The Offering (3 page)

“I know,” I said, shrugging and trying not to let my disappointment show. I knew I was being fanciful, entertaining such notions, but I couldn't help myself. I wanted to start anew. For Ludania to live in amity with our neighbors.

I let my palm drift over the exquisite fabric of Max's suit. I wondered if I'd ever tire of the feel of fine fabrics, if I'd ever grow accustomed to that aspect of my new life. Wools woven so tightly, they could feel like silk; silks so delicate, they were sometimes transparent; and velvets, creamy fleeces, and luxurious cottons that were weightless against my skin.

His
fingers, however, ignored my clothing altogether. They slipped beneath the hem of my skirt and traced a path to the
back of my knee, making my pulse quicken and my breath catch. His hand moved higher, finding its way up the back of my thigh as the rhythm of our hearts beat dissonantly. He leaned in close, until our lips nearly touched and our breath fused.

Fire flared in the pit of my belly as my fingers clamped into a ball and I clutched his jacket, clinging to him for balance. My head swam in dazzling confusion. He didn't kiss me right away. He just stared at me, his eyes devouring me, and the hunger in his eyes was nearly enough to undo me completely. He willed me, with that steel gaze as firm as the fingers that stroked the flesh beneath my skirt, cupping my skin, making me quiver and ache, to close that minute distance between us.

“I . . . I . . .” Breathlessly I held on, not sure what more I could say.

And then, from the front seat, Zafir cleared his throat, and even though I knew he couldn't see us, facing forward the way he was, I was sure he'd sensed our restlessness. Our impropriety. Zafir always seemed to know what we were up to.

“We're arriving at the palace,” he said, his voice insinuating none of the censure that his simple throat-clearing had.

I glanced at Max, and hoped he could tell from my expression that this wasn't finished.

He didn't release me right away. His hand stayed where it was, hidden beneath the folds of my skirt, and he gave me one more distinct squeeze, letting me know, in no uncertain terms, that it most definitely was not.

max

Max had grown accustomed to watching Charlie sleep. It was his favorite pastime.

Well, one of them, anyway
, he thought as he grinned at her still form in the shadows of her bedchamber.

She had no idea the way her skin sparked in her sleep. The way her dreams made it glimmer and glow and sometimes blaze, like a torch that set the room aflame.

She also had no way of knowing the way those illuminations affected him.

Even now, seeing the barest of sparks swirling far beneath the surface, almost invisible as she delved into the deepest recesses of sleep, he wanted to climb back into bed beside her. To feel that warmth. To curl against her and guard that fire so it would never go out.

That was his greatest fear. That Charlie would burn out. That this was all too much, this responsibility—the pressure put on her by those around her and the pressure she put on herself. She expected perfection. She expected to make grand, sweeping changes.

And she expected them to be immediate.

She didn't understand that change—the kind of change she intended—wasn't just about intention and resources. They would take time.

But Charlie was impatient.

She wanted to see her country in a better place, and Max admired her for that. But it was taking a toll on her. She was putting too much of herself into it, working too hard. She couldn't keep up this pace indefinitely.

Already she'd managed to abolish the work camps—abhorrent places where unwanted and neglected children had once been carted, only to then be victimized by wardens who'd tortured and abused them. She'd begun efforts to get those from the Scablands who'd served their time and no longer belonged there—and those who'd never belonged there in the first place, like Avonlea—integrated back into society. Those who still remained in the Scablands were being trained to work the resources in the wasteland regions—mining for ore and ranching.

She believed that everyone could be useful. Everyone had a place in Ludanian society, even those who'd committed crimes.

Max believed she was amazing. And fiery. And beautiful.

Yet he knew she'd been damaged by the attempts on her life—and by the fact that she'd had to kill to save herself and Angelina—despite her best efforts to hide her pain.

He crept closer, kneeling on the carpet beside her bed and sweeping a curtain of her hair from her face. He watched as her eyelids fluttered.

“I love you, Charlaina di Heyse,” he whispered, saying the words as silently as his voice would allow. “I'd follow you to the ends of the world and back if you'd let me.” And he meant it. From the moment he'd met her, he'd belonged to her.

Silently he got to his feet, not wanting to disturb her, and not wanting to give anyone reason to gossip about his being there in the morning.

Just as he was turning to go, her hand shot out to stop him. “You don't have to follow me anywhere.” Her voice was rough with sleep. “You just have to stay.” And when he hesitated, her fingers tugged at him. “I insist. You can't deny a queen, you know.”

Max grinned when he saw she was already pulling the blankets back for him. And then he bowed low. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

ii

“Your Majesty! Your Majes—”

I almost hadn't heard the boy's voice above the clash of steel, but when I finally heard his shouts, I whirled in time to see him come crashing through the trees.

His sudden presence in the clearing startled me. We were normally alone, Zafir and I. We'd never been caught training before. No one but the two of us knew that I'd given up learning to ride horses altogether and had focused solely on learning the ins and outs of battle. I was determined to learn to fight.

More so since I'd first discovered that my country—and I, in particular—had come under threat from Queen Elena.

The boy's round face was red and blotchy, and sweat beaded along the edges of his hairline. I could see that he was panting, and his eyes widened as he caught sight of me standing there, dressed in full battle armor, wielding my sword against my own guard.

I dropped my blade, ignoring the moisture that trickled down my spine. “What is it, Gabriel?”

He glanced at me, uncertain, and then he looked to Zafir, mutely assessing the unusual situation. “It's just that . . . well, I was sent to tell you . . . there's someone coming.” He clutched and unclutched his stubby fingers in front of him as he spoke.

I turned to Zafir. “Xander?” I breathed. And then to the boy. “Are they back? Are Xander and Niko here?”

This time I couldn't subdue her, and Sabara's hopes became my own.
Niko,
she whispered, his name filling every part of me.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block her out.

“I—I don't know, Your Majesty.” My question made Gabriel shift even more, made him fidget and stammer. “I—I was only told to fetch you.”

I barely heard his last words as I was already running toward the palace. I'd dropped my sword—a cardinal sin, I knew—and left it lying in the grassy field, unsheathed, and I'd left myself unarmed. Something no real warrior would ever do.

For now at least I was not a real warrior. I was a queen, awaiting word of one of my chief advisers.

Waiting for my friend to come home.

I saw horses tied up in the courtyard and knew immediately by the banners that flapped in the breeze that they were from Astonia. I'd have recognized Queen Elena's red flag, with its crimson laurel border, anywhere. Sebastian had used that same emblem to wipe his brow one too many times, all while pretending to serve me. All while reporting back to his true queen and preparing to slit my throat.

Traitors sometimes presented themselves in the most
trustworthy forms, and Sebastian had seemed about as honest and loyal as they came. Which was why I'd never suspected him. Why I'd let him get so close to me and my family.

And why I'd never trust anyone in that way again.

“They must be inside already,” I called to Zafir, not waiting for a response as I raced past the horses, practically stumbling over my own feet in an effort to reach the entrance.

For two months we'd been waiting for word from Xander. It had been two months since he and Niko had taken a small party of soldiers and gone to try to reason with Elena, to try to get to the bottom of her betrayal and see if there was any way to forge a tentative peace between our two nations.

From where I stood, it seemed an impossible task, but I'd let him go because he'd been certain there had been some sort of mistake. That the Queen Elena who'd helped him when he'd fought against his grandmother would never betray him—would never betray
us
—in this manner. He'd been convinced she couldn't possibly have been behind the plot to have me assassinated.

Despite all the evidence to the contrary.

I slowed when I entered the main hall, the sound of my heavy boots still echoing off the walls around me. I stopped short when I realized that everyone in the room had turned to watch me.

On my way back to the palace, I'd managed to strip out of my heaviest outerwear, leaving not just my sword unattended but also my breastplate and the bulk of my armor. But I hadn't been able to wiggle out of everything, and now I stood before an audience of gaping stares, not just from the travelers who'd
already been awaiting me, but also from those who knew me best, including Max and Claude, and Brook, Eden, and Avonlea. Even my parents were there, anxious for word of Xander and Niko.

I was suddenly aware of how I must have looked wearing a carapace of chain mail, even one so delicate that it was practically feather light. From their vantage point it looked as if I were wearing nothing more than long underwear and military-grade boots, the kind Brook's soldiers wore.

I avoided making eye contact with any one of them, knowing I'd have to answer for my appearance—and my actions—eventually. But for now I leveled my stare on the visitors, noting that neither Xander nor Niko was among them.

My heart sank, even as my voice found purchase. “You've come from Astonia?” I inquired as firmly as I could manage after running all that way. “You have news from your queen?”

There were four of them—messengers, one and all. My only real thought was that it was an odd number, because messengers didn't typically travel in packs.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” one of the men answered, stepping forward. He bowed, as was customary in Ludania. The other three followed suit, but they were tense, bending stiffly at their waists. Then the man in front reached behind him, and one of the others carefully handed him a box the size of one of my father's bread loaves. I vaguely wondered what kind of gift Elena thought might assuage me at this point. I had no intention of being bought into submission.

He held the package out to me in both hands, his eyes never leaving it, and never truly meeting mine.

My gaze slid over it. There was nothing remarkable about it, the box. A carton like any other. But there was something about the way the messenger held it that made my stomach tighten ever so slightly. Or maybe it was Eden, my sister's guard, that I sensed, her curiosity charging the air around us.

I reached for the box, but I hesitated, my fingertips running over the coarse papery surface as I considered what might be inside. I tried to gain the messenger's attention, to find his eyes, but they remained where they were, fixed on the package. The other three remained where they were too, still entirely too rigid, positioned behind him.

I scanned the room now, looking to Max, whose intense gaze was directed to Zafir, and I could practically hear Max willing the guard to move closer to me, even though I could already feel Zafir's breath at the back of my neck. Brook's scowl was equally severe, although she refused to meet my eyes for too long.

Deep within me Sabara's voice whispered up from the chasm of darkness where she preferred to dwell.
Don't trust them
, she warned.
Be cautious, Charlaina.

I wasn't sure how much more cautious I could be, but the box beneath my fingertips beckoned me, and a roomful of people waited to see what was inside.

Taking the box from his grasp, I held my breath as I lifted the lid.

From inside, crisp purple flowers tumbled free, spilling onto the toes of my boots. Their fruity scent was so overpowering that I was startled by it.

I glanced questioningly at the messenger, but his face remained impassive.

When I looked into the box full of brittle blossoms once more, I noticed there was something hidden there, just beneath the layer of withered blooms. Something that made my throat squeeze and my stomach lurch, despite the fact that I couldn't quite see past the layers of crumpled petals.