Mark of Betrayal (51 page)

“
It’s a Ginkgo extract; you breathe the vapour—it helps oxygen flow through your blood.”

“
Why do I need more oxygen?”

“
So you don't pass out.” He opened my shirt, stretching the collar apart enough to reveal my red bra, and smoothed a firm, cold hand over my sternum and collarbones—nowhere near my breasts. Thank God. “There. See?” He closed my shirt. “All done.”

“
Arthur?” I whispered, feeling a loose, spinning sensation in my head.

“
Shh. Rest now, my dear.” He ran his fingertips over my eyes, making them close.

“
I can't take much more,” I said sleepily.

“
Of what, my dear?”

“
Of life,” I whispered as my mind started to drift. “I need him to come back. I can’t go on much longer without him.”

He shifted my body and laid under me, his widespread fingers closing over the side of my face as he held me tight, his chest dropping as he exhaled. “Please don't say that, Amara. It hurts me deeply to think you would rather live for someone else, or be dead—”

“
It’s not that simple,” I murmured, my words flaking away.

“
It is, my sweet, young girl. It is.” He stroked my head. “And it’s very sad.”

I shut my eyes, opening them again to the morning light in my own bedroom—the headache gone, Arthur gone, my shirt buttoned back into place and the blankets pulled all the way up to my chin. Nowhere, in any of my thoughts, could I find the memory of how I got here.

I laid back and smiled, thinking,
Thanks, Arthur.

“
Ara.” Mike stopped me by the library door.

“
Hey, what’re you doing in this wing of the manor,” I said playfully.

“
Just wanted to let you know that we moved yesterday’s council meeting to tomorrow—so you can be there.”

“
Oh, joy—er, I mean, thanks.” I flashed a fake smile.

“
No worries,” he said, then ran off in the direction he’d come from. And that was that. Quick flashes of my old BFF were all I seemed to get these days.

Brushing off that pitiful gut wrench of loneliness, I pushed the heavy library door open; it made a fuss about being moved, and when I stepped into the nook of the little third floor balcony and turned around, I saw why. It was no door at all, but a passage concealed in a bookcase. As it closed, the exit disappeared, and I stood staring at it for a second, wondering how I’d get back out again.

“
Open sesame.” I waved my hands around; the door stayed hidden. “Abracadabra?” My lips twisted, moving from side to side. I tried knocking, even tugging on the shelf, but it didn't open. “Looks like a one-way access.”

I turned on my heel then and leaned over the railing of the balcony, spotting another door down on the second floor underneath me, and smiled with relief. Hopefully that one opened without any mumbo-jumbo.

The whole room had a lonely kind of feel to it, as if the books on the shelves, covering the entire room, had not been opened and read in centuries. I felt lonely here, and I think even the books felt lonely. I took a quiet moment then to really appreciate the sheer height and magnificence of floor to roof books, divided by snaking platforms with winding staircases leading up. In my personal little nook, the landing fattened out a little, making room for a cosy armchair, a round rug and a small table to rest a coffee cup on. Perfect. This was my new favourite room.

All the books on the shelves in this dark little nook looked like old non-fiction reads, half of them behind locked glass screens. But since Morgaine said this was my own personal reading space, I’d have them all replaced with paranormal romance and classics.

I propped my hands on my hips, looking up then down, and all around; somewhere in these shelves there had to be a book on the Markings I inherited from my oath. Morgaine promised they’d all fade, but each time I checked my body in the mirror, one line kept staring back out at me. It hadn't bothered me until I woke this morning to realise it wasn't planning on going anywhere.

I fingered the spines along the shelves, reading the titles aloud to myself, and came upon an opening in the rail, the ground dropping for a windy staircase. It was sturdy, made of solid wood rather than metal, taking my weight easily as I headed down; I half expected it to rattle and tremble.

Downstairs, the room opened out to the massive windows overlooking the south side of the manor, and between them, a round rug sat guard in front of a huge fireplace, flanked by another armchair—a place I could envision Arthur sitting, with two eager-eyed boys looking up at him while he read stories, maybe even with Arietta beside him.

I smiled and wandered forward, touching the large oak tables, chairs and lamps as I passed, familiarising myself with every surface in the room. But it would take a lifetime to be that familiar with all these books. There was no way I’d ever find the time to read them all. And as I gazed over the locked cabinets and thick spines of century-old hardbacks, I realised there’d be no way to find a book about a topic I wasn’t sure anyone had even written about.

I scratched my ribcage, where the Mark remained, then headed out the second floor door. There was only one person I could think of who’d know where to find a book about my Markings.

“
Arthur?” I wandered into his room, uninvited.

“
Amara, how are you feeling this morning?”

“
I'm okay,” I said, and nodded at the bowl on the table in front of him. “What's that for?”

He looked down, considering the contents carefully. “It’s to relieve extreme night terrors.”

“
Night terrors? What, like, bad dreams?”

“
Yes.”

“
Oh.” I pulled out a chair and sat down opposite him. “Well, who’s having night terrors?”

“
A friend.”

“
Anyone I know?”

He looked up from the bowl. “Is there something I can help you with, Amara?”

“
Um.” My shoulders sunk. “It’s just…can I ask you something?”

“
Of course.”

“
Morgaine said all my Markings would fade after I finished my coronation, but one didn't.”

“
Oh.” Arthur placed the stone utensil he was mixing with into the bowl. “Where is it? May I see?”

I stood up, gathered the base of my top and lifted it up over my belly then my ribs, and turned slightly so Arthur could see the two lines of scripture just below my breast, like a poem sneaking its way toward my spine.

His eyes traced my curves, stopping on the tattoo. “And this is a
remaining
Mark—it’s not new, is it? You found this immediately after the coronation?” he asked, wandering over to kneel in front of me.

“
Yeah, it was there when I got undressed that night.” I giggled a bit when he smoothed his hands up my ribs to push my top completely out of the way.

I watched his lips move and his face contort as he obviously translated the text inside his head, his long fingers firmly holding my waist, looking ever so much like David's skin against mine.

“
It’s strange,” he said. “And Morgaine was right, Queen Lilith was not left with any Markings, but this is simply a signature—a line of promise, like a wedding band. Speaking of which—” He stood again and gently lowered my top, then turned and grabbed something off the table. “Mike asked me to give these to you.”

“
Oh, thanks.” I slipped my wedding ring back on and put the key in my pocket, wondering why Mike didn't just give them to me himself. “He makes me take all my jewellery off when I go in the cage.”

“
I know.” He leaned his butt on the table, bobbing his head like he was thinking. “I don't like that cage, Amara. I’ve asked him to stop using it.”

“
He won't. He thinks it’s vital to the study of my powers. And Mike’s always right—about everything.” I rolled my eyes.

“
Not this time.” His folded arms tightened. “I won't see you treated that way. It’s not acceptable.”

“
It’s okay. It’s all in the name of science.”

He shook his head and looked at my hand where I scratched at my Mark. “What is it? What’s bothering you?”

I dropped my hand. “I don't like tattoos.”

“
It’s not a tattoo.”

“
Well, it looks like one.”

“
Even then, it suits you.”

“
You think?”

He grinned, his gaze running from my waist to my eyes. “Yes, it’s very…sexy.”

I thrust my head back, laughing loudly. “That word sounds so funny coming from your mouth.”

“
Right. Well—” He nodded, clearing his throat. “That’s the last time I attempt crass modern-day lingo for the purpose of flattery.”

I laughed again. “So, what did the Mark actually say, anyway?”

“
Can you not read it?”

I shook my head.

“
It says something along the lines of
By oath of blood, by promise of heart, I honour my vow
,” he said, then turned away and wandered over to his window box, grabbing the scissors to trim leaves off a plant.

I walked around to the side of his bed and sunk down. “Well, I don't want it there. It sucks.”

He looked up quickly. “Language, please, my lady.”

I rolled my eyes at the old man and flopped onto my back with a huff. “Will it go away?”

“
I can find out, if you like.”

“
How?”

“
There's a book—in the library. Shall I get it?”

I lifted my top again and arched my spine so I could see the Mark. “Yes, please. If you don't mind.”

“
Not at all, my lady.” And he disappeared.

On the nightstand, his phone buzzed. I reached across and grabbed it, saw the message didn't show up on his screen automatically, like mine did, then pressed my thumb to an orange icon, leading me to his playlists. We liked a lot of the same music, strangely. I half expected his selection to be like David's, but it almost seemed as if he made a point of having nothing but modern stuff on here.

“
Bon Jovi? Seriously?” I said to myself.

“
I move with the times,” he said, standing by the bed.

“
Oh. Crap. Sorry.” I put the phone down beside me. “I was just—”

“
I know.” He smiled, carrying a book under his arm. “It’s more than all right, princess.”

I smiled back and grabbed his phone again. “You got a message, by the way.”

“
Who’s it from?”

I shrugged. “Dunno. I wasn't gonna go checking your messages, Arthur.”

He sat down on the edge of the bed, making it dip a little, and opened the book in his lap. “Can you check it for me, since you clearly have no intentions of handing my phone over?”

I grinned to myself and opened his messages. “It’s just a phone service message. Apparently you’ve won an iPad if you text this word to this number.” I showed him the screen; he laughed. “So, find anything in that book?”

“
No,” he said, flipping the pages. “This one mentions certain markings that appear after acts of sin or treason, there doesn't seem to be anything on the Mark of the Queen’s Promise.”

“
I'm sure you’ll find it,” I said absentmindedly, scrolling through the playlists again. He had some good combinations of music, but when I came across one titled ‘A Rose’ and pressed my thumb to it, my world shifted. Every song in that list was some heartbreaking melody of lost love.

“
Wow, talk about depressing,” I said, laughing a bit. “Did you make this list about Arietta?”

Arthur stopped reading and looked out the window. “A Rose?”

“
Yeah.” I moved up and laid on his pillow, my thick dark hair spilling out around my shoulders.

“
No.”

“
Oh, why’d you call it that, then? It has a lot of sad songs.”

He placed the book on the bed and stood up. “It was not my playlist.”

“
Whose was it?”

“
Jason’s.”

I stared at it for a few seconds, unable to see through a sudden coating of tears.

“
Arthur?” Morgaine popped her head in.

“
Yes, Morgaine.”

“
There’s a courier here. Says he’s picking up a package from you.”

Arthur sighed and touched my shoulder. “We’ll talk when I come back up.”

I nodded, sliding my bottom lip over the other to move a tear from it. Arthur tipped the bowl of stuff he was mixing into a small container and left, shutting the door.

The grandfather clock ticked noisily by the drawers across the room, and the gentle sound of rain on glass made me feel closed in. I scrolled down the sad playlist, hearing each song in my head. If this was Jason’s, then he made it for me. I could feel it. But why did Arthur keep this list—why not just erase it? And that thought made me wonder what else he’d kept.

I pressed the circular button at the centre of the phone and went back to the home page, then clicked on ‘contacts’ and scrolled down only far enough to see the start of the ‘J’ names. I’d never seen his name written down anywhere. Isn't that funny? How you can know someone, come to care for them, but never think of such a silly thing as seeing their name written down?