Impulse (10 page)

We stayed like this for a long time, me breathing deep and Robbie holding me tight. He felt warm and safe.

‘You okay?' he finally asked.

I raised my head and sniffed, then drew away. ‘Yeah. Sorry about that. Maybe the drugs aren't yet out of my system.'

‘Maybe.' He smiled, sadly. ‘Don't feel bad for me. I'm actually okay. The only thing I am sorry about, now, is that I'd be useless at protecting you from one of Damir's rogue men.'

Here he was, half blind, and still concerned for my safety.

‘I'm okay. Marko is looking out for me.'

‘Good.' He nodded and I noticed his eyes were now trained directly on me.

‘Can you see me at all?' I asked hopefully.

Robbie shook his head. ‘Flashes of you,' he said, wistfully. ‘I see a dim outline, like a shadow, then the real thing, before it vanishes just as quickly as it came. That's as good as it'll ever get.'

‘Marko mentioned once that light crystals had healing powers. And that people hardly aged mentally down here because of it. And if you have some sight and can see shadows, maybe it's repairable.'

Robbie leant against the bench and sighed.

‘He's right. But blindness by light crystal can't be reversed. It'd be like trying to treat a burn with a burn.'

So he must have opened his eyes in the travel chute when he took me home.

‘Is there anything I can do to help?' I said, glancing at his workbench, where endless potting awaited him. ‘I can come and work here, with you. Help you to look after the plants.' Just then a butterfly fluttered around my head before landing on my nose. ‘And look after the butterflies.' I giggled when the butterfly began moving, its tiny legs tickling my nose.

Robbie's eyes searched my face. ‘What are you laughing about?'

‘A butterfly just landed on my nose.'

I brought his hand and took it to my face and the butterfly took flight.

‘It landed right here,' I said, touching his finger to my nose ever so lightly. When I pulled my own hand away, he trailed his down my nose and to my cheeks and down my chin before he ran his fingers down my arm, ending around my waist. He sighed.

‘What are you doing here, Miranda? Why have you returned to Marin? I wish you were home, safe with your family.' His tone was part angry, part melancholy.

‘Aren't you happy to see…I mean, hear from me again?'

‘I am,' he said, frowning. ‘Just, not at the expense of your life.'

Robbie's words had a chill to them, as though he truly believed I was now doomed for returning.

‘But I'm safe now. Marko isn't pushing me into anything I don't want to do. I'm not being held captive. And, Damir is in the dungeons.'

Robbie shook his head, his eyes darkening. ‘No, you're far from safe, Miranda.' He shifted his gaze towards the doorway of the greenhouse, where I could make out the shadows of my guard where he stood waiting. ‘Marko is good…you can trust him…but…'

‘But, what?' My shoulders tightened. Maybe Robbie held the same suspicions as me. ‘Sylvia's a threat, isn't she?'

‘It's quite possible,' said Robbie, who drew away to rub his chin in thought. ‘But you mustn't mention this to anybody. What we speak about here is treason while Sylvia resides in the castle with Marko. We have to always talk in private.' He found my wrists again and held them tight. ‘And you must not put yourself in danger, ever, Miranda.'

I nodded. ‘Okay. But the same goes for you. I don't want you hurt again.'

The doorway to the greenhouse swung open and I leapt away from Robbie, my back hitting the silver workbench behind me.

‘Excuse me, Robbie. I need you over in number eight.' It was the grey-haired man who had directed me here.

Robbie sighed. ‘I'll be there in a minute,' he called out over my head before he bent down to me. ‘You must come
again. Always with a guard of Marko's choosing—never one of Sylvia's men. Promise me that?'

‘Promise. I'll come back tomorrow.'

Robbie smiled and kissed the top of my head. ‘Take care.' He shook his head. ‘I can't believe you're actually here.' Crimson patches spread across his cheeks. ‘I've missed you.'

I looked at him and smiled. It was so good to see him again—so good to have a friend here in Marin.

‘I've missed you, too.'

As I walked back to my room, I passed my old bedroom and slowed my steps. So many memories were entombed inside that room—memories of isolation, fear, and also of longing and passion. How would it feel to walk back in there? To remember the first time I'd met Marko and how he'd arrogantly dismissed me, or the many times Robbie and I had whiled away the hours with games of
War
, or how Philippe, my partner for the fertility dance, had attacked me the night of the ball.

The guard trailing me cleared his throat as if to hurry me along when I hesitated at the door, and I obliged him by quickening my steps. There was plenty of time to explore my old room, and I would have preferred to do it without someone looking over my shoulder. Perhaps one night, while the castle slept, I'd return here and take a trip down memory lane.

The sound of a door opening,
that door
, made me spin on my heels.

‘Marko?'

His blue eyes widened in surprise when he saw me, and for a moment he wasn't regal, controlled Marko, but
another, more awkward version of himself. Could he have been chasing memories, too? The heavy door closed shut with a loud bang.

He gave the guard a curt nod of dismissal, and we were suddenly alone, listening to the guard's heavy footsteps die away.

‘I'll walk you to your room,' Marko said, before offering me his arm.

After hesitating for a moment, I linked my arm through his, and endured the most awkward and longest walk. I was still upset about last night and the cold way he'd looked at me after I'd bared my heart and spoken truths about his sister.

We stopped at my room and Marko turned to face me. ‘Can I come in and have a word, please?'

I nodded and stepped through the door, which he held open for me. When it closed behind him he reached for my hand, but I stepped away and pretended to be looking through the bookshelves for a book.

‘Let's forget about what happened last night. Can we do that?'

I shrugged. ‘It's kind of hard to forget some of the things you said. It's like…' I paused and turned around, my arms folded across my chest. ‘It's as if you don't appreciate how much I've given up…to be here with you.' I faced the books again and cringed at my emotional reveal.

‘I do appreciate you, Miranda,' he said and then mumbled what I thought was, ‘more than you realise.'

My heart started pounding a furious beat. This was the moment I should spin around and demand he elaborate just how much, but all I could do was stare at the bookcase.

He started for the door between our rooms but stopped just before it.

‘Wait. I need to ask you something,' he said.

I raised my head.

He scratched the back of his head and half smiled.

‘It's Sylvia's birthday on Saturday and I was wondering if, perhaps, you'd like to attend as my partner?'

I shrugged, acting all nonchalant and said, ‘Okay,' but deep inside I was doing crazy dance moves. So much for the riotous friend Sylvia had mentioned—the one who was most likely made up.

Marko's face lit up. ‘Excellent. I know Sylvia is a little difficult sometimes; but, if you give her a chance, I'm sure you'll become firm friends.'

‘Maybe,' I said, shrugging again.

Marko started for the door again but spun back around.

‘I asked her about the book—about Grandfather's book.'

Okay. So my pleas hadn't fallen on deaf ears after all.

‘What did she say?'

Marko shook his head and grinned, as though he was the bearer of good news.

‘That copy you saw in my grandfather's office. It wasn't the only one. Sylvia believes there are three copies.'

‘But why would she have such a sick, creepy book in her room? Don't you find it strange?'

Marko shook his head.

‘She was close to Grandfather. Perhaps she wanted something of his, as a keepsake'—he made a face—‘no matter how horrid it is.'

‘Fair enough,' I said, frowning.

But I was in no way convinced.

T
HE NEXT MORNING
I got up early and decided to visit Robbie, to ask if he would be attending Sylvia's party. While rifling through my wardrobe for something to wear, there was a light rapping at my door.

‘Yes?'

‘Morning,' called a female in a singsong voice.

In walked Jilly. She was carrying a breakfast tray in her hands, but her face carried a mysterious expression: part excitement, part fear and part something else I couldn't quite distinguish.

‘So, have you been enjoying our beautiful city, Randy?'

I clutched my clothes to my chest and closed the wardrobe door.

Randy.
Jilly had just used Lauren's nickname for me.

‘Are you okay? Has my familiarity offended you?' She frowned. ‘Sorry. I do it all the time—name shortening. Anne is always saying how surprised she is that I don't call her the letter A.'

I smiled and waved a hand in front of my face, like swatting a fly. ‘Randy is fine.'

Jilly nodded and smiled, but her eyes darted to the doorway and back to me nervously.

‘Remember you asked after Anne?' she said, leaning forward and whispering.

‘Wait. Has something happened?' I asked, my heartbeat going from
tick-tick
to
BOOM-BOOM
in a millisecond.

Jilly glanced over her shoulder at the door again and then it hit me.

‘Is she here?' Without waiting for an answer, I rushed to the doorway and opened it to find a much skinnier and paler version of the Anne I once knew.

‘Miranda,' she said, with a genuine but weary smile.

Though it was warm in the castle Anne wore a thick, woollen, itchy-looking shirt and long pants of the same material. It made me want to scratch my skin just to see her in it. She no longer looked like a maid but a prison inmate. And her once fresh and youthful face had a haggard, middle-aged woman's look to it, as if she'd spent a decade baking in the sun or looking after a dozen or so children.

‘Anne. It's great to see a familiar face again.' I wanted to throw my arms around her and crush her to me in a warm hug but she looked so fragile, like I would grind her bones to dust if I did; so I restrained myself and beamed what I hoped to be my warmest smile to compensate. She smiled back, but on a scale of one to ten for happiness, it didn't even score a one.

‘Come in and have breakfast with me.'

Anne shook her head. A soft-pink glow started to spread across her gaunt cheeks. ‘I'm on a special diet at the moment.' Strangely enough, a small smile twitched at her lips, as though the special diet was something she was truly happy about. But she was so thin that I could see the
blue veins through her snow-white skin, and the shape of her bones.

‘What sort of diet? Maybe we should do it together?' I said, hoping to get more info out of her. In truth, my ridiculous stomach was already dying to tuck into the breakfast Jilly had just brought in.

Anne avoided my eyes. ‘Just something I'm trying. It's a special diet just for me and nobody else.' She blushed deeper. Anne blushing could only mean one thing.

And then it hit me. Dieting and blushing. She was trying to impress a guy.

But what sort of a guy would let a girl wither before his eyes? What kind of a ‘special' diet was this? And then I remembered how Anne used to blush like this in front of Marko all the time.

‘I've got to get back to work.' An expression of relief smoothed Anne's face as she backed away from me and towards the door. ‘Take care, Miranda.'

‘I will.' Then I held her gaze to show her how much I meant my next words. ‘You too, Anne; please look after yourself.'

Before she got too far across the room, I stepped forward and caught her thin wrist between my fingers. It felt cold and limp. ‘If anything's bothering you, you know you can come here anytime to talk.' I smiled. ‘I'd love the company.'

A frightened-rabbit look crossed Anne's face before she turned and walked briskly down the hallway. I stood and watched her until she was out of sight.

‘What do you think's wrong with Anne?' I asked Jilly as I sat down to eat my breakfast of fresh bread and a bright, blood-red jam.

Jilly shrugged. ‘Six months ago she started to crawl inside herself and become shyer than she used to be. It's
to do with the—' Jilly cleared her throat, ‘man she's been meeting.'

A blob of jam fell from my spoon onto my lap.

‘Which man?' I asked, as I scraped the jam off my lap and onto a slice of bread.