The Essence
Page 11

“Our lesson, Charlie?” she answered, peering over her shoulder to Zafir. “I’m not the one who needs lessons. I’m not the one afraid of horses.” As she turned back to face me, I could see that her skin was flushed and her eyes glittered feverishly. “I’m to tell you we have company for dinner, an emissary from the Third Realm.” She grinned then, looking so much like the little girl I’d once played with—rather than the commander of an army—that I was taken aback for a moment. “Your father says to dress for dinner.”
“Dressing for dinner” meant actually wearing a dress. A proper one . . . not one of the comfortable cotton shifts that allowed me to run and move freely, to play with Angelina in the woods, or to wade through the ponds with bare feet. All things I’d also been told were not queenly activities.
Sometimes the rules were unsettling.
I took in Brooklynn’s attire, ignoring the dull ache behind my eyes. To anyone else I’m certain she looked intimidating in her sleek ebony uniform. I’d let her design it herself when I’d made her a commander in my armed forces, and I’m sure that was exactly what she’d intended—to be the picture of intimidation. She was dressed entirely in black, with even the buttons fashioned from polished onyx. I’m certain her choice had nothing at all to do with how the color complemented her subtly bronzed skin, or the way her dark curls glistened against the midnight field of leather.
To me, however, she still looked like Brook.
Beautiful. And damaged.
“I need to talk to you.” Brook’s voice was quiet as she drew me away from Zafir.
I gave him the almost imperceptible signal to turn away so I could change, and then whispered back to her, “What is it?”
Brook sighed, settling onto the edge of my bed as I unbuttoned the front of my blouse and tossed it in a crumpled heap on the floor before unzipping my trousers. “I went to see my father yesterday, in preparation for your visit to the Capitol,” she explained, her words tumbling together. “Xander was right, he’s definitely up to no good.”
I winced, I knew how hard seeing him must have been for Brook. Her dad wasn’t like mine. He would never have kept her safe if she’d had a secret to keep. He would never have killed for her. “Did he give you any idea what he’s planning?”
“Not yet. But he made threats against me. And against you . . .”
I stopped tugging the gown, which was only halfway to my hips. “Did he say anything specific? Do you think he plans to try something?”
She shook her head, anticipating my thoughts. “I don’t think he’s in any position to be a serious danger. Not yet anyway,” she explained. “Besides, I told him what would happen if he didn’t back down.” She exhaled loudly. “I’m not sure he’ll actually listen, but he heard my warning clear enough.”
I tugged the black velvet dress the rest of the way up, past my hips and over my bare chest. I turned my back to Brooklynn, lifting my hair out of the way and leaving the matter of the threats alone for the moment. “How was it for you? Seeing him again?” The zipper glided smoothly, and I held my breath, letting it find its way along my spine.
When she didn’t answer right away, I turned to look at her. I saw something flash behind her eyes, and I knew that the real Brook—the girl who had once been only my friend and not the commander in my army—was aching.
“Fine,” she answered when she realized I was watching her. “Serious or not, I think you should tell Max and Xander about his threats. I think you should reschedule your tour through the city.”
I was shaking my head even before she’d finished speaking. “No,” I insisted, equally quiet but adamant, leaving no room for her to argue.
Her back stiffened and I could feel her withdrawing from me, even though she remained where she was. It wasn’t the first time I’d felt this, a growing distance between us. Although Brook was now a soldier in my service, I wasn’t sure she had grown accustomed to the shift in power between us. I’m not sure either of us had.
I hated the seemingly cavernous fissure that had spread, cracking our friendship.
I walked over to my mirror and closed my eyes. “I’d like a moment alone, please,” I whispered. “Do you two mind waiting outside? I’ll only be a minute.”
Even without looking, I could sense the charged silence between them, and I knew they’d exchanged a look—deciding whether to acquiesce to my request or not. Then I heard the door, and I was alone at last.
Behind my eyes, my head continued to ache. Sometimes I wondered if this was too much for one person: the lessons and the rules, the meetings and the responsibility that sometimes felt as if they were crushing me.
The solitude.
I opened my eyes, blinking at my reflection as I studied the gown I wore. The black fabric fell in cascading waves, hugging my body in all the right places. I still couldn’t get used to the trappings of my position and wondered if I’d ever stop preferring darker colors—blacks and grays and the deepest shades of russet, colors that didn’t stain—despite the dressmaker’s best efforts to persuade me otherwise. I was still a vendor at heart.
I ignored the fact that that same dressmaker had disregarded my preferences and had sewed in intricate gold beading along the waist and hemline.
And then there were the other doubts, the ones that had nothing to do with me at all. The ones that came from her.