Neliem, page 5
Two small garlands are placed on our heads, pressing down over my veil so that I can barely see what is happening. The priest raises his hand for a silent blessing. Under my veil, the air is suffocating, hot and dry and causing my skin to crawl. It takes everything in me to focus against the pounding in my head and heart.
“You may kiss the bride.” The words shatter me awake.
I stumble back, my knees weak. Ezra lifts the veil with that quizzical look on his face. My mother rushes to remove the veil, folding it carefully in her arms, preserving it for some reason. Then I remember. The veil is always made into the first child’s christening outfit.
Ezra leans closer, softening his lips, that familiar scent I can’t quite place lingering. He’s about to do something dangerous but thinks better of it and paces back, satisfied. “Think you’ve had enough surprises for one day.”
Startled, my jaw drops. And I would probably have slapped him it wasn’t for the fact that I can’t move my hands.
“I hope you don’t mind.” He motions toward the incense that’s drenched the entire room in citrus fragrance. I’m too startled to object as he guides me toward the flame, his hand over mine as we tilt the silver goblet and water splashes, an image forming on the wall.
My mother stands alarmingly close, holding her breath.
Outcasts don’t believe in Untouchable signs, or fortune tellers, or false gods. Untouchables pay a coin to ensure an ancestral ghost protects their journeys over water. Their omens, both bad or good, are meaningless.
But just the same, my chest tightens.
Instead of pinching me, what my mother should be doing is tossing the lot out for contaminating our household. Instead she waits, little beads of perspiration forming on her brow. Tanya steps up, staring with those big sad eyes. “It looks like …”
Even Cassia inches closer, squinting, then frowning, a deep grimace forming on her pretty face as she grinds her teeth.
It must be much worse than a noose, I tell myself, refusing to so much as glance at it.
Ezra lets out a soft sigh, a smile creeping across his lips. And something in me lifts.
“It’s a heart, a beautiful heart.” My mother gasps, jumping up and down, relief washing over her. I’m too shocked to register it as both Henric and Landis congratulate Ezra with warm hugs and pats on the back.
I finally turn and stare at the image on the wall.
It looks like a heart, but I refuse to believe it.
I find my voice. “It looks like a lump of fat.”
Ezra laughs the loudest, followed by Henric and Landis, who seem to find me hysterical.
The paid scribe has already written all the documentation down, our names, our ages, everything but for one small detail. For the description of my class, instead of Outcast it states, ‘tailor’s daughter’ and ‘Hugganoff’ in the most elegant calligraphy I have ever witnessed. My mother’s actual occupation is a seamstress, the same as her mother and her mother before her. My father, whom I have no memory of, studied to be a priest before he fell into disgrace by marrying my mother.
Finally, the priest turns toward Ezra, his raspy voice barely above a whisper. “In a fortnight, I’ll send the paperwork in.”
Ezra’s face freezes. He steals a worried glance at me before raising his voice. “I prefer you didn’t wait.”
I rub my temples, trying to get my bearings, but it all flutters like a whirlwind. My mother chatting away with the priest, who keeps filling his goblet with wine, not bothering to conceal a bewildered shake of his head every time he so much as glances in my direction. The other couples nodding politely. And Ezra. Ezra glued to my side, pressing the palm of his hand faintly against the small of my back so that his warmth emanates in a way I find the most distracting of all.
It can’t be happening, and yet it is. Ezra signs the document and offers me the pen. I look down at the ink forming one perfect circle of blackness on the blotter that seems to spread. I think of a puddle growing into a pond, turning into a river that becomes the sea. What stands before me is an ocean. Vast, untamed, but mine. Watching my trembling hand as if it belonged to someone else, I sign my name. And with that, my fate is sealed.
I am no longer Outcast.
My heart thumps loudly as my mother congratulates me with a dry kiss. Her rough lips scratch my cheek, and it takes everything in me not to wipe it away. Instead of embracing her, Ezra nods politely, then signals the driver to make haste, his arm still snug against mine.
My body is tingly and weak. My limbs are not my own. How did I not realize that I had my wedding-day stockings already on my feet? That single thought plagues me as I stumble outside of my home, accidentally turning in the wrong direction. Ezra, sensing my state of mind, patiently guides me toward the carriage. Unfortunately, we have Cassia and Henric’s betrothal vows before crossing the deep waters to the mainland.
Where I will live. Bonded with a complete stranger I have no recollection of ever speaking to before today.
Against the scorching sun, I step uneasily into the carriage, the scent of fine leather and horse more pronounced than before. Ezra gently helps me up against the sagging cushions, making sure I have ample room.
A sharp rap on the carriage precedes the constable’s untimely arrival.
Short with a protruding belly, he leers his pointy chin in my direction, faking his best smile so that all his teeth glisten. “All is well?”
Cassia hisses under her breath, “As soon as we get out of here.”
Henric nudges her, his icy glare silencing her at once. But Ezra’s attention is on the gate. My broken gate.
I squirm, sensing what he’s about to do but unable to stop it.
“As soon as you fix the gate,” Ezra commands. “You should be ashamed of yourself, letting the neighborhood fall apart like this.”
Not finished, Ezra stares out the door, pointing to the nailed Prince’s Proclamation, which rustles tattered and blistered by the sun. “The Prince’s Proclamation of Protection hangs like some discarded piece of trash. It needs to be etched in stone as the law decrees.”
The constable’s jaw drops; he obviously believes the task unworthy of his time. He’s about to complain and refuse to comply when a miracle happens. The air seems to electrify as Landis steps forward, his shoulders squared. On cue, Henric rises and barks, “It’s not a request.”
For the slightest moment, I don’t feel Outcast.
Too shocked to speak, I drink in the sight of the three of them, tall, blond, and handsome, power emitting from every pore on their bodies. They’re like three gods descended from the heavens to subdue the earth, and completely out of place in this slum.
Almost tripping over his feet, the constable falls to his knees and starts pulling up the broken gate, searching for the bolts to screw in place.
Henric and Landis enter the carriage, with Ezra moving closer to my side. He smiles, seeming pleased with himself. “Better than a horseman carrying you off?”
It’s meant to be some sort of joke. Something to make me laugh. But what he doesn’t realize is that the constable will have the last laugh. This injustice won’t go unpunished. As soon as our carriage is out of sight, there will be some sort of retaliation. I doubt if the Prince’s Proclamation will ever be etched in stone, and if it is, my people will bear the cost for it.
My people.
I poke my head out the window and search for one familiar face wishing me well. The image of the gazebo and the crowds gathered to marvel over the chosen adorned in scarlet sends a wave of envy down my gut. I squint, thinking I spy something, but it’s only a ball of tangled weeds rolling in the breeze.
Dismayed, I sit back and realize the truth. Not one soul troubled themselves to wave and properly send me off. They’re probably all huddled in their homes with sagging roofs and broken windows and not nearly enough food to fill their bellies, obviously too busy to worry about the girl known as Neliem.
The carriage takes off with a lash of the whip, the driver anxious to get back to a more familiar part of town. One that doesn’t reek of filth and desperation.
I trace my finger on the glass, and for the first time in my life, I want to do something I have never once succumbed to. Not even when rocks and thorns cut into my flesh or dogs attacked me, nipping on my heels as I ran home, did I break.
But now, I do. I want to cry and cry until there isn’t a tear left. Through a cruel trick of nature, I have become Untouchable. My sworn enemy.
It is well past midnight by the time we reach our final destination: Playa Del Sol, capital city of Perla Del Mar, where my betrothed resides. The bright, friendly lights of every lamppost gleam, as if in welcome. The notion is more than absurd, it’s preposterous. Things like this don’t happen to girls like me. And yet, here I am, still wearing my wedding gown, the scent of orange blossom clinging to my flesh as Erza’s private carriage climbs the steep hillsides toward his house.
Ezra, having succumbed to sleep, slumps over his seat, mumbling restlessly. Some nightmare plagues his slumber. I wince thinking that we at least share that in common. Terror.
A shiver runs down my spine. I shift my gaze, peering at anything other than Ezra. This carriage is newer and cleaner, more spacious than the previous. The cushions are a royal plush velvet, soft to the touch, and coat the walls as well as the floorboard. I frown at such lavish display of wealth and sink deeper into the cushions, inhaling the cool, salty air. Outside, the cloudy moon greets me like a tireless lover, reminding me what lies ahead. The prince will awaken soon.
Painstakingly slow, we travel up the winding path, every turn of the wheel rocking the carriage into a steady rhythm. The ferry ride took longer than expected, the waters deemed too dangerous to travel at full speed. Even then the familiar ghosts lingered, hovering to and fro. Their misty forms materialized throughout the ship, never finding rest. Ezra had adamantly refused to pay the small fee for protection, calling it an old wives’ tale. Landis, not hiding his disdain for Tanya, who’d fallen fast asleep as soon as we’d boarded, had agreed, assuring us his ancestors would sooner murder us in our sleep than protect us. Cassia’d turned beet red with fear; only Henric’s assurance had contained her as she’d moved far away from me while swearing under her breath.
Opening the carriage window, I inhale sea and air and sky. And beyond that, lingering to its outer edges as if a fringe, freedom. Even as a small child I had dreamed of escaping my home, of traveling to far and distant lands. But now that I have indeed escaped, all I think of is my own bed with my mother in the next room, humming as she sews until the crack of dawn. Once, my mother had been kind and good. I’d never felt the hard slap of her hand or the pinch of her tight fingers until after my first blood. My father had been alive then, I think. And my brother as well. Small and white-haired, tucked safely in a cradle by the fire. I’d played with his chubby cheeks and curly hair, teaching him how to say his name. My mother hummed as she cooked, the rich aroma of delicious food surrounding us. That was back when there was more than enough to eat.
A sharp jolt from the carriage brings me back to the present. Ezra stirs, still half asleep, and rubs his jaw.
All I know is that we are no longer anywhere near my old home, or town, or anyplace I’ve ever stepped foot in, for that matter. We are clear across the bay on the mainland, and everything reeks of the cold, dead sea.
Not one other familiar soul in this town knows my name. I am faceless, my identity altered, a stranger. For the first time in my life, I am truly alone. The thought is both unsettling and, if I am completely honest, somewhat welcome. There will be few who miss me. Etta, perhaps Jerris, but the others might not even register me gone. My mother will, of course. She will worry in that way of hers, but other than that, no one.
My skin prickles at the thought, the spot she pinched still tender to the touch.
I could be on another planet as far as anyone was concerned. Whisked away in the wind, fluttering above the heavens, like a faded story from long ago.
The entire way here, I’ve been a ball of nerves, my senses heightened due to the unfamiliar terrain, the strange fragrances in the air, the dark looks, and, most of all, Ezra’s constant scrutiny of me.
The only blessing is that Tanya and Cassia are already tucked away in their respective homes. Between Tanya’s mindless chitchatting and Cassia’s fake sincerity after her own nuptials, I’d had just about enough. My nails were clawing the previous carriage cushions so fiercely that I’m positive that whoever is saddled with the tedious job of cleaning up will think someone poked a knife repeatedly in the fabric.
I tilt my head and stare out the window. It is too dark to even make out the road, only the roar of crashing waves leading us forward. My weary eyes finally grow heavy, and I find myself finally drifting off before Ezra’s gentle snores startle me awake. His warm hand reaches instinctively, holding mine protectively.
For a moment, I allow it, somehow reminded of a child holding another child’s hand. The truth is, though I would never admit it openly, his touch isn’t as revolting as I would have imagined. I thought the mere touch of an Untouchable hand would scorch me like acid, sizzling my flesh. Ezra’s touch is warm and sweet, however. If it wasn’t for the spark of energy that jolts between us, it would be somewhat like Etta’s.
Just thinking about Etta makes my stomach knot. I never had a chance to say a proper goodbye. My one friend, and she’s gone. I glance back in the direction of the ferry, wondering what she thought of my sudden departure. Was she truly happy to see me with an Untouchable? Her kind gesture of a kiss and wave at the schoolyard, when no one else would trouble themselves to wish me happiness, makes me ache to see her again soon.
Ezra’s persistent hand finds me once more. His grip tightens over mine, reminding me that even in his sleep he won’t let me go. How very little he knows me. Instead of staring at our intertwined hands, I decide to devise a plan. One that involves my freedom. His torn nail scratches against my palm and draws my attention. It tickles more than hurts, which bothers me for some reason. It doesn’t fit with his perfect hands. He must have gotten into a fight, which brings up a slew of unanswered questions. Who would he fight? He’s so rich and sophisticated. People like him don’t fight. At least not with their hands. They overpower their adversaries with the advantage of their wealth and power. No need for physical exertion.
Trying to focus on anything other than Ezra, I gaze thoughtfully at the hidden moon, cloaked behind a thick curtain of fog. I wish it were bright and full so that I could know precisely where I am.
My stomach growls sharply, and I take a sip of water from the water gourd before guzzling most of it down. When the carriage unexpectedly comes to a halt, Ezra’s eyes snap open, and he sits up prepared, his fists clenched. Quickly, he surveys the carriage, then me. A slow, easy smile escapes his lips as he rubs the sleep from his eyes, the sense of alarm dissipating.
“Already here.”
He sounds too happy. The driver opens the squeaky door, and Ezra proffers me his elbow.
My throat hitches, knowing what the next few moments hold in store for me. Not even the sweetness in the air lifts my spirits. I wait anxiously, dreading every step toward the house that will seal my fate.
Ezra studies my arm, and without knowing it, rubs the tender spot. “You didn’t rest.”
Ignoring him, I compulsively seek the dark moon as if it alone holds answers. Unable to find even a sliver of crescent; however, my thoughts once again run wild. No matter what, I will never succumb to his charms, not that he has many. Politeness will never be enough.
I will fight him off. That is certain. Submission isn’t an option.
Sucking in a deep breath, I cautiously step forward and, as graceful as a gazelle, he moves at once to help me out. When both my feet are firmly planted on solid ground, my strength returns. Even in the darkness, I make out the shape of columns and the massive outline of the courtyard. A trickling water pond lies directly before the threshold to the house, various statues framing the path. I let out a small sigh, already devising a plan. There are plenty of bricks and sticks to use as weapons. Also, I am fast.
The second he places his hand on mine, however, pinpricks of tension spike in every nerve of my body.
Facing us is the sea, the muted moonlight glittering gray against its stormy waters. Lightning flames in the distance, accenting the scene as something from a familiar nightmare. Darkness and despair. Two old friends. The waters from below splash violently against the steep cliffs, with only the one house framed perfectly against them. His.
And it suddenly dawns on me that he had no business in my small town of Anaith. Not when he lives here.
“I don’t understand …” I whisper.
“Oriana?” He leans in, his breath soft against my hair.
I frown; I hadn’t meant to say it out loud. I don’t want this Untouchable to know anything about me. Not what I think or feel, especially about his people. But he holds his ground, standing tall, waiting for my reply. “You live here and yet went to the town school in a small village to find a … bride?”
He shrugs, his voice faint. “My father moved us to Anaith years ago to conduct his business. It’s always held a special place in my heart.”
“And your mother?”
“Dead a very long time.” He winces a bit before turning his gaze away.
My fingertips falter against his touch, and I immediately cast my eyes down, my heart pounding. I know what comes next. What’s expected of me, or rather, what my mother has been not-so-subtly lecturing me about—husband and wife relations. Something I’d never thought I’d ever endure before today.
