The Other Side of Truth (The Marked Ones Trilogy Book 3) (29 page)

Lost and Found

Friday, December 21st

NUALLA

W
hen I got home I
found my mother in a heap by the Christmas tree, sobbing. Her fingers sliced and bloody.

I dropped my bag, and darted forward. Dropping down beside her, I cupped her hands in mine. “What did you
do
?”

“It broke,” Loraly sobbed broken-heartedly. “I broke it and…and…and now it’s ruined,” she sobbed harder.

I looked down as Loraly leaned into me, finally seeing the shattered bits of thin, colored glass. But even though it was broken, I could still tell what it had been. Draya’s birth ornament—shattered to pieces on the wooden floor. Broken to pieces and gone—just like her.

“Oh Mom,” I breathed out around the lump in my throat. “It will be okay, we’ll make her a new one. And it will be okay,” I cooed as I rubbed her back gently.

I looked up from the shattered ornament. For once, the house seemed to be inconveniently devoid of Protectorate.

Where the hell are they?

I stood up, and pulled Loraly off the floor. She let me lead her over to one of the sofas as if she was a piece of kelp in the Bay, completely at the mercy of the world around her. It was horrible to see her this way—to see her so broken.

“Just wait here, Mom,” I said quickly before I hurried into the kitchen. I pulled a clean towel from the stack, and stuck it under the faucet. I had damn near failed basic first aid in school, but I at least knew this much.

As I walked back into the living room, I saw that Loraly hadn’t moved an inch. She just continued to stare into the distance, her bloody hands resting numbly in her lap.

I sat next to her, and took her hands gently into mine. Carefully cleaning them until they were free of blood and I was certain there weren’t still bits of glass in her skin.

“You really cut yourself good, Mom. You might need a stitch or two,” I said with a sigh as I heard someone enter the room.

A Protectorate I didn’t even recognize looked back at us with wide, panicked eyes. “Cellarius Loraly, Arius Nualla, what happened?”

“She cut her hands. Can you have Dr. LaCosta come over as soon as he can? She’s probably going to require some liquid stitches,” I stated in a clear, calm voice.

“It will be done, Arius,” the Protectorate responded in a rush as he bowed. His right fist coming across his chest quickly in salute. And a heartbeat later, he was walking purposefully back out of the room, his left hand pressed to the com device in his ear.

I looked back to Loraly, and realized that she was watching me. “When did you become the strong, level-headed one?” my mother asked with a sniffle. A tiny weak smile threatening to spread across her lips.

When dad forced me to be. When he ran away to play hooky and left me to run this whole damn region on my own.

“I’m not sure,” I lied, unable to return the smile.

I trudged up the stairs, leaving Dr. LaCosta to find his own way out. Today had been a very,
very
long day, and I just wanted to collapse into bed and pretend the world didn’t exist.

As I reached the last step my phone buzzed in my pocket, and I groaned.
Why, universe? Why can’t you let me catch just one frakkin’ break?

I slid my finger across the phone and answered it without even looking, because I was even too tired to defiantly ignore it. “Hello?”

“Nualla, I—”

“
Roy
?” I replied in surprise. “Did I miss some meeting? Is there some other ceremony I need to perform that everyone forgot to tell me about?” I said sarcastically, because I was just so frakking done with today.

“I found him,” Roy said in a breathy voice like he was jogging down stairs.

I froze, gripping the railing with my free hand. “What?”

“Alex—I found him. I know where he is.”

I Still Need You

Saturday, December 22nd and Sunday, December 23rd

NUALLA

T
here was a person sitting
in the corner by the window, but it wasn’t the father I knew. This person’s pale, wavy blond hair was wild, his face sporting weeks’ worth of stubble, and he was dressed in an informal indigo blue and white kimono. I had never seen my dad looking so disheveled in my life, and it scared me.

Alex turned to look at me when he caught my reflection in the glass. “How did you find me?”

“Roy recognized the name,” I replied in a quiet voice. Rain beat down on the city below, so much like San Francisco, and yet, so unlike it at the same time. Washington was part of the Karalian region, but really, I had only been to Seattle a few times in my life.

“Is your mother with you?” Alex asked, looking past me.

I shook my head. “No, she stayed at home.”

“Good.”

“Why wouldn’t you want to see her?” I asked accusingly. The helpless feeling of abandonment giving way to anger.

“Because I still don’t know what I’m going to say to her,” Alex said with a heavy sigh.

“So you just ran away?!” I asked incredulously.

“Nualla—”

“Do you think this isn’t hard on the
rest
of us? My sister is
dead
. My best friend nearly
died
. My husband tried to
kill
me. And every time—” My voice cracked and I had to stop for a second, and take a deep breath.

Don’t cry. You’ll never stop if you start crying now.

“And every time I close my eyes, I’m back there with all those bodies,” I managed to force out, though it felt like my throat was trying to close up.

“You are the Chancellarius of Karalia. You can’t just walk away when things get too hard!” I admonished him. And even though he looked so unbelievably bewildered by my outburst, I just couldn’t get myself to stop.

“We
needed
you! Your people
needed
you!” I screamed savagely until the tears choked me. “
I
needed you,” I forced past my tear-clogged throat.

And then I sunk to the floor, my eyes so full of angry tears that I could no longer see anything. “I still need you, Daddy. I can’t do this all on my own,” I sobbed as I hung my head in defeat.

I heard movement and then he crouched down, wrapping his arms around me, pulling me close.

“Oh my dear, brave, brave
chisaya astari
. I didn’t mean to push this all onto you so soon,” Alex apologized as he smoothed my hair back out of my face and kissed my forehead. “I just— Can you ever forgive me?” he asked as he tipped my chin up so I was looking into his face.

“I’m not brave,” I mumbled like a defiant child.

My father gave me the most dubious look I had ever seen him give anyone. “Nualla Galathea, you are by far one of the most fearless people I have ever known.”

“I’m not brave,” I insisted, sniffling as my father helped me to my feet and lead me toward the couch. “I’m just too stubborn to be afraid.”

Alex barked out a laugh. “That may be true.”

When we had been sitting on the couch for awhile I asked, “So why didn’t you want to see Mom?”

Alex let out a heavy sigh before answering, “The day before I left for the summit, Loraly and I had an…an argument.”

I just kinda gaped at him, because I didn’t think I had ever heard my parents argue…like
ever
.

Alex looked at my startled expression, and sighed again. He looked off across the room to the city beyond. “You have to understand that when Loraly agreed to marry me, she asked me to promise her just one thing.”

“What was the one thing?” I asked hesitantly.

Alex’s jaw clenched as he answered. “That no matter what, I would always keep her safe. Always keep our
children
safe…and I failed her.” Alex’s head dropped in defeat as he said the last words.

“What do you mean
agreed
to marry you? Wasn’t she—isn’t she your One?” I asked, my heart beating faster.

Alex’s head jerked quickly back in my direction. “Of
course
she is. But being married to a
chancellarius
isn’t easy, and it isn’t for everyone,” Alex replied, and I couldn’t help but think he was talking about Patrick at the same time.

My dad looked at me for a long moment before he sighed, “
Mai chisaya astari
, I think you and me are long overdue for a talk.”

I flicked the fringe at the end of my scarf, and didn’t look at him. “You haven’t called me your ‘little star’ since I was a child.”

“Would you like me to stop?” Alex asked in an uncertain voice.

I looked up at him, my eyes still watery with tears. “No.”

A smile spread across his lips, and he put an arm around my shoulder. “So,
mai chisaya astari
, where should we begin…?”

We left the hotel suite the next afternoon, Alex’s hand wrapped around mine, just like when I was a child. Just like when I thought he could hold back all the horrible things in the world. Like the Kakodemoss hiding in my closet.

And even though I knew that he couldn’t, that he was just as vulnerable as me, I still felt safe. That safety that had always made me feel fearless. Because we were Galatheas, and whatever the danger, we would stay the course to the bitter end.

When Words Are Not Enough

Sunday, December 23rd

NUALLA

“I
hope you’re ready to become
the Chancellarius,” Alex said as we reached the front door of our SF estate. His umbrella still held above us even though we were now under the overhang of the large Victorian porch. As the sun had slid behind the tall buildings and hills on our ride home, it had started to rain.

I just stared at him in startled disbelief as he clarified, “Because your mother might just kill me.”

I gave him a look and took a step out of the pathway of the door. “Well, I’ll be right over here in case she starts throwing things.”

My father looked at me and rolled his eyes, and I realized—for quite possibly the first time in my life—that he had been young like me once, before he became my dad.

Alex reached for the door and then paused, his finger nearly brushing the metal. He sucked in a deep breath of air, and then he let it out slowly. Pushing open the door as the last of it passed his lips. He walked into the foyer, his eyes tracing his surroundings as if they were both unmistakably familiar, and yet strangely foreign at the same time. And I couldn’t blame him, because somehow, in the two days I had been gone, the interior of our estate had been transformed into a holiday wonderland.

Elaborate wooden lanterns hung at intervals above the stairs, their electric candles flickering and dancing convincingly. Strings of silvery beads hanging from the curving, horn-like ends of each of their eight sides. Real pine garlands lining the railing of the stairs, twinkle lights strung through, blinking softly like city lights in the distance, completing the dreamlike quality of the room.

Our normal mail table had also been removed, leaving a clear view to the Astari Tahara shrine on the opposite end of the foyer. Of the statue of Reshawn holding his hand out in a welcoming gesture, calling the stars home. More strands of the silvery beads behind him against the wall, looking like a waterfall of falling stars. The metal lotus bowl sitting out in front of him, waiting to accept our messages to our ancestors.

Alex paused to take it all in for a moment before he wandered over to the large Christmas tree in the living room as if in a daze. And then he just stood in front of it, staring, which was where Loraly found him.

She walked into the room carrying a box of decorations, and then stopped dead when she saw Alex. The box hit the floor with a muffled thump, but neither of them moved—they just stood there frozen for a moment staring at each other. Then Alex slid his hands into his pockets, and said gently, “Merry Christmas.”

“You’re two days early,” Loraly replied indignantly, her eyes glassy with tears.

“Actually, I think I am a bit late. Eight weeks late in fact,” Alex said shyly, and I was reminded once again that he had been young once. That before he had been the Chancellarius, he had been just a boy desperately in love with a girl. And there was something about the simplicity of that that was comforting. That if even he sometimes screwed up, there was still hope for the rest of us.

I walked up the stairs slowly, leaving my parents to figure things out. Because as much as I wanted to see just how exactly Alex was planning on making this up to Loraly, I had a date with my bed.

Feet dragging, I finally made it to the fourth floor and was about to push open my bedroom door when I stopped. I turned back, and looked down the hall. There was something taped to Patrick’s studio door. Something small and white that I had almost missed because it was nearly identical in color to the door.

I dropped my purse onto the floor, and walked slowly down the hall toward it. When I got to the door, I saw that it was a simple white envelope with a single word scrolled across it in Patrick’s handwriting.

Nualla

I pulled the envelope free and turned it over to slide out the card from within it. The card was plain white with no decoration at all, which was so unlike him that I was terrified. I quickly flipped opened the card and pushed the studio door open in the same moment, my heart beating uncomfortably fast against my ribcage. In the card, there was a single short message in black ink.

There are no words to tell you how sorry I am. So I will ask for your forgiveness in the only language I have left.

As I finished reading the last word, the studio door fell open, and I looked up. There was something covering the wall, something I couldn’t quite make out in the darkness. With numb fingers, I ran my hand against the wall near the door until I found the switch. And then I just stared.

The wall was covered in canvases. Different sizes and shapes, arranged so uniformity was impossible. And between me and them, hundreds of paper cranes hung from the ceiling on uneven lengths of string, like falling rain. But it was what was on the canvases that made my heart stop. They were of us. Moments recreated in front of me, like someone had peeked into my head and laid my memories out like cards on a table. But no, not
my
memories, they were
his
.

They were as gentle as a whispered secret and as intimate as a kiss. And the canvas at the center—the largest one from which the others seemed to radiate—was of us in the rain. That day that seemed like forever ago. That day he had asked me to marry him. That day he had promised to love me for the rest of his life.

I let my eyes drift back out, to see the room as a whole, and my breath caught. Patrick had recreated the world the way
he
saw it. In a way that I could understand. In a place I could follow.

I may not have known a thing about drawing tablets, or what paint brushes were used with which paint, but I knew what art was supposed to do. What it was supposed to
be
. It wasn’t a decoration to dress up a dull space. No, it was something far more important than that. It was something that was supposed to make you
feel
. To tell you something—a message, a story—when words were not enough. The language that spoke to the soul in a way words never could. To reach your soul when words were not enough.

And hanging from the ceiling in the center of the sea of little paper birds was another note card envelope. I moved through the room carefully, the little paper birds brushing across my skin like tender, loving fingertips, and gently pulled the card free. Swallowing hard, I looked down at the note in my hands.

Nualla,

I have spent weeks, days, hours, moments, heart beats, trying to find a way to say I’m sorry. That I never meant to hurt you. That I would rather have
died
than cause you one moment of pain. But I couldn’t find the words, because I don’t think they exist. Not in English, not in Daemotic, not in any known language in this world. Even if you were here right now, and I could show you how terrible I feel about what I have done, I wouldn’t be able to bring myself to cause you that kind of pain. So I can only ask for your forgiveness in the only language I have left.

If you can’t forgive me, I will understand. I’ll walk out of your life and never bother you again. But if you can still find it in your heart to be courageous enough to forgive me this one last time, I will be waiting in that place where I first asked for your forgiveness.

—Patrick

Something tapped against the note card and ran down its surface, making the ink of the message bloom and start to bleed purple around the edges. And then another hit the paper, and then another. I looked up, half expecting the paper cranes to have turned into real rain. And that’s when I felt them running down my face—tears.

The Kakodemoss, the world, the gods, and the stars themselves, had taken everything from him. Crushed his soul in every possible way, and yet he still held on. Still fought against fate. Fought with everything he had. To hold on to what he wanted. To hold on to
me
. And I had just turned my back on him and walked away. Because… Because I had thought it had been all lies and deception. All a fabrication and devious plot by the Kakodemoss. But I should have known. I should have realized, that Patrick was incapable of doing anything other than loving me with all his soul.

I felt something brush against my leg, and looked down. Denaya looked up at me questioningly. The pupils of her eyes large and black within their pools of liquid gold.

I reached down and picked her up. “Gods, Denaya, I’ve been so stupid,” I sobbed as I clutched her tightly to my chest and buried my face in her soft bluish-gray fur. And cried until there was nothing left inside me.