The next few days went in nothing but preparations.
For everything it seemed, and yet nothing for.
To try my best to give America some space—as I tried to console myself that what she actually needed was space and she'll come back to me when she sees Marlee all fine and well—and help myself not fall in a dark pit of my own thoughts, I dissolved myself in enormous amount of work.
For the mysterious letter from God-knows-whom-and-why, for the Selection, that was still running despite the events that'd played in the last week, and my father's wish to jump in every decision I make and to make me feel less. No matter how much I tried, they all never seemed to end.
The only area where I was at the least succeeding was for preparing the impending role of host that had been thrown on me.
The only things which seemed to be giving some results were my growing friendship and my likeness for Kriss. The only things that were as stagnant as it could ever be was my relationship with America.
The day after the hideous caning, when I was still reeling after the events that had unfolded itself and the way I'd tried to turn the play in my hands, I received a letter from the women's parlour at noon, from Celeste, that she had been strangled badly by none other than America. Before father could take matters in my hand, I'd reached the hospital wing where both Celeste and America were occupying a bed.
Seeing how they were mangled, I'd pretty much gotten an idea what happened.
The first one to see me was Celeste, a broad smile stretched on her scratched face. "Maxon, sweetheart!"
My eyes met of America's for a moment, sharing an understanding that I thought I'd never get another chance at, and moved towards Celeste. "Hello, my dear."
"You came! I didn't expect it. But thank God you came. Look what America did to me!" As an answer, she showed me her now scratched hands and a few bruises. "She had gone insane! Utterly, horribly, insane! To think she'll act maturely! That too in front of the queen—"
"I'm sorry for the inconvenience you faced, my dear, but I assure you she didn't harm you. And rest assured, I'll talk to her. You should rest."
She'd sighed heavily, an act all of it, and closed her eyes.
Walking out from her space, already exhausted by yesterday's events and the things that followed, I sat on the chair by the other Elite's bed. For a moment none of us talked, but then: "You're lucky my father had the cameras barred from the palace, otherwise there'd be hell to pay for your actions." I couldn't defend her every action without raising questions. "How am I supposed to defend this, America?"
For a whole minute she said nothing, scrutinizing me with calm eyes, the whole time only her fingers harassing her skirt showing the sign of her nervousness.
"Are you going to kick me out, then?"
"Of course not."
"What about her?" Why does she want to compare herself to other?
"No. You're all stressed after yesterday, and I can't hold that against you. I'm not sure my father will accept that excuse, but that's what I'm going to say."
"Maybe you should tell him it was my fault. Maybe you should just send me home."
Closing my eyes, I whispered, "America, you're overreacting."
Her voice had turned thick then. "Look at me, Maxon." Didn't she know that was all I'd ever done in my Selection? "I've known from the beginning I don't have what it takes, and I thought that I could—I don't know—change, or somehow make it work; but I can't stay here. I can't."
This was the limit!
I've given her everything she wanted—needed—but when the time came to actually stand with me, she starts to question my judgement.
Angry, yet not having the energy in myself to give in to the emotions, I moved to her bed, sitting near her hands and looking intendedly in her eyes. "America, you might hate the Selection, and you might be mad about what happened to Marlee; but I know that you care about me enough not to just abandon me in this."
This was something I was sure of. Once she is determined, she doesn't cares anymore.
Clasping my hand in her bandaged one, she shook her head. "I also care enough about you to tell you you're making a mistake."
We both knew what she was referring to, and yet nobody wanted to see from the others' perspective. Not me, at least. But if I could, I could show her my perspective—only if I had a chance!
My hand tightening on hers, I leaned in closer, whispering, "It's not always so difficult. And I want to show that to you, but you have to give me time. I can prove that there are good things to this, but you have to wait." There. Some scrape pieces to hold her. Before she could throw a retort, I decided for the last punch. "For weeks, America, you've asked me for time, and I gave it to you without question because I had faith in you. Please, I need you to have a little bit of faith in me, too."
A heavy sigh escaped her lips, caressing the space between us. "Fine."
The unsaid was obvious, too. I don't think you can have anything that'll change my mind now.
"Thank you." I said nonetheless. "I have to get back, but I'll come see you soon."
And yet my promise was met with just wishful thinking.
I did see her after that, but just in the passing. She was still shaken to not come or talk to me, still reeling.
My time as the prince who was working on his Selection, as a heir who was working hard to show his capabilities, and as myself as I worked to keep my emotions in check—especially when it came to America and Marlee—was taking my most of the time, my to-do-list getting bigger and bigger.
Still, in between, slipping as an unpredicted rain that makes everything look beautiful and promises storm too far, far away, I found little solace in Kriss. The Max in me always finding her presence soothing—unlike the other times.
After the card she gifted me, she found me two days later on the first floor before dinner. I'd been here to visit Mom, and that's when she found and reached me. As it was still time for dinner, we talked and walked through the hallways, and for the first time she wasn't asking me questions but walking silently beside me.
"You seem lost." She'd whispered.
"Sometimes it feels that way—the burden of the kingdom that will eventually fall on my shoulders seem too heavy to sometimes feel lost."
"Is it always like that? Suffocating? Being a prince?" Not prodding, but genuine curiosity.
"Yes." I'd answered with a heavy sigh. "Not that the future queen must worry about that. According to the hierarchy, the only reason I need a queen is for an heir."
"But you don't feel that way." Again, not a question.
"No, I don't." I shook my head. The whole idea was ridiculous to me. Climbing the stairs to the third floor, I answered before she could question me anything why we were going up. "I don't want someone who'd completely dissolve herself into work, or someone who is only here to sire me heirs. I need my balance in her, Kriss. Someone whom I can lean on; someone who respects me and my every aspect; someone who is ready to be my walking stick as I walk along the thin rope of powers. Someone who is my equal."
She looked puzzled as we crossed many rooms, never stopping, but didn't say anything of it. "This is such an amazing concept. I must admit, at first I had no idea what being a part of the Selection entails, but knowing you now, I can say whatever is in the bag, I'm excited for it."
"What do you mean by 'knowing you now'?"
She blushed. "I guess I built an image of you in my head by addressing your ancestors. That was why I was always assessing you. In my defence, though, I've always been surrounded by books, and I've read a whole lot on the Illéan kings and heirs."
"Ow! I'm wounded, Kriss. You were actually interviewing me?!"
She mirrored my smile. "I guess, yes. But what was I supposed to do? The palace can get boring, and you were always a mystery..."
"What do you want to know?"
"Seriously?"
After spending so much time with her, I got to know Kriss a little more. She liked books, had known many friends that reside inside a fairytale than the real world—due to her father's constant transfer. "How about I'll answer your any three questions. Make it a little interesting. Make you a part of an actual bookish scene..."
"O-kay." She muttered, chewing her lip. "Where are we going, by the way?"
"In my room. I have to fetch a few papers before I go down, and since you joined me, you're suffering the stairs as well."
She glared at me but her chuckle gave her away. "A little warning must have been good, Maxon. My feet are going to be punctured by today evening."
That made me chuckle. "Here." Opening the gate of my room, I welcomed her in. Even if for a few moments.
And considering that I didn't have any feelings for her, or vice versa, it didn't matter.
She was silent for a minute, taking my whole sanctuary in, before walking to the wall of memories, as I call it. "It's beautiful." Not lingering, she walked to the side wall that held a display of variety of guns and rifles. "I had no idea you were a collector."
Still looking at the papers on my desk, I said, "I enjoy shooting and hunting. Beside photography," at that she turned to the wall that had every type of camera seated on the wall, "this is one of my favourite pastime."
"What's your biggest mystery that no one knows of?"
Ah! The first question.
Checking the papers, I worked on my desk, managing it, all the while pondering on her question. "There are many roles I've got to play in a moment. It gets difficult slipping from one into another. There are times when I fear I may slip into wrong role and mess it up. Lose myself."
One of these quirks of mine was the reason I was suffering through hell!
"It sounds messy."
"Not a mess, Kriss, the whole thing is a chaos." Utter chaos. Indescribable.
She grinned at that. "Now. What's a little fun without chaos?"
I laughed.
"Seeing that you have everyone's photo on the wall—like, literally everyone: the Selected, the Elites, your family, your adventures...it is all difficult to imagine you as a prince"
"It is all an insanity, Kriss. Everything about my...job." My role as a prince surmised in that word. "There are rarely a few moments that I can actually enjoy. These," I motioned with my hands to my wall of memories, "are the moments that I treasure the most."
"Even the Selected?"
"Even the Selected. Even the eliminated."
"And there are so many with your Mom," she observed, "and a very few with your father."
"My father...he isn't much of a social person. He doesn't like to be photographed often. But my Mom...she is the contrast to him in every way."
"Like us?" She questioned, looking at our picture from the ones clicked for the magazine.
I laughed. "No. We're the same side of a coin, Kriss. There are rarely a few contradictions between us. In every way that I've known you, you would be a better princess than I was ever a prince."
"Do you mean we aren't compatible?"
I didn't know what I meant either. "Um, no." I guessed. "It just meant that we...have an understanding that I have with only a few of the Selected."
"What about the others? I mean, with others?" I could depict that she was curious.
"With Celeste, it is like...we are compatible, but if it came to the end, either she'll survive or me. Natalie is...very spontaneous. A quality I admire the most about her. But she has a childishness in her that can be a little overwhelming sometimes. With Elise, everything is...subtle. And in a good way. My work can be too consuming sometimes. She can be the perfect antidote for that. And America..." She was...everything. Everything that the others were, and so much more. Compatible. Spontaneous. Childish. Sincere. She has the ability to be the death of me, but she is also my saviour. My imperfectly perfect love.
"Here's the papers I was looking for." I said, desperately wanting to change the topic. America was my personal secret—a very vulnerable one for now. I didn't want to spill it out, not to anyone but my Mom.
Thankfully, she understood my reluctance and didn't push me.
"Your mother is the best queen Illéa has ever had."
"I know. She is the best."
"You love her very much." It wasn't much of a question, still I answered with a yes.
"The last two questions...Can I keep those to myself for now? I'll ask you when I'm ready with an intriguing one—after all, I don't want to waste them."
I chuckled. "Fine. Let's get down, else we'd be late for dinner."
The second time I came across Kriss unexpectedly was when I saw her sitting on a garden bench the very same day, looking up at the stars. When I sat beside her, she told me today was her grandfather's birthday and she was missing him, so she looked up for him in the star. Upon asking how long ago he died, she said when she was no more than ten. This brought up more things to talk about and soon it was midnight when we parted ways.
It was Thursday noon, both of us walking to her room after a stroll in the palace gardens, when she looked up at me. "I had something for you." At my raised brow, she ducked her gaze. "It's nothing huge, but..." chewing on her lower lip, she slipped in her room only to come out a moment later, this time holding a small box in her hands.
Taking the mahogany box, I lifted the lid off and looked what was inside it.
There, resting on black velvet was a small, shining rose-gold lapel pin shaped as a eight pointed star, its head shining like many stars.
"My father used to tell me that the North star always guide our way—that to have it meant we'd always find our destination. When you told me about losing yourself in the many facets of yours...I know it's too sentimental, but in my family we gift each other these stars as a good luck charm."
"It's beautiful, Kriss. Thank you."
That was why Justin was beyond himself when he learned an Elite had given me a gift. It was a tad too similar to his own necklace that he wore, the only difference being the colour and size.
"This girl had gotten bad for you, Maxon. I'm telling you." He said, chewing on the late night snacks we were helping ourselves to.
How ironic, that the only one whose attention I want is the one who won't give it to me.
As of Justin's statement, I couldn't think about that. Sure I liked Kriss, but I was sure she felt nothing for me. But if that was the scenario, then why gift me this...And she was good. In every way that mattered, she was good. As a queen, as an Elite, friend and everything in between.
And I liked her. Not the way I liked America—or loved—but something different, someone I could rely on.
Someone who understood me. Looked at me like a person and not as a possession to conquer.
And wasn't I looking for someone who could be a good candidate for the queen and my bride. Other than the fact that she wasn't America, she fitted perfectly in every category.
She knew there was something special when it came to America, but could I trust her with the broken pieces that were my heart? Could I trust her to stitch it back as best as she could?
Could loving her be that difficult? Or as effortless as everything with her had been?
.
.
.
"A Report regarding the Elites?" I repeated, oblivious of their motive.
The master of public relations, Mr. Needle, as well as Gavril nodded. Gavril, turning to me, said, "The magazines are trying to showcase the Elites based on biased observations." I noticed the way he looked at the whole council as he stated it.
I knew he was annoyed by the way people were showcasing Celeste as the obvious choice as the queen just because of her position or her status, and how they all ignored America because she tried to do a right thing by trying to stand up for Marlee, which wasn't liked at all by almost the whole council and so they were being partial when they stated things about the lowest Caste present as the Elite. And he was obvious when he raised his voice against it.
"It was already decided a personal interview of Elite with our Majesties was going to be held but due to the events, they were cancelled. But it's time to hold them."
"If you say so." I amended.
"It's a very smart move, Your Highness," said Mr. Needle, "considering that everyone is creating their own opinion on the Elites."
"Maybe only a few people are to be blamed for giving their biased judgement?" I suggested, glaring at all of them. Just because America was a Five, and she tried to do right by her friend, she can't be judged as a low character. It was below the belt, even for them.
Father, who was watching it silently, nodded to no one. "Fine. We'll hold a special Report for the Elites an hour before the Capital Report." Gavril nodded at that. "Now, about the condition with New Asia..."
As decided, father announced the upcoming impending interview to the Elites, and sat with them in the Great Hall, along with Mom, while trying to maintain a calm conversation.
Before it could start, Kriss came to be just after Elise left. "You nervous?"
"More than that."
"Don't worry. If you get any uncomfortable, just think you're talking to a ghost. It'll help."
"Smart advice." She said mockingly.
"Ghosts? Really?" Gavril muttered, laughing quietly.
I swallowed back a curse. "Even you would say that if you knew how hard it is to handle so many nervous ladies."
He allowed his laughter out. "Sure. Speaking of, where is my personal favourite?"
America. I wish I knew the answer of that, as well. The previous night, almost every Elite wanted my advice on what to expect, but not America. She was still decided on not talking to me. Gavril, as observant as always, took my silence as an answer. "You know, if I was asked whom I root for the most, what my answer would be?"
"I hope you ask the question to the one with Magazines and the polls."
"And you know why we're holding this whole thing?"
"I just wish everything goes as you're planning, Gavril. My plan never works." The last part I muttered to myself, but still he heard.
"That's the speciality of love, Maxon. Nothing goes according to anyone's plan."
Before I could respond, he was called for, leaving me behind, all by myself and my thoughts to ponder on.
While father talked to Kriss, Mom chatted with Elise, and after they were finished, they exchanged their conversing partners, which went for another twenty minutes. Then came Celeste's and Natalie's turn, all the while Gavril took my personal, friendly interview—every conversation with him was an interview of sorts—asking about me, sparing me the details of the Elites, drinking red wine.
But suddenly everything he was saying blurred as my eyes went to the new entry in the Great Hall. Wearing a red-pink-bronze gown that matched completely with her hair, giving a direct emphasis to her clear blue eyes. Unlike the others, she only wore a small golden bracelet on her hand, contrast to her silver necklace. In the evening light, she looked my personal angel.
Gavril noticed my silence and looked over when my attention was, and whistled. "She's a vision in red." He commented.
I made a noncommittal sound but didn't say anything else. She really was a vision.
Noticing my stare, she blushed and looked away, only to look again at me and hold my gaze.
"You were right before. Ghosts helped." We both laughed at Kriss's comment, returning her smile, my eyes still locked with America.
Before I could make my way to her, Kriss reached her and engaged her in a talk. The small connection I felt with America was broken instantly, but I still felt hope. Maybe she was ready to talk to me again.
"There. Here's a real smile of our prince's face."
"Excuse me, I should take a round."
His eyes glinted with mischief. "Yeah. You should." He said, all innocence.
"Remind me again, Gavril, why don't we have any Mrs. Fadaye yet?"
He knew what I meant. Gavril was good at unravelling every mystery the palace had, but his whole life was a mystery. No one knew the real Gavril, and the only one who knew was the one he was reluctant to talk about.
"Oh, just go away, you little monster."
I laughed as I slipped away from him, subtly making my way towards America. I didn't want to look too anxious and excited to talk to America, but as I made my way to hers, I became more nervous.
When I reached her, sitting with Kriss, the sound of her laughter overlapped the sound of the music floating through the room. "What's so funny?"
America gave me a small, nervous look, just like me deciding what it meant for us to talk again. It was Kriss who answered. "Just girl talk." She said with a smile. "I was trying to calm America. She's nervous about speaking to your father."
That was obvious. "You don't have a thing to worry about. Be natural. You already look fantastic."
"That's what I said!" Kriss exclaimed. It was so hard to think that Kriss was one of those plotting types. Not as we shared a look and I understood what she meant. She doesn't have to worry just because she's a Five. But when I looked at America, her eyes were wandering between me and Kriss with a brow between her eyes. I couldn't place that worried look.
What was she thinking?
"Well, I'll leave you to your girl talk. Good-bye for now." And I walked away after giving them a short bow. Still my mind kept wandering, stuck on the way America was assessing me. As if I was a stranger.
Did it mean my relationship with America couldn't be redeemed?
But the feeling worsened when father stood up, announcing, "Oh, ladies, the time has gotten away from us!", not caring about not taking America's interview. That made it clear what he thought about that. Even Mom noticed my glaring, giving me a small shake of her head. But it didn't matter, because everything was falling apart. America's face showed it.
She noticed how father talked to Celeste for more than fifteen minutes, not thinking about talking to her for even a minute when there were still about ten minutes for the Report.
I walked to America, to apologize her for my father's behaviour, but I couldn't reach her. She'd already walked away, a smile still lingering on her face.
She was trying hard to not fall. Even before the Report, and also after that. I tried to reach her again, but failed this time, too. Due to Celeste. And then Elise.
And then my father. When I was free, I went to his office—the last place I wanted to be. There, he was seated on his desk, as usual, still buried in his work. When he felt my presence, he looked up for a moment and said his greetings. "Why are we meeting here?"
"That was uncalled for!" I almost yelled.
"What was?" he looked up, oblivious to what I meant.
"At the Great Hall. What you did to America?"
"As far as I recall, I didn't even look at her in her eye. There was nothing I did."
"Exactly my point! What did she do to accept such a treatment from you?"
"Oh, my son, the list is very big. But for the starter, she is the last person I would accept as a princess or the future queen, so let's end it there."
"She is a Selected!"
"Only till the next elimination, that is two weeks away. Let her enjoy her stay till then."
"You promised not to interfere in my Selection!"
"And I'm keeping my promise. But as your father, I would suggest you to keep yourself away from as far as possible."
"It's for me to decide whom to choose."
"Exactly my point. So I'd rather you choose from either Celeste or Elise. Of course my choice is Elise. Considering that I'm not forcing you to select her, you should be grateful to me."
"And what if I liked America?"
"Sure you can do whatever you want. But she'll never be the queen, nor your wife. Sleep with her if this is what it takes—"
"You mean be like you?"
"Enough!"
"Why? You were the one who was talking about being honest and all. Seems like you don't like honesty as much as you like to talk about it."
"Stop being a petulant child!"
"And you need to stop being a tyrant!"
"You'll pay for that, Maxon."
"What would you do? Lash me out?" I laughed without humour. "Do it. I am to meet Mom in next five minutes."
"Go. Get out of my sight! Now!"
"By my delight, sir." I turned, and on a second thought looked at him over my shoulder. "Don't you think you'll be able to run everything as per your wish. This is my Selection, and from now on, it will run by my rules."
Of course the whole thing happened just inside my head as I made my way to his room. It was what always happened. I was never allowed to confront him, as it gave him an excuse to call me young and unprepared and just a child. So I always used to think what will happen when I go there, and instead I always thought of what would I say—what could I say.
When I knocked on his door and he called me in, all I could hear was the sound of Marlee's caning. All I could see was America's dejected face when she was excluded from an event that was meant for her as well.
"Yes?" He said, not caring to look up.
"Today's event went well." Considering him.
"Ah, yes. I think we—you—need to make a call between Natalie Luca and the Five. One of them must be eliminated—"
"Why are you telling me this?"
He looked up—finally—to give me a cold glare. "After today's interview, it is clear that Natalie is here just because you were too ignorant to cast her away. She is, in no way, a queen material. All she have is her laughter and her small confidence. Not enough."
"What about America?"
"Do you need a reason?"
"I just wanted to know why you want her away when you didn't even look at her the whole time."
"If you're here to question me, then by all means, go away."
"You can't just eliminate her on the basis of her caste—"
"I can and I will. So I better suggest you to not form any emotional attachment with her. She is, after all, just—"
But before he could finish that thought, I'd walked away, slamming the door hard.
.
.
.
As I still had a messy head, full of chaotic thoughts that wouldn't help me in any way, I went to Mom's room. She was lying on her bed, reading a book, when I went in. When she saw me, she sat up and I sat beside her, my head on her shoulder, her silk nightgown cold again my angered hot cheek.
"That was uncalled for." I mumbled after a minute.
I felt her out her cheek on my head. "I know, honey. But we can't do anything."
"Can't!" I exclaimed. "At least you could have talked to her!"
"Do you really think I need to?" She asked me, all polite. I knew she was right. She knew everything that mattered. That I liked—more than liked—America. And she'll accept her for that only. Her question only made me regret voicing mine.
Blushing, I mumbled. "Still it would've been better if she didn't feel excluded."
"If that is the case, dumpling, then we both know who needs to talk to her."
That was my Mom was. Forever perceptive. There was nothing I'd ever kept hidden from her. She knew me too well.
"She isn't talking to me."
"And what would you do if the roles were reversed?" She asked in a mumble. "You must remember, love, that she belongs to a caste that had seen more hard days than good ones. That she'd probably seen someone close to her canned just because he wanted a gulp of water or a small bread. It's all new for her, just like it was for me. Do you think I was okay with living in luxury when the people of South were struggling each day? No. I wasn't."
"But you're here." I grumbled.
"Yes. I'm here. After near about twenty five years of marriage." She laughed and patted my hand, which was clasped in hers. "She needs space and time, Maxon, but does that mean you should exclude yourself from her life? Can't you give her these things by being near her?"
"It's easy to say." I mumbled.
"We aren't just talking about the Selection or the princess or your wedding, dumpling, we're talking about your marriage. And who said it is easy?"
"What if she isn't ready? Even now?"
"Then give her an incentive to be ready, love. She needs something to anchor her, and that has to be you. Remember, for you it's between five girls, but for her it's between her former and latter life."
I made myself a vow that I would do anything in my power to make her come back to me. I'll make her fall in love with me again if she'd fallen out, but I won't get out without a fight. She'd already had gone through someone who was fine with losing her, not me. I'd fight and I'd conquer.
It was late, about half past ten, when I left Mom's room. Maybe she's still waiting for me—like old times. I thought, and made my way to the stairs. Her room was dark when I knocked and no one answered, so I left her be. On my way back, I stumbled across Kriss, who was sitting on a bench, overlooking the garden with the blanket of stars draped over it. Maybe she felt my presence as she turned and smiled, scooting a little, so I accompanied her for the night.
But the whole time I felt uncomfortable, because it wasn't the girl with whom I wanted to spend the time with.
.
.
.
I need a break! I thought, as I walked out of the conference room and all the chattering and the loud voices of all the advisors who were doing no advising but gossiping loudly. And rest! And a very hot, relaxing bath!
But all those thoughts flew out of my mind as I stepped in my room, my gaze falling on another silver envelope that was resting on my comforter. Another golden letter, just as expensive looking as the previous one, and just as a cheap quality like that, slipped out, showing the exquisite calligraphy—another message for the prince, with the address as "FROM THE NORTH", the letter O designed as an eight pointed star.
We know you don't trust us.
Even I wouldn't trust us if the places were reversed.
But as a momento of the trust we're trying to build, I give you a piece of information. The South is planning to attack today, at midnight.
Be aware.
And if you want to contact us, regarding anything, just write a letter and put it on your bed. We'll receive it in no time, and try to answer you as soon as possible.
From a rebel to the future the country needs.
From a brother to another.
Huh? It was more clear and confusing than the previous one. Building trust! A momento! Warning against the attack that may or may not take place! Giving me guidance on how to contact with them! It all went through over my head. But that didn't mean I could neglect their warning. If the Southern rebels were really planning on an attack...
Erasing the evidence, I threw the letter in the hearth, watching it burn to ashes.
If the information was true, then there were things to prepare. Just in case.
.
.
.
It was barely midnight when the alarms gave off, announcing an attack. Justin rushed in my room, and together we made for our way in the safe room I've had prepared for just in case.
"The Northerners were right, then." Justin commented as we made our way through the stairs.
"I guess they were, but still it doesn't give any incentive to trust them. Maybe they were giving us this information—which may or may not help us—just to get us to trust them and then backstab us. Who knows. I'm not trusting them till I'm sure."
"Good choice."
Once in the safe room, that was lined with cots and food and other services, we made our way to my parents—Mom sitting in her chair, dressed in a nightgown and a robe, working on some papers, whereas Father was working on the file and papers he was working on, no doubt regarding the upcoming visits and renewing the terms. When they saw me, Mom nodded at me, whereas Dad gave me a small upward turn of his lips. "Good thinking in preparing the room."
"It was just luck." Or someone's clever planning.
"The Elites aren't here, yet. Send for guards." But before he could complete his sentence, in came Natalie, followed by Celeste. They both gave me a brief smile and made their way towards their cot.
I made rounds, talking to them and making sure they were fine, but all the while I had a few worries in my mind. America wasn't here, yet, and neither was Kriss or Elise. Not to forget Marlee wouldn't be here for safety. She was vulnerable now.
A few guards came in, but none of them were escorting either Kriss or America, which made me more queasy.
Justin came near me, holding a glass of water, but one look at my face revealed him my deepest worries. "She'll be fine. Maybe on her way."
"She should've been here by now. It's too late, and if they really are the Southerners..."
He walked away, attending to father, and I was again left alone, my worries not settled yet.
Where are you? Why aren't you here yet?
As if she heard my questions, she entered in the room, a robe held in her hand instead of wearing it.
"Am I last?" she asked, panting slightly, putting her robe on.
"No. Kriss is still out there. So is Elise."
I was so tired, yet seeing her in front of me was so refreshing. I couldn't think what to do. So I craned my neck, rubbed my temple, ran my hands through my hair, all the effort just so I could control myself. She needs time. But hasn't I given her enough time? And how many things I wanted to share with her. Who knew when I would get such time again...
So, acting on my instinct, I pulled her to me and took her in a crushing hug, breathing in her soil and almonds scent, so perfectly lined up with the fragrance of winters rolling off of her. She clutched me as well!
"I know you're still probably upset," I mumbled in her hair, "and that's fine. But I'm happy you're safe."
It felt so good holding her. It hadn't been a week, still it felt like years had passed since I'd touched her. Held her.
"I'm glad you're safe, too."
I love you, too. Just come back to me. But because I couldn't say that to her, I did what I could—held her tightly.
There were some other muffled noises floating through the stairs, and suddenly Elise came flying right out of the stairs, her cheeks strained with tear marks. I gasped her name and turned to America, saying gently, "You should go inside. Silvia is waiting."
"We'll talk soon." She promised, and I nodded to myself. Yes. A talk would do us good.
As I reached Elise, she mumbled, "I'm sorry, but my maid was sick and slow and I lost my way and I was so scared!" She said all in a breath.
"It's fine, Elise. You are safe. Take deep breaths. In. Out. In. Out. Good. Go in. Silvia will look after you. Rest. You're safe. Okay?"
She nodded clumsily, her eyes still showing how scared she was.
As she went in, a guard came in through one of the other flight of stairs, carrying Kriss. "Oh God, Kriss, are you all right?"
The guard holding her, Officer Ryver, said, "She tripped on the stairs while coming down. Her ankle isn't broken, but swollen."
"Thanks, officer." I said, taking Kriss from him. "Check the stairs and see if they are barricaded, then come down." With that I went in the room where everyone was staying, carrying Kriss, her hands wound around my neck.
"I am so sorry for being late, but—"
"You don't have to apologize, Kriss. It's just good that you're here. I was so worried."
"Really?"
"Of course. You, America and Elise, all of you were late, and I couldn't go up to check on all of you." Even as I said it, my eyes travelled to America, who was sitting on a cot along with Elise. She was safe—all were safe—and that was what mattered the most.
Silvia saw us and rushed to help. "I tripped." Kriss explained. "I don't think I broke my ankle, but it really hurts."
"There are bandages in the back. We can at least wrap it." I suggested, knowing Dr. Ashler wasn't here go attend her.
Silvia nodded and ordered everyone to sleep, then guided us to a corner where she applied some salve on her ankle and wrapped it up in a gauze, all the while Kriss held my hand tightly in hers. Once it was over, I took her to a cot where everyone was asleep.
"I need coffee. My leg's hurting me too much."
"Okay. I think I need some, too."
"You okay?"
"I guess."
"I'm sorry you're stuck with me when you should rest."
"It's nothing, Kriss." I assured her. Instinctively, my eyes went to America, who was sleeping with her face to the wall, her blanket wrapped tightly around her. Maybe she was cold.
We drank coffee, we talked and we stayed up all night, sitting in a corner. At one point, she felt cold, in spite of wearing a robe, and scooted closer to me, for which I placed my hand over her shoulder, providing her as much warmth as possible.
America had told me we'll talk soon, but she wasn't awake, even when it was near dawn. Even when the guards came in, announcing everything was in control. Not even when I went out, carrying Kriss with me.