reached out and stroked her cheek, and Aron could’ve sworn he saw Brook’s eyes widen, ever so slightly. Ever so provocatively.
He turned then, spinning on his heel, and stomped away.
xvii
I st
ood before the large mirror, framed in hand-carved ebony, and stared at my reflection.
“Is she kidding? I can’t wear this,” I repeated for the hundredth time as Brooklynn dug through the gowns spread across our bed, trying to make the perfect selection.
What I lacked in enthusiasm, Brook more than made up for. She plucked up a delicate moss-colored dress and draped it across the front of her uniform. “I don’t know what you’re complaining about—you look beautiful.”
As if she’d even know. She hadn’t even glanced my way since the footman—whose uniform was, in fact, almost identical to her own when they were side-by-side—unpacked the multitude of new gowns Queen Neva had had delivered to my room for the gala.
“It’s too much.” I’d tried to tell him. “I can’t possibly accept them all.”
“Nonsense,” the man said in some form of broken Englaise. “Her Majesty insists. Consider them gifts to the new queen.”
Brook hadn’t argued. In fact, I got the impression she couldn’t wait to strip out of her uniform and start trying on my “gifts.”
“It’s practically invisible,” I complained, turning to face her. I was grateful that Zafir, at least, had noticed and was pretending to be preoccupied by something outside the window. “Look at this,” I said, pointing at the sheer fabric across my chest. “You can see right through it.”
Brook glanced up then, looking at my breasts, which were indeed covered by the thinnest, sheerest fabric known to humankind, and she covered her mouth. “I think you’re wearing it wrong.”
I followed her gaze. “I don’t think I am, that’s the problem. I’ve seen what Queen Neva wears, Brook, I think this is normal for her.”
Zafir stifled a chuckle and I glared in his direction. “It’s not funny, Zafir. It’s not. I’m nervous enough about doing things the right way, without having to do them chest first.”
This time it was Brook who giggled.
“Ooh! You two are like children.” I turned my back to them as I feverishly dug through the pile, searching for something a little more . . . substantial. “Help me find something suitable. All I need is one.”
Brooklynn’s hand touched my shoulder. “Charlie. Relax. Stop worrying so much.” I lifted my flushed face to hers. “Enjoy the party. There’ll be plenty of time tomorrow for business.” She held up a gown that fell in cascading scarlet waves and thrust it out to me.
I let my fingers trace the fabric—the nearly transparent golden threads woven through it gave it a burnished look. Yet it was so delicate. So much softer than it looked, so much more pliable. “You think?” I whispered.
Brook set it aside and reached for the fasteners at my neck. “I know,” she insisted with so much conviction that I couldn’t help believing her.
She helped me change into a dress that fit like my own skin from just below my neck to the tops of my thighs, hugging my body so closely it was a wonder I could so much as breathe. But I could, almost as if the gown had become a part of me. Strategically placed embellishments woven into the sheer material along the torso sparkled, covering just what needed to be covered, and nothing more. Everywhere else, however, the scarlet fabric was just as translucent as the other gowns had been. Except for the skirt. Shirred silk created a soft, full effect, just a shade darker than the red that followed my waistline, and ended in bold trim that matched the embellishments that covered my chest and wrapped all the way around my hips. My arms were bare, and a simple crimson collar wrapped around my neck, fastening the dress in place.
“Wow.” I breathed at my reflection.
Brook grinned from behind me, staring at me over my shoulder. “I told you. Now, let’s fix that hair so I can go and make sure Aron and the others will be ready on time. We don’t want to keep the queens waitin’, do we?”
Brook was waiting for me in the hallway when I stepped out of our shared bedroom, and if it had been my first time seeing her, I would never have believed she was the commander of an army. It would be impossible to imagine she was a soldier at all, that she was capable of killing with her bare hands.
I didn’t know when she’d found the time to get herself ready, but she had, and now she looked as polished as any of the women who’d been raised as courtiers. As lovely as any queen.
“Wow, Brook, if I’d’ve seen that gown,” I teased as I reached for her gloved hand, leaning on her while I slipped off one of my glittered shoes and massaged my foot. Already my toes felt pinched in the tiny slippers.
“You wouldn’t have worn it,” she answered with a sideways grin, winking at Zafir. “It’s too revealing.”
She was right, of course. The black corset-style top barely covered her chest, plunging deeply down the center of her breasts. And of the two of us, she was the one who had a chest in need of being covered. Black beads, which dangled from her neck, fell into the exposed valley of skin.
“You know, for such a tall woman, Queen Neva has impossibly small feet. How she walks in these is anyone’s guess,” I said, putting the shoe back on.
When we reached the party, I nearly gasped aloud, and I was certain that Brooklynn did.
I’d never been to a circus before, but even children born in Ludania—where circuses had been outlawed years earlier because they were populated by outcasts—knew what they were.
I was aware the moment I stepped through the open doorway to the ballroom: This was no ordinary dance. . . . It was an event.
It was a dark spectacle, complete with glittered jesters and maudlin clowns wearing painted tears. There were ladies riding one-wheeled cycles who wore the snow-white tulle of dancers paired with whimsical striped socks. Overhead, I saw a thick cable extending from one side of the ballroom to the other, on which a woman in a short dress made from inky feathers and carrying a black lace umbrella with fringe that tickled her alabaster shoulders carefully glided. Toe over toe she moved, graceful and unflinching, from one end to the other. All around us there were musicians and animals—some caged and some not—and billowing fabrics that hung from the ceiling to the floor in stripes of gold and ruby and sapphire and silver.
I smiled at a trio of small girls whose faces were painted to match the animals behind bars. Each girl carried a tray with a different candied treat: sugared fruits, iced cakes, and petite chocolate bowls filled with puddings of various colors, each with a miniature silver spoon.
“No. Thank you,” I said, feeling a stab of sadness that Angelina couldn’t be here to witness the marvel of it all.
“Wow.” I breathed as I caught sight of the flags, all hanging side by side on one wall, representing each of the queens in attendance. The white flag of Ludania was at its very center.
Standing beneath the impressive display, I saw Aron, talking with Avonlea and Sebastian.
“Oh, hell,” Brooklynn muttered, as I dragged her in their direction.
I saw immediately what she was complaining about, and understood completely. Of all the gowns she could’ve worn, the one Brook had chosen was so similar to Avonlea’s that it was hard to imagine they weren’t meant to be part of a matching set. The only difference was, Brooklynn filled hers out in ways Avonlea never would.
“Is this some kind of joke?” she whispered, digging her heels in at the last second.
I tugged harder. “Come on, I think it’s kind of cute. You two could be one of the acts; you could be twins who juggle or something.” I glanced in the direction of a real juggler who threw daggers in the air and caught each one of them in turn. The handles of his knives were bejeweled and the blades were razor sharp.
“Thanks for that,” Brook grumbled just as we reached our friends.
Aron whistled when he saw me, drawing the attention of a sharp-faced woman who stood nearby. Her long, wild hair seemed to blend into the thick fur of her coat, making her look like a shaggy black bear. Her intense brown gaze did nothing to assuage that initial impression. Behind her, perched on a pedestal, a white peacock with its colorless plumes draping all the way to the floor r
uffled its feathers uninterestedly.
“You look”—he grinned, his words directed at me, but his gaze finding Brooklynn beside me—“beautiful,” he said at last.
I glanced at Brook, and wondered if she’d heard what I had in his voice, but she seemed not to have noticed.
“You do,” she agreed. “You made the right call.”
I peered down at the gilded red dress, sheer in places that made me feel far too exposed.
“I think he was talking to you,” I said quietly, realizing that Aron wasn’t the only one who’d noticed Brooklynn. Sebastian was watching her as well.
Close up, there was almost nothing alike about the two girls—Brook and Avonlea—save the cut of their black gowns. Despite the similarities in their dresses, Brook stood out like no other.
Black curls fell free from the glittering pins that tried to hold her hair up, strategically framing the soft brown of her skin. Her dark eyes alternately reflected electric sparks of enthusiasm, burning embarrassment, and flashes of frustration, since Brooklynn could no more hide her emotions than she could pretend they didn’t exist.
Avonlea was plain by comparison. We all were.
Brook elbowed me. “Shut up,” she said, the corner of her lip moving upward, and there was no doubt she knew it too. Everyone had noticed her.
Everyone but Niko.
I’d seen him the moment I entered the ballroom. He was impossible to miss, and Sabara had reacted instantaneously, flooding me with hope and anticipation.
I ignored him the best I could. Ignored Sabara too.
But they were persistent, the both of them.
Niko’s eyes never left me, and as hard as I told myself I didn’t care, I did. Except that now my feelings were jumbled with Sabara’s, and even I was having a hard time discerning mine from hers. Fact from fantasy.
I reached out and took a glass of bubbling liquid, so blue it was nearly black, from one of the silver trays as it passed. I had no idea what it was, but I lifted it to my lips and sipped.
The Essence Page 20
