Chapter Twenty-Six
Early the next morning, I dress and step out to the gardens. I always feel closer to Mom out here, among the flowers and chirping birds. I arrive at a cluster of flowers with more shades of blues and greens than I knew even existed. With a small knife I cut and gather the flowers. Never take for granted the beauty of nature, I can almost hear Mom say.
Down the trail, someone sings a song spoken in foreign words. The singer comes around the bend and I grin at the sight of Bram with a shovel slung over his shoulder. He nods in greeting.
“That’s a beautiful song.” I clip another flower. “What do the words mean?”
“Eternal Mother, bring your deliverance. Eternal Mother, come give us peace.”
“A prayer to your goddess?”
“Yes, simling.”
“We had some people back on earth who remained loyal to their God,” I say. “Elohim, they called Him. They believed with every ounce of their core that He would eventually deliver us.”
“What about you’s?” Bram lowers the shovel and leans on it, clearly in a good mood this morning. “Do you’s have faith that God—the Eternal Mother, or as you call it, Elohim—will free us?”
I think of Mom hunched over her bed every morning, praying, begging for Elohim to set His people free. I remember gathering with other people, though few, who met to worship several times a week. Their voices would rise up to the night sky like the embers, merging together in a desperate prayer. And sometimes I could almost feel a larger presence invading the gaps between us.
But as I got older, I stopped meeting with the group. When I realized this is the only life we have and we’d better stop looking to the afterlife as our only source of hope, which they so often stressed in those meetings. It’s more important to live this life to the full than to wait in hopeful passivity for the next.
“I don’t know if it’s good for me to believe in a being above ourselves,” I finally answer. “It would mean the gods made us slaves, and that thought only makes me bitter.” I add another flower to my bouquet. “But I do believe in love. And while I don’t think our freedom will come from the hands of the gods, who decide when the stars are aligned enough to deliver us, I do believe it’s up to us to reach for this freedom, to grasp it, and then in turn, to fight for it for other people so they, too, can experience the fullness of this life.”
“Very good.” He smiles at me, his eyes shining with affirmation. “As long as you’s believe in something, simling.” He pulls his shovel back over his shoulder. “There’s none more lost than those with no ambition.” He looks at my flowers and his smile falters, but he nods in farewell and resumes walking down the trail.
After I’ve collected an overflowing bouquet, I return to the kitchen. Vermilia, Telana, and Melata are already preparing breakfast. Telana takes one look at the flowers and her eyes widen like I suggested murdering the king, but she quickly turns around. No one says anything as I select a large cobalt vase, fill it with water, and place the flowers inside, then take it into the dining hall table for the Rydells to enjoy when they arrive. I lean over them and inhale the sweet, honeysuckle scent one more time before returning to the kitchen. Tarik sits at the kitchen table, eating breakfast, completely oblivious to my presence.
“You’s awfully smiley this morn’, simling,” Vermilia says as I begin setting the rolls onto a pan. “Something happen to cheer you up?”
Tarik shoots me a glare.
“I had a good dream last night,” I quickly cover. “About home.”
Thankfully Melata switches topics by talking about the upcoming party. Tarik seems satisfied enough as he walks out of the kitchen without a word. I place the rolls into the oven, just when a shout bellows from the dining hall, making me almost drop the pan.
“What was that?” I ask.
The maids all stare at each other wide-eyed, then we all step through the sliding door into the dining hall. Timeos stands at the door on the opposite side of the room, staring at the bouquet on the table like it was holding snakes instead of flowers. Kalen trots up behind him.
“What’s wrong, Father?” He looks at the bouquet, and he clamps his mouth shut while devastation fills his eyes.
Timeos glares at me and the other maids. “Who did this?” he demands.
Breathless, I step forward. “It was me. I’m sorry. I thought—”
“Who gave you permission to pick those flowers?” His eyes are raging violet, and he looks like he could sell me right now. Or flog me. He slowly walks toward me, the anger in his eyes sending chills down my spine.
“Nobody,” I whisper. “I thought—I thought you might like to enjoy them within your walls—while you eat. I—I had no idea it was forbidden.”
He stops right in front of me and stares me down, and I wonder if he’ll just end me by a quick blow to the temple. I bow my head, clasp my hands in front of me.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I won’t do it again.”
A few excruciatingly long seconds go by, then he drags his hands down the length of his face and strides out of the room. Kalen stares at the floor, then looks at us and jerks his chin.
“Back to work,” he says softly. His eyes meet mine for a brief moment, and I see a hint of pity mingled with a deep sorrow. We all disappear back into the kitchen. No one says a word. I guess they realized I learned my lesson. No need to rub it in when I already feel terrible for disrupting the Rydell garden.
Vermilia serves the masters’ breakfast, and I stay in the kitchen to clean up. I don’t think I can handle any more Rydell anger right now. I hear Sarka’s laughter through the doors, but Timeos Rydell does not return to the dining hall.
Once breakfast is over, I enter the room with a cloth. Sarka is gone now, but Kalen still sits at the table, reading something on his tablet. Luna lies at his feet, offering me a thumping tail wag when she sees me.
Kalen looks up at the distraction. “Good morning, Lark.”
“Some kind of morning,” I say as I begin wiping down the table.
“I’m sorry about Father.”
“Not as sorry as I am. I should have asked permission.”
“It’s not that. He doesn’t care if you pick the flowers.”
I stop wiping and arch a brow.
He sighs, runs both hands through his midnight hair, and leans back in his chair. “My mother…she used to bring flowers in. Every morning she would spend the sunrise in the garden and pray to the gods. Then she would gather flowers and place them in that exact vase, and set them on the table. It was her ritual. After she passed away…no one bothered bringing flowers in. We were all grieving. I’m sure the slaves didn’t feel it was their place.” The sad longing in his eyes tugs violently at my heart. “We haven’t had flowers on the dining room table since Mother passed away.”
I sink into one of the chairs, guilt eating at me.
“I’m—I’m so sorry,” I whisper. “I had no idea.”
“How could you know?” He reaches out and picks up his mug, takes a sip, and sets it down. “Father will be ok. It was just the shock that got to him.”
I stand and reach for the vase. “I’ll take them out right now.”
“Don’t.” His eyes seem to be holding onto that grief, never wanting to let it go. “I like them. I think—I think I needed the gentle reminder of her.”
I nod and continue wiping the table down. I notice his bandage from yesterday has been removed. “How’s your hand? May I have a look?”
“Of course, Doctor Lark.” He smiles slyly, the grief in his eyes ebbing as he opens his palm for me to inspect.
“It’s healing well. No sign of infection. You’ll be able to handle that horse again in no time.”
He smile broadens, lifting the apprehension from my shoulders. “I have something for you, by the way.”
“For me?”
He pulls two small silver contraptions out of his pocket and holds them out to me.
“What are they?” I ask, not daring to take them.
“Ear dials.” He leans forward, but he might as well stay sitting down, because between my short Human stature and his tall Tavdorian one, we’re practically eye to eye right now. He holds the ear dials out so I can see them. They’re small, each one about the size of my thumbnail.
“You can switch the channel by swiping the side of this one with your finger.” He runs his index finger across the smooth flat side of the larger ear dial. I arch a brow in question. His brows knit together, then lift as realization strikes. “You’ve never heard of ear dials.”
I laugh, my cheeks warming at my complete ignorance. “I’m afraid not.”
“They stream music from the city, like my chatband. Pretty much whatever you want to listen to, it’s on here. You place them in your ears so you can listen to music while you go about your day. You can even say a command and it’ll play whichever song you choose.”
I remember looking forward to the weekend campfires just to hear Josiah strum his guitar. But being able to listen to music all day? While working?
I tear my eyes off these magical devices and look at Kalen. “What would you like me to do with them?” I hope he doesn’t want me to fix them. I don’t know the first thing about technology.
A brilliant laugh escapes him. “They’re gifts. You told me you enjoyed music yesterday. Consider these a thank-you for stitching up my hand. Here.” He hands them to me.
“A…gift?” Here he goes again, spoiling me. I lean my hip against the table and pluck the ear dials out of his palm, studying them. They’re smooth and light, but I have no idea how to put them in.
Kalen must notice my confusion, because he takes them back out of my fingers. “Allow me.”
He leans forward, then slips the controlling ear dial in one ear. His fingers graze my ear and my stomach flips. His breath, smelling of foreign spices mingled with nutmeg, invades the space between us as he gently places the smaller ear dial in the other ear. Once the ear dials are in place, he lowers his hand, his knuckles grazing against the hollow of my neck. My heart skips like the beating wings of a butterfly, and I have to close my eyes to focus.
Breathe.
The ear dials feel foreign and cold. I open my eyes, almost reach up to take them out, when music pulses into my ears. I pause. And listen. It’s not the upbeat music I hear at the parties. It’s not like the orchestra the musicians often play during the Rydell’s dinner. It’s foreign, calm, haunting, yet filled with so much passion and beauty it almost makes my soul ache.
“Swipe up and down to adjust the volume,” Kalen says. “And side to side to change the channel.”
I press my finger on the ear dial and slide up. The music invades my eardrums, flowing into my brain and consuming my mind. The melody wraps around me like waves rolling into my soul, rolling, rolling, rolling in until my spirit overflows with the music. The beat anchors to my pulse. Instruments merge together in a symphony, building until it unleashes an explosion of perfect harmony, and I never want it to stop. I never want the music to stop. I want it to go on forever because this feeling, this wonderful, chaotic, confusing feeling is something beautiful and strange and hypnotic. It’s my escape, and I don’t want to go back to wherever I came from.
The song ends in an epic finale, and I exhale.
I open my eyes to find Kalen staring at me, amusement sparking in his lavender eyes. How foolish I must appear to him. How utterly naive. I quickly reach up to lower the volume.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I just—I never—”
“Don’t apologize.” He smiles, but something strange fills his eyes. Wonder. “You look…stunning when you’re lost in the moment.”
I can’t remember a single time a boy ever called me stunning. But he’s looking at me like I’m a new star that just appeared in the night sky and he doesn’t know where I came from or how I got here. He brushes a strand of hair from my forehead, and just the light touch is enough to steal the air from my lungs. Energy consumes the air around us, pulling, tugging, demanding.
I release a shaky breath. His fingers glide down my face until he’s cupping my cheek. I can’t think of anything else, anything but his touch that sets my skin on fire. Music is playing somewhere in my ears, and his thumb is skating along my lower lip, and there’s a pull, a strong, magnetic pull deep in my gut, and it’s not anything I’m familiar with. It’s strange and foreign and I want it to stop, and yet, I want it to consume me.
The kitchen door slides open. I glance back to find Vermilia step into the room. Heat creeps into my cheeks, but Vermilia pretends to be completely oblivious to our presence as she finishes my job of wiping down the table.
I clear my throat, stare at my feet. “I should—”
“Yeah.” Kalen grabs his tablet and stands, offering me a small nod. “Enjoy the music.” Then he walks out of the room as if there was absolutely no connection between us just now. I would almost think nothing happened, that it was all in my head. Except that I’m a whirlwind of confused emotions, my hands trembling and my cheeks burning, the place on my lip where his thumb was, still tingling. I stare after him as he walks out the doors, letting them slide closed behind him.
“Be careful, simling.” Vermilia says the words so quietly, I wonder if she actually spoke them. But then she stops clearing the table and looks at me, a warning in her eyes. “Tavdorians are passionate creatures. Passionate about ownership, competition, shallow indulgences. They’s see what they’s want and they’s shake the universe to get it without a single consideration to the person involved. Kalen is no exception. He’s not one to fall head over heels for a slave—or anyone. Watch where you’s tread, simling. Our masters are kind, but they’s still Tavdorian, reckless and selfish, and nothing you’s do, nothing you’s say, will change that.”
I could easily burn up in flames by the heat that coats my body in humiliation right now. “Um. Nothing’s…going on.”
She offers a clearly forced smile. “Keep it that way, then, yes?” She hands me a rag and heads back into the kitchen.
A new song comes on in my ear dials, distracting me from Vermilia’s warning. I touch the controlling dial and slide my finger up until a sweet melody pours into my ears, then finish wiping off the table, all the while thinking of Kalen’s touch and what it might have felt like to have his lips on mine again.