The Essence
Page 62
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I grinned. I couldn’t help it. “Come on, Brook. We all know it’s not Zafir’s fault. Besides, if he hadn’t pushed me out of the way, I’d have been . . . well, you know . . .”
Brook glared at the royal guard, who glared back with equal animosity.
“Avonlea’s right,” Aron told Brook, dropping onto a chair near the fireplace. He slouched down, looking like he hadn’t a care in the world. “Zafir should probably be rewarded for his heroics. . . . Not cursed.” His mouth twitched, and he winked at Avonlea. But I saw the way he glanced sidelong at Brooklynn, and I wondered why he was provoking her.
“Look,” I intervened. “It was bound to happen eventually. Let’s call it like it is: Someone wants to kill me. And clearly they’re taking any opportunity they can. Maybe it’s better this way. . . .” I wondered if any of the optimism I was shooting for was making its way into my voice. “Who knows, maybe they left a clue behind.”
“Yeah, right. And maybe whoever it is’ll just step forward and turn themself in. Save us all a lot of trouble.” Now Brook was glaring at me. “I highly doubt that, Charlie.”
At least I wasn’t “Chuck” anymore.
Brook shook her head, more exasperated than I’d seen her in ages, and then she threw her hands up. “Whatever. You guys sit here and pat Zafir on the back.” She stormed toward the door. “I’ve got better things to do.”
brooklynn
Brook stalked down the hallway, her boots pounding against the marble and giving away her position. Making her less than stealthy. Not that she was trying particularly hard to be stealthy. If she’d wanted to go unseen—unheard—she could have. She’d have been a ghost. A mere whisper.
Now, however, she didn’t care who heard her. She’d convinced herself that her foul mood was because of the conspirator in their ranks, that she was on edge and irritable because she was still no closer to discovering just who had been planted among her soldiers to assassinate Charlie.
She’d gone through the list a dozen times, and then a dozen more: counting the reasons it could be each of her men, and then discarding those reasons one at a time, because she knew these guys. She’d served with them and trusted them with her life. She’d handpicked them for their valor, their superior skills, and, above all, their loyalty.
She’d been unable to come up with so much as a single name.
Her mood darkened, and she clamped down on her lip, assuring herself once more that her temper had nothing at all do with Aron. That it meant nothing to her that he continued to tease and taunt her. That she felt nothing at all for him.
Of course she didn’t! she insisted, as she caught herself stomping her foot in hallway, the sound echoing sharply.
The low rumble of laughter made her jump and she turned to locate its source.
“I hope I’m not interrupting anything.” Ambassador Bartolo’s voice drifted from the shadows.
Brook’s cheeks flushed when she saw him there, wearing an amused expression as he watched her. “Of course not, Ambassador. I was just trying to sort some things out. I needed a minute alone.”
“Call me Niko, Commander,” he said smoothly, stepping out from the shadows and into the sunlight. Brook could see the way he wore his easy charm, like a suit or a skin he could shed if necessary, and she wondered what was hidden beneath. What secrets he concealed there.
She decided to play along. It was an easy game for her, a role she’d grown accustomed to during her years with the resistance. “Then call me Brooklynn.” She pasted a small, languorous smile to her lips. “What are you doing out here, Niko?”
“Brooklynn,” he repeated her name, letting it roll off his tongue, tasting it. Almost absently, he reached out and pushed a curl from her cheek. She didn’t pull away, but she could feel him mentally circling her—sizing her up—in the same way she was him. “I came to check on Queen Charlaina. To see how she’s holding up.”
“She’s fine,” Brook answered, her smile becoming tighter. “I guess what I should have asked is what, exactly, are you doing here, Niko Bartolo? Not much to do at a summit without your queen, is there?”
He studied her from beneath hooded eyelids. “More than you’d guess,” he answered quietly. “There are many things to learn, much news to carry home. And there are other matters to consider, things that have nothing at all to do with my queen and her land.”
“Things like . . . Charlie?” Brook prodded, remembering the way she’d caught the two of them the night before. “What is it you want with her, anyway?”
“It’s”—he closed his eyes—“complicated.”
Brook’s smile fell away completely as she glowered at him. She was tired of this game. “Well, then uncomplicate it. Leave her alone, Ambassador. She may be my queen, but she’s also my friend. And I’m warning you: Back off.”
And she left him standing there, false charm and all.
aron
Aron didn’t wait long before following Brooklynn, giving her just enough of a head start to think he didn’t care that she’d stormed away. He couldn’t stop himself from wondering when he’d started caring at all.
When they were kids, and Brook was always trying to ditch him with Charlie, he’d thought of it as a game, a challenge. To tag along with the two girls—Charlie with her flyaway silver-blond hair and Brook with her untamed mass of tangled black curls. He would follow them as they spent their days wading in the shallow streams formed by the river’s runoff, climbing the gnarled trees that grew in the park or along the concrete walls, building fortresses in the sewer passages, or scavenging for “treasures” in the garbage bins that awaited incineration behind the warehouses and shops in the west end of the city.
Brook glared at the royal guard, who glared back with equal animosity.
“Avonlea’s right,” Aron told Brook, dropping onto a chair near the fireplace. He slouched down, looking like he hadn’t a care in the world. “Zafir should probably be rewarded for his heroics. . . . Not cursed.” His mouth twitched, and he winked at Avonlea. But I saw the way he glanced sidelong at Brooklynn, and I wondered why he was provoking her.
“Look,” I intervened. “It was bound to happen eventually. Let’s call it like it is: Someone wants to kill me. And clearly they’re taking any opportunity they can. Maybe it’s better this way. . . .” I wondered if any of the optimism I was shooting for was making its way into my voice. “Who knows, maybe they left a clue behind.”
“Yeah, right. And maybe whoever it is’ll just step forward and turn themself in. Save us all a lot of trouble.” Now Brook was glaring at me. “I highly doubt that, Charlie.”
At least I wasn’t “Chuck” anymore.
Brook shook her head, more exasperated than I’d seen her in ages, and then she threw her hands up. “Whatever. You guys sit here and pat Zafir on the back.” She stormed toward the door. “I’ve got better things to do.”
brooklynn
Brook stalked down the hallway, her boots pounding against the marble and giving away her position. Making her less than stealthy. Not that she was trying particularly hard to be stealthy. If she’d wanted to go unseen—unheard—she could have. She’d have been a ghost. A mere whisper.
Now, however, she didn’t care who heard her. She’d convinced herself that her foul mood was because of the conspirator in their ranks, that she was on edge and irritable because she was still no closer to discovering just who had been planted among her soldiers to assassinate Charlie.
She’d gone through the list a dozen times, and then a dozen more: counting the reasons it could be each of her men, and then discarding those reasons one at a time, because she knew these guys. She’d served with them and trusted them with her life. She’d handpicked them for their valor, their superior skills, and, above all, their loyalty.
She’d been unable to come up with so much as a single name.
Her mood darkened, and she clamped down on her lip, assuring herself once more that her temper had nothing at all do with Aron. That it meant nothing to her that he continued to tease and taunt her. That she felt nothing at all for him.
Of course she didn’t! she insisted, as she caught herself stomping her foot in hallway, the sound echoing sharply.
The low rumble of laughter made her jump and she turned to locate its source.
“I hope I’m not interrupting anything.” Ambassador Bartolo’s voice drifted from the shadows.
Brook’s cheeks flushed when she saw him there, wearing an amused expression as he watched her. “Of course not, Ambassador. I was just trying to sort some things out. I needed a minute alone.”
“Call me Niko, Commander,” he said smoothly, stepping out from the shadows and into the sunlight. Brook could see the way he wore his easy charm, like a suit or a skin he could shed if necessary, and she wondered what was hidden beneath. What secrets he concealed there.
She decided to play along. It was an easy game for her, a role she’d grown accustomed to during her years with the resistance. “Then call me Brooklynn.” She pasted a small, languorous smile to her lips. “What are you doing out here, Niko?”
“Brooklynn,” he repeated her name, letting it roll off his tongue, tasting it. Almost absently, he reached out and pushed a curl from her cheek. She didn’t pull away, but she could feel him mentally circling her—sizing her up—in the same way she was him. “I came to check on Queen Charlaina. To see how she’s holding up.”
“She’s fine,” Brook answered, her smile becoming tighter. “I guess what I should have asked is what, exactly, are you doing here, Niko Bartolo? Not much to do at a summit without your queen, is there?”
He studied her from beneath hooded eyelids. “More than you’d guess,” he answered quietly. “There are many things to learn, much news to carry home. And there are other matters to consider, things that have nothing at all to do with my queen and her land.”
“Things like . . . Charlie?” Brook prodded, remembering the way she’d caught the two of them the night before. “What is it you want with her, anyway?”
“It’s”—he closed his eyes—“complicated.”
Brook’s smile fell away completely as she glowered at him. She was tired of this game. “Well, then uncomplicate it. Leave her alone, Ambassador. She may be my queen, but she’s also my friend. And I’m warning you: Back off.”
And she left him standing there, false charm and all.
aron
Aron didn’t wait long before following Brooklynn, giving her just enough of a head start to think he didn’t care that she’d stormed away. He couldn’t stop himself from wondering when he’d started caring at all.
When they were kids, and Brook was always trying to ditch him with Charlie, he’d thought of it as a game, a challenge. To tag along with the two girls—Charlie with her flyaway silver-blond hair and Brook with her untamed mass of tangled black curls. He would follow them as they spent their days wading in the shallow streams formed by the river’s runoff, climbing the gnarled trees that grew in the park or along the concrete walls, building fortresses in the sewer passages, or scavenging for “treasures” in the garbage bins that awaited incineration behind the warehouses and shops in the west end of the city.
