The Never King, page 17
part #1 of Lost Lands Series
The theater isn’t what I thought it would be. I imagined an actual movie house for some reason, but how would that fit in this building? It’s more of a meeting room. It actually says Meeting Room B on a sign by the door as we walk in. It’s large, longer than it is wide. The walls and carpet are beige, the ceiling full of pocket lights hidden in its depths. There are black chairs with brass legs lined up neatly through the room and a big white sheet is hanging from the far wall. There’s not a single piece of art anywhere and something about that makes the room feel seriously sterile.
Bastian guides me to seats at the back. The room is full of people, most of them a stranger to me, but Bastian is greeted by at least six before we sit down. They call him ‘Bouchard’. He smiles a real smile, shaking hands and waving across the room.
“You’ve been busy,” I mumble.
He shrugs, dropping into the seat next to me. “I get around.”
“Do they all come into the library like Jen, or…”
Bastian smirks. “No. Those women over there I know from the kitchen. They’re the reason you have extra fruit on your plate.”
“Fruit that you eat.”
“And that girl over there with the red hair, she’s an alternate in the library. I only see her when we switch shifts. She’s twelve but she’s got a mouth on her that would make your mother jump out a window. I’ll introduce you sometime. You’ll like her.” He points to the back of the room where the projector hangs from the ceiling, its large, domed eye staring blankly at the wall. Under it is a middle-aged man with salt and pepper hair that reminds me of Jacquard. “That’s Jules. He’s the tech guy around here. He picks the movies that get played.”
“What’s playing tonight?”
Bastian smiles. “The Woman in Black.”
“You’re lying!”
“Dead serious.”
“What are the odds?” I laugh.
“Pretty good considering I asked him to play it.” He kicks his legs out in front of him, crossing them at the ankle. He drapes his arm over the back of my chair possessively.
“Why?”
“We didn’t get to finish it at the theater back home.”
“Wait, but you just asked and he said sure, I’ll play that movie for you and everyone else in Paris? Just like that?”
“People usually do what I ask.”
“Yeah, when you were…” I catch myself, lowering my voice to a whisper. I lean in close so only he can hear. “When you were Dauphin and everyone was afraid of you.”
He frowns, his fingers on my back lightly. In my hair. “You weren’t afraid of me.”
“Yes, I was,” I admit without meaning to. I promised myself I’d never tell him because I didn’t want him to know. I was sure he’d use it against me. But now… now I’m not sure of anything.
“I didn’t know.”
“Everyone was afraid of you.”
He shakes his head, his eyes sharp. Almost wounded. “I wouldn’t have let anything happen to you. I definitely would never have done anything to hurt you.”
“Not even when—”
He kisses me.
It’s such a surprise, I go rigid. Breathless. It’s like walking down a flight of stairs, assuming you’re out of steps, but there’s one more and suddenly you’re falling.
I’m falling.
I’m breathing in deep, inhaling his scent as his lips press gently against mine, and then he’s gone. He pulls away so quickly I fall toward him, following the kiss that’s over just as it began.
His eyes search mine, his jaw set hard. “Never” he insists.
What do I say to that? What do I do?
The lights go out before I have to decide. Before I have to make sense of what just happened. We’re plunged into darkness that reminds me of the theater in Loire, my heart in agony for just a beat before the light of the projector fills the space and pushes the memories away. I settle into my seat next to Bastian, my body tucked in tight under his arm. I feel safe and something else. Something richer and darker, like chocolate cake on your birthday.
The movie is amazing, from what I can glean. It’s hard to focus. I’m shaken by that kiss, my body shivering and humming with nervous energy. The film is dark and mysterious. It makes my skin crawl and my heart ride high in my throat until. Bastian and I chuckle when it makes us jump. I take hold of his free hand in both of mine, pinning it tightly until it’s sweaty, but he doesn’t complain. Every time I squeeze it, he leans down to kiss the top of my head. His breath is hot on my scalp. I feel cold when it’s gone, shivering against him slightly. He has such an effect on me, I feel almost ashamed, like it makes me small somehow for him to have such a big impact. I like it though.
I love it.
When the movie is over and we say goodnight to his new friends – no Jen in sight – we go back up to our room with small bags of popcorn in hand. His arm is still around my shoulders. My body is glued to his side.
In the room it’s dark.
It’s quiet.
We’re alone.
When the door closes, he presses me against the wall with such force, I lose my myself for a second. My popcorn falls from my hand, spilling on the floor under his feet as he steps in close to me. So close I can’t breathe, but I don’t need to. He does it for me. He breathes against my skin so hot I feel like I’m on fire. His hands on my hips are large enough to devour me, murder me, break me and build me back up again if I let him. If I ask him.
And I do.
“Kiss me again,” I command. “Slower this time.”
He smiles in the darkness – Cheshire as anything.
He does what I tell him.
He kisses me slowly.
It’s nothing like kissing Gable. In the back of my mind, I was worried it would be. I thought they’d be the same and I wouldn’t be able to tell the difference and I’d feel awful, but it’s not and I don’t. It’s so much more, filled to the brim with every last thing Gable and I were missing. Everything Bastian and I have always been.
With Bastian I feel powerful and passionate, like a wild thing. I feel connected to him so deeply I can’t tell where he begins and I end. We’re the same, he and I. We’re both as awful as the other, and there’s so much comfort in that it’s blinding.
His arms are around me. We’re moving to the bed where he lays me down under him, hovering over me as he stares into my eyes with a sort of reverence that makes my heart miss too many beats.
He’s a millionaire and I am a pauper.
When his kiss becomes so deep I’m worried I’ll be lost in it, when his hand is so hot on my skin I worry I’ll be burned, I pull back to catch my breath.
“I’m not ready,” I gasp.
He breathes heavily, his eyes hooded and soft. “I know where the line is. I won’t cross it.”
“Promise me.”
“I promise, Ria.” He puts his hand on the back of my knee. He pulls it up with a sharp yank, wrapping my leg around his hip. “But I’m going to walk that line like a tightrope.”
I laugh as his lips descend on mine, his body heavier than before. He presses me into the mattress, taking me to my limits and back again with maddening precision that leaves me dizzy. He speaks to me in the language he’s most fluent and when we fall asleep in each other’s arms, I feel like I understand him more than I ever have before.
chapitre quarante-deux
It’s Bastian’s birthday.
Gable’s too.
We celebrate with a cake that the ladies in the kitchen help me make – Theresa and Aisling. They’re Irish, which threw me for a loop when I first heard them speak. I didn’t know Ireland still existed but they promise me that it does. There aren’t many of them left, the island nations suffered the biggest loses in the plague, but there are enough to keep the place alive. Theresa and Aisling both married Brûlén men and moved to Paris with them seven years ago.
“It sounded romantic but it was terrible to start,” Aisling assures me. “I couldn’t understand a ting anyone was sayin’. Dey speak tree languages here, did ya know dat?”
“I thought it was four.”
“It probably is. It’s unhealthy.”
I smile, stirring batter that looks too lumpy. I have no idea what I’ve done wrong. “Is this right?”
She glances at it briefly. “It’s gettin’ der. Keep at it.”
“Dat boy of yers,” Theresa says with a grin. “He’s trouble, ain’t he? Ya gotta watch out for a pretty man like him. He’ll steal ya heart and break it soon as he says hello.”
I blush into the cake batter. “I know. He does it every day.”
“He’s a good one, but he’s dangerous. Remember dat.”
“I try.”
She shakes her head at the mix. “You’re doing dat all wrong, love. Give it here.”
“I thought I could do it. I don’t know why I can’t follow a recipe.”
“Ya can’t be a good cook and be dat lovely. God wouldn’t allow it. It wouldn’t be fair.”
I smile at the compliment but inside I’m sinking. It’s not that I’m a bad cook. I used to bake for Gable all the time. It’s my brain. A month after the flood and I still can’t get some things right. I read the directions, I thought I understood them, but when I went to mix the batter, I lost everything. I had to go back and reread it four times, and even then I didn’t get it right. It makes me want to scream or cry, but I can’t stand the thought of doing either. Instead, I sit back and watch the women in the kitchen rush through the room like masters without a moment’s hesitation. I turn sickly green with envy.
“Mail call.”
Friggin’ Paul.
He comes out of nowhere lately. Everywhere I go, I see him. If I’m with Bastian, he keeps his distance, but if I’m alone, he makes a point of talking to me. It’s about little things, forgettable conversations that leave me feeling uneasy even though I can’t pinpoint why. I’ve never seen him in the kitchens or handing out mail, though, and I’m pretty sure he came here just to see me. To surprise me and catch me off guard.
“What are you doing here?” I ask bluntly.
He holds up a cream envelope. “You got a letter.”
“Is that your job? Delivering the mail?”
“Not usually.”
“Not ever,” Aisling says, eying him suspiciously. “You’re night shift. What are you doin’ up at dis hour?”
“I couldn’t sleep.” He slides the envelope across the counter for me. “It’s from your mom.”
“Did you open it?”
“Her name is on the front.”
“Did you open it?” I repeat.
Paul smiles. “No. I didn’t open it. It’s sealed.”
“Thanks.”
I make no move to touch the letter.
An awkward silence follows, but I don’t mind it because I made it. I’m not saying anything else. He’s been politely dismissed, so it’d be great if he trotted off and haunted someone else for a while.
“Are you going to open it?” he asks.
“Eventually.”
“I hope it’s good news.”
“I doubt it.”
He chuckles. “Okay. Well, I guess I’ll see you around.”
“See you.”
Paul grins at each of us before disappearing.
“How do you know him?” Theresa asks curiously.
I shrug. “I guess we met when I knocked his breakfast out of his hands. He dropped his toast or something.”
“When would you have had breakfast wid the boy? He eats before the sun wid the rest of his crew.”
“I don’t actually remember it. He just sat down with me at lunch one afternoon and said that’s how we met.”
Aisling is unhappy with the story. “I’d stay clear of that one, if I were you. Your beau, he’s trouble in a good way. The kind of way a woman wants. Paul, he’s trouble in other ways.”
“What ways?”
Aisling doesn’t answer. She only shakes her head, muttering something in Gaelic that I can’t understand and I know she won’t translate.
Whatever she said, I’m sure Bastian would agree with her one hundred percent.
“What’s your ma got to say?” Theresa asks.
I skim the letter quickly, gathering all of the important information. “Things are calming down. The waters have receded. They’ve been cleaning the wreckage so they can rebuild soon. The dead… and missing…” I gasp at the number. “A hundred and twenty thousand.”
“Jesus save us,” Theresa mumbles.
“It’s so much worse than I thought.” I blink back tears, scanning the rest of the letter. She mentions Iris. She’s doing well. She talks about Dad but I can’t read it. My eyes fly right over any mention of him because the wound is already threatening to rip wide open. I’ll bleed out on the floor if I have to read about his funeral. “There’s a lot of fighting between les noblesse. Everyone wants the throne now that the Bouchards are dead but they still don’t have bodies for Bastian or Gable so no one can claim it without declaring war against the family. Everyone assumes they’re dead but no one can confirm it so the country is kind of stuck. Grandfather and mother are running things for now, but she says that can’t last. People want a definitive answer about who’s in charge. They’ll have to give one soon.”
“Sounds like our boy will be goin’ home,” Aisling surmises.
“Maybe.”
“Why wouldn’t dey bring him home?”
Because they want the throne for themselves.
“I don’t know,” I lie. “It’s tricky.”
“Does she mention him in the letter?”
“No. Not even once.”
“Dat’s strange.”
“It is,” I agree suspiciously. “But that’s my mother.”
That night we have a party for Bastian. At least fifty people show up to wish him a happy birthday. They give him love and gifts that he accepts with more grace and humility than I imagined he had in him. People love him here, and not in the fake way they showed in Loire. They love him because of who he is, the person he’s been with them. With me.
He’s different in Paris. Not completely, but enough that I can see it clearly. He’s lighter. He’s more the boy I remember and less the tyrant’s protégé. He’s brusque but kind. Driven but understanding. He possesses a raw charisma that draws people in like moths to a shimmering, golden flame.
“Leadership requires a certain something,” Mother once told me. “Your father has it. You do not.”
Whatever that ‘something’ is, Bastian has it in spades.
At the party, we sing songs and play games. I feel light as air as the room gets too warm and the beer Bastian gave me goes straight to my head. I like the feeling. I like it so much, I break the one-glass-rule and have a second. By the end of the night, I’m flying and definitely not ready to go to bed. Bastian agrees to take a walk with me outside. He says the fresh air will do me good.
It’s cold out. We’re at the end of September and winter isn’t far away. The ground is wet and glimmering from rain that could come back any second. I tell Bastian we should have brought an umbrella, but he says umbrellas are for the weak, and we are not weak. If it rains, we’ll get wet and we’ll survive.
“Don’t make me be tough,” I complain. “Mother isn’t here. I can be weak if I want to be.”
“You can be anything you want without her.”
I smile at the thought. “I can, can’t I?”
“No one is stopping you.”
“But you are judging me.”
“I’ll always judge you, Aurelia,” he says like a solemn promise.
He’s smiling, calm and easy. I like the look of his smile. Of his lips. I want to trace them with my fingers but I think that’d be weird.
Yeah, that’d be really weird.
“I’m drunk,” I confess.
“I know.”
“It was an accident.”
“Have you ever been drunk before?”
“Once. I hated it.” I link my arm through his, smiling at the sky. “I don’t hate it this time.”
“I’m glad.”
“Are you drunk?”
He chuckles, nudging me toward the Arc. “I don’t think there’s enough alcohol in Paris to get me drunk.”
“Why do you like it?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s a lie,” I scold. “You always say that but you never mean it.”
“You’re right. I don’t.”
“But you don’t want to tell me.”
He shrugs. “That conversation will turn dark fast. I’m having a good night. I want it to stay that way.”
I smile happily. “I’m too.”
“‘I’m too’?” he laughs.
“I’m drunk! Shut up!”
“Two beers,” he mutters to himself. “Wow.”
We pass through the Arc into the echoing space underneath. I still haven’t been inside yet. Bastian wants to go with me but his leg was bad for so long, then we got jobs and it just never happened. But why not tonight?
“I want to go in,” I tell him excitedly.
“Now? You want to climb to the top tonight?”
“Yeah. Why not?”
He scratches his ear, frowning up at the monster above us. “It’s a long way.”
“Are you too tired, old man?”
“Easy, Villette.”
“That’s a good idea. You take it easy while I climb to the top and see all of Paris and then you can be super jealous that I had more fun on your birthday than you did.” I back away slowly, smiling like a brat. “Old man.”
His face is dark. “You get a ten second head start. That’s it.”
“I don’t need it.”
“Nine.”
“Are we really going?”
“Eight.”
I laugh, running for the stairs as fast as I can go. I struggle with the door but when he gets to six, I get it open. It’s dark inside, like a tomb at midnight. I have to follow the wall to find the stairs but then I’m sprinting up them two at a time. The door behind me bangs open, a small shaft of light showing me a turn is coming up soon. It disappears, dropping me into darkness as Bastian’s feet thunder up the steps behind me.
