VII.
There's something off, but I just decide to wait until the next evening to focus on the notes. I slip them away in my cabinet, the one I'd told the maids there was no need to clean, and then come back to them the evening after.
The longer note is from Cal. I'm not surprised that he wound write something of such length; he is a man of many words when the time comes for it, unlike Maven, whose sentences are short and mostly simple. Maybe he doesn't trust me that much yet, as opposed to Cal, who seems to trust as easily as he breathes, and even I know not to do that. But I can't criticize Cal for his life choices now, especially not after he's left me such a note. Cal doesn't apologize often, instead accepting when some mistake has come up or something has gone wrong. Yet he's nice enough, and I don't need apologies to make me weak-kneed.
He writes (in slightly messy handwriting, I can't help but noticing) that he'd tried to come up that night, but I wasn't there (so I must have been out much longer than I'd realized, I think with a sinking stomach) so he'd instead considered and left this note to offer another time for us to meet. I thought it was vaguely sweet, in a strange way, and considering how much time I'd been spending recently staring at Maven, I probably should hang out with Cal more. Not that I have anything against Maven - he's nice, mysterious, strangely unique in his own Maven way. But he's my fiance's brother. And me staring at him in the garden, bathed in the soft light of summer sunsets, as well as us sitting by the same fish pond chattering with smiles on our faces could come off as a bit... weird, to put it kindly.
I'm not the girl to stare lovestruck into another's eyes, anyway. Eight-year-old me wasn't, twelve-year-old 'escape artist' me wasn't, the me now isn't. I learned not to do that because I had no one to look at in any situation (and you never will, the confines of House Titanos had whispered in my ear.)
Still, it must be easy to slip notes to one another in consideration of the fact that we are betrothed. Cal must have found it easy, and if I could slip away from House Titanos when I was merely twelve, I can find a way to smuggle the crown prince a simple note. Before bothering to read the short note word for word, I pull out some paper and a pen and begin scribbling down my response: summarized quickly by Hello, thanks for talking again, sorry I wasn't here, we can arrange to meet sometime if you send another note, et cetera et cetera, in much more formal language with some extra details. There's no way to 'call' maids in this castle, though there was in the House Titanos quarters, probably because that's smaller. I never did and never will if I can help it. My blood color and the people I used to meet in the winding, dark streets of Red villages blanketed only by stars are my chains, my calling.
That tall boy with the blond hair, emerald eyes and lazy smile? My calling. That smaller girl with the paler skin and shiny red locks, knitting needles in hand? My creed. (That boy by the pond, his hair a swept back black and complexion a pale sheen? I don't know about him.)
I could never betray them. I already have.
I have flirted with the boundary line between Silvers and Reds, wondering where I lie. The Silvers' strength lies in their ability and power. The Reds are broken because of their blood. So what am I, with Silver ability and power, and Red blood? Am I strong? Am I weak? Am I neither? I don't know, just as I don't know how Silver parents could have produced a Red child like me, just as I don't know why they didn't bother to throw me out with their next morning's trash, on the front lines or not. I respect my lost parents above all Silvers, because I think that they are the only who could have borne a Red child and not drowned it in their bathtub.
"Miss Titanos?"
Perhaps I'm thinking too hard.
"Yes?" My voice is strong, as I hoped it would be, as I knew it would be. (You are not Red, if anyone asks, Nicholas instructs.)
"Do you need anything, My Lady?" Don't call me My Lady. I'm just like you.
"...Take this note to my betrothed, the crown prince, and please don't tell anyone you took him anything." Don't say please, Mareena. There is no please. They must obey, yes?
"Yes, My Lady," she says, carefully accepting the note from my hand, and though all I was doing was thinking, I can't help but tremble at the coincidence. The brunette maid watches me for a moment, then flexes her free palm as if it's sore. I catch the word midnight written on her hand. I open my mouth to ask her about it, but she's... left already. Maybe she was just sore, Mareena. Red servants work hard shifts. It could mean something personal to her. Don't waste your breath on it. Don't waste my breath on it.
I relax for a moment and then remember the other note.
Mareena -
Please meet me at midnight in the garden. Tomorrow night.
No one will stop you - I can make sure of it. This is very important, and while I hate to ask you this after just starting to talk to you, you have to come.
Thank you. And please eliminate this note somehow after reading it. I'll do the rest.
Most sincerely,
Maven.
Midnight. Again. My fingers tremble on the paper, my eyes flitting nervously to the door. I want to scream. I want to cry. Real Silvers don't scream and cry, Mareena, I tell myself. I inhale deeply.
In through the nose.
I came up to your room but... it seemed that you weren't there.
Out through the mouth.
I'll do the rest.
My lightning catches the paper. I watch it go up in flames and crumble to ashes. The ashes fall. Tomorrow night means tonight, because... because I waited a day. Oh god, I should have read them earlier. Or done something. I don't really know anymore; midnight, does that mean Maven has even more connections than I thought he did? Even more than Cal does? Who are you, Maven? And why in God's name do you want to meet at midnight - what is going on at midnight? What do you mean, you'll 'do the rest'?
There's no camera burning into my back, I realize. That's what's off. Oh, good God, Maven Merandus Calore. You really are a man of your word, aren't you? I can almost see him giving me that stupid little half smile. Did you doubt me, Mareena?
No, Maven Calore, I'd never doubt you.
"I didn't think you'd actually show up. I thought you might not have trusted me yet. But thank you," he breathes earnestly, blue eyes flickering up to meet mine. Black hair smoothed back, dark circles on his pale skin - is he not sleeping? Maybe it's just more pronounced in this light, the sun having long set and letting night roam free. It's a little before twelve, and I ran to get here, after hours of considering and considering. And more considering. He seems content, a little early as I am, as if he suspected that I would be early. Cal is strangely human now that I know him, but Maven, despite the fact that I'll be in a position of higher power than he is one day, seems like a shadow; unreal, strangely strong.
"There are no cameras here, Mareena," he confides, his voice low. Mareena sounds so formal, but I can't really think of a nickname besides Mare, and Cal came up with that. For some reason, I want him to be the only one who calls me Mare. It's probably just because we're betrothed, doomed to a life with each other - might as well have something like a nickname just for each other. Another part of me tells me that reason is bullshit.
"Why?" I ask.
"I don't know. There never has been, and I've never asked. It's a bit weird letting people know that you know about the camera systems."
I turn to face the stars. He can hear me whichever way I'm looking, and I don't feel the need to. "Not many people know about them?" I say, surprised.
"Not that I know of." He isn't looking at me either, massaging his eyes for a moment as if tired. I feel the strong urge to tell him to get some goddamn sleep. Sleep deprivation isn't nice at all, and I know that personally. "Just me, you because you can sense them, my mother, and the Sentinels that man the stations. As far as I know."
I want to ask him why his father doesn't know, but that's pointless. He probably doesn't know why. "Maven... why did you want to meet me here?" I finally say. It's what I really want to know, and what I really need to know. Why has my betrothed's brother asked me to meet him out in the garden, so far from other people, in the dead of night? I was suspicious; I am suspicious, but some part of me wants to see the best in Maven, even if I don't with everyone else. He blinks and then glances around, once, twice, like I flipped a switch.
There's no one.
"Maven-"
"Mareena," he interrupts, deadly serious, "what's the color of your blood?"
It's like the whole world stops at his question. The stars in the sky seem to blink out, the faint whisper of wind in the distance halts. The drum inside my chest stops beating, and there's nothing; nothing alive but this boy in front of me, his sharp blue eyes boring into mine. I could drown in them, the clear blue water, and I want to. I don't want to answer this. Not to him.
"Silver," I answer. The word trembles on my tongue.
"No you're not," he accuses. He pinches just a little bit of skin on my arm, but the silver paste holds. "You're not Silver. You can't be."
My heart leaps into my throat; what am I doing wrong? Am I not strong enough? Am I too soft? Does everyone know I'm Red? Should they put me in Training? Why does he think I'm Red. How does he know I'm Red?
"Everyone thinks you're Silver," Maven murmurs, lifting his hand to my palm, "but I know you're Red."
And then he speaks the most damning words of my life:
"Aren't you, Mare Barrow?"
I open my mouth, but he smiles as if he said something funny and leaves me.
"Come back, dammit!" I whisper-cry, the drum in my chest reigniting itself and pounding harder than I ever thought possible. I feel lightheaded, like I might faint, like I need the boy who knows my secret to come back and save me. The grass feels cold.
as a repayment for my months long absence from this story, have two relatively quick-written chapters
i'm writing this while i'm on vacation and there's a wasp and it might sting me while i'm writing this. please review because a. i love hearing your feedback and b. it is absolutely TERRIFYING writing when theres a wasp that might sting you, and have pity on me for doing so /slain
