The Pledge (13 page)

When he found us, my father captured me and Angelina in a huge embrace, threatening to never let us go. Even Aron had earned a hug, whether he wished it or not. My father kissed both my sister and me, and he alternately whispered his gratitude and apologies into my ear. Angelina beamed as he tossed her into the air, catching her before she fell all the way back to the ground. It was like watching a grizzly playing catch with a feather.

We were safe, and that was all that mattered.

For now.

vii

Just because there hadn’t been an actual attack on the city didn’t mean that everything went back to normal. Not right away at least.

A curfew was imposed. It wasn’t particularly early, or even strict, it was just another show of the queen’s authority. It told us all that her power was unaffected by the rebels and their allies.

Each night now we heard three short bleats that were sounded through the city’s loudspeakers. They were the signal that it was time, that everyone must evacuate the streets to seek shelter indoors. We were told it was only temporary, merely precaution.

It was one more change we would eventually grow accustomed to, just as we had to so many others over the past days, weeks, months. Acclimation was the key to survival.

I’d tried to question my parents about that night, about why they hadn’t gone with Angelina and me. About why they’d thrust us into the streets during the threat of a war. My
father was indifferent to my frustrated inquiries, claiming I was overreacting, reminding me time and again that there’d been no real danger, that everything had been fine. But he’d had no way of knowing that would be the case. My mother simply changed the subject whenever it was broached, until eventually, I just let it drop.

Activities resumed in the wake of the sirens’ warnings that night. Daily life continued, but for several days following, there was a feeling in the air, a sense of menace lurking like an unseen peril that stoked our fears and made each and every one of us a little wary.

It affected me in the same way it did everyone, consuming my thoughts and dictating my actions. I gave more forethought to everything I did, calculating risks, both real and imagined.

But that vigilance could only be maintained for so long before it wore thin, its veneer becoming unstable and then splintering, giving way to more usual behaviors and thoughts. Soon I found myself thinking about things less frightening than the threat of war, less intense than being awakened by sirens that cut through the night, and more . . . intimate. Although no less worrisome.

Max.

I wasn’t certain at what point he’d begun to find his way back into my thoughts, but there was no longer any doubt that he was there. Distracting me.

I found myself thinking about him when I shouldn’t be, wondering where he was and what he was doing.

I hadn’t seen him again, not since that morning at the restaurant, when I’d all but demanded that he leave me alone,
but I’d taken the time since our meeting to dissect those moments, to think and rethink his words, his actions. I replayed the sound of his voice in my head, time and time again; it was quite possibly my favorite part of our brief encounter.

I loved voices, I always had. Words held meaning, but voices held emotion.

I considered other things about him too, those that I could clearly recall. He was handsome and tall and proud, and even when I’d been frightened, I’d been drawn to him. Apparently, attraction knew no class limitations.

Yet I knew enough—even without being told—to know that Max was not of
my
class. Or rather, I of his. I was certain that he outclassed me.

But it wasn’t his dialect that gave him away, because even though it seemed impossible, I’d never heard his language before.

Not that it mattered; laws were laws. In the real world, the world outside of my childish fantasies, we would be permitted to interact, but only in the most superficial—or subservient—of ways.

Besides, I could still recall the other things about him, the things that were less appealing. He reeked of overconfidence.

That part of him, that kind of pride, reminded me of the Academy kids, and I found it difficult to tolerate arrogance like that.

I pushed aside all thoughts of Max as I faced yet another day of school and work. Daily routine made it easier to forget my country’s troubles and the war waged upon us.

Made it easier, also, to forget the war waging within myself.

Brooklynn and Aron waited for me in the plaza before school, and when I handed my bag to Aron, I smiled to myself. Things were already getting back to normal.

As we walked, Aron nudged me, frowning apprehensively. “Who is that?” he asked, his voice surprisingly low.

I shot him a quizzical look. “Who?”

“Don’t look now,” Brooklynn buzzed, hooking her arm around my elbow. She leaned her head in close, only pretending to lower her voice the way Aron had. “But over there”—she nodded—“you seem to have attracted the attention of a delicious little something who can’t take his eyes off you.”

Aron glowered, his voice slipping into Parshon, presumably to narrow the pool of people who could listen in on our conversation.
“It’s not funny, Brook. He’s been following us since we left the plaza, and he’s only been watching Charlie. Do you want me to tell him to piss off?”
He said the words, but his feet continued moving toward our school, giving no real weight to his threat.

I glanced across the cobbled road, to where foot traffic was heavy.

Faces blurred together, making it impossible to see who they were talking about. I scanned and searched, trying to find someone who was looking my way, but there was no one. Everyone’s eyes were focused on their own tasks, watching their feet as they walked, talking with their companions, admiring wares in the open booths they passed. But none of them were noticing me.

Just as I was turning away, deciding that Aron’s overactive imagination had gotten the better of him, I caught a fleeting glimpse of the man they’d meant, hidden within the crowd.

It was Xander.

His face appeared so quickly that I’d very nearly missed it. But that brief glimpse was enough. I was almost positive it had been him. I shifted on my feet, trying to get a better view, but he was already gone.

I thought about crossing the street to go after him, to ask him why he’d left so suddenly that night at the club . . . and to ask him what—if anything—he knew about Max. But those were just thoughts, and I knew that I wouldn’t act on them. If he’d wanted to talk to me, he wouldn’t have vanished when I’d spotted him.

Finally I spoke in Englaise, hoping that Brook and Aron couldn’t hear the disappointment in my voice. “Well, whoever it was, he’s gone now.”

Brooklynn tugged on my arm. “Come on, Chuck,” she said, trying out a new nickname for me. “We gotta go, or we’ll be late.”

And despite his tough words, Aron had already gone ahead without us, so we were forced to run to catch up with him.

It couldn’t have been Xander, I finally decided, convincing myself that I’d only seen what I’d wanted to see, that he’d simply been a figment of my imagination. Why would Xander be here? Why now?

He didn’t exactly strike me as a marketplace kind of guy.

“Hey, Brook,” I said when at last we caught up with Aron. “Don’t call me Chuck.”

After the last bell of the day, I stood beneath the huge shade tree in front of the school and waited for Brooklynn and Aron. Its gnarled branches twisted above my head, casting dark shapes over my fair skin and protecting me from the glaring sun overhead.

The voice that interrupted my thoughts was like delicate silk to my ears and coarse sandpaper to my nerves. “I hope you were waiting for me,” Max said.

I jumped, backing into the tree trunk; he was the last person I’d expected to see at my school. “What are you doing here?” I asked as I turned to face him, but I stopped short when I saw him.

“Why do you always ask me that?” The hint of laughter stayed buried deep in his voice, never quite rising to the surface. No one else would have noticed, but I could hear it clearly. After all, voices were my thing. “What? What’s the matter?”

“You’re in the military?” I asked, nodding toward his uniform, unable to tear my gaze away from it. It was the dark green of a soldier, its gold buttons gleaming even in the shadow of the tree.

His smile vanished. “Yes, I’m in the army. It was the best way I could think of to rebel against my family.”

My heart was thrumming, yet I was intrigued by his answer. I looked up at him, finding those dark gray eyes. “Your family didn’t want you to join?”

“No, they were most definitely opposed.”

I weighed that, along with his knowledge of a language I’d
never heard before. I wondered who he really was, and where he was from.

And then I frowned, confused as I recalled the way he’d reacted when we heard the applause coming from the gallows in the square. “If you’re in the army, what about that morning? At my parents’ restaurant? You jumped when the crowd cheered.”

His response wasn’t at all what I’d expected: He grinned. “Do you think being in the army makes me heartless?” he answered.

“No, but I—” I what? I was surprised that someone in the military didn’t support the queen’s decision to have people hanged or beheaded for breaking the law? Was he not allowed to have his own thoughts, his own feelings?

I glanced around, nervous that someone might overhear us, on the verge of debating the queen’s policies. It was not something we should be discussing in public, shielded only by the low-hanging branches of the tree. But instead I saw something even more startling. Across the street were the other two men who had terrified me so much with their strange language—giants among a normal human populace.

My pulse quickened beneath the surface of my skin. “Why are they here?” I tipped my head in their direction, accusation thick in my tone.

“It’s okay.” His dark eyes watched me closely while he answered. “I asked them to wait over there. So you wouldn’t be frightened.”

I straightened my shoulders. “Why would I be afraid?” But my question was absurd. Their presence, even from across the busy street, terrified me.

“Don’t worry about them, they’re harmless. Really,” he
replied, his hand crossing the space between us. I watched it move toward me, to where my fist clutched the strap of the book bag hanging from my shoulder, and his fingers brushed lightly across the tops of mine. I told myself I should take a step back—through the tree trunk if necessary—to create some distance between us, but somehow I couldn’t move. “I was hoping I could walk you home. And please, don’t say no this time.” He kept his voice low.

I
wanted
to tell him no—I meant to, since it seemed the wise thing to say, but instead I heard myself answering, “I—I don’t even know who you are.” I tried to ignore the longing I felt to move closer to him rather than away.

This time his smile was easy to read, as if he’d just won a minor victory. “You know more than I know about you. I don’t believe you’ve even told me your name.”

My breath hitched in the back of my throat, and when I tried to speak my voice came out on a whisper. “Charlie Hart,” I finally responded. It felt strange, introducing myself to him.

“Charlie? As in Charlotte?”

He held his hand out for mine, and this time I let him take it, folding it into his palm and wrapping his fingers around it. It wasn’t an actual greeting; it was more like he was holding my hand. But still, I didn’t stop him.

I shook my head, almost unable to speak at all. “Charlaina,” I answered.

And then his thumb moved, the slightest caress, almost imperceptible.

Except that it hadn’t gone unnoticed. I had most definitely felt it.

I pulled my hand away, startled by the reaction he’d set off deep in the pit of my stomach.

“Max,” I said for the first time, trying out the sound of his name on my lips. And then, worried that I sounded too infatuated—too like Brook—I asked, “Why do you keep showing up? Are you following me or something?”

Aron interrupted us then, with Brooklynn right behind him.