Fearless (7 page)

‘It's usually a Death Watcher's job to fight your Guardian for your soul. Do you know why he brought you to Skade himself? What his plans are?'

She shrugs. ‘No idea. He has never mentioned my death or resuscitation.'

‘I'm sorry, Mela.'

She frowns. ‘Dear girl, what are you apologising for? You had nothing to do with my early life, the choices I made, or what happened when I died.'

I brace myself. ‘I think you're here because of me.'

‘I don't understand.'

‘I'm almost positive you're part of Luca's grand plan to make me live here.'

‘What makes you think this?'

Her frown deepens as she stares at me. She's clearly confused. She doesn't have any idea. Maybe my hunch is wrong, but Luca wanted Mela for a reason, and I remember
Zavier telling me how much planning went into my abductions.

‘I'm a Guardian Angel,' I explain, ‘for a boy my age.'

‘What are you saying, Ebony?'

‘I know your son, Jordan. I'm his Guardian.'

She gasps and looks round for somewhere to sit. I lead her to the sofa. She sinks into it and looks up at me. ‘You know Jordan?'

‘Yeah. I do.'

‘Is he well?'

I close my eyes against the last image I have of him, chained to a cave wall. I had asked him to pass my message of love to Nathaneal. ‘The last time we spoke,' I tell Mela with a smile, ‘he was arguing with me.'

She laughs a little. ‘Still stubborn, I see.'

‘Uh-huh.'

‘I worried so much about him – where he was, who was looking after him. I had no family. His father was in prison and Jordan was only nine when I –'

‘Jordan told me how he found you.'

Her eyes pierce mine. ‘He remembers?'

‘Clearly. And sadly I wasn't around to protect him because at that time I didn't know who I was. I wish it had been different.'

She gets to her feet, takes my hand and folds her other over the top. ‘That wasn't your fault. I'm grateful for any light you've brought to his life.'

I'm so moved by her graciousness that I drop her hand and embrace her, and the Guardian bond stretches and weaves into a net that wraps around us.

A shrieking scream through the closed window breaks the moment and we both turn to look.

‘Over there.' Mela points and I follow her outstretched arm to see an angel kicking a human soul one-third his size. Another angel, a female, pulls the soul up by his armpits and holds him while the first angel punches the soul in the stomach, following it up with a slug to the soul's jaw. Meanwhile, angels and souls alike open a space around them, enjoying the show.

‘Why doesn't someone stop that beating?' I ask, anxious for the soul, now bent over double on the ground as the female angel prepares to kick her pointed shoe into his gut.

‘As you will come to see, the souls here are an oppressed species. They have hardly any rights, and that pair of angels are his owners, giving them licence to discipline where and whenever they choose.'

Two Throne soldiers fly over and talk to the pair of thugs. Heads nod and the thugs calm down.

I'm surprised to notice a few angels looking at the thugs with barely concealed disgust, yet many more are disappointed the fight is over.

Anger ignites inside me at the injustice. Only the soldiers on duty could act. Other angels who didn't like what they saw were clearly frightened or not allowed to interfere.

A red haze forms at the edges of my vision. I take a calming breath. When I use my powers again, it won't be in uncontrolled rage. ‘If I could fly,' I mutter under my breath, ‘I would wing myself over there and … well, I'm not sure what I'd do, but it would be something that would wipe the smirks off that angel couple's perfect faces.'

I feel Mela staring at me and turn my face from the window to her.

‘You would do that for a soul?'

‘Yeah, of course.'

‘What if an angel were getting beaten by a soul?'

That there's bullying in Skade, with Luca as king, is no surprise. But it's wrong no matter who is doing the bullying or who is on the receiving end. Mela is still waiting for my answer. ‘It would make no difference to me.'

She hugs me, though I'm not sure why. I ask, ‘How does it work here? I mean, when a soul arrives, what happens?'

‘They stand before the king for judgement. He hands down their sentence, where and who they will serve, and for how long. Some end up in a faraway province, others remain here in Odisha. This can depend on the skills they came here with, whether an angel has a need for those skills or simply wants labour for their farm, their business or a maid for their home.'

‘OK, so the souls who live in the city are what?'

‘The lucky ones.'

Not exactly what I meant. ‘That man did not look too lucky to me.'

‘City souls get to live in proper housing, have food in their bellies, warmth, clothes, may even find companionship if the household is soul-tolerant or appreciative of the skills they bring.'

‘And they get to enjoy the occasional beating.'

‘Only by their owners.'

‘Ah, well, that makes it all right then.'

She doesn't miss my sarcasm. ‘It's the law.'

‘Are you telling me there's a law that encourages the torture of human souls?'

‘Laws can be changed.' She eyes me carefully. ‘It would take a strong angel in a high position, someone brave enough to stand up to –'

‘The king.'

When I next glance at the square it's from the bedroom after I've had breakfast, a bath and Mela has combed and trimmed my wet tangled hair. Thousands more have gathered, and I stare as they keep filling the streets.

As I watch the crowds I start to notice things, like how souls feel the cold much more than angels. They hold coats, jackets and even blankets tightly around themselves, while the taller, bigger-built angels wear suits and stylish dresses with flowing cloaks and fancy hats. It could be a day at the races, except it's not horses they've come to see.

It's me. All those people, to see me.

A shiver runs down my spine as my thoughts shift to what's to come. My bottom lip trembles, as it does sometimes, and Mela catches sight of it. Compassion sweeps into her eyes. She leans towards me and says softly, ‘Ebony, you have a choice, and you need to make it soon.'

‘Escape is the only choice on my agenda.'

She looks at me sadly.

‘What? Am I supposed to just accept what's happening to me? My natural instincts wouldn't allow it.'

Leaning closer, she mouths almost soundlessly, ‘Whenever you talk of escape, you must be extremely careful of who might hear you. There are some here in the palace that you can trust, but many more you can't. I can guide you, but
discretion will keep you safe.'

I nod, letting her know I get it and will be more careful in future.

She peers into my eyes. ‘There are certain things you should know, about me, about the palace, about the king. We will talk. But for now I need to finish getting you ready.'

We move to the dressing table, where she holds out the chair, motioning for me to sit. She selects a make-up brush. Our eyes meet in the mirror and she says, ‘Finishing touches.'

Mela applies my make-up using natural colours, except for my eyes, which she accentuates with extended liner in vibrant violet and matching mascara.

With my make-up and hair complete, Mela pulls out a gown from the wardrobe. I remove the robe and step into it. The bodice is tight-fitting black lace in an intricate swirling design. It sits lower at the front than I'm comfortable wearing. I try to tug it up, but it doesn't budge. It has tiny cap sleeves that hang loosely off the shoulder. And while the dress hugs my body tightly to the hips, the lace then falls away in soft folds of taupe and black tulle with a skirt of velvet satin underneath.

At any other time I'd feel like a princess wearing this.

I slip my bare feet into elegant taupe-coloured high-heeled shoes. Then Mela pins a diamond tiara to my head. I don't go for fancy jewellery, but I will admit, as tiaras go, this one is lovely.

She stands behind me so I can view myself in the mirror. Who is this person looking back at me? I hardly recognise her, and yet there is something in those eyes –
my eyes
– that feels right.

No.
No way. I don't mean that I feel right being here. It's just a pretty dress. The fact that Prince Luca had it made to represent a role he sees me in doesn't change that.

We move to the living room, where there is more room for Mela to survey her handiwork. She's beaming, and looks at me expectantly.

‘Thanks, Mela, you've done a great job. I'm sorry I'm not more appreciative, but … So … what happens now?'

‘We wait.'

The wait feels excruciatingly long and yet when the double doors silently open and Luca is standing there, shadowed by three Throne guards, it's suddenly too short.

He looks powerful – impeccably dressed in a sleek black three-piece suit with a purple flower in the buttonhole of his long blazer. There's no sign of physical weakness. Returning home appears to have invigorated him. With his long caramel-coloured hair slicked back in a ponytail, he is the epitome of a prince.

Just not mine.

He walks in and stares at me in a way that is unnerving. Taking his time, he walks around
inspecting
me, as if I'm a slave he's considering purchasing and is checking for faults.

He flicks his eyes to Mela and nods approvingly. She beams. I don't like how pleased she looks to have pleased
him
. But then she catches my eye with a directness that reminds me of her earlier warning to be discreet. I know then she's acting and that she's really on my side.

Luca runs his fingertips down the length of my hair, tracing one long curl as it falls past my neck, over my chest and on to my waist. His touch is gentle, but wherever he lingers,
my skin blisters and peels like sunburn on rapid release. He finds this phenomenon fascinating. It's not; it's repulsive.

He moves to my other side and does the same thing, apparently fascinated with how his touch makes my skin burn, peel and heal in a kind of accelerated rhythm of life, or something. I want to slap his hand away. I want to slap
him
.

Mela shoots me a warning look when he's not looking. But by now I'm so furious I can hardly see straight. The red haze is blurring my vision. I stare at him through it. He doesn't speak but just smiles at me, knowing exactly what he's doing. The urge to slap him becomes difficult to hold back. He walks behind me and leans down so his mouth is level with my ear, creating an intimacy that makes me loathe him impossibly more. As I clench and unclench my fingers, feeling my power whipping up my body, he breathes one word: ‘
Outstanding.
'

The heat coming off him carries his unmistakable scent, but today it also has an evocative quality that saturates my senses. Some might find it pleasant. I certainly don't. My instincts are screaming at me to step back, move away.
Run.

Somehow he can tell I'm about to bolt and locks his fingers around my elbow. Lightning doesn't move as fast.
Steady
, he says in that husky tone, in a mind-link that feels invasive. I start to tremble and try hard to quench the shuddering tremors by biting down on my lower lip.

I don't want to simply slap or punch him any more; I want to strangle him with my bare hands, gouge out his probing green eyes with my fingernails, rip out his teeth one by one with a pair of –

Are you quite finished, Princess?

Damn it, Luca, stop invading my head space.

Stop inventing ways to debilitate me in your thoughts. You're not yet adept at selective projection.

To prove his point he glances at the middle one of the three guards he brought with him and raises his eyebrows. The guard nods with a slither of a smile appearing.

‘OK, I get it.'

‘Good,' Luca says. ‘Now, do you like your apartment?'

‘As prisons go, I suppose it's not bad.'

He growls and tightens his fingers on my elbow. ‘In a moment, Ebony, I will introduce you to seven million citizens of Skade.'

My jaw drops open.
Seven million are out there?

‘You will remember that you are soon to be their queen. Should I choose to kiss you on that balcony, you will respond in a manner that will gratify and delight your adoring public. Do I make myself clear?'

‘I hear you.'

‘That's not what I asked.'

‘I understand that you want me to comply, OK?'

His lips press together as he scrutinises my face. A sudden frown forms. ‘You do know
how
to kiss, don't you? Be honest and save yourself embarrassment. Do you require a private lesson prior to our public exhibition?'

My breakfast swirls and threatens to eject. I swallow, forcing it down, and clear my throat. The heat from Luca's body isn't helping. I feel like I'm on fire. Isn't it enough that I have to kiss him in front of his people? Does he have to ridicule me as well? My heart lurches at the possibility that
Nathaneal will one day learn that I kissed his enemy in a way that gratifies and entertains seven million Skadean angels and their human-soul slaves.

My heart gallops faster, and faster. I try to slow it down with controlled breathing and distracting my thoughts. When I think I can manage to sound calm I reply, ‘Thanks for your offer to instruct me in the art of kissing, my lord, and though I am only
sixteen
, no tuition is necessary because Prince Nathaneal was a superb teacher. We practised relentlessly.'

He growls viciously and loud enough that Mela's eyes bug out. ‘A word of warning, Ebony, be careful you do not go too far or I may have your tongue removed.'