The Essence (15 page)

I stooped down, letting my cloak fall around my face as I studied it. I didn’t need to, of course. I’d already seen this particular bit of news. I’d already seen this image.

I stepped closer to the fire, crumpling the paper into a tight ball and I tossed it in. I stood there, watching it disintegrate into a thousand pieces of ash, until nothing remained.

And then I heard a sound that seemed compellingly familiar, something I was certain I should recognize. I cocked my head, waiting for it again. It seemed to have vanished, the noise, evaporating into the din of the alehouse around me.

Scanning the room, my eyes fell on a hunched figure huddled at one of the tables. His black eyes watched me with an intensity that made me retreat within my own skin and I caught myself tugging my hood taut around my throat.

Yet I couldn’t tear my gaze away from him. Nor his from me. I saw him, bit by bit, lift one of his fingers to his lips in a gesture that warned me to be silent.

I swallowed hard, telling myself to look away, to search for Zafir within the crowd. To run. To flee from this man. But he held me like that, immobilized, for several long moments while I hoped I was still breathing. While I prayed that my heart was still beating.

The slow, grinding sound came again, that whisper of metal against metal, breaking the spell the man held me under, and this time a shiver of recognition coursed through me.

I knew that sound. This time I recognized it.

It was the train. And it was leaving.

My gaze shot wildly around the tavern, searching for Zafir and coming up empty.
How was that possible? Where had he disappeared to?
He’d never leave me alone like this.

Clumsily, I took a step and felt a voice at my ear, just behind me. I didn’t have to see the man’s face to guess that it was him. The menacing voice matched the black eyes to perfection.

“Don’t move,” he warned, his hand clutching my arm through the thick fabric of my cloak.

Again, I searched for Zafir—
my giant
. And again, I couldn’t find him.

“What do you want?” I begged. But he shushed me, clamping his fingers more tightly as he pulled me backward, dragging me to someplace I couldn’t see.

I thought about screaming, about struggling and calling for help. Surely someone would notice, even among this ribald mob. Surely someone would stop him.

But his next words froze the words in my throat.

“If you so much as peep, your guardian dies. Understood?”

My guardian.
Zafir.

I nodded. And I was lugged through an almost unnoticeable doorway behind the hearth.

brooklynn

It had taken Brook far too long to scramble back up the hillside she’d just skidded down. She’d lost precious time. Time she could ill afford to waste.

And now she pushed her horse, barreling toward town as fast as the animal would carry her. Beneath her she could see the veins bulging in his withers, sweat lathering his sleek coat.

It didn’t matter, though, she needed to get to Charlie. She couldn’t miss that train.

But a part of her knew—even though she refused to admit defeat—that she was already too late. She could see the train, too far away now, gaining momentum with each turn of its wheels as the horse beneath her began to lag, ever so slightly.

She dug in her heels harder and slapped his hindquarters. “Yah!” she screamed until her throat was raw.
“Yah!”

She barely slowed as she approached the empty tracks at the station, even as she raced headlong into the awaiting crowd of her own men, each tethered with horses and looking as confused as she was. The train was long gone, there was no denying that now.

Sebastian raced forward, shoving his way through the throng of soldiers and shouting at Brooklynn as she jumped off of her horse, even before she’d come to a complete stop. She handed him the reins.

“What are you doing? You can’t ride him like that!” Sebastian berated her, running his hand along the horse’s coat and swiping away layers of thick, frothy sweat.

“Where’s Charlie?” Brook demanded, ignoring the stable
master’s concerns for the animal. When she saw Aron, she repeated herself, calling out to him above the heads of the others, not caring that she should be asking after Queen Di Heyse now, rather than her childhood friend. “Where’s Charlie?”

Aron looked frazzled as he threw his arms in the air. “I don’t know. I’ve searched everywhere, but I wasn’t here when the train started moving.” He ran one hand through his already rumpled hair. “I haven’t seen her. I have no idea if she was on the train when it pulled away.”

Brook turned to her men then, her voice loud and commanding. “Was anyone here? Did any of you see your queen?”

Heads shook, and among the buzz of voices the consensus seemed to be that no one knew what had happened to her. No one had seen where Charlie had gone.

Brook paced, her shoulders rigid and her boots pounding angrily against the rough-hewn timbers that served as sidewalks. Her hair whipped wildly around her face as she muttered to herself. When Aron tried to interject, tried to ask her what she meant to do, she raised her hand, effectively silencing him.

After a moment, she stopped marching and lifted her chin. “We’ll take an hour,” she shouted, loud enough to be heard by everyone. “
One
hour. Break into parties of three and search everywhere, and I mean
everywhere
. Homes, businesses, schools, and brothels. I don’t care, if it has walls, search it. In one hour we’ll meet back here and regroup.” She turned to Sebastian. “You take care of the horses.” At Sebastian’s gaping expression, she added, her expression softening, “You can have five men, but that’s all I’ll spare.” She stepped closer so her soldiers couldn’t hear. “Get them ready for travel, Sebastian. Find grain and water, whatever we need. If we don’t find Charlie in the next hour, we’re heading north.”

xi

Zafir looked downright homicidal. He looked like he wanted to wrap his hands around the throat of the man who’d just pushed me through the undersized doorway and throttle him.

Or maybe he would’ve preferred the use of weapons. To make it a slow and torturous death.

But he was in no position for fighting of any kind. He’d been gagged and restrained, both by ropes and chains. A wise choice on the part of our captors, since surely rope alone wouldn’t have held the royal guard.

His eyes blazed with deadly determination as they alit on me, and I could practically read his thoughts: I
will
get you out of this.

I believed him, of course. I’d wager my money on Zafir any day.

I glanced around, taking in our modest surroundings. The cottage was more of a hovel really, built from stacked stones, of course, and sealed with some sort of black ooze that looked—and smelled—like it might have been made from manure. The ceiling was too short, even for me, as was the door, lending the place a confining feel. Filthy straw covered the dirt floor, serving as mats, I supposed, and it was piled thicker against one wall, reminding me of a nest. There were a few chairs that served as the only real furniture I could see, set randomly about the one-roomed structure. Zafir seemed to be bound to the sturdiest of the lot.

“What do you want with us?” I spun to face the man who’d pushed and prodded me along, forcing me through the back alley exit of the tavern. Outside, another man had been waiting for us, and together, the two of them had dragged me into an awaiting horse-drawn cart, where Zafir had already been bound. Like Zafir, I’d been shoved to the cart’s floor, forced to keep my head low as we bounced along a potholed road out of town.

Or I assumed that was where we were . . . out of town. Because when I was finally allowed to rise again, there was no train depot or tavern—no buildings at all, in fact—in sight. The ground, which had started out pitted and uneven, had grown nearly perilous over the course of our journey, as we’d climbed higher into the hills. If I’d thought the train had been jarring, it had been nothing compared to the jolting ride in the wagon. My teeth had banged together, causing stars to burst behind my eyes on more than one occasion, and I was still picking straw off my cloak and out of my hair.

Zafir had been gagged the entire time, but I’d asked the same question over and over again, “What do you want from us?” Only to be answered with a curt “Hush now. Be still.”

Now, standing within the fetid walls of the cottage, the black-eyed man finally answered me, his lips parting to reveal teeth that were rotted by decay. “I apologize, but it had to be that way, Your Majesty. We had’ta get you outta there without anyone knowing it.”

I took a step backward, staggered by the fact that these men already knew who I was, that I hadn’t simply been the casualty of highway robbery.

I was here because of who I was. As was Zafir.

“Wh-wh—” I tried, but my voice seemed to catch in my throat.

“Wh-wh—” The man mimicked, but beneath the short ceiling, his hunched frame seemed somehow smaller . . . more frail than intimidating. His mouth widened into something that was doubtless meant to be a grin, and his brown teeth glistened. He waved his hand dismissively. “Please, let me explain,” he said in his strange accent. It was Englaise, but from him, it came out sounding warped. His e’s were too long and his a’s were too soft, making his sentence sound like “Leet me eexplan.” He eyed Zafir suspiciously. “And then I’ll let your man there go.”

At that, Zafir struggled against the chains that bound his large shoulders, and the chair beneath him wobbled even more. The legs made splintering sounds, and I thought surely they would crack at any moment, shattering beneath his weight. But they managed to hold, and after a moment of useless writhing, he gave up again, falling still.

“Tell me,” I said simply. “H-how did you know who I was?”

The man made a clucking sound and rubbed his hands together. “We’re Scablanders, Your Majesty, not imbeciles. Well,” he corrected, grinning that horrible decaying grin once more as he jerked his head toward the large man guarding the door, the same man who’d been waiting for us out in the alley behind the tavern. His pitch-colored eyes glittered. “Not all of us, anyway. Jeremiah there’s about as dumb as they come.”

Jeremiah glanced up at the mention of his name, almost on reflex, but didn’t seem to register the words—or the insult. He looked at each of them, his expression glazed, his mouth slack as if it were difficult to keep his lips, overfull like stuffed sausages, closed around his crooked teeth. He scratched his head, his thick fingers finding their way beneath the fitted leather hat he wore, the one with goggles like pilots used to wear back when air travel was still possible in Ludania. Back when fuel was plentiful, and transportation wasn’t as restricted as it was now. He gave an indifferent shrug when he realized he wasn’t actually expected to respond, turning back to his duty.

“News travels out here,” the crooked man continued in his odd version of Englaise. “Especially news that our new queen has skin that shines like the sun.” His black eyes appraised me and I shrank away. “And like I tried to tell your man there”—he turned his accusatory gaze on Zafir—“someone’s looking to snuff out that glow of yours.”

At those words, Zafir’s entire body went rigid. He flexed again, thrashing violently. The chair splintered beneath him, making a thunderous noise as it cracked, its legs finally giving out. And Zafir, no longer shackled to the flimsy legs, shot to his feet just as quickly as he’d fallen.

Before I could blink, he was charging forward, hurling his entire body weight against the bent man with the festering teeth. The man was too puny by half to fend off a giant like Zafir, even with his arms still bound against his sides. The man’s eyes went wide, and I heard him wheeze as he was buried beneath the bulk of the enormous guard. I knew Zafir was crushing—possibly killing—the old man.

“Zafir, stop!” I shouted as Jeremiah hefted his weapon, a wooden club that was no more dangerous than some of the sporting equipment I’d seen used for children’s games. Confusion was evident in Jeremiah’s bewildered eyes. “You’re hurting him. Get off!”

I reached out to push Zafir myself, but he didn’t so much as flinch. Instead, he turned toward me, looking just as perplexed as Jeremiah did.

“Let’s at least hear what he has to say,” I explained, no longer worried about Jeremiah as understanding dawned. Jeremiah was merely a prop. He was harmless.

My hand reached out to the rough burlap tied at Zafir’s mouth, but he jerked his head away from me, turning so I could reach the restraints at his back instead. My fingers fumbled with the lock.

Beneath him, the old man groaned.

I dropped to my knees, so my face was even with his. His black eyes were wide and pleading. “The keys,” I insisted. “Tell me where to find the keys and I’ll have him release you.”

He opened his mouth, and then closed it again, like a fish extracted from water. . . . As if he, too, was taking his last gulps of air. “Zafir, ease up a little,” I demanded. “Let him breathe so he can speak.”

As Zafir shifted, the man’s gasp was audible, and nearly undid me. I wasn’t heartless, but I needed my guard to be free. I needed to know what this man knew, and what he meant when he said someone was out to get me.

“M-m-my . . . p-o—” His breath came out more like a whistle, the sound finding its way from between his decayed teeth. I caught a whiff of that breath, which was exactly how I would imagine it would smell, coming from such a foul place.

I winced, shrinking back. “Your
pocket
?” I answered for him.

He nodded, or tried to, and I moved lower, my fingers brushing his trousers, searching. When I felt it, my fingers thrust inside the rough filthy fabric, emerging with the small steel key, no bigger than my pinkie. Hard to imagine that something so delicate looking could imprison someone so . . . so mammoth.

My hands trembled as I rushed around to unlock Zafir, before we were interrupted by someone who was brighter than, say, Jeremiah. Someone with a more effective weapon than a club.