Neliem, page 26
I’m too infuriated to speak.
Ezra opens the door, then closes it. “Am I understood?”
I stare at him, wondering when he became so strong-willed and determined. Maybe he always was, and I failed to notice. By the way he speaks, it’s not a request but a command. And he makes Neliem breathe fire, filling my lungs with rage.
“Don’t tell me what to do, Za-Za.”
He tilts his head in a way that would tell most people not to press the point. But I am not most people.
“You say you don’t want me to be like those other girls, and yet you treat me the same.”
“Those girls don’t go around slicing boys’ ears off and talking to daggers and caging wild animals.”
I’m too stunned to speak. He knows what happened in Madera.
“Mark my words, Oriana. If I have to chain you to this bed to make sure that you remain inside of this house, so be it…”
It’s a threat, and also a lie. He has no chains. Neither in this house or his other one. I should know. I’ve scoured every inch of both homes in search of anything to subdue my enemy.
The air leaving my lungs, I cower, hugging my knees. “I never spoke to the dagger.”
Before I can will them away, tears leak out, finally able to confess my deepest secret. “I was talking to you, Za-Za. It was always you.”
His jaw drops. I think he’ll turn around, get down on his knees and beg forgiveness. But he doesn’t. Ezra opens the door and leaves. The bolt outside the door snaps into place sharply.
I wait for him to come back, to say this is some sort of joke, locking me in a room that would only take me seconds to escape.
The minutes tick noisily, tick, tick, tick, and still, there are no approaching footsteps or the faintest creak to tell me someone’s outside.
Then I notice that in this room the only window is barred, and the bathroom has no exit.
Impatiently, I rattle the door handle but find not a trace of a hole to poke a needle through. Also, the hinges are facing the wrong way.
I swallow hard and realize the truth.
For the first time in my life, I am trapped like the wild animal I truly am.
Against the blood moon, a horse’s hooves click clack against the drenched cobblestones. A bird rustles in the branches as brittle leaves scratch against the window. The carriage taking Cassia and Tanya to the ferry arrived hours ago. By now they’re probably halfway back to Madera.
I swallow the inevitable. Tristan will go to the Capital and be spectacular. He will win the hearts of thousands and probably be elected mayor and have the perfect blond wife and children. He’ll be blissfully happy, without me.
“It’s for the best,” I whisper, praying that one day I believe it.
The thought makes me almost fall back on the stairs, disturbing my plans of escape. Ezra was called away for some pressing business moments ago. When the servant unlocks the door to see that I was well, I ask her to draw me a bath. The minute her back is turned, I steal the key, which she absentmindedly left in the lock.
Equipped with a knife I borrow from the pantry, I slink through the corridors until I reach the servant’s entrance and escape out the alley.
The streets are hauntingly empty before dawn. The gaslights flicker, casting shadows that roll up and down like lingering ghosts with nowhere to go.
I waited impatiently for the carriage to leave with Cassia and Tanya. Cassia dragged her feet like a cow to the slaughter, thinking of every possible excuse. Uncle Anton had to practically yank her into the carriage and sit against the door to make sure she didn’t try to escape. All the while, the old man reassured her that she could take the ferry back the very next day if she didn’t feel like staying.
Interestingly enough, I didn’t take any pleasure in the spectacle. I had more pressing issues at hand. Someone is trying to kill Ezra. And there is only one other person in Playa Del Sol who is cunning enough to help.
The one Untouchable I loathe more than any other in the entire world.
The lock to his kitchen door is so easy to pick that I’m inside faster than I thought possible. The warm aroma of honey biscuits makes my stomach quiver. With everything that’s happened, I’m starving. With the knowledge that nothing in this kitchen is poisoned, I help myself to bread, meat and four glasses of chilled milk.
When I cut across the downstairs corridor, I notice someone has upset the china display, and all the contents have spilled to the ground in pieces. Shards of broken china and glass outline the floor.
Reigning in the spirit of Neliem, I slink up the stairs and cross the main hallway when I notice a door left ajar. Without thinking, I ease inside.
The girl from the teashop lays fast asleep in a pretty pink room. The one that screamed that she wanted nothing more to do with Henric. Obviously, she’s had a change of heart. From the faint odor of fresh paint and the pristine furnishings, this was the room being decorated. Not a nursery as Cassia was led to believe, but a room for Henric’s new acquisition, a mistress. His former nanny’s child.
I wince as I stare down at her angelic face, so transfixed that I detect the heavy breathing behind me a moment too late.
“What the devil are you doing here?” He speaks in a mere whisper, but the threat is clear.
I nudge toward the door, and he follows, using his cane for balance.
Softly, he shuts the door closed and only then does he release the full extent of his disdain for me. I almost laugh. Those all too familiar blue eyes sweep up and down, attempting to disarm me, but it has the opposite effect.
I shrug, my attention back to the sleeping girl. “She’s too young, Henric.”
He winces, offering no objection. Then, unexpectedly, he sighs. “I know.”
The silence between us throbs like a tainted knife wound, the poison leaking into veins, the contamination rendering one immobile.
Every instinct says I should never have come. But I’ve ignored common sense so far, and there’s no turning back. Scanning the massive corridor framed with art and family portraits, I move toward the stairs. A moment too late, I realize walking down might be impossible in his condition. And I don’t want to prolong this conversation any longer than need be.
He interrupts, “Are you going to tell me why you’re here?”
“Someone is trying to kill Ezra, and I need your help.” I hold my breath, then add, “There is no one else.”
He shakes his head, in either disbelief or sheer astonishment. “Why should I help you? I don’t like you. It was a mistake for him to go fetch you from that confounded island.” He stammers, and I catch a bit of a lisp.
I’ve stopped listening. A dagger too distinct to be mistaken for any other lies abandoned on the end table.
My dagger. The one Za-Za gave me. The one that saved my life too many times to count is in, of all places, Henric Mercer’s home.
I pick it up, transfixed. “How did you get this?”
Henric leans against the wall, rubbing his forehead. “I told him not to, by the way. Beating those boys senseless was pointless. You’d done an impressive job yourself.”
His voice hitches up on the last part. Quickly, I reign in my emotions. Those boys. My attackers? That would mean that the brutes who attempted to rape me were the cause of Ezra and Henric’s injuries.
“He hurt them?” I ask, still not believing.
He confirms, “Not that you appreciate it.”
I wonder what he suspects of Tristan, but I find myself unable to ask.
“Tristan has gone to the Capital.”
“I know; I was there when he got on the train.” His voice wavers, “Well, he might have been coerced.”
Without asking, I know that he’s left much unsaid. My heart racing, I slink to the floor.
“He’s risked everything for you, you know.” Then clarifying, Henric adds, “Ezra has gone to hell and back. And to see you not appreciating it one bit …”
This explains his hostility from the start. I finally manage to meet his gaze. But what I see isn’t an arrogant Untouchable wishing me harm. It’s someone as broken as I am.
Unable to face him, I hide the dagger in my boot and stare out the window. “I know that no one likes me. You don’t need to remind me. But he’s asked a lot in return.”
“What has he asked, other than respect?”
“My mother will never see my children.”
With difficulty, Henric balances on his cane. “He didn’t tell you, did he?”
“Tell me what?”
His face flushes. “The dowry …”
I’m about to ask what money, since my mother has none, when he hisses, “She asked for four hundred pounds; four hundred. In our culture, the woman’s family pays for the privilege of marrying into a good family. Especially ours. I intervened and got the sum lowered to two hundred. Cash, non-refundable. I only got one hundred for Cassia, two years ago. Do you have any idea of the stigma this will cause us?”
It’s nothing more than a lie. “How dare you …”
“I was there. She drew a hard bargain. He begged me never to repeat what had happened. The woman was out for herself. And she beat you, when she wasn’t starving you.”
I stumble against the wall. “It’s not true … he’s prejudiced against my people.”
Hearing this, he roars like a lion. “Ezra was raised by one of your kind. He, as well as all of us, loved Lania Mercer … she was a saint. But your mother,” he shakes his head, “is something entirely different.”
And it fits into place. Why Henric disliked me from the beginning. He thought I was taking advantage of Ezra, his beloved cousin. I narrow my eyes, giving nothing away. “I cannot help what my mother did or didn’t do. But the fact remains that his life has been threatened now three times and I need you to help him. Not me. Ezra.”
Outside, a splatter of rain sprinkles against the glass windows. Soon, dawn will break, and Ezra’s in more danger every second I linger here. I stare outside to the colorless sky, wondering when his attackers will strike next. Perhaps today, or tomorrow. The frequency seems to have intensified in the last few days I’ve been here.
Carefully, not leaving out one detail, I explain all that has happened and show him the bit of red dust I’ve collected.
Interesting enough, he doesn’t scoff or call me stupid. With an intent gaze, he examines the dust and does something even I didn’t think to do. He tastes it.
“Cinnamon,” he exclaims, his eyes widening a fraction.
“It must have something to do with the embargo …” He attempts to sit down, the pain in his leg evident as he stumbles and without thinking, I reach out and steady him. He stares at my hand which I carefully retract before taking a step back.
“But it doesn’t explain why Cassia tried to poison him.”
“Cassia?”
“Yes, I know it doesn’t make sense.”
By the incredulous look he gives me, I’m sure he doesn’t believe it.
“Cassia? Poison? I don’t think so. Mind you, she has a temper …” His eyes roam toward the broken china and glass. “She nearly killed herself with her fit and took me down with her.”
Clear as day, I see it. Cassia furious at Henric. Breaking the china and getting harmed, then attacking Henric.
Impressed, I shrug. “She did that?”
“The vixen is as transparent as glass.”
“Tanya is in love with Tristan,” I blurt out.
His face reveals nothing. “For the record, every woman in Playa Del Sol imagines Tristan in love with her.”
Including me. Henric scrutinizes me for a moment too long, and I realize that we’re sitting too close, almost as if we’re friends. “Unfortunately, he has only eyes for one. Himself.”
“Tanya will be very disappointed.”
He smiles, and I think it’s the first time he’s done that.
“Undoubtedly, which brings us back to Ezra. It was very daring of him starting the embargo. I mean, I’m not judging, but … he has made many enemies because of it.”
My eyes widen.
“Don’t get me wrong, we’ve all profited. The family fortune restored. But now, will all the cane coming in, we can’t find enough workers to process it. Who could’ve possibly foreseen a strike?”
The countless faces of the orphans scraping the bottom of their empty bowls shake me to the core.
“People lost their homes. It went on for far too long. They wanted blood …” Henric rubs his bloodshot eyes, the bags underneath indicating he hasn’t been sleeping. “I would never have agreed to it if I had thought for a moment …”
My skin crawls listening. I honestly don’t think I can bear to hear another word. My Za-Za would never have caused people to go hungry, which brings up another ugly thought. “What happened to his real mother?”
He studies me as if weighing how much to say. “What has that to do with anything?”
“She was cruel. Like mine.” I swallow down the bile in my throat.
“Much, much more.” His face holds some unspoken horror.
“I know she’s dead …”
“He killed her … inadvertently.”
I hold my breath.
“And her servant …” When he glares at me, for the first time, he’s not taunting or fueling a need to retaliate. “The fever.” He shakes a thought away. “We lost three cousins; Landis’s brothers. Somehow Za-Za contracted the fever … no one knows how.”
I remember the quarantine. Flocks of people frantically trying to escape the island, some going as far as to attempt to swim to another island. All boats were grounded with no means of escape.
Everything in me breaks as the truth dawns. I gave Za-Za the fever. “Za-Za had the fever before he left the island.”
Henric shakes his head. “His father couldn’t have brought him over …”
“Henric, he saved my life … he stayed for days on the island and nursed me back to health.” Shame washes over me.
“One day he was fine, the next … his father kept him here in this very house … at death’s door.” He looks around incredulously. “Even in his state, Ezra wouldn’t let them take him anywhere near his mother. No one knew … his mother came here to visit, not suspecting a thing. From what I was told, she wasn’t even in the house an hour with her servant. By the next day, both of them were dead.”
“But what of Za-Za?” My voice breaks, remembering how he took great pains to tend to me hand and foot as I lay incapacitated. Placing himself in danger, risking everything.
“Tristan’s mother nursed him to health. But the damage was done. His own mother was cremated, as well as the child she was carrying.”
“That’s terrible.” I hold back a sob imagining Za-Za’s baby brother burning.
“It’s divine justice. She was a bitch if ever there was one, she and her brother …” I can tell that there is a lot more he wishes to say. But he doesn’t. Restless, he gets up. “I will go to the docks. With the strike over, I will see what I can find out.”
Another thought plagues me.
“Why would Ezra risk so much with the blockade?” A shiver crawls down my spine as I answer my own question. “The dowry he owed my mother.”
“We will leave at once; let me get some clothes on.”
Something forces me to my feet. “Henric.”
He turns sharply, his eyebrows arched.
I motion toward the bedroom. “Henric, if you care for her …”
He catches my gaze.
“If you care for her, you will marry her.”
He pauses for what seems an eternity. For a moment, I’m positive that he will lash out, or at the very least kick me out. But he does neither. Balancing on the cane, he returns to his own room and gently closes the door.
I remain on the stairs a long time, contemplating everything that’s happened. Henric swears that Za-Za was brought back to Playa Del Sol before the quarantine. Which somehow makes sense if the harbor was closed. Madera was shut down for months. But if that’s true, how did he save my life?
The image of Neliem flashes before my eyes. His promise to be there for his beloved.
Frustrated, I quickly prance down the stairs, dread washing over me: it was my illness that killed Za-Za’s brother. When I get to the bottom of the stairs, I hear a metallic rattling. Using the electric chair to glide down the stairs, Henric, looking fresh and dapper springs to his feet, the cane by his side.
“Sad to see that neither leg was broken?” he teases.
It’s an honest question so I give an honest response. “I’d hoped for an arm as well.”
He nods. “We are not friends.”
“No, we’re not.”
Then, as quietly as possible, we slip out of Henric’s home, taking the trouble to lock the door behind us, only one goal propelling me forward.
Keeping my Za-Za alive.
The avenue that leads to the docks is thick with hovering ghosts. Some stop, gazing blankly before continuing their aimless path. The streets so slick with rain that I nearly skid twice. Henric calls a coach, and we silently enter, not daring even so much as gaze too long at each other.
It seems strange to find myself with Henric, of all people. All around me, the city awakens slowly, like a slumbering child. A harried housewife on her hands and knees scrubs the pavement before her home with bleach. Dutiful shopkeepers display their freshly slaughtered meat like trophies at the doorway. Traffic jams narrow streets as an assortment of dairy trucks clang a little too loudly up and down the avenue making their rounds. I poke my head out the window when one zealous merchant offers me a piece of fresh cheese. I gobble it down greedily before remembering to say thank you.
A cart with a wobbly wheel pushes alongside the path, pots and pans clatter noisily, my mind spinning.
One: Za-Za caused a shipping embargo on cane sugar.
The price went up, and he is rich. Very.
Two: he went to Madera to find me. Paid my mother off and brought me here. In three days’ time, the bond will be sealed, and we will be man and wife.
But the real question still haunts me: will I be in fact choosing him?
