The Offering (5 page)

He looked past me as his words trailed away and he lost his train of thought. My heart broke as I saw the fracture in his resolve. He wasn't as impervious as he pretended to be.

“Are you going to be okay?” I asked, this time shifting so he was forced to meet my eyes directly. I took his hands and gripped them, not letting him shake me off this time. “It's all right if you're not. I know the two of you are . . .
complicated
, but this is your brother we're talking about.” I squeezed his fingers to emphasize my point, frowning tenaciously.

Max sighed as he reached for me, his arms dragging me against him. He settled his chin against the top of my head as he let out his breath. After a long, thoughtful moment his hands tugged at the lightweight body armor I was still wearing. “What are you up to, Charlie?”

I tipped my head back and glanced up at him, hoping he couldn't feel the sudden flutter of my heartbeat against his chest. “I—I just want answers. Same as everyone else.”

He shook his head, telling me that wasn't what he was asking, and I knew he was onto me, that he'd recognized my attempt to be oblique. “You know what I mean. I'm talking about your chain mail, and you know it.” He drew back and regarded my attire with a suspicious eye. “Explain, please.”

I tried to think of a million ways to shrug it off—the strange garb, my ruffled hair, and the dirt I'd already tried to rub from my face. But Max wouldn't be put off by anything and would demand the truth.

If only I could find a way to soften it . . .

“Zafir is teaching me to fight,” I blurted, my heart stuttering as the words burst from my lips, surprising even me when I heard them aloud.

Max regarded me, his dark eyes clouding. “To . . . fight . . .” He repeated the words slowly, as if they were foreign and he couldn't seem to absorb them. As if he understood each of them individually but not all together in their context. “You?” he asked, giving me the strangest look, and again I got the distinct feeling that my explanation hadn't quite registered yet.

A pair of guards entered the main hall, and suddenly the enormous space felt overcrowded, and my patience grew thin. I smiled weakly as the men passed us, and I no longer cared about how I looked or about things like manners or etiquette.

I reached for Max and half-dragged him from the hall, until we were deeper down the passageway, to the part of the palace where my family was housed. Once we were away from every possible prying ear, I straightened my shoulders and lifted my chin.

“Yes,
me
, Max.” My voice was firm now. “Zafir has been teaching me how to fight for months. And not just how to defend myself should I be attacked,” I explained stubbornly, wanting it all out in the open now. “But how to wield weapons too . . . swords, knives, even guns. I can shoot at both short and long range.” I cocked my head. “I can also break a man's wrist.” I remembered how I'd taken Zafir out of commission for a few days when he'd underestimated my grasp of this technique. I might not have actually broken his wrist, but he'd certainly had to lay low. He would have had a hard time
explaining that I'd been the reason he'd had to bandage it to keep it immobile.

Max's frown deepened, but at least he seemed to be grasping the words as a whole now. “But . . . why? You have guards for that. You don't need to know how to fight.”

I crossed my arms. “You can fight. I've seen you. And
you
grew up with guards,” I challenged.

“That's different,” he countered. “I joined the military. What kind of soldier would I have been if I hadn't been able to fight?” He shook his head, still scrutinizing me as if the idea were preposterous. “You're not thinking of joining the military, are you, Charlie?”

I considered his question, and my reasons for persuading Zafir to teach me in the first place. I'd had dreams about being tougher, stronger than I ever thought I was. And I'd proven that I could be—I'd very nearly broken my own guard's wrist.

So, I could fight. What did I really plan to do with that skill now that I had it?

I shrugged, biting my lip and stuffing down the desire to tell him yes, that I would like nothing more in the entire world than to fight, to prove my mettle in battle. “Of course not,” I said quietly instead, my words feeling like a betrayal of my own heart. “What good would a queen be on the battlefield?”

iii

When winter had first settled over our region, and the palace grounds—the gardens and the calm, canopied woodlands surrounding the estates—had become too cold and inhospitable as an escape from the duties that sometimes overwhelmed me, I'd gone in search of a new place where I could be alone with my thoughts. I'd scoured the castle, spending hour after hour, long after the others had retired for the night, combing hallways and searching chambers and passageways—even those that were hidden behind the walls and beneath the floors—until I'd finally found a space. One where I felt safe, and free to be myself.

Now, alone in one of many dank underground storage chambers that were brimming with crates and paintings and musty furniture from dynasties long forgotten, I curled myself tightly into the corner of a settee that I'd rescued from the treasures that had been carelessly packed in on top of one another. To me, these vaults were wondrous. Treasure troves that I'd spent days on end exploring, as I'd unearthed relics
and art and—yes—junk, too. But incredibly fascinating and thought-provoking junk.

Once, I'd uncovered an intricate glass sculpture of a colorful bird with plumes as varied as a sunrise, while in yet another crate, I'd discovered a gorgeous drawing of the sea, with sandy knolls and great, frothy waves—a place that seemed mythical, despite the knowledge that it existed. More often than not, however, the crates were simply filled with garbage, rotting mounds of molded papers that might have been something once but now just stank as they decomposed.

It had taken me several of these expeditions to choose this particular room to make my own, and many hours more to rescue the settee from the wreckage once I'd realized it smelled the least like mildew and still had most of its cushions intact. I'd positioned it just so in front of a carved wooden table—another rescued treasure—with feet like lion's claws. I'd arranged candles in holders of varying sizes and materials—ornate irons, heavy carved woods, and golden gilts from indefinable eras—all over the table's surface to stave off the blackness that seemed to engulf everything belowground.

I stared at the portraits I'd gathered, my own private gallery. I had no idea who these women were, but there was something haunting about their images, especially in the candlelight that flickered and danced over the brush-stroked surfaces. As always when I studied their faces, I was keenly aware that these were likely rulers who had come before me, presiding over Ludania in succession, only to be swallowed up by Sabara.

Sabara, of course, heard my musings.
And not one was
half as fortunate as you, Charlaina. You, it seems, have swallowed me.

I grimaced at her words. I could've been happy with my lot in life, as a vendor's daughter, but I was a different person now, and I was still getting to know the new me. I wasn't just a queen, or a vessel to carry Sabara from one place to another, or even someone's daughter. I was unsure, exactly, who I was, or who I would turn out to be. I was still growing and changing. Evolving.

“There you are.” The low timbre of Max's voice interrupted my thoughts and made me forget Sabara altogether. His words were muffled by the damp stone that encircled us, and they sent a shiver along my spine that had nothing at all to do with the chill of the room. “Zafir said you'd slipped away again. He said you needed to be alone. I hope it wasn't because of me.”

I knew Zafir's confidence in letting me stray had nothing to do with my newly developed fighting skills but more to do with the fact that he knew exactly where I was, even when he pretended to turn a blind eye. Knowing I was simply seeking a few moments' respite within the palace walls made it easier for him to give me the space I so desperately craved.

Frowning, I picked at a stray thread of the ancient fabric on the arm of the settee. “Why would you think it had anything to do with you?” I didn't want him to see how close he was to the truth. It bothered me that he'd questioned my need to train in the art of battle. I'd felt mocked for my desire to be something other than a girl wearing a crown.

The candles shivered as Max approached, casting new and different shadows over the worn woven rug I'd positioned on
the slab of stone beneath our feet. He knelt on the floor before me, putting his finger just beneath my chin but not forcing it up. “Charlie, please. It's me. You don't have to pretend.” His eyes, when I finally dared meet them, were liquid gunmetal that brimmed with so much reassurance, they were hard to ignore. “I'm a horse's ass, of course.” He smiled then, and I did too. Partly because he was right, partly because he was so damned beautiful.

“You sort of are,” I agreed, nodding, and that scant motion brought me just the slightest degree closer to him. My pulse fluttered as he leaned closer to me as well.

“I should never have questioned your motives.” I could taste his breath, warm against my lips. His scent made it hard to concentrate, as suddenly all these words seemed pointless, and all I could think about was how badly I wanted him to close the gap and kiss me already. “You can do anything you want to do. You've proven it time and time again.” When he paused, he reached into his pocket and pulled something out, then presented it to me. “Charlie, I want you to have this.”

Curious, I watched as he uncurled his fingers, revealing a brilliant sapphire pendant set in beautiful bronze that had darkened with age. Around the large, glittering stone the metal had been sculpted with a fine latticework of designs and symbols that were now archaic but had once held great importance to the royal line.

More than one of the queens in my portrait gallery wore necklaces identical to the one he offered me.

“It was my mother's,” Max said, and I raised my eyes to his.

I'd already guessed as much, but still I shook my head,
my heart squeezing at the gesture. “Max, I can't. Not yet.” The last thing I wanted was to deny him, to hurt him, but the timing . . .

“Take it,” he insisted, his eyes glancing uncertainly to mine. He pushed it into my hand.

I let him drop it into my palm, even though the feel of the chain against my skin felt like exactly that—chains. I couldn't be bound to him, not in this way. Not until I was certain I was ready. “I'm not asking you to commit to marriage until you're sure. It's just a gift. Something that once belonged in my family but now belongs in yours. It belongs on a queen,” he said, and I knew he was at least partly right.

“Right,” I agreed, a slow smile finding my lips. “But it's also an engagement necklace.”

The candidness of the smile he returned to me made me question my hesitation. “Consider it a gift, Charlie. Wear it or don't. But I want you to have it. Every time I look at it, I think of you.”

I blinked, determined not to cry, and reprimanding myself for being so sentimental even as I studied the intricate necklace in my hand. I wasn't sure I deserved either the gesture or his patience, but I was grateful for both.

“It's beautiful,” I told him, letting my thumb trace the filigree design around the edges. I could make out tiny birds and a crescent moon, and a small flower design, all crafted from a single strand of bronze. There were other symbols as well, all interlocking and never-ending. Eternal.

His voice dropped. “
You're
beautiful.”

My breath caught as I lifted my eyes to his. “Do you ever
miss her?” I asked. “Your mother? Do you ever think about her? Wonder what happened to her?”

I'd never asked him before, but if he was bothered by my curiosity, it didn't show in his expression. I'd heard the story, about how Sabara had paid Max's mother to leave after her husband—Max and Xander's father—had died, and I couldn't imagine what kind of mother would be so willingly bought off that way. How she could have agreed to take Sabara's money and leave her two small sons under their grandmother's roof.

But Max just shrugged, as if the matter were inconsequential. “There's not much to think about,” he answered. “What kind of mother abandons her children?”

It wasn't an answer, at least not to the questions I'd asked, and to be honest, I didn't care about her. I cared about him. About the little boy he'd been—who'd lost first his father and then his mother, and had then been raised by a cold, heartless grandmother who'd cared about no one but herself.

Within me Sabara didn't bother to deny my allegations.

I looked back to the necklace in my hand. A woman like Max's mother hadn't deserved a necklace like this, any more than she'd deserved to have sons like Max and Xander.

“Fine,” I told him, a grin sneaking over my lips. “I accept your gift. I'll even wear it now and then. As long as you realize that until
I
say it's an engagement necklace, it's only a trinket.” My grin grew. “A really nice trinket,” I finished as I passed it back to him and swept my hair aside so he could fasten it around my neck.

I raised my eyebrows expectantly, waiting for his reaction. “Well?”

“It's perfect.” His voice was rough, almost a growl. “You're perfect.”

Color sprang to my cheeks, and my own voice felt thick when it reached my lips. “You think so, do you?”

The change in Max was instantaneous. I could see it in the way his eyes glazed and his beautiful, full lips parted. I never tired of those lips. Lips that could coax sighs from me. Lips that could make mine tingle in sheer anticipation.