The Pledge (26 page)

I studied the photo of a man, a smile touching my lips as my eyes moved over his mouth, his eyes, his gossamer blond hair. His face was the face of my father. A
nd of my sister
, I
thought as I glanced at Angelina sleeping soundly on the sofa.

I reached up and ran my fingertips over my cheeks and my nose and my chin.
And of me
.

But who were these people? Why had I never seen these portraits before now?

I looked closer, trying to find a clue.

In several of the pictures, the men were wearing sashes of some sort, each bearing a similar emblem. I leaned forward, drawing the photos closer to the lamp on the floor beside me, trying to decipher the wording on the insignia. But the image was too unclear, too faded.

Frustration wept through me, and I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to figure out what it was that nagged me about the image.

I glanced down at the shattered box. I could make out parts of that very same symbol on it, identical to the one the men wore in the photographs, but now it was splintered apart. I reached down and carefully began piecing it together, like a puzzle, using the photographs as my guide.

Outside, in the street, I heard voices. They seemed far away, another lifetime from this moment.

When I was finished at last, I studied the emblem, wondering at it. It was beautifully carved; the woodwork was masterful. But it said nothing, this etching. Just a design. A brilliantly intricate design.

I sighed, running my finger over its lovely, ornate surface . . . and that was when the world around me shivered. My vision blurred, and for an instant I was aware of nothing but the sensation beneath my touch. Time seemed to stop.

I moved my finger again, stroking the details of the carving, feeling my way around each groove as I realized that this was no ordinary design.

This was a language. A tactile language.

And it spoke to me.

I gasped as I drew my hand away, clutching it to my heart, which was pounding erratically within my chest. I suddenly wanted to take back that simple action, that light brush of my skin over the surface of the mended box. I wanted to unlearn what I’d just discovered.

Because it wasn’t just an emblem they wore in the photograph, these men who looked so much like my father, and like myself.

It was a seal. A crest.

Belonging to a long-banished royal family.

xvii

The noises I’d heard coming from the street were just outside the door now, practically right on top of me.

I was almost too stunned by the disturbance to breathe, let alone acknowledge that we—my sister and I—were no longer alone. My fingertip felt as though it had been blistered by the flames of a fire, but I knew that it was something worse that had burned it. Knowledge of something that should have remained hidden, buried beneath floorboards I’d walked upon my entire life.

Xander was right. Of that I was almost certain.

My father was a descendant of the throne.
The original throne
.

And that meant that I . . . that Angelina and I . . .

The first female children, wasn’t that what Xander had told me?

The door opened, and again, I cursed the fact that the lock had been broken. We were trapped in here, and I jumped to my feet, positioning myself in front of the sofa, reminding
myself that nothing else mattered right now except keeping Angelina safe.

Behind my back, I clutched the iron fireplace poker that I’d kept close for exactly this purpose. I was prepared for anything, I tried to convince myself as I readied to fight my way out of here.

But as it turned out, I was not at all prepared to face the person who stood inside the doorway, filling out the frame.

He glanced at the photographs and papers strewn about my feet, his gaze falling to the crest atop the poorly repaired box. Then his eyes landed on me, taking in the defeated expression on my face, and the fireplace poker now hanging limply at my side.

“I’m sorry you had to find out this way.”

“You knew? How many more secrets have you kept from me?” I ducked out of his path, circling the table as he tried to approach, keeping it as a barrier between us. I didn’t want his sympathy or his compassion. “And where are your goons? I’m assuming since you travel in a pack that they’re somewhere nearby.”

But Max didn’t give up that easily; he eased toward me, taking slow, cautious steps. “I was worried about you, Charlie. How long have you been here?”

“I don’t want to hear how worried you were. I want answers. I want to know what you haven’t been telling me. Are we in danger now?” I tried to keep my voice low so I wouldn’t wake Angelina, but I felt hysteria creeping in on me. I had so many questions; they were all coming at once.

“I don’t think so. No one knows you’re here. The queen thinks you’re a member of the resistance. She doesn’t know that I . . .” He didn’t finish his sentence, but I wondered how he would have:
Know you
?
Kissed you
?

I was thankful that the queen knew neither.

“What about your guards, they didn’t tell her? Are they here now? Will they turn us in?”

“They’re right outside the door, making sure no one can enter,” Max explained. “They’ll tell only what I allow them to, which is only what you want to reveal. You can trust me, Charlie. I never meant to hurt you. I wasn’t trying to deceive you.” He stepped closer, but I shoved my hands against his chest, keeping him away and shaking my head.

“You have a strange way of showing it. So it’s true, then?”

I waited, needing to hear it from him. He didn’t move right away, and I wondered if he understood what I was asking.

Then he nodded his head. So slightly, almost imperceptibly.

I closed my eyes. I’d needed his confirmation, more so even than Xander’s.

I was a princess. As was my little sister. My father was a prince, a member of the Di Heyse family—which meant almost nothing in a long line of male progeny, even those belonging to a royal bloodline.

Only the girls were born to rule.

“How did you know?” I finally found my voice again, and Max took another slow step toward me, closing the gap.

He shook his head. “I wasn’t entirely sure until now.” His eyes fell on the box again. It was the Di Heyse family crest that should have been destroyed more than two hundred years
ago, along with everything else from that sovereignty. But it wasn’t. It was here. In my home. “I first suspected when I saw you in Prey.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a heavy gold chain—a necklace with a locket, and on the outside, that same royal crest had been engraved into the antique metal. His thumb released the catch, and he revealed the miniature photo inside.

Even in the pale light of the candle I could see the resemblance. Like all the other pictures I’d looked through, it was like looking in a mirror. I lifted my gaze to his. I had so many questions.

“Queen Avonlea,” he explained. “She was the first to die in the Revolution.” His dark eyes were heavy with sadness. “My brother and I used to hunt for treasure on the palace grounds. . . . I doubt my grandmother even noticed when this went missing.” He held it out for me. “It seems as though it belongs to you now.”

I shook my head, backing away as if the locket would somehow scald me. “I don’t want it. I can’t—”

Max didn’t press me; he simply put the necklace back into his pocket. “And then when I saw you with your friend, you seemed to
understand
my guards. . . .” He studied me pensively. “No one should have known what they said.” It wasn’t an accusation, but it felt like one.

I looked away, not ready to admit anything.

“Is it just the Royal language, Charlie, or are there others?” He stepped again, this time standing right against me. If I’d wanted to meet his gaze, I would only have had to tip my head back. But I didn’t. I stood stock-still. “Didn’t you ever wonder
how that was possible? How a vendor’s daughter could understand a language she’d never heard before?” He reached over, his finger nudging my chin to gain my attention. “
You’d never heard it before, had you?
” He didn’t bother speaking in Englaise now. And I didn’t pretend not to understand.

I shook my head, my eyes finding his. My heart was thundering in my chest, making so much noise I was surprised I could even hear his words.

“
Your parents knew?
”

A slow nod, a simple admission.

“
They never explained what it meant? About why you might have this . . . ability?
”

I glared at him, the only answer I was willing to offer. What did he know of my parents? What right did he have to question their reasons for what they did—or did not—tell me?

“
You know,
” he continued, refusing to relent, even while facing my frown, “
only those who can be queen are born with powers. Only the female royals.
”

I took a step back, bumping into the table behind me. “It’s not a power,” I tried to explain, shrugging it off. “It’s nothing. Less than nothing.”

He smiled then, but it wasn’t at all warm or friendly; it was triumphant, gloating. “Really, Charlie? Tell that to everyone who can understand only the language of their class.” Then he tipped his head toward Angelina, just four years old, a beautiful slumbering angel, oblivious to how her life was changing. “What about her? Do you know what she can do yet?”

I frowned at him, my head reeling. “So, what now?” I finally managed, ignoring his question. I felt dangerously light-headed.

Max reached for my hand, and I was too overwhelmed to keep it from him. I wasn’t sure what I thought about him, whether I trusted him or not. But for the moment, he was all I had. Besides, he made me feel things that had nothing to do with trust, and if I was being completely honest, I liked having my hand in his.

“I’m not sure. I suppose that depends on you.” He was speaking in Englaise again, probably to put me at ease. His thumb moved in lazy circles over my palm, as if he were trying to create his own language, trying to communicate with me through his touch. I understood the meaning even if I didn’t comprehend the vernacular. “There are things we need to discuss.”

A loud crash outside the door made me jump, and I pulled my hand away, tucking it behind my back as if hiding the evidence of our intimacy.

“Don’t move,” he ordered, even as I was rushing to Angelina, who’d been awakened by the commotion. He shot me a warning look, telling me that he meant it, but it didn’t matter—the door was already swinging inward.

Claude stormed inside. “
There’s someone outside who insists on seeing the girl.
” I wondered if he actually didn’t know I could understand him.

Max played along, keeping his sentry in the dark. “
Who is it?
”

“
Xander.
” The way he said Xander’s name made me shudder. It was dark and laced with menace. There was a history there, I was certain. “
And he’s not alone.
” Claude smiled then, and like Max’s smile before, there was nothing warm or friendly
about it. It was pure daring, and it was chilling. “
Do you want me to handle him?
”

Max glanced at me, sizing up my response before answering. He’d made it clear that he’d seen me with Xander that night at Prey, but I could only guess at whether he knew Xander’s role in the resistance.

“
No. Let him in. But only him.
”

Claude looked disappointed but did as he was told, leaving to fetch the leader of the revolutionaries.

“How much have you told Xander? How much does he know?” Max asked quickly once we were alone again.

“Nothing. I haven’t told him anything.” I stood up from the sofa, leaving Angelina behind my back as I tried to recall if Xander had ever questioned what I could do. “But he’s the one who explained who we are. Or at least who he believes we are.”

Max’s eyes narrowed as Claude returned, Xander at his side.

I wasn’t certain that I’d ever noticed just how large Xander was until that moment; he very nearly rivaled Claude in height. He was less bulky, perhaps, but still muscular in a leaner, stealthier way. Xander appeared more jungle predator, ready to strike, while Claude bore the presence of a charging bull. Each demanded notice in their own way.

“
Guard the door and make sure no one else disturbs us,
” Max told Claude, dismissing the scowling guard.

Xander didn’t even speak to Max, barely acknowledged him at all. Instead he came directly to me. He clasped my hand in his, the one that only moments ago, Max had stroked with tender reassurance. “You have no idea the danger you
put yourselves in by leaving, Charlie. We can’t protect you if you won’t let us.”

“She doesn’t need your protection.” Max shoved his way between Xander and me.

Xander laughed derisively. “
Why? Are you offering yours? She’d be safer in a nest of vipers. You may as well hand her over to Sabara with the noose around her neck,
” he scoffed, surprising me as he berated Max in the Royal tongue.

I took a step back; my world was suddenly reeling. How was it that Xander spoke the language of Royals?