The Essence
Page 12
Listen to your friend, Charlaina. Not everyone can accept change. Not everyone wants the kinds of freedom you’ve offered them.
Sabara’s voice filled my head like liquefied hatred. Loathsome and wretched. It seeped through my veins like bile and I braced myself against the mirrored vanity, leaning closer and trying to see past my own eyes—to see through myself—to get a glimpse of her. I wanted to know if she was in there, somehow watching me from the other side of the looking glass.
But it was just me. I was the same girl I’d always been, except that now I looked tired, drawn; my eyes were bleary.
I decided to prod her, hoping I sounded stronger than I felt. Hoping she couldn’t read my thoughts as well as my emotions.
“Say what you will, Sabara,” I ground out on a hushed breath, feeling somewhat foolish. “But I’m not the one trapped. I’m not the one entombed in a body that’s not my own.” To make my point, I curtsied to the likeness that stared back at me and stood again sharply. My actions were jerky, like my limbs were being pulled by a puppeteer’s hands. But it was only me. I was the one pulling the strings. “I’m the one in control here, not you.”
The door opened then, and Brooklynn peeked inside. “Did you need something? I thought I heard you,” she asked, scrutinizing me, and I wondered what she saw as I slowly stood again, letting my arms fall to my sides.
I shook my head, staring at her, still not ready to trust my voice.
“Well, come on then.” She reached out her hand and I stepped toward her. “Look at you, all fancy and queenly.” She grinned, holding out her arm for me, acting as if she were my date for the evening. Acting as if nothing had changed between us . . . as if we were the same old Charlie and Brook.
I smiled sheepishly, looking down at my black dress. “We match,” I said, because I could think of nothing else.
Brooklynn laughed at me, leaning her head against mine as Zafir held the door for the two of us. “Oh, Charlie, when will you realize: We’ve never matched. It’s what makes us perfect for each other.”
Something electric filled the air the moment I entered the dining hall. At first I thought it was Eden. It was typical to feel her emotions, even when her face was completely blank.
As if she could ever manage that, I thought, smiling inwardly. She wore expressions like accessories, jewelry to match her stormy moods. I noted her usual suspicious glare as she stood protectively behind my little sister, who was already seated at the dining table. Eden’s coal-black eyes took in every minute detail of the room.
But it wasn’t her that I sensed; I was certain of that. I recognized her mood instantly. Watchful and wary. A hawk guarding a sparrow.
No, it was something else that had the tiny hairs at the nape of my neck standing up in warning.
And then I saw them on the other side of the room, near the windows that overlooked the gardens. The cluster of people spoke among themselves, and I could see only their backs. They were too far away for me to get a good look, but
it was hard to imagine that any of them was the emissary Brook had told me about—an ambassador who’d been dispatched to be the face of their nation. Even from here, they all appeared too rough and uncivilized to be suitable.
Besides, emissaries were almost always women. Unlike me, most queens tended to prefer other women in their highest counsel positions. Or so I’d been told.
Max stepped forward then, with Claude shadowing him. Unlike Zafir, who had once been one of Max’s royal guards, Claude had decided to remain with Max. It hadn’t mattered to Claude that Max no longer held a royal title after his grandmother’s death.
I was the queen now.
But they didn’t know what I knew about Sabara. That she’d somehow survived. That she’d found a way to be heard in the deepest recesses of my mind.
Even I knew it sounded like madness.
I grinned as Max met me at the doorway, blocking most of my view of the room and all thoughts of Sabara. He was dressed in full ambassadorial regalia. In his official role he was my chief adviser, the person who kept me apprised of policies both foreign and domestic. Unofficially, he was the person I most counted on in this world. He protected me. Not me the queen. Just me, Charlaina. Charlie.
“You look beautiful,” I whispered, letting him take my arm.
“I was supposed to say that.”
“That you look beautiful? Be my guest, but I think it sounds better if I say it.”
A ghost of a smile pulled at his lips as he drew me closer to his side than any adviser should. “Our guest is anxious to meet you.”
Already my father was sitting beside my little sister and my mother at the long dining table set with polished silver and gleaming china. His pale blue eyes, so much like my own and Angelina’s, sparkled approvingly as he took in my appearance.
Smiling back at him, I tried to ignore the other sensation that plagued me. The one that warned me that something was . . . off.
“Where is she?” I forced my gaze to Max.
“He,” Max corrected me. “The ambassador is a he.” And when I flashed him a curious look, he grinned down at me. “I know. What is it with these progressive queens and the men in their lives? His name is Niko Bartolo. He’s the adviser . . .” He raised his eyebrows meaningfully as he glanced down at me, intentionally reminding me that he, himself, was more than just my adviser. I felt myself blushing. “. . . . to Queen Vespaire of the Third Realm.”
The Third Realm was at least two days—and one full queendom—from Ludania by train. Six by horse. These visitors were far from home.
Sabara’s voice filled my head like liquefied hatred. Loathsome and wretched. It seeped through my veins like bile and I braced myself against the mirrored vanity, leaning closer and trying to see past my own eyes—to see through myself—to get a glimpse of her. I wanted to know if she was in there, somehow watching me from the other side of the looking glass.
But it was just me. I was the same girl I’d always been, except that now I looked tired, drawn; my eyes were bleary.
I decided to prod her, hoping I sounded stronger than I felt. Hoping she couldn’t read my thoughts as well as my emotions.
“Say what you will, Sabara,” I ground out on a hushed breath, feeling somewhat foolish. “But I’m not the one trapped. I’m not the one entombed in a body that’s not my own.” To make my point, I curtsied to the likeness that stared back at me and stood again sharply. My actions were jerky, like my limbs were being pulled by a puppeteer’s hands. But it was only me. I was the one pulling the strings. “I’m the one in control here, not you.”
The door opened then, and Brooklynn peeked inside. “Did you need something? I thought I heard you,” she asked, scrutinizing me, and I wondered what she saw as I slowly stood again, letting my arms fall to my sides.
I shook my head, staring at her, still not ready to trust my voice.
“Well, come on then.” She reached out her hand and I stepped toward her. “Look at you, all fancy and queenly.” She grinned, holding out her arm for me, acting as if she were my date for the evening. Acting as if nothing had changed between us . . . as if we were the same old Charlie and Brook.
I smiled sheepishly, looking down at my black dress. “We match,” I said, because I could think of nothing else.
Brooklynn laughed at me, leaning her head against mine as Zafir held the door for the two of us. “Oh, Charlie, when will you realize: We’ve never matched. It’s what makes us perfect for each other.”
Something electric filled the air the moment I entered the dining hall. At first I thought it was Eden. It was typical to feel her emotions, even when her face was completely blank.
As if she could ever manage that, I thought, smiling inwardly. She wore expressions like accessories, jewelry to match her stormy moods. I noted her usual suspicious glare as she stood protectively behind my little sister, who was already seated at the dining table. Eden’s coal-black eyes took in every minute detail of the room.
But it wasn’t her that I sensed; I was certain of that. I recognized her mood instantly. Watchful and wary. A hawk guarding a sparrow.
No, it was something else that had the tiny hairs at the nape of my neck standing up in warning.
And then I saw them on the other side of the room, near the windows that overlooked the gardens. The cluster of people spoke among themselves, and I could see only their backs. They were too far away for me to get a good look, but
it was hard to imagine that any of them was the emissary Brook had told me about—an ambassador who’d been dispatched to be the face of their nation. Even from here, they all appeared too rough and uncivilized to be suitable.
Besides, emissaries were almost always women. Unlike me, most queens tended to prefer other women in their highest counsel positions. Or so I’d been told.
Max stepped forward then, with Claude shadowing him. Unlike Zafir, who had once been one of Max’s royal guards, Claude had decided to remain with Max. It hadn’t mattered to Claude that Max no longer held a royal title after his grandmother’s death.
I was the queen now.
But they didn’t know what I knew about Sabara. That she’d somehow survived. That she’d found a way to be heard in the deepest recesses of my mind.
Even I knew it sounded like madness.
I grinned as Max met me at the doorway, blocking most of my view of the room and all thoughts of Sabara. He was dressed in full ambassadorial regalia. In his official role he was my chief adviser, the person who kept me apprised of policies both foreign and domestic. Unofficially, he was the person I most counted on in this world. He protected me. Not me the queen. Just me, Charlaina. Charlie.
“You look beautiful,” I whispered, letting him take my arm.
“I was supposed to say that.”
“That you look beautiful? Be my guest, but I think it sounds better if I say it.”
A ghost of a smile pulled at his lips as he drew me closer to his side than any adviser should. “Our guest is anxious to meet you.”
Already my father was sitting beside my little sister and my mother at the long dining table set with polished silver and gleaming china. His pale blue eyes, so much like my own and Angelina’s, sparkled approvingly as he took in my appearance.
Smiling back at him, I tried to ignore the other sensation that plagued me. The one that warned me that something was . . . off.
“Where is she?” I forced my gaze to Max.
“He,” Max corrected me. “The ambassador is a he.” And when I flashed him a curious look, he grinned down at me. “I know. What is it with these progressive queens and the men in their lives? His name is Niko Bartolo. He’s the adviser . . .” He raised his eyebrows meaningfully as he glanced down at me, intentionally reminding me that he, himself, was more than just my adviser. I felt myself blushing. “. . . . to Queen Vespaire of the Third Realm.”
The Third Realm was at least two days—and one full queendom—from Ludania by train. Six by horse. These visitors were far from home.
