Neliem, page 18
Etta scrunched her face from her meatless sandwich, scratching the bit of mold off the edge. “Untouchable. Don’t look at him too long or you’ll get a wart.”
I looked down at my feta wrapped in foil and picked out an olive. “Doesn’t seem fair.”
Jerris shrugged with a boast, “They’re pagans; they aren’t fair. They killed all our saints.”
He shot Za-Za a dirty look, ending the conversation. Rathe scooted closer, offering one of his mother’s cookies. He’d asked me earlier if he could kiss me and when I said no, he’d run away sobbing.
To show some remorse, even though I had no intention of letting him kiss me, I accepted the cookie and wrapped it carefully back in my napkin.
“Thank you.”
The bell rang twice to clean up. If you were late, you got a rap on the knuckles. I got up first and went to toss my trash in the furthest bin. The one closest to Za-Za.
I threw away my trash and pretended to retie my shoe. When I looked up, our eyes met.
Soft blue. Like the sky. “Hello.”
He stared at me, then looked down at once.
“Be that way,” I snapped, and prepared to leave.
“No, I mean … I didn’t think you were talking to me.” He sighed, almost on the verge of tears. When he spoke again, his voice trembled, “Hi.”
My friends were lining up in the courtyard, and we were alone. But I didn’t make a motion to join them. Instead, I sat down. “Why are you so sad?”
“Other than everyone hates me, no reason.”
“Here.” I handed him my cookie.
“What is it?”
“What does it look like?’
He stared at it, suspiciously, his eyebrow arching. “Did it fall on the floor?”
“No.” I smiled.
“Did you spit on it?”
“Not yet; do you want me to?” I inched closer beside him.
“Thank you.” And he ate it in one bite.
I winced as I leaned against the wall. The rock thrown at me yesterday still hurt my back.
“What’s wrong?” The expression on his face was real enough. Real enough to tell him the truth.
“I haven’t completely healed.” I closed my eyes, wondering where I would be hit today when I ran home. I was getting faster, but not fast enough.
“Who hit you?”
“Your friends who hate you.”
“I hate them.” He balled up his plump fists.
“It’s not so bad.” I touched his hand by reflex. It was softer than a feather.
“Don’t lie to me.” And he looked right at me, making it impossible to lie. Feeling ashamed, I lowered my head.
“My mother says if I pretend it doesn’t hurt, it won’t.”
“Your mother is an idiot.”
I laughed, holding my hand over my mouth. “She is.”
“Where do you live?”
“Where all the poor Outcast people live.” I pointed toward the south wall, explaining, “We live closest to the water to make for an easy escape. One day, I will fly away.”
The second bell rang once. I got up. “I have to leave to be beaten now.”
He grabbed my hand, sending a tingle down my arm. “Don’t let them.”
“What?”
“Today, don’t let them hit you.” By that intense look he gave, he meant it. And I thought how his eyes could be the sky, and if I were a bird, I would fly into them and finally escape. Pushing those thoughts aside, I hurried to the end of the line, expecting the worst. The dean took you to his office for the switch; Matron rapped your hand once or twice depending on her mood.
My head low, I followed the trail of tardy children, my hand stretched out. I felt the familiar wave of tension flutter in my body. The ruler was drenched in our blood, no longer a pale brown, but a deep burgundy. Blood of Outcasts too weak to fight back. A flame quivered in my gut, that unflinching glimmer of blue propelling me to do something dangerous.
The boy in front of me got hit twice. Just as I reached her, I darted back my hand and dared fly. “Don’t hit me.”
Shocked, Matron’s mouth dropped. Then she did the unthinkable: she let me pass, and most importantly, she did not hit me. That she’d been caught off guard was the only explanation. Za-Za did that. He made me strong. Strong enough to take a step into his perfect sky.
My head throbs like a drum, my vision blurs. It’s like being surrounded in fog, wandering about, searching for the light that I never find in my nightmares. The images I tried for too long to convince myself didn’t happen flood through me, a relentless crashing wave. Over and over. I am floating, almost drowning in it, tossing aimlessly, and finally, I reach the surface. Za-Za. My Za-Za somehow lived.
Soft voices vibrate against the walls. Ones I know.
Ezra and Tristan, I correct myself, rubbing my aching temples. “Za-Za and Tristan.”
Straining to sit up, I squint toward the doorjamb. It takes me a long moment to adjust my vision until I see them clearly. They’re laughing in the adjoining room. Aunt Cora, seated on the largest chair, strikes her teacup with one of her prized spoons.
Like a thief in the night, I crawl out of bed and inch silently closer. Before a tended fire, she’s in the middle of lecturing them as if they were two errant boys caught with their hands in the cookie jar.
“Girls aren’t like boys. We are predisposed to fainting spells.” She sips, then scolds, wagging her finger. “You would both do well to note that.”
“Not Oriana.” It’s Ezra. Rather, Za-Za.
I smile, a warm tingle spreading to my toes. Aunt Cora sighs, getting up, her wide skirts rustle. “I need to see what the good doctor has to say about poor Roo. You two stay out of trouble.”
Opening the door, Tristan kisses her warmly before she leaves, the floor creaking under her weight. Now it’s just the two brothers alone sipping tea. Compelled by some indescribable force, I lean in, mesmerized by the sight of them.
They’re both tall, broad-shouldered, and fair, the only exception that Tristan’s hair has grown darker with age. But nonetheless, the similarities are striking. Obviously, brothers. Save for their temperament, that is.
Tristan pours dark liquor from a flask into their teacups. “So, my little brother finds himself in the possession of a bride.”
The fire crackles, setting my nerves on edge. Za-Za dreamily smiles to himself, resting his lips against his fingers in a way that reminds me of a summer day. “It seems I have. Still upset that I went behind your back to retrieve her?”
“Seems that you not only found her but convinced Landis and Henric to join you in wedded bliss.” Tristan makes a face, obviously unimpressed by both selections.
“Took some persuading.” Za-Za’s voice hitches, “Landis had to be forced to make his choice … at the very last second mind you. And now he’s gone back on his word.”
“And yet it seems that one week has sufficed for both. Or was it a full hour for cousin Henric? Dear, dear Roo … clumsy little bugger.”
So, my assumptions were correct. There’s absolutely no love lost between Henric and Cassia. I shouldn’t be surprised. Desperate for more gossip, I pry closer.
“What did mother always say, Ta-Ta; be nice.” Za-Za admonishes Tristan by calling him by a family nickname.
“Those exasperating shrews … It’s like the two, evil step-sisters from that children’s story.”
I press my finger over my lips not to laugh. Tristan, his brow creasing, refills his teacup, then screws back his flask with care.
“Why are you drinking?” Za-Za’s voice hikes up in a way that tells me he’s more than worried. “I mean, you never drink around family.”
The flask clinks. “Really? And I thought I was well regarded.”
“You are. Since when do you trust them?” Za-Za is gone. This is Ezra now. Ezra, who can’t help but fret about the most mundane things. And without seeing his face, I know instinctively that he’s lifting a suspicious eyebrow.
“Ah, I have you for that; I trust you, and that is enough.” Tristan salutes him with the flask like this is all some sort of game.
Ezra motions toward the door where I’m supposed to be asleep, and even though I’m concealed, I dart back, nearly slamming into the wall.
“I don’t know what to do with her, Ta-Ta.”
It’s sweet, his nickname for Tristan.
“What’s there to do? I mean if you’d been more willing to learn from the fine establishments I escorted you to …”
“Not that. She’s wild.”
Painstakingly slow, Tristan’s smile lights up his face, and my knees weaken in response. “That has certain advantages.”
“I’ve had to have all the knives in the house locked up.”
Tristan yelps in amusement, hitting his knee.
“It’s not funny, Tristan.” He lowers his voice, “She killed a rat with a fork.”
Tristan can’t stop laughing, tears stream down his cheeks.
“When I went last fall to reacquaint myself, not only did she not recognize me, she did everything humanly possible to avoid me. You would have thought I had the plague.”
“You have altered some …”
“She hates us, she calls us Untouchables. I keep having to tell her not to use that word …”
“Us Outcasts have plenty of reason to hate you Untouchables,” Tristan mocks.
I almost gasp.
Jumping out of his seat, Ezra snarls, “You’re not …”
“Our mother was …”
Ezra finally releases his fist and pours some liqueur into his cup. “I only wish she was my real mother.”
“She raised you; she is our mother.”
“On loan, whenever father saw fit.” Ezra runs his fingers through his hair, tugging. The gaze in his eyes blur with emotion. “When I found Oriana, she was like a warrior. Neliem himself. Do you know she trains for hours every single day? Lifts weights, push-ups, pull-ups, sit-ups … I have never seen anything like it. And then I spied her caging wild animals …”
Tristan chokes on his tea. For a moment, I think he’s about to have a seizure.
“I thought she was torturing them or sacrificing them.” Ezra rolls his eyes, trying to find the words to describe one of my favorite hobbies. “I was terrified what I’d created. But she just fed the lame ones. The babies, the ones that would normally die. I cannot begin to tell you how relieved I was.”
“She’s an angel. And I am pea green with envy.” Tristan gets up searching for something in his pocket when my heart stops. It’s as if the door isn’t between us. His gaze is like the sun, hot and all-consuming. “Let me pay respects to our dear wild Neliem before I leave.”
Furrowing his forehead, Ezra squeezes Tristan’s shoulder, “You’re not actually thinking of going to the Capital?”
He says ‘the Capital’ as if it was one of the outer circles of Hell. Not where the royal family dwells in the largest most affluent city of the free world.
“Za-Za, you know very well that I have no idea what I’ll do until after I’ve done it.”
They smile broadly at each other, sharing in the private joke. They embrace forcefully, like bears, and Ezra pulls back first. “Better see to the relatives and their schemes … Uncle Gallis is trying to get me to invest in a canal somewhere …”
Sighing, he lifts his hands in prayer before heading downstairs. Once the door slams shut, Tristan speaks. “Heard enough?”
I quickly rush and hide under the covers, but it’s no use. With the stealth and speed of a panther, Tristan crosses the room and stares right through me. I hold up the covers to shield me, but his gaze scorches. Heat and sweat and want. And I don’t know how he does that; how he makes me feel vulnerable and breathless at the same time.
“You must hate me.” The words burn like acid in my throat.
“I wouldn’t be in agony if I hated you.” He stands at the threshold, neither in nor out. “What have you told Za-Za?”
He pushes closer as if tethered to the wall, unable to move away, his eyes glued to mine. And it’s like the horizon at twilight, blazing blue and endless.
I close my eyes. “Nothing.”
I hear him shift his stance, that familiar pacing of his feet gliding just a fraction closer but then he stops, retreating. When our eyes connect, it’s Za-Za’s eyes. Soft and kind. No animosity. No hatred. My breath hitches, the weight lifting.
“Good; don’t.” He brushes further away, retrieving something in his pocket.
I have to ask. “Does he suspect—”
“No, and he won’t.” He says this with an air of certainty. Our secret is safe.
My shoulders sag in mixed relief and an emotion so distant that it takes me a moment to place. Guilt. Without speaking, he moves and faces the window, his back to me, and I hear the match strike. He’s lighting a lantern, avoiding the electric lights, making it all the more unbearable.
“Are you really going to the Capital?” The sob escapes my throat before I can swallow it down. From all my years at school, I know the Capital is situated at the furthest corner of the mainland. Four days travel by train. It might as well be on the other side of the world. My gut clenches, needing to know yet dreading the answer.
He finally replaces the glass casing over the flame and glances toward me, where I sit like some infatuated schoolgirl. He creeps closer, pausing when those beautiful hands tremble just before brushing a speck of dust off my hair. His hand lingers, and without meaning to, I clutch it to my face. Tristan sighs before releasing me. And what’s left of my heart breaks.
“Oriana, right now the Capital might be the safest place …” His brows knit together, his jaw tight. That voice I would recognize anywhere breaks. “The best place for me.”
His fingers draw the softest line down my cheek.
Adrenaline sears through me like lightning. Crawling like the wild animal I am, I dart back to the furthest corner of the bed, needing to get away. “Then go!”
He lifts his palm cautiously, the way a lion tamer would. “Oriana.”
I slap it away hard. Then again and again. I don’t know where this rage is coming from. Tristan doesn’t move; my blows are of no consequence as he watches me with eyes that seem to know every inch of me.
“What are you waiting for?” I hiss and jerk my foot at him, which he catches.
We’re at an impasse; he stares at my bare foot just as my nightgown slinks up, revealing more leg. He doesn’t move but takes a cautionary step back so that only one knee is balanced and starts massaging my foot.
“Did you hear me? Leave; run off to all the girls who will throw themselves on you …”
“Well, there is always that …”
In a fit, I throw myself on him, tossing him on the bed and trapping him under my grip.
He makes a wistful face, his lips pursing. “Oh, has someone been doing her pushups? Nice.”
In one swift move, he twists so that I’m beneath him.
“But you forgot that I’m quite a bit stronger than some skinny girl …”
I jab hard with my knee and he winces. It’s the only leverage I need. He falls backward, his head narrowly missing nicking the end table.
Not giving him a chance to flee, I seize the moment and sit on his chest, pinning his hands above his head. “Really? I seem to recall kicking your arse more than once.”
He moves, and I’m back on my back, frantically trying to toss him off.
“That’s right. Where are my gold coins?” Our eyes lock.
“Fiend, where is my knife?”
“You stole that knife, you little vixen.” His breath tickles my ear, his voice husky, “Where is my money?”
He lowers his nose down my chest. “Are they here? No? Perhaps I will find them here …”
His hand curves up my thigh, and I melt. My breathing catches in my throat, my body reacting to his. Finally, his lips quiver: his tell.
Tristan looks down at me so pensive, so full of awe. “What was my brother thinking, letting you out of his sight?”
He trails his head down my chest. The little hairs of his mustache send a shiver down my flesh. “If you were mine, I wouldn’t let you out of bed for a week.”
Strength surges through my veins, and I toss him off the bed, unsetting a water pitcher that falls into a nearby chair. Luckily, it wasn’t full.
“Only a week?”
Suddenly, Tristan staggers and pushes off the floor. His hair disheveled and eyes blazing. A beautiful exquisite mess.
And all I can think is that I want him to come back and leave me alone and go to the Capital and I don’t know what else. All the blood rushing to my head, he speaks clearly, “I am leaving. This will never, ever under any circumstance, happen again. Do you understand?”
Every nerve in my body screams as he opens the door, prepared to leave.
“I was wrong, Oriana …” He stares right through me.
I wipe a tear away. “What were you wrong about?”
He adjusts his lopsided tie. “The Capital is definitely not far enough.”
Hesitantly, Tristan closes his eyes as if in prayer, and then, without any further word, leaves.
It takes me but a moment to get out of bed to follow.
Downstairs, everyone gathers around a distinguished gentleman with a medical bag. Ezra carefully hands the doctor an envelope with a stiff nod. The doctor takes his leave, and the bell back on its hinge lets out a shrill ring.
The aunts and uncles all stop talking at once when Tristan prances down the stairs, still adjusting his tie.
Not daring breathe, I crawl on the carpet and spy from the balcony.
“Thought we heard something fall. She is all right?” Poor Aunt Cora once again has that pinched look on her round face, her fan fluttering too fast. “Please tell me that she didn’t roll off the bed?” Her fleshy arms bounce frantically, her shrill voice hitching. “One accident is more than my poor heart can bear.”
Tristan paces down the stairs with ease, his voice deceptively smooth and carefree, “Oh, that; we were just wrestling.”
