The Pledge
Page 57
Even in the pale light of the candle I could see the resemblance. Like all the other pictures I’d looked through, it was like looking in a mirror. I lifted my gaze to his. I had so many questions.
“Queen Avonlea,” he explained. “She was the first to die in the Revolution.” His dark eyes were heavy with sadness. “My brother and I used to hunt for treasure on the palace grounds. . . . I doubt my grandmother even noticed when this went missing.” He held it out for me. “It seems as though it belongs to you now.”
I shook my head, backing away as if the locket would somehow scald me. “I don’t want it. I can’t—”
Max didn’t press me; he simply put the necklace back into his pocket. “And then when I saw you with your friend, you seemed to understand my guards. . . .” He studied me pensively. “No one should have known what they said.” It wasn’t an accusation, but it felt like one.
I looked away, not ready to admit anything.
“Is it just the Royal language, Charlie, or are there others?” He stepped again, this time standing right against me. If I’d wanted to meet his gaze, I would only have had to tip my head back. But I didn’t. I stood stock-still. “Didn’t you ever wonder how that was possible? How a vendor’s daughter could understand a language she’d never heard before?” He reached over, his finger nudging my chin to gain my attention. “You’d never heard it before, had you?” He didn’t bother speaking in Englaise now. And I didn’t pretend not to understand.
I shook my head, my eyes finding his. My heart was thundering in my chest, making so much noise I was surprised I could even hear his words.
“Your parents knew?”
A slow nod, a simple admission.
“They never explained what it meant? About why you might have this . . . ability?”
I glared at him, the only answer I was willing to offer. What did he know of my parents? What right did he have to question their reasons for what they did—or did not—tell me?
“You know,” he continued, refusing to relent, even while facing my frown, “only those who can be queen are born with powers. Only the female royals.”
I took a step back, bumping into the table behind me. “It’s not a power,” I tried to explain, shrugging it off. “It’s nothing. Less than nothing.”
He smiled then, but it wasn’t at all warm or friendly; it was triumphant, gloating. “Really, Charlie? Tell that to everyone who can understand only the language of their class.” Then he tipped his head toward Angelina, just four years old, a beautiful slumbering angel, oblivious to how her life was changing. “What about her? Do you know what she can do yet?”
I frowned at him, my head reeling. “So, what now?” I finally managed, ignoring his question. I felt dangerously light-headed.
Max reached for my hand, and I was too overwhelmed to keep it J gllai I f from him. I wasn’t sure what I thought about him, whether I trusted him or not. But for the moment, he was all I had. Besides, he made me feel things that had nothing to do with trust, and if I was being completely honest, I liked having my hand in his.
“I’m not sure. I suppose that depends on you.” He was speaking in Englaise again, probably to put me at ease. His thumb moved in lazy circles over my palm, as if he were trying to create his own language, trying to communicate with me through his touch. I understood the meaning even if I didn’t comprehend the vernacular. “There are things we need to discuss.”
A loud crash outside the door made me jump, and I pulled my hand away, tucking it behind my back as if hiding the evidence of our intimacy.
“Don’t move,” he ordered, even as I was rushing to Angelina, who’d been awakened by the commotion. He shot me a warning look, telling me that he meant it, but it didn’t matter—the door was already swinging inward.
Claude stormed inside. “There’s someone outside who insists on seeing the girl.” I wondered if he actually didn’t know I could understand him.
Max played along, keeping his sentry in the dark. “Who is it?”
“Xander.” The way he said Xander’s name made me shudder. It was dark and laced with menace. There was a history there, I was certain. “And he’s not alone.” Claude smiled then, and like Max’s smile before, there was nothing warm or friendly about it. It was pure daring, and it was chilling. “Do you want me to handle him?”
Max glanced at me, sizing up my response before answering. He’d made it clear that he’d seen me with Xander that night at Prey, but I could only guess at whether he knew Xander’s role in the resistance.
“No. Let him in. But only him.”
Claude looked disappointed but did as he was told, leaving to fetch the leader of the revolutionaries.
“How much have you told Xander? How much does he know?” Max asked quickly once we were alone again.
“Nothing. I haven’t told him anything.” I stood up from the sofa, leaving Angelina behind my back as I tried to recall if Xander had ever questioned what I could do. “But he’s the one who explained who we are. Or at least who he believes we are.”
Max’s eyes narrowed as Claude returned, Xander at his side.
I wasn’t certain that I’d ever noticed just how large Xander was until that moment; he very nearly rivaled Claude in height. He was less bulky, perhaps, but still muscular in a leaner, stealthier way. Xander appeared more jungle predator, ready to strike, while Claude bore the presence of a charging bull. Each demanded notice in their own way.
“Queen Avonlea,” he explained. “She was the first to die in the Revolution.” His dark eyes were heavy with sadness. “My brother and I used to hunt for treasure on the palace grounds. . . . I doubt my grandmother even noticed when this went missing.” He held it out for me. “It seems as though it belongs to you now.”
I shook my head, backing away as if the locket would somehow scald me. “I don’t want it. I can’t—”
Max didn’t press me; he simply put the necklace back into his pocket. “And then when I saw you with your friend, you seemed to understand my guards. . . .” He studied me pensively. “No one should have known what they said.” It wasn’t an accusation, but it felt like one.
I looked away, not ready to admit anything.
“Is it just the Royal language, Charlie, or are there others?” He stepped again, this time standing right against me. If I’d wanted to meet his gaze, I would only have had to tip my head back. But I didn’t. I stood stock-still. “Didn’t you ever wonder how that was possible? How a vendor’s daughter could understand a language she’d never heard before?” He reached over, his finger nudging my chin to gain my attention. “You’d never heard it before, had you?” He didn’t bother speaking in Englaise now. And I didn’t pretend not to understand.
I shook my head, my eyes finding his. My heart was thundering in my chest, making so much noise I was surprised I could even hear his words.
“Your parents knew?”
A slow nod, a simple admission.
“They never explained what it meant? About why you might have this . . . ability?”
I glared at him, the only answer I was willing to offer. What did he know of my parents? What right did he have to question their reasons for what they did—or did not—tell me?
“You know,” he continued, refusing to relent, even while facing my frown, “only those who can be queen are born with powers. Only the female royals.”
I took a step back, bumping into the table behind me. “It’s not a power,” I tried to explain, shrugging it off. “It’s nothing. Less than nothing.”
He smiled then, but it wasn’t at all warm or friendly; it was triumphant, gloating. “Really, Charlie? Tell that to everyone who can understand only the language of their class.” Then he tipped his head toward Angelina, just four years old, a beautiful slumbering angel, oblivious to how her life was changing. “What about her? Do you know what she can do yet?”
I frowned at him, my head reeling. “So, what now?” I finally managed, ignoring his question. I felt dangerously light-headed.
Max reached for my hand, and I was too overwhelmed to keep it J gllai I f from him. I wasn’t sure what I thought about him, whether I trusted him or not. But for the moment, he was all I had. Besides, he made me feel things that had nothing to do with trust, and if I was being completely honest, I liked having my hand in his.
“I’m not sure. I suppose that depends on you.” He was speaking in Englaise again, probably to put me at ease. His thumb moved in lazy circles over my palm, as if he were trying to create his own language, trying to communicate with me through his touch. I understood the meaning even if I didn’t comprehend the vernacular. “There are things we need to discuss.”
A loud crash outside the door made me jump, and I pulled my hand away, tucking it behind my back as if hiding the evidence of our intimacy.
“Don’t move,” he ordered, even as I was rushing to Angelina, who’d been awakened by the commotion. He shot me a warning look, telling me that he meant it, but it didn’t matter—the door was already swinging inward.
Claude stormed inside. “There’s someone outside who insists on seeing the girl.” I wondered if he actually didn’t know I could understand him.
Max played along, keeping his sentry in the dark. “Who is it?”
“Xander.” The way he said Xander’s name made me shudder. It was dark and laced with menace. There was a history there, I was certain. “And he’s not alone.” Claude smiled then, and like Max’s smile before, there was nothing warm or friendly about it. It was pure daring, and it was chilling. “Do you want me to handle him?”
Max glanced at me, sizing up my response before answering. He’d made it clear that he’d seen me with Xander that night at Prey, but I could only guess at whether he knew Xander’s role in the resistance.
“No. Let him in. But only him.”
Claude looked disappointed but did as he was told, leaving to fetch the leader of the revolutionaries.
“How much have you told Xander? How much does he know?” Max asked quickly once we were alone again.
“Nothing. I haven’t told him anything.” I stood up from the sofa, leaving Angelina behind my back as I tried to recall if Xander had ever questioned what I could do. “But he’s the one who explained who we are. Or at least who he believes we are.”
Max’s eyes narrowed as Claude returned, Xander at his side.
I wasn’t certain that I’d ever noticed just how large Xander was until that moment; he very nearly rivaled Claude in height. He was less bulky, perhaps, but still muscular in a leaner, stealthier way. Xander appeared more jungle predator, ready to strike, while Claude bore the presence of a charging bull. Each demanded notice in their own way.
