Arland looks both ways then closes his eyes as if trusting his hearing is better than his sight.
“All clear,” he says, looking my toweled body up and down. “No visits from Dughbal while you were in there?”
“No.” We have precious moments with each other, and he chooses to speak of this?
“I love you,” I whisper. “I hate these lies. I hate this place. Your father caves to Dufaigh, why?”
“These are not conversations we should have while you are … you. Tonight, during the celebration, through Brit we will talk.” He leans in then places his lips on my cheek. His kiss tingles my skin. “And I love you, too. You are so strong, so beautiful. I wish I could hold you in my arms right now.”
Arland squeezes my elbow. “We will make it through this.”
I stare into his eyes, into his soul, soaking in my other half. “I know we will. You always say that, at least.”
Arland turns and looks over his shoulder, drops my arms then backs away. “Someone is coming,” he whispers. “We should get you back to your room before anyone sees you like this. Did Perth not provide his lover with more adequate clothing? I am shocked. Usually that family is so … put together.”
An unfamiliar man appears behind Arland. “Arland Maher?”
He turns. “Leader Murchadha, it is very good to see you.”
Leader Murchadha is tall—much taller than Arland—with tan skin, lean arms and legs, and a white beard down to the center of his chest. They embrace each other, slapping backs in happy greetings.
“Who is this lovely young lady behind you?” Murchadha tips his head in my direction.
“This is Katriona Wilde, sir. I would give you a proper introduction, but as you can see, she is not decent.” Arland looks over his shoulder then winks.
For a second, I forget I’m
supposed
to hate him.
Murchadha glances at me. “
The
Katriona Wilde?”
“Yes, sir.”
He clasps his hands behind his back. “Does Dufaigh know she is here?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Why are you with the girl? Has he changed his mind? Have you two fallen in love the way the prophecy stated you would?”
I stop breathing. No one is supposed to know about that. Leader Murchadha knows more than most. He must be well trusted, but
I
must do something to end this conversation before Arland or I say or do something we shouldn’t. “In love? What prophecy said I would fall in love with
him
? He is my guard, and he is failing miserably at keeping me protected. Arland, can you take me to my room now?”
Arland points down the hall. “Walk that way. I will be right behind you.”
“What kind of bodyguard does that? Good thing I am as powerful as I am, otherwise I would be dead.” I storm past the men and trudge off in the direction Murchadha came from. If Arland tells the Leader anything, that’s his choice, but no matter how much I hate it, I have to play this role so no one else dies.
Once I’m in the shadows, I stop. I have no idea where I’m going. Arland must not have actually wanted me to leave. And what I said to him … .
I was so mean
.
He already feels he’s not good enough, and I basically told him he was a lousy protector.
Keeping my back pressed against the wall, I whisper the concealment spell and hope to the gods it works.
“She seems nothing like her father or mother.” Murchadha glances over his shoulder.
I hold my breath and stay as close to the wall as possible. Murchadha turns around to face Arland again, and I exhale.
“Her anger did not seem genuine, though, Arland. I am aware you do not trust many, but you do know you can trust me?”
A faint smile cracks on Arland’s face. “I have always known I can count on you, but she has no interest in me.”
Murchadha sighs. “I pray for all our sakes you are wrong. The way that girl looked at you, I can hardly believe she loves anyone else.”
I’m failing already
.
“You must have misinterpreted her behavior. Moments before you arrived, she was yelling at me for looking at her. I have to admit, she is like her parents—although blind to the games played by the Dufaighs—she is strong, stubborn, and confident. It is unfortunate Perth was able to sweep her off her feet before me, but I did not lose everything. Her lovely sister came as a consolation prize.”
Murchadha places his hand on Arland’s shoulders. “I have known you since you were a child, Arland; in many ways you have been the son I lost when this war began. Will you forgive me if I say I do not believe a word you speak? If you feel there is something important enough for you to hold back the truth, I will not press you any further.”
“Sir—”
“I understand it must be quite important. You have always been the most honest man. I saw the way you looked at her, as well, and I have never heard you speak of a woman as some sort of prize to be won. Be careful. The others may not know you as well as I do, but if you are going convince people, you are going to need to try harder than that.”
The hinges of the old wooden door to the bathroom squeak like they haven’t been opened in a hundred years. Brit pokes her head out.
Murchadha nods, drops his hand from Arland’s shoulder, then walks away.
“Who was that?” she asks.
“Someone I did a terrible job of convincing.”
“Convincing of what?”
Arland offers his arm to Brit; she’s wrapped in her towel, and I imagine I look just as silly as her—if anyone could see me.
“We have to find Katriona before anyone else does. Apparently our eyes have a terrible way of giving us away.”
“Tell me you weren’t caught looking at each other.”
He doesn’t speak.
Stepping out of the protective bubble of my spell, I allow them to see me.
Arland glances up first, big creases lining his forehead. “You heard?”
I attempt to smile, but nerves probably make it look more like a grimace. “I concealed myself.”
“We need to get you back to your room, and to Perth,” he says. “Stay in front of us while we walk, put your best worst expression on your face, and pretend to be mad.”
Turning around, I march down the hall in my ridiculously skimpy towel and do my best to scowl. We pass doors and passages leading in other directions. No one crosses our path, and there are no sounds to be heard; however, smells of chicken, potatoes, fruits, and so many other wonderful scents fill my nose and set my mouth to watering.
“Something smells really good,” Brit says.
“That is the feast for your sister and Perth, my love.”
I do my best not to fall over my feet.
“Arland!” A man calls from behind us. “Hold up.”
“Sorry, Brice”—Arland says without stopping—”I must get these two ladies to their rooms. You may follow us if you wish, but I would advise keeping your eyes pointed at the floor.”
I don’t even give the man the time of day. Failure seems to be the only thing I’m good at lately, and adding one more suspicious person to the list is not what any of us needs.
“At the floor? Why am I not allowed to look at them?”
“If you look at that one, the Dufaighs will kill you, and if you look at this one … .”
Whoever Brice is, he sounds young—at least no older than any of us. “Understood. So who is she … the one belonging to the Dufaighs?”
“Katriona Wilde.”
“Oh. You were not having a laugh; they truly would kill me for looking at her. Well, I have been summoned to the great room for some sort of spell casting. Now I know why. We should talk more later, Arland.”
“Nice to meet you, Miss … ?”
“Brites Wilde. I’m Katriona’s sister.”
“What does your father say of you holding on to her arm the way you do, Arland?”
“He says I should be Bound to her, Brice. So I advise you avert your eyes from her indec—”
“But … ?”
Arland growls. “You have things to take care of in the great room. Go.”
Curiosity piqued beyond control, I spare a glance over my shoulder. Brice
is
young—no older than Arland—his light brown hair is the only thing I make out before he disappears back into the shadows.
Arland points to his left. “This is it, Katriona.”
This door is different from most I’ve seen anywhere in Encardia; it’s wooden, but has black steel reinforced bars across the front of it.
“Lot of crime in this neighborhood?” Brit asks.
He tips his head toward the door. “It is a safe room for valuable people. Go on in. Rhoswen should be waiting for you.”
“Who?” I wrap my hands around one of the prison cell bars for support. My legs are weak. My will to meet anyone else or go into the great room for a party—actually my will for any of this is just gone.
“Dufaigh’s dresser.”
I stare at my sister’s arm hooked through Arland’s. “Where will you guys be?”
He points to a door right next to mine. It doesn’t have bars on it. “Brit will be there, and I will be outside. Always here for you. Knock if you need anything.”
Expecting to find it locked, I slowly turn the handle on the door, but it opens right up. The room is well lit by a thousand candles. Crystal chandeliers hang from the ceiling. Glass jars line the floor, and polished silver candelabras rest atop a large oak table between the four poster bed and vanity—everything reeks of extravagance. These must have been Dufaigh’s quarters.
A short young woman with long blonde hair stands tapping her toe, hands on her hips. A green velvet dress and a pewter brush rest on the table in the middle of the room.
“Rhoswen?” I ask, securing my towel around my chest.
“Yes. What took you so long? We have to get you ready for a celebration and look at you … .” Her lip rises to her nose like I smell bad. “This is going to take quite some time.”
“Right, well I will leave you to it. Again, Miss Wilde, if you need anything, just knock and I will be here.” Arland backs out of the doorway.
The metal hinges creak behind me, breaking my resolve. “Wait!”
He flashes a cross look, but pushes open the door enough to poke his head through. “Yes?”
“Do not get too cozy with my sister,” I whisper so low Rhoswen cannot possibly hear me.
Arland looks past my shoulder then places his fist over his heart. “I promise to love you—and only you—through life and into death, Katriona. Remember that.”
“You, too.” I cannot imagine what me kissing Perth in front of everyone will do to Arland, but I know what him touching my sister has already done to me, and I don’t like any of this.
Rhoswen leads me to a mirror in the back of the room. With a hand on each of my arms, she smiles at my reflection. The girl looking back at me is not Katriona Wilde; whoever this girl is, the most obvious thing about her is how battered she is. A light mustard color creates a circle under her left eye. Cuts and scratches cover her face and neck—wounds she didn’t even know existed—and she appears ten pounds underweight.
Reaching my hand to my hair, I touch the small intricate braids Rhoswen created. They run from the front of my head to the back, twisting around each other until they finally become one. The end of the braid rests between my shoulder blades—a style I’d never choose.
She smacks my hand away and glares at the girl in the mirror. “You should not touch them. Your hair was not cooperative and will likely fall.”
“I am sorry,” I whisper, but I don’t care if my hair falls from the braids.
Inspecting the rest of my alien form, I think about my mom and if she used to dress this way before she and my father escaped. Would Mom approve of me wearing a green velvet gown? Would the clothes remind her of herself? Of happier times? I don’t think it’s possible. Judging by the garments everyone else wears in Encardia, this kind of clothing could never be deemed appropriate.
I cannot believe in the midst of all this madness Dufaigh has the audacity to dress me this way. He’s turned me into a weapon of false hope against everyone, and I hate it. Katriona’s here to save the world, but she can’t have what she desires, so you’re not going to get what you desire either. Not that he’d ever tell any of them that.
“I do not know what you see in that boy,” Rhoswen says, still looking at my reflection.
A tear sits in the corner of my eye, and I wipe it away before she sees. “What?”
“Katriona, I may be a Ground Dweller, but the boy is just like his father. We are all sick of their evil ways. You had life in your eyes until Leader Maher walked away, and you cry at your own reflection … I doubt you are Dufaigh family material.”
“He is a good man,” I say.
“Who?”
“Perth.”
Rhoswen grabs my arm. “Turn and look at my eyes.”
Without turning all the way around, I look over my shoulder. Her eyes have even less color than Perth’s, her skin is a sickening shade of white, and her hair is bleach blonde. She’s as colorless as snow.
“You have the power to end this war, do you not?”
If I respond with an honest answer and this is all a trick to see where my allegiances lie, then we will all be killed for sure. But if Rhoswen means what she says, and I lie, then I lose a possible ally. I wish there were a way to see through people the way I do the shifters.
I close my eyes, but see nothing to help me decide if she’s trustworthy.
“I do have the power to end this war.”
She cups my cheek with her cold hand. “Then leave this place and fight.”
Pulling away from her, I shake my head. “I cannot.”
She sighs. “Is it for love? For the boy?”
“Love is involved, Rhoswen. I—”
A loud knock at the door interrupts our conversation.
“It is probably better you tell me nothing, but there is something different about you. Not just your magic. There is something special about
you
. When you saw all these worthless possessions of the Dufaigh’s and turned up your nose, I knew you were good. Do not let us down.” Dropping her hands to her sides, she crosses the room then opens the door.
I’m standing right where she left me, staring into the mirror with my mouth hanging wide-open.
Perth enters the room. He’s dressed in a tan velvet tunic, dark brown leather pants, and a matching belt is cinched at his waist. He stops walking when we meet eyes in the mirror.