Fearless Magic (15 page)

My gaze flew to his and the hatred renewed.

“You are not a prince here, inside these walls you are our prisoner and you will act as such,” Jericho shouted back and Sebastian fell silent. His eyes drooped again and his demeanor lost the moment-long spark of something desired.

“I'll take you upstairs,” Jericho's voice was soothing again and he gripped my elbow inside of his hand.

I let him. Somewhere, deep inside, I knew that he was right, I knew that I needed to sleep and that whatever the end result would be with Sebastian tonight, whatever it was, I would regret in the morning.

Suddenly I was exhausted. I tried to remember the last time I got a full night's sleep, but I couldn't. Even before I set out on this.... this.... journey, I wasn't able to sleep. I leaned heavily against Jericho and let him guide me upstairs.

The townhouse was gigantic. Upstairs were numerous bedrooms, all fully prepared for house guests and plenty of bathrooms to let the house get full without any visitor feeling inconvenienced. Jericho led me to a bedroom with a full bed, and private bathroom. My backpack and clothes from earlier that day lay on a small chair sitting next to a white, decorative, writing desk.

The bed, covered with a plush, navy blue, paisley comforter and at least ten pillows with the same design, reminded me of home, of my bed back in Omaha, with at least an equal number of pillows. I almost burst into tears at the sight of it.

“Is this Ok?” Jericho asked, gesturing towards the bedroom.

“It's perfect,” I gushed and then turned into him, throwing my arms around his neck. He, likewise, wrapped his arms tightly around my waist, absorbing me into him. I fought the tears that banged against the floodgates of my eyes, and in the end won.

'It's been a long day,” Jericho whispered softly in my ear, pulling away just a little.

“It's been a long couple of days,” I mumbled sarcastically. “Thank you for intervening down there.” I pulled back and looked into his eyes.

I felt something then, something that moved at my heart like a crash cart against a heart attack victim, violent and reviving. I could trust Jericho, not just with protecting me from others, but from myself as well. He didn't just want what was best for the Resistance or my brother, he wanted what was best for me, but he never forced that on me. He let me decide and gently offered his help every step of the way. The trust was there, I couldn't do anything to stop it.

Moments ago, I believed I would never trust another person for as long as I lived. Yet, I couldn't help but trust him; the decision was made before I even realized what was happening. He forced my soul back into innocent belief, not by empty words or false promises but by consistent action that never failed. He was safe.

“Of course,” he answered. “You'd better get some rest. Tomorrow we can figure out what to do with....” and he moved his thumb back and forth toward the stairs, motioning downstairs.

I looked back at the bed again, excited about the idea of getting in to it and then back at Jericho. I didn't want to be alone tonight. As much as I craved the idea of falling asleep, I was still afraid of being completely alone. Jericho had yet to pull away, had yet to even look away, but I couldn't ask him to stay.

Whatever would come out of our time together, whatever feelings or relationship that either of us anticipated, needed to happen naturally. And I wasn't ready for Jericho. I wasn't ready for everything a relationship demanded. Trust was a step, but Jericho deserved more than what I could give him right now. If anything my chest remained an empty cavity where a heart used to beat, one day there might be more, but it was definitely not tonight.

Still my blood quickened at our closeness and some animal instinct took over, silencing my better judgment. I leaned forward on my tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. My lips lingered for several seconds longer than what would have been natural, but even if my emotions weren't ready, it didn't mean my body wasn't crying out for my heart to move.

I tried to walk away from him. I tried to leave his arms, his safe embrace and walk all the way into the room, but I was fighting an internal war and everything inside of me, except my heart fought against letting go.

My lips moved, without my permission from his cheek to his lips, and there they stayed for moments too long. I kissed him with a passion I did not know was waiting and with fervor that should have been buried. His lips moved against mine with equal feeling and for a few seconds the world melted away; my problems, this journey disappeared and all that remained was the two of us.

Our magics met with slow consideration, mine reluctant to move and his waiting as if always in that position. But when they finally touched each other, when our auras finally found the other, it was as if it should have always been this way. It was as if this was how the world was meant to turn.

I pushed my body against his with more force so that his embrace would cover me completely. My weight shifted towards him still, I couldn't bear any separation between us, no matter how small, and the boards underneath my feet let out a loud squeak of protest. The sound was deafening in the silence of the hallway and I immediately pulled away from Jericho, shrinking back into the shell of solitude I had come to accept.

“Goodnight,” I half laughed at Jericho, touching my fingertips to my lips. I promised myself there was life after Kiran, but maybe, after that kiss, I could actually believe it was true.

“Goodnight,” Jericho replied, confused and disconcerted.

I stepped away from him, courageous enough to brave the isolation of my bedroom now. I shut the door behind me, waving a silent goodbye to Jericho who still stood outside the doorway as if lost about what to do next.

I stripped on the way to the bathroom and left a trail of dress-up clothes behind me. I searched out the gratuitous amenities I would need for the night in the well equipped guest bathroom and once my teeth were brushed I dove under the still cold covers, enveloping myself in the thick blankets and burrowing into the numerous pillows with thoughts of home and Aunt Syl and how simple life used to be.

My eyes closed before they even adjusted to the darkness and I drifted to sleep only moments later. Inside the quiet of the bedroom, everything held the possibility of turning out for the better.

----

“My patience is wearing thin, child,” the king said coolly, calmly, as if he were telling a lie, as if he possessed all of the patience in the world. “Your time is running out and yet you do nothing about it.”

“Let it,” the teenage boy grunted. His mouth tasted of iron, and his vision was unfixably blurry.

“That would be so easy for you, wouldn't it?” the king replied, his eyes flashing with an anger only nobility was capable of. The spoiled anger stirred from a man used to getting everything he wanted as soon as he wanted it. “Oh, if only I would let you die, if only your meaningless life were to be snuffed out with just the motion of my finger, how wonderful things would turn out for you,” he mocked, with vitriolic tones. “But you do not understand!” his voice suddenly turned to screaming, “I will make her pay! I will treat her ten thousand times worse than what you have suffered and I will enjoy it!”

“Then find her,” the boy coughed blood as the words tumbled from his mouth, but still the smile was there, still, the arrogant resonance the king detested so much would not leave his voice.

“Do not make the mistake of thinking I will not be able to. If I cannot find her, surely she will come to me, surely she will try to save you,” the king looked at his prisoner with a ravenous hunger, as if he were a piece of delectable meat to be devoured.

The boy recognized the look in the king's eyes and tipped his head back towards the heavens. His dark his prison, offered no sunlight, no light to move with the day. He lived in perpetual night and with a simple motion of the king's finger, his night would turn to nightmare.

He stared at the dripping stone ceiling and cried inwardly for strength. He could not see the heavens or even remember them clearly enough to picture them, but he cried out to them for courage. He needed just one more night of faith, just one more minute of bravery and once he was through, he could die. He begged his silent God to take him, to make this the last night he would suffer, but gritted his teeth and dug his fingers into the arms of his chair in preparation for what was to come.

If God did not call him to Him tonight, surely she would be there in the morning. Surely she would come for him instead. Surely, she would fulfill her promise and save him.

----

My eyes shot open and my trembling fingers clawed at the soft, feather pillows surrounding me. I reached out in the darkness for the boy in the dream but he was already fading, he was already disappearing back into the gray void of the dream world.

My hands clasped quickly over my mouth as if to stop it from screaming the cries of a tortured soul. My face drenched in sweat and my hair matted against my skin, I tried quickly to remember the dream, to remember the boy's face but it was already gone. The dream held no meaning now as my eyes adjusted to the dark and my shoulders stopped shivering violently.

Everything was Ok, everything was how it should be.

“Bad dream?” an amused English accent inquired from a corner chair.

“Who's supposed to be guarding you?” I demanded, pulling the comforter up to my neck.

“Poor lad, fell asleep,” Sebastian answered with mock concern.

“So you've come to kill me?” I asked, confidence lacking.

“Oh, I think we've all learned that valuable lesson. The all-powerful Eden, that cannot be killed,” he ridiculed, as if I were a circus act.

“And yet, here you are,” I replied, wishing I had worn pajamas to bed, or at least something other than underwear.

“And here you are,” Sebastian stayed in his chair, his fingertips pressed together, and his face completely hidden in the night. “Believe me, I have felt my fair share of internal objections with how things have gone for myself, but there are things you need to know about the monarchy. There are certain.... things you need to know about Kiran, and before you go off destroying my family, you are going to listen to me. You are going to hear everything I have to say.”

“You cannot be serious,” I rolled my eyes, reminding myself that I was the boss, not him.

“I am completely serious,” Sebastian promised, and if I hadn't been dressed to nearly nude I would have walked out on him, “And in exchange I will give you specific directions to get to Kiran. He is dying; you could kill him easily and I know where he is.”

I couldn't argue with that, so I pulled the comforter closer and I listened. I would listen to everything Sebastian had to say.

Chapter Fourteen

“The first thing you need to understand is that Avalon is barely alive,” Sebastian declared coolly from the corner chair. His face came into focus once my eyes adjusted to the darkness, but I struggled to look at him without feeling unwarranted pangs of sympathy.

“I figured,” I mumbled, pulling the warm covers over my mouth and doing my best not to feel the heart-wrenching pain that accompanied Sebastian's words.

“Eden, I don't know what you're planning, but if your plans include rescuing your brother then you are going to have to do it sooner rather than later.” Sebastian was so serious that I wanted to believe he actually cared about Avalon. I wanted to believe him, but I couldn't even entertain the idea.

“Thanks for the advice,” I spat, venomously.

“You're welcome,” he countered. “And another thing, if you want to get to Kiran, now is the time. He's practically dead already, and if you want responsibility for the death of the monarchy then you shouldn't hesitate.”

“Is there anything else, Sebastian? How about the king? How would you suggest we go about murdering him?” I was fed up with his attitude, how dare he come into my safe-house and order me around.

“I have several thoughts on that, if you're really interested, actually,” he mumbled, looking out the window at the moonlit-bathed street. “Also, your neck is glowing.”

I tugged at my hair angrily, pulling it over my shoulder, and combing it with my fingers to cover up the small serpentine tattoo. “What are you doing? What kind of game are you playing here?” I demanded, finally unable to keep up the charade of taking his advice seriously.

“I'm trying to help you,” he hissed, as if it were obvious.

“Ok, let's be real here. Sebastian, you don't have to pretend anymore, you're our prisoner, I'm going to probably kill you either way, so it's not necessary for you to lie to me anymore.” I was over playing games with these people, my new policy was upfront honesty and I was bound and determined to expect it from everybody.

“I understand that we are not playing games, Eden. Look at me! Do I look like I'm playing games anymore?” he snarled, his voice raised and his sunken eyes hard.

“Then, what is this? Why are you trying to help me?” I wanted to believe him, I wanted to listen to his advice. He possessed intricate knowledge of the palaces and where the royal family would be. I couldn't, though. I couldn't, in good conscience, remember how he was used against my family and me and believe him now. His loyalty remained with his uncle and cousin.