Jeweled (6 page)

Evangeline had long ago made sure all her emotional walls were firmly up. She wanted no part of what had to be emotional chaos—not even in the detached, diluted way she sensed other people’s feelings. Even so, this was complete anarchy and it nearly cut through all the numbness that had shielded her since childhood.

For the first time in a long time, she felt the faint stirring of fear trying to push its way through to her.
Her own fear
. Thick. Cold. Cloying.

“Come on,” Anatol growled.

She glanced at him, realizing she’d stilled in the street, staring at the cut leather of the reins that had been used to control the four gorgeous bays of Lady Alyssa’s carriage.

His hands closed over her arm and pulled. “I swear I’ll knock you out and throw you over my shoulder if you don’t move. You’re going to get us caught.”

She looked up to see a burly, redheaded farmer take note of them, gesture to a gaggle of blood-smeared men, and then point. Acutely aware of her fine dress, healthy fall of sunlight-colored hair, and creamy, unblemished skin—all of it marked her as “enemy”—she moved, running with Anatol into the shadows of the alley.

“We need to change our clothing,” Anatol said, running down the cobblestone beside her. “We need to try and blend in with people if we’re going to survive.”

“You mean, act and dress like a commoner?” She couldn’t keep the note of distaste out of her voice.

He shook his head and muttered under his breath. “You’re more trouble than you’re worth. Do you know that, Evangeline?”

She would have answered, but at that moment the mouth of the alley they were traveling down was blocked by a group of peasants, all of them men and all of them holding weapons.

They came to a halt and both turned at once, only to see the other end similarly blocked. Her heart pounded. She couldn’t remember being forced to feel this much of her own emotion for a very long time—maybe not since she’d been a tiny child and had first come to Belai. It was distasteful and brought back bad memories she could only just catch the tails of.

Anatol began looking around for a way into one of the buildings and she helped him. A staircase, a doorway, anything.

Nothing
.

No escape.

She cast a glance at Anatol, who didn’t look back. His hands fisted at his sides, he was staring down the pack of men approaching them as if he could defeat them with his thoughts alone. Which, if he used illusion, he could.

She reached in and pulled a thread of her power, tasted the emotional currents that flowed around them. Anger. Hatred. Killing rage. Fear. There was nothing here for her to work with. Nothing to sample and redistribute to positively affect the situation. Just negativity. Only ugliness. The backwash of it stung the rear of her throat and caught behind her teeth. It made her want to spit.

And then they were there in front of them, the brutes.

She lifted her chin at the leader, a hulking, sweaty man with blood smeared across his cheek and a mass of messy red hair. Behind her the other group had come to a halt. She didn’t look, but she could feel them, smell them, hear them. Their body heat warmed her.

No way would she demean herself in their presence. She would not cower, would never beg. She was better than they were. She was—

The redhead punched her and she fell backward into darkness.

Evangeline?”

Anatol cupped Evangeline’s head in his hands and shook her lightly. She’d have a whopper of a headache when she woke. Probably a black eye, too. The men who’d spotted them had taken one look at the haughty expression on her face, had declared her trouble, and knocked her out first thing.

They were right. Evangeline was trouble. He, of all people, knew that.

He still wasn’t sure why he’d helped her get out of the palace. He stared down at her closed eyes, the thin veins purple. A bruise had begun to bloom violently on her upper cheek. She looked so fragile, so innocent this way. Vulnerable. Not soft, not weak—but misused. She was a survivor.

And that was the truth of Evangeline.

No matter the act she might put on for others, she was injured, defenseless, and broken on the inside.

Who was he kidding? He knew why he’d helped her. He loved her. He had for a long time. She was hopeless, lost in a tangle of her magick and the cruel environment she’d grown up in. Yet there was vulnerability beneath the mask she wore, and it was that part he was drawn to. Maybe he thought he could help her—fix what was broken.

He was an idiot.

She roused, her eyelids fluttering open. She immediately winced, her hand coming up to touch her injured cheek. “That man punched me!”

“Yes, he did.”

“Where am I?”

“Safe.” He paused and looked around at the alley. “In a manner of speaking.”

She looked around, shakily sitting up. He’d found a space between a couple of buildings, the opening hidden by some large, discarded boxes. Stars shone down from above. Even at night, hours after the initial siege of Belai, the city seemed to seethe with anger. Shouting, screaming, crying, and the sound of things breaking could still be heard in the distance.

Her lip curling as she took in her surroundings, she noticed what she was dressed in—little more than rags. While she’d been unconscious, he’d snatched more appropriate attire for them and thrown away the costly garments that marked them as fresh from the palace. She probably had never seen herself dressed this way, though if she’d grown up with her birth family in Cherkhasii Province she would’ve worn clothes like this all the time. As a trade-off, she would’ve had love, but Evangeline didn’t know that love was better than nice clothing.

He’d dressed her, too, though Evangeline wasn’t the type to care if someone she barely knew had seen her naked. It would be low on her list of concerns, but it had affected him. Despite the circumstances, despite the danger, touching the bare body of the woman he’d wanted for so long had made him tremble with need.

She touched her head again, apparently deciding her head hurt too much to become overly offended by the clothes. “What happened with all those men?”

He settled down beside her and sighed. “I used magick.” He kept his voice low. “I created an illusion of the Imperial Guard and sent them running. It will be the last time I can do that. You should try to avoid using your magick, too.”

“Why? It’s our right to use our abilities.” Her voice, as ever, held unbreakable pride.

“It may be our right, but it will also be our death. They’re rounding up the J’Edaeii, all the nobles, especially the royalty.” He paused. “They’ve already started killing them.”

“What? Where is the Imperial Guard? The Royal Army?”

He snorted and hung his head. “You really are a beautiful, clueless little bit of fluff, aren’t you?”

Except, he knew different. The good part of her was just buried under all that magickal backlash. His gift went both ways, just like hers. He could cast illusion, but he could also see through it. She could sense other people’s emotions, but could too easily block her own—which is what she’d been doing since she was a young child. For good reason.

He understood the truth of Evangeline, but that didn’t make her any less of a pain.

She bristled. “Listen—”

He held up a hand. “I’ll tell you what you should already know. The army is made up of commoners. Most of them have laid down arms and taken up with the people. Those who didn’t join the rest are now dead or imprisoned. The Imperial Guard was defeated right off, overwhelmed by the number of peasants who stormed the palace. Our time is over with, Evangeline. The rich are reaping what they sowed with the poor. Taxing them into starvation. Confiscating their goods and the fruits of their labor. Suppressing inventions to deny the rise of the lower and middle classes and keep power in the hands of the royals. Dancing and feasting while they died in the streets from neglect and hunger. It’s no wonder they hate us.”

“I had no idea.”

“Because you weren’t paying attention. Because you are self-centered and oblivious. This has been going on for a long time now. Everyone but you and the royals saw it coming.”

Her jaw locked. “No.”

“Yes.”

She surged to her feet. “No! This isn’t possible. None of it!”

He hissed through his teeth, grabbed her arm, and yanked her down. “Stop it. You’ll get us both killed. Now calm down and settle in. We can’t move from this spot until morning. It’s not safe.”

She sat back down next to him with a thump. “I’m hungry.” There was more than just a note of petulance in her voice. She probably couldn’t remember a day in her whole life when her stomach had rumbled and she hadn’t been able to put something in it.

“So am I, but we’ll stay here anyway. Turn over and raise your shirt.”

“Excuse me?”

“When I dressed you, I noticed the skin around your jewel and the tattoo Roane gave you is looking red and irritated. You run the risk of it being infected. I need to look at it again.”

She scowled at him for a moment, but turned. Efficiently, he assessed the area. The skin around her sapphire looked like it probably hurt, but maybe her mind was on other matters at the moment. He couldn’t blame her for that. The tattoo was a fine swirl of color to either side of the jewel—a brand that marked Roane’s “ownership” of her.

“It’s too soon to tell.”

Shivering, she pulled the rough shirt back down. “I’ll be fine.”

“So you say. We’ll keep an eye on it. Now settle down and try to sleep.”

“How can we sleep at a time like this?”

He sighed. “I don’t know.” The truth was that he wouldn’t sleep at all. He hooked an arm around her and pulled her close for warmth. She stiffened. “Hush, princess, we need to share body heat.”

“What will we do now?”

“We wait. Rest as much as we can, sleep if possible. In the morning we’ll see where the city stands. We’ll have immediate concerns—food, shelter, water.”

She pursed her lips. “Thank you, Anatol. You have your head much more right than I do at the moment.”

Shock vibrated through him.
Had she just thanked him?

“I’ve been expecting this.” He paused. “Not quite like this, but I’ve thought about the possibility.”

“And I’m just a little bit of pretty fluff that never saw this coming.”

“You see it now.”

She looked down into her lap. “I see much more clearly than normal.”

There was a note of something in her voice—emotion. He frowned. It was probably the first time ever he’d heard such from her. First it had been a note of panic, then chagrin at her own short-sightedness. But this last bit was regret, sadness.

Perhaps this experience was breaking down the barriers that kept her magick of empathy so carefully away from her. Did that mean the walls were about to break? That could happen if something traumatic happened to her, he supposed. After all, it had been the separation from her family at the age of four that had built the walls in the first place. If so, she was about to become a mess of major proportions.

Evangeline hadn’t allowed herself to feel emotion since she was a child. At least, not enough of it to be of consequence—only enough to help her survive her life in the palace. Little bits of feeling here and there, driving her actions in a way that would keep her fed and with a roof over her head. He knew; he been watching her closely for her entire life.

It wasn’t that her feeling emotion would be a bad thing. Anatol thought it might be the best thing for her, but it would complicate matters out here while they were trying to survive. Having her break down emotionally would not help them in the coming days.

He glanced over at her. She’d leaned her head back against the wall and her long lashes shadowed her cheeks.

“Evangeline? Are you still awake?”

“Yes.”

“Do you remember your family?”

She opened her eyes and looked at him for a long moment before speaking. He thought for a moment he’d overstepped and she was angry, but then Evangeline would need to actually be in touch with her anger for that. He had a pragmatic reason for asking. It might be time now for both of them to seek their families.

“Not really,” she answered, diverting her gaze downward. “Just brief flashes.”

“But you know your last name and the province they live in.”

“What are you saying? That I should go back to being a pig farmer’s daughter?”

“We’re going to have to explore all our options.”

She blinked at him slowly and looked away with her chin raised. “I don’t think being a pig farmer is an option.”

He composed himself before answering. “You might have been very happy being one.”

She gave him a look of complete scorn and closed her eyes again. “Who were your parents before the royals tracked your magick?”