The Pledge (11 page)

The queen mulled the information over before speaking again, staring at the giant before her. A lesser man would have cowered beneath her withering gaze, but Zafir could hold his own against his regent. All the royal guards were handpicked for their fearlessness.

“Anything else to add?”
She looked to the other guard, the second monster-sized man before her.

“No, Your Majesty.”
Claude’s answer was brief, to the point.

At last she turned her stare to Max, the third uniformed man in the room, addressing him for the first time.
“What about the girl? Any news of the girl?”

He looked at his queen, studying her shriveled gray skin and her ghostlike eyes, wondering how she could even see through the haze that coated them. He knew, however, that nothing escaped her. Except, perhaps, this:
“No, Your Majesty. We know nothing of the girl.”

The lie felt easy rolling from his tongue, and he wondered if that was how his head would feel when the guillotine separated it from his body were she to discover the truth.

He wondered, also, why he hadn’t told her, why he’d decided to keep the information to himself. She was his queen, it was his duty to divulge any and all information she demanded of him.

He pictured the pale girl with the silvery blond hair whom he’d seen twice now at the club, and he justified to himself that he wasn’t actually lying. He didn’t know who she was.
He had no way of knowing if this was the girl for whom they’d been searching.

The queen scrutinized him, her milky gaze raking him from head to toe, and—he knew from the antipathy on her face—finding him lacking. But not, he realized, discerning the inaccuracy of his statement.

“Leave,”
she commanded, releasing them, at last, from the cruel heat.

vi

I stayed awake well into the night, replaying the moment that Max had walked into the club—and then deliberately ignored me—over and over again in my mind. When I awoke, I was frustrated to find that I’d overslept and my parents had gone ahead without me. Since there was no school today, I thought about pulling the covers over my head and just staying there, avoiding the real world and pretending that last night had never happened at all. Unfortunately, my parents still needed me, and I couldn’t let them down.

I dressed quickly, binding my hair away from my face and rushing out the door, into streets that were already crowded and sun-scorched.

Morning in the marketplace had always been one of my favorite times. I’d loved the bustle of activity, the rush of the Serving class as they attended to the needs of their assigned households. It was when the first loaves of bread were being pulled from the ovens and fresh tea leaves were being brewed. When Englaise was the only language spoken, as
shopkeepers were forced to trade in the universal language.

But now the streets were choked, and the new refugees suffocated me as I was propelled forward by the swell of bodies.

I stopped once, as did nearly everyone around me, to notice that the flags in the plaza had been changed overnight. The white flags of Ludania no longer flew—spotless and crisp—above the square. In their place, the queen’s flags had been raised, a golden profile of the queen herself set atop a bloodred field.

Yet another reminder that queen came before country, and I could feel her grip tightening like a noose as I wondered where this would end.

I was glad to be swallowed again by the claustrophobic mass.

When I reached my parents’ restaurant and saw who awaited me, I suddenly wished that I
had
stayed home in bed, and I hesitated midstep, nearly stumbling as the urge to run away overwhelmed me.

There was Max, sitting at one of the small sidewalk tables out front, his long legs stretched casually before him. I quelled the sudden rush of embarrassment I felt as I remembered how easily he’d disregarded me the night before, without hesitation. And no matter how hard I tried to push it down, the memory stayed with me, just as it had throughout the night.

I could still leave,
I realized. He had yet to notice my approach.

But then he glanced up, his gaze capturing mine. I was unable to move. Or even to breathe. I became a clog in the constantly shifting foot traffic, as people bumped and crowded me.

In broad daylight, away from the darkened shadows of the
club, he appeared even younger than he had in my memories. I doubted he was much older than I was: eighteen, perhaps nineteen. His eyes were intense, and I again had the feeling that I shouldn’t be meeting them directly, that I ought to look away. Yet they were as deep and mesmerizing as they were alarming. And I was spellbound.

I tried to find those feelings again, the ones from that first night, the trepidation and imminent danger that had forced me to flee from the club when I’d heard his friends speaking. But somehow, standing here in the bright sunlight of the market place, I was unable to recall them. And the longer I stayed there, my eyes locked with his, the harder it was to imagine that I’d ever felt them at all.

I
was
afraid of him, and my heart beat entirely too fast inside my chest, but not for the same reasons that I’d been frightened that night.

He stood from the table as I approached hesitantly, and I tried to read his expression, but just like the night before, it was impossible to interpret.

I frowned. “What are you doing here?” I asked when I finally reached him.

His eyebrows raised just the barest degree, making me feel things I had no business feeling as a rush of heat surged through me. But I refused to let him see how he affected me.

“I came to see you,” he answered far too easily.

“I guessed that much.” I crossed my arms as I glanced around to see if anyone was watching us. I wasn’t ready to answer prying questions from my parents. I lifted my chin. “Why?”

“You’re not one for conversation, are you?” He studied my
expression, and I could see amusement flickering just behind those charcoal eyes. Eyes that I’d spent far too much time imagining. But I wasn’t amused. At last, he exhaled loudly. “Honestly, I’m not exactly sure why I came. I probably shouldn’t be here at all. But you intrigue me, and I had to see you again.”

“You saw me last night, but I didn’t
intrigue
you then. You barely noticed me.”

Max hesitated, frowning. “That’s not true. I noticed . . .” He lowered his voice as his hand slipped to my arm. It was a quiet warning. “You should be careful about who you keep company with.”

I raised my eyebrows, daring him to finish his thoughts, but he didn’t need to; I’d noticed the way he looked at Xander. “Is that why you pretended not to know me?” I wrenched my arm from his grip.

He took a step closer, and my ribs crushed my heart, threatening to stop it from beating. I wanted it to be fear, and that’s what I told myself it was, that I felt threatened by Max. But I knew better, I knew it was something more. And then he surprised me by softly asking, “Why did you leave so early that first night?”

I was afraid to speak, but he just stood there, waiting. I tilted my head back, so I could meet his stare. I wavered, trying to decide how to answer him, and then I simply said, “I wasn’t feeling well.”

He gazed down at me, and I had the strangest feeling he knew I was lying. But he only sighed, a reluctant smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “Will you walk with me?” he asked at last.

It would have been easier to answer if I could breathe, and if my pulse would stop fluttering so wildly. I shook my head, unable to stop staring. “No.” I finally trusted my voice. “I need to get inside. I have work to do.”

“What are you so afraid of?”
He said it so tenderly, so gently, that I almost didn’t realize he hadn’t spoken in Englaise. Yet it wasn’t Parshon, either, which was the only other language I could have responded to.

I’d heard those sounds—that dialect—only one other time, that night at the club, when his friends had spoken about Brooklynn.

And the law was clear.

I blinked once, keeping his dark gaze in view for an instant too long, and then I dropped my head. This time my heart crashed within my chest for entirely the right reasons: fear, terror, dread.

“I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

I prayed that he believed me. He reached across, inching my chin up so he could look at me.

There was a scowl on his face, or was it something else? I wished that I could decipher his expressions as easily as I’d translated his words.

And that was when we heard it—the cheer coming from the square at the center of the marketplace. An execution.

I didn’t move, didn’t blink.

But Max did. He flinched, as violently as if he’d just been slapped in the face. And then his eyes filled with such sadness that I felt like he was reading my most private inner thoughts.

The thoughts that said,
How can anyone celebrate such an event? Why would anyone want to be there to witness it?

It was the reason I avoided the central square each and every day.

I glanced around, nervous that someone might have seen his reaction. The law didn’t dictate that we show joy at such an event, but it was best not to draw unwanted attention by showing revulsion, either, not with so many citizens willing to turn on one another.

After all, whoever had just been hanged in the square
was
considered a criminal—an enemy of the queen, possibly even a spy.

Or maybe just someone who refused to look away in the presence of a language that wasn’t her own.

His hand reached for mine, his fingers grazing the sensitive skin at the back of my hand where the hand stamp was still healing. “Are you sure you won’t change your mind and walk with me? I’d really like to get to know you better. I think there’s more to you than just a pretty girl with a sharp tongue.” He smiled fully then, his eyes crinkling—boyishly charming. I did my best not to notice.

“There’s not. I’m just a simple vendor girl. And I’m late for work.” I turned on my heel, my head throbbing as I left him standing there on the sidewalk. I rounded the corner at the alley, wanting to get away from him as quickly as possible, and when I reached the back entrance and stepped into the familiar kitchen, I immediately felt the tension in my muscles seeping out in a rush.

I hadn’t realized that I’d been so stiff in his presence, practically stonelike.

Or that I’d been holding my breath almost the entire time.

The sirens that shattered the still of the night felt like they were coming from inside my darkened bedroom. I sat upright in my bed, my body jolted from sleep far ahead of my brain. Beside me, I felt Angelina’s body start, and then her fingers were digging into my side, clinging to me.

I blinked, trying to clear my thoughts, to make sense of what was happening as the sirens continued to blare from the streets outside.

An attack,
I was slow to realize.
The city was under attack.
These were not the sirens of a drill.

My bedroom door crashed open, battering the wall behind it. I jumped again.

My father marched across the room in two long strides, handing me my boots and a jacket. My mother was already scooping Angelina off the bed and stuffing her into her own coat.

There was no time to be sleepy or sluggish. I shrugged into the sleeves of my jacket.

“Take your sister down into the mine shafts.”
My father’s voice was brisk, no-nonsense.

My mother handed my sister over to me, and I took her, my feet trembling as I stepped into my unlaced boots.

“What about you? You’re not coming with us?”

My father dropped to his knees and tied my laces, while my mother petted Angelina’s hair. She kissed us both, tears in her eyes.

“No, we’ll stay here, in case the troops come. If your mother and I are here, maybe they’ll believe that it’s just the two of us, that we live alone.”
He stood as he finished, meeting my worried expression.
“Then maybe they won’t come looking for you and your sister.”

His words didn’t make sense to me, but none of this did. Why would the troops be interested in us at all, with or without our parents? Why would they bother searching for two girls, children who’d escaped into the night?

I shook my head, wanting to protest, to tell him that I wouldn’t go without them, but couldn’t find my voice.

“Go, Charlaina. Now.”
He pushed me toward the door.
“We don’t have time to argue.”

I dug in my heels, but he was stronger than me and pushed harder than I could. Angelina clung to me, her arms wrapped tightly around my neck, Muffin dangling from her white-knuckled fist. Her eyes were wide and terror-filled.

I relented as the sirens outside assailed my ears; I had to get Angelina to safety.

“We’ll come for you when it’s safe.” My father’s voice softened when he realized that I was moving, finally, toward the door.

Behind me, I heard my mother’s sobs.