Chapter 18
Chapter
Eighteen
SANITY, A DREAM OF DISTANT YOUTH
I must be gone and live, or stay and die.
—Romeo and Juliet, Act 3, Scene 5
I leave for a few moments of quiet, but turn when footsteps approach behind. Baba leans down to kiss my forehead, his hands settling on my shoulders.
“Wü mwega? Every time you leave to fight, I lose another one of my lives.”
It’s a joke between us, the number of lives my human father owns. Since Maman died, his aging process has returned to near mortal rates. At seventy, he looks an ageless fifty. Fit, healthy and strong, the most handsome man I know, but approaching middle-aged.
I squeeze his hand. “You waste your time worrying about me.”
“Is it ever a waste for a father to worry about his daughter?” He surveys my face. “Tell me how you feel about the possibility of peace. Can you sheathe your sword?”
“It's hard to feel anything about a possibility.”
“Is that what you believe? You were there. The Prince spoke to you.”
“He's barely awake, Baba. Who knows what he'll want when he's himself again?”
He sighs. “I want you to enjoy an uneventful life. Manage your cafés, find a husband and give me grandchildren.” He pauses. “To allow your dream of avenging your mother to die.”
“I definitely want to be more hands-on in my businesses.”That vision I keep closest to my heart. “Wouldn't you rather have a laptop than a grandchild?”
“That would be an enticing offer if the laptop was to accompany you to courses at the University. I believe you may find Political Science coursework rather more applicable now.”
I make a face, sliding into English. It’s the perfect language for crude speech. “Baba. The only scenario in which I sit still four hours and listen to lectures—even if they're yours—is if I'm half-gone with meds, and tied down.”
I’ve yet to tell Baba about the Vow—or anyone else. . .I've been selfish. My father will have to bury his daughter, for after today I know any attempt on Prince Renaud's life, no matter how I try, will end in my death. Either he’ll kill me, or the Vow will.
“In time I think I could give up vengeance,” I say quietly. “But Danon.” I know the look on his face. “What is it?”
“Do you remember what I told you about your brother?”
Lightning strikes my temples. I clutch my head .
“I love you, little thorn, and I am well. Hold the line and hold your own.”
“Nyawira? Another migraine, Maitū?? 1 ”
Rest, Rinne. Don’t walk into the storm. Let it pass.
Darkan? “I—” It is dreary outside, cold rain instead of the warm summer squalls I enjoy.
“Wait, Danon!”
I catch myself before I lurch forward.
Papa utters something soft under his breath that could be an expletive. “I don't like this. These nosebleeds are coming on more frequently. Should you lie down? It’s been a long week for you.”
My brow furrows as fingers brush my temples and the pain dissipates. Baba’s hands are still on my shoulders. I realize I’m squeezing my eyes shut and open them, lowering my hand back to my side.
“I’ll. . .find some time to rest. You—were asking about Danon. I remember.”
When Danon was first taken, and years later when I felt I was strong enough to go after him, Baba took me aside and made me promise not to. To trust him. To let it go for now.
“What I asked of you hasn't changed,” my father says softly.
To do nothing even though my brother saved me. I only nod, because I can’t speak. We don’t know where he is, or if mounting a rescue will get him executed. We should have rescued Danon years ago.
“I should have prevented his capture. I chose Numair and
Juliette over fighting for him.”
“We've discussed this before, Aerinne. Lord Danon gave the
order, and as his Heir you executed your duty by obeying his
command.” She pauses. “The fault for his capture lies with
those who took him, and perhaps he himself for not preparing
better. Your task was to assume command in your brother’s
absence, which commenced the moment he knelt. The welfare
of your people became your first responsibility. ”
The door to the dining room opens, people spilling out. Numair and Juliette approach, Tereille on their heels. Baba nods at them, then squeezes my shoulder one more time and lets go.
“There's work to do in preparation for the talks and the University has its role—I’ll be on campus much of my time for the next several weeks; do not wait evening meals on me. Get some rest. I need to speak with Manuelle and Louvenia.” He leaves.
He’s the best of our House. A brilliant diplomat and philosopher. He taught classes at Everenne University when my mother met and claimed him. He understands how to make people like and trust him. He understands how to get people to cooperate. Sometimes I wonder if I'm truly his daughter.
I whirl on her. “You just contradicted yourself, Ward! What
have you been telling me for years? That the responsibility
for leadership, for the House, for all the deaths, for all the
strikes that go wrong while under my command , are not all
my fault! You were lying.”
Her voice is cool. “I did not lie. You understand these situations
are nuanced.”
“Nuanced.” I spit the word like a curse. “Convenient how the
nuance always protects me but not everyone else.”
“Do you regret the choice you and Lord Danon made to protect
Numair and Juliette?”
“Hot tub or alcohol?” Juliette slings an arm over my shoulders. “The others are gathering. We haven't decided how we want to drown our misery tonight.”
“No alcohol,” Numair says, giving Juliette a look. “It’s not even afternoon.”
She shrugs. “Why be ruled by the sun?”
His look turns into a glare.
“I'm suppressing my sorrow with swains,” Tereille trills, heading in the direction of édouard office. “Preferably more than one, and at the same time.”
“If Ard believed your boasts, he would break down and bawl.” Juliette stops and smacks her palm against her forehead, brow furrowing as she concentrates, speaking the next words slowly. “You jest, but he’s justly jealous.” She shouts in fury. “Tereille!”
“Don’t bother,” I mutter.
He glances over his shoulder through a lock of his streaked hair, his grin wicked. “I didn't say he won’t be one of them.”
Which means there will be fighting. Too much testosterone after a battle for édouard to feel like sharing. Oh well.
“Tell him no weapons,” I say. “Fisticuffs only.”
Tereille’s laughter fades.
“Hot tub,” Juliette decides, still fuming. “And spritzers only for you.”
“If you all do hot tubs, I'll hang out.” My gaze flickers to Numair and stays there.
“Whatever you want is fine with me,” he says quietly.
I shrug free of Juliette and step toward him, letting his arms surround me as I settle against his chest. Numair is kinder, physically stronger, and a source of comfort, but I outrank him.
His life and welfare are in my hands. I shouldn't be seeking comfort from him; he should be seeking it from me.
The complication is that it isn't only comfort he'd seek. He’s quietly let me know, over the years, that he’d be willing to be more.
“Numair isn’t for you, little thorn,” I hear Danon warn my fifteen-year-old self. “You’re marked to walk paths he can’t follow. Don’t return the looks he gives you, and Rinne—if you must, be cruel.”
But I won’t be.
I let him hold me for a minute, then step back. He lets go reluctantly.
“I don't think you're in the mood for the hot tubs,” he says, tucking some hair behind my ear. He wraps his fingers around mine and glances at Juliette.
“There’s a good red in my room,” I say. He purses his lips, but says nothing.
Numair goes to his room to shower while Juliette and I use mine. She’s done before me and when I exit, she’s already sitting on the edge of my bed, drinking straight from the bottle. I settle cross-legged on the bed, wrapped in nothing but a towel, and snatch it away to take my own long swig.
“You won't tell Numair or the others how fucked up you are right now,” she says. “But I know.”
She steals the bottle back for a long pull, then returns it. We drain it in less than ten minutes, a sorry way to treat a bottle of red, but it's also her sneaky way of making sure I don't drink the entire thing myself. I blink down at the bed, the comforter blurry.
A tear trails down my cheek. I’m supposed to be strong enough to protect them. My survival means nothing if they don’t live too.
Ward is driving me mad. “Of course I don't regret saving
them.” I try to calm my racing heart. No one needs to see my
cracks when they’re grieving.
“A cost of leadership is that you can't save everyone, Aerinne.
Lord Danon is hundreds of years old. You were sixteen.”
I lean my forehead on Juliette's shoulder as her arms wrap around my neck, almost strangling me.
My mother. . .this is what she went through for centuries longer than I.
This never-ending grief and wondering who would be next.
I've barely slept, barely functioned during my “normal” days worrying about the next death.
“Sixteen is old enough to fight, to kill. But never old enough to protect.”
She knows I don't mean myself. I don't need or want protection.
“Come on,” she says hoarsely. “We need to fix our faces before Numair comes. He’ll go into fuss mode.”
“We pretend this was a victory,” I say. “The House needs a celebration. A real one.”
She must recognize the expression on my face because she says, “You do need protection, and you deserve it. What you
are feeling is ? —”
“Survivor's guilt.” I lower myself to the floor of the gazebo and lean against the side, pulling my knees up and wrapping
my arms around them. I stare up at the sky. “Utter horseshit.”
After a few hours of attempted rest, that evening I wander the streets of my District to the crack of thunder, Numair at my side because Juliette found herself a girl and a guy to distract her. Darkan’s ire I disobeyed his instruction to stay inside grates, but the clouds haven’t opened yet.
Still. . .I look up, uneasy. It didn’t feel like weather before and it doesn’t feel like simple weather now .
The definition of too stupid to live, Darkan says, each word a stab of his icy temper, is a silly girl who is told there is danger, knows there is danger, but walks into the dark basement anyway.
I’m not alone.
My gaze catches on a tall female standing in the shadows, her skin a deeper brown than my father's, her hair a long slick fall of black. The night is shades of gray and deep blue, and she darker still. But her eyes are purple.
I squint.
We have slept long enough.
Stepping forward, I blink, and she's gone.
I begin to ask Numair, simultaneously reaching out to Darkan?—
As we wander the edges of the block party, the clop of approaching horse hooves gives me pause. I glance up, intercepting a signal from a scout posted on a rooftop, then turn and wait. A white-and-silver liveried messenger pulls up, dismounts, and trots toward me.
A palace messenger.
“I thought we'd have more time,” I say softly.
“This isn't about the negotiations,” Numair says, tense beside me. He watches the messenger approach, unblinking. “It's too soon.”
The messenger bows with a flourish and holds out a letter. He waits until I take it, bows again, then remounts his horse all without speaking to me. The envelope is addressed to the Lady of House Faronne. I stare at it, almost afraid.
“Do you want me to open it?” Numair asks.
“Rip it open and get it over with,” édouard says over my shoulder .
“Shit!” I whirl, not going for my dagger. “Where the fuck were you lurking?”
Numair squints at me. “Are you sneaking those tiny ones again, Aerinne?” he demands and begins to pat me down. I swat his hands away and snap my teeth at him. “How many bottles and what did you drink?”
“After a week like this, hard liquor,” the Commander says. “Or the tears of a fool.” His voice is dark but he's not looking at me, he's staring in the direction of the palace.
I look around for Tereille. “Where’s your owner, Arddie? Does he know his bitch chewed through his leash?”
“There are three of us standing here,” he says, “but only one female.”
I left myself wide open for that response, but we’re both satisfied with the exchange now.
Opening the letter, I scan the sentences. “It's from the Prince. The official offer of truce.”
Official as in the weight of the city crown thrown behind it. They stare at me, grim and still, but unsurprised. We knew such a missive would come, just not this early. He isn't wasting time, is he. What’s the rush.
“He invites ‘Lady Aerinne and escort’ to a ball to precede the first day of negotiations, to be followed by a city-wide faire.” Saying the words feels surreal.
A ball.
A faire.
“Court attire, and attendance is not optional. Signed, Renaud Gauthier, High Lord of House Montague, Prince of Everenne. This must be an Old One’s delightful idea of a light, twisted jest. ”
A rumble of thunder, then lightning cracks. I almost jump. It was sudden, and it sounds like it’s right in my ear.
“It’s going to rain,” Numair says, eyeing my hair. “We should head back.”
He still doesn’t understand that it’s when my hair is straight that I don’t want it to get wet. When it’s curly, I don’t care.
I turn away, palming the second slip of paper that was enfolded in the first. The first letter, formal with the Prince's silver seal. This one. . .
I shake the males and find a quiet spot where I unfold it for the second time and read the words slowly, fear and anticipation a vise at the base of my spine.
If I show my House the letter, they’ll seize their swords and storm the palace again to defend my honor. No scion of Faronne is so easily taken.
I won’t show them. I’ll take this fight to a different field.
1 ? From Emma’s feeble understanding, a term of endearment a father might use for a daughter. It’s the shortened version of Wakīa Maitū.
https://mukuyu.wordpress.com/2018/09/02/gikuyu-greetings