Rebel Song (4 page)

CHAPTER 6

Three months later

Since the first day he had helped a haughty, naïve little girl with a twisted ankle up the cliff, something had taken over inside of him. It was something in the way his eyes took in her features. Something in the way her buttery voice resonated in his ears. When she took his hand, electricity jolted up his arm and into his lungs, stealing his breath. He had never been the kind of guy to chase girls around with wide-eyed infatuation—he didn’t have time for such frivolous things  when there were vines to be tended and knives to hurl against unsuspecting tree trunks. But it wasn’t like that with her. When he was with El…it was like the rest of the world faded into the background.

Although she adamantly refused to talk about her family or background, she couldn’t hide that she was every bit a well-bred, high-born girl—he guessed the daughter of a government official or land baron. Someone high-ranking enough that their meetings had to be kept an absolute secret under what she dramatically swore was “the pain of death.” Her mystery only fueled the inferno growing in him. And, although he could never claim to be an expert on the aristocracy, she was different than what he would have expected from some heiress. The sheer fact that she wanted to hang around him at all was proof of that.

He glanced over at her as she chatted on about her last trip to the northern province of Batem as they snuck through the dank alley to watch the sunset from the best rock point he knew. She went on, completely oblivious to the fact they were climbing into the depths of Arelanda City’s underbelly with each step, carefully avoiding shattered glass and decaying rats. Without warning, a skeletal figure manifested in the shadows in front of them.  El shrieked, her eyes widening in fear. She grabbed his hand so tightly he felt bones grinding. Instinctively, he put his arm out to protect her from any potential danger, but sighed when he realized it was just a withering gray woman clutching what he was sure was a dead baby. A tattered beggar woman was the least of their worries in the dismal shipyard backstreets. The woman was curled against a wooden crate, draped in rat-eaten shawls, clutching the tiny, skeletal infant to her deflated bare breast. She cooed and willed the tiny thing to nurse in a nearly inaudible voice, but her milk appeared as dried up as the rest of her frail body. Rogan instantly regretted taking El down this way. It was so easy to forget her skin was paper thin compared to his. He turned to pull her away.

“C’mon,” he whispered, taking her arm, but she hesitated. Realizing the lack of threat, El’s eyes fell into sadness. She shook off Rogan’s grip and gingerly edged forward, staring in bewilderment at the sight of the frail woman.

“El, don’t,” he insisted, but she ignored him. It dawned on him at that moment that she had probably never actually seen starvation’s vicious face. She had probably never even known a growling stomach.

“Is she…” El began in a choked whisper. “Is the baby dead?” The words barely came out. Rogan examined the pair more closely. The infant was a sliver of frail gray life, but he detected a faint heave of breath in its sallow face.

“It’s alive,” he whispered. “But I don’t think it will be for long.” He reached for her hand. “We should keep moving.”

She scowled and huffed at him, jerking her hand from his grip.

“You mean to just walk past a dying baby without fetching a physician?” She said it with such a mix of hauteur and naiveté that Rogan had to stifle a smirk. “Oh it’s amusing?”

Rogan stifled a heated retort. He raked his fingers through his hair and sighed.

“You think the woman starving to death in a shipyard alley, trying to feed her nearly dead infant from a powdered breast, never thought a doctor could be useful?” He asked emphatically. El opened her mouth but the sudden realization of her ignorance crept across her face.

“I don’t suppose she would have the means,” she murmured, more of a statement than a question. Rogan took her hand again and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

“No,” he sighed, flicking his eyes to the woman. “Not many around here do. Even if you could find a doctor to trudge down here, a doctor isn’t really what she needs to save her baby. It’s a bottle full of hot milk and a warm shelter.” He watched El’s face contort into such confusion that he knew it was beyond her comprehension. How simple a bottle of hot milk must seem to her.

“Oh. I…well,” she took a breath and let go of his hand. She walked toward the woman gingerly. The frail woman looked up but her gaze was unfocused and hollow, her eyes two empty pits of despair. With a look of resolve, El removed her tailored black wool coat and draped it around the woman’s shoulders, which hung loose despite her being nearly twice El’s age. Then El reached into the pocket of her dress and pulled out a small purse embroidered in swirls of purple and gold satin—the material alone probably worth a week’s worth of food for a street beggar. She fingered it for a moment then looked the woman in the eyes.

“I do not have anything for the baby. But if you’ve the strength to go to the market, this should be enough to keep you for some time.” She extended the small purse toward the woman, who just stared at her, processing the gesture with obvious skepticism. She managed to shake her head slightly in protest, and pressed her body back against the crate. The alley rats feared any sign of charity was always a scam.

“It’s all right,” El pushed. “I want you to have it. As long as you promise that you’ll keep that baby alive and get yourself healthy.”

Tension clung to the air as Rogan half expected the frail woman to lash out. But after a moment she nodded slowly. Then, with barely a visible movement, she cautiously extended her hand toward the purse. El placed the satin bag into the woman’s shriveled hand and closed her fingers over it. She let her hands rest tenderly over the woman’s closed fist for a few moments.

“Sants be with you,” El whispered. The woman didn’t thank her, just stared at them incredulously as they moved away, keeping her hand outstretched.

They walked on in silence. El was visibly rattled, but Rogan was still in awe of her kindness and grace. He had never seen anyone extend such charity to a beggar on the streets. Even in his world, alley rats were the very bottom rung of life’s ladder.

“That was—you just saved two lives, you know,” he said once the sun was once again warm on their faces and the hellish shadows of the alley were a memory. She nodded slightly but didn’t answer for a few seconds. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m okay,” she started, then stopped suddenly and spun toward him. “No, I’m not okay. That…is that just normal for you people?” She shook a finger toward the alley. Rogan stood back.

“Excuse me? Who are
you people?
”

“You were about to just walk by that poor woman. Without doing anything.” She shook her head and extended her arms in frustration.

Rogan tightened his mouth and clenched his fists, but summoned a deep, composing breath.
She wasn’t one of them.
He wasn’t exactly sure
who
she was, but she had been born on a silk pillow far away from the fish-rotting shipyard alleys. She would never understand his hardened soul. He pursed his lips and toyed with his hair.

“There are so many you know, in this part of the city,” he began. “So many that no one stops to notice anymore. It’s not that they don’t care. It’s not that
I
don’t care. It’s that there’s nothing to be done. Most passing are just trying to keep themselves from the same fate. A lot of people around here are only a few grains of rice away. If you gave every beggar even a penny you’d be destitute yourself in no time.” Heartbreak swelled in her eyes and he almost regretted his candor. She wasn’t ready to hear such hard truths. But then again, no one had ever asked his permission first.

He expected her to argue, to yell, or even cry. But she just looked at him, expressionless and drained.

“I didn’t know things were so bad,” she muttered. She shook her head, then walked toward the beach in silence. He tried to remember the first time he’d seen a lost soul starving in the darkness. He couldn’t—those memories stretched back to the beginning.

They sat watching the sunset without speaking, the tide creeping up to kiss the shore. The sun dipped into the horizon’s cradle, streaks of reds and orange scratching the blue sky. Without warning, she leaned into his shoulder and sent a surge of energy racing up his limbs. Flames fluttered and licked at his insides until he was so hot that his skin prickled and burned. He looked down; noticing the way the slight curve of her narrow hips touched his. He had the urge to wrap his arm around her waist and explore that curve, but settled for gently brushing a piece of wind-teased hair from her eyes. He tried to focus on the glowing sun bouncing off the sleepy waves, trying to ignore the heat running through his body and his pounding pulse.

“Are you going to be all right, El?” He finally asked. She breathed in a few times before nodding.

“Yes, I’ll be fine.” Then with a small laugh, she said, “but I’m not sure I’ll ever be the same.”

This time, Rogan couldn’t resist, and let his arm slide around her slender shoulders. She didn’t flinch, only nuzzled her head deeper into him.

“Are you ever going to tell me who you really are?”

She didn’t look up.

“Do you really want to know?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Then no.”

CHAPTER 7

I probably think about you more than I should,
El said to herself as she walked up the path, replaying the past few weeks in her mind. Is that how it usually began—the slight touch of a concerned hand, the prolonged glance, the surreal moment that suggested they shared a secret? She didn’t know it would be quite like this. She imagined a thrill. She even anticipated the sharp guilt that would nip at her skin as she smiled in secret. But she didn’t
—couldn’t—
imagine the complexity of what she now felt—overhanging guilt juxtaposed with spine-numbing exhilaration, overlapping acrobatic butterflies and deep nausea. No, there was no way to anticipate such a physical reaction to what she had always perceived as a purely emotional situation.

It had been a little more than three months since she had climbed on the back of some rogue Valley boy with deep ocean eyes. It had been a little more than three months since her small world had been ripped from its darkness and shaken until she could see the world with a new set of eyes—eyes that actually
saw
what was standing right in front of her. She had a catalyst to the outside world. She was no longer confined to knowing only what they would tell her. She finally had a friend that didn’t have to call her
Your Highness
or refrain from cracking crude jokes at the risk of offending her. She could finally let down her guard and breathe in the fresh air, knowing he was there with her for the simple fact that he wanted to be, and not for social favor. 

And then it happened. As they had sat on the beach after the disturbing experience in the alleys, she had noticed how his bright sapphire eyes often had the complexity of a stormy winter sky. She noticed the way his coal black hair fell shaggily over his firm jaw and chiseled cheekbones peeking through smooth, tanned skin. His arms had seemed to thicken with hardened muscles and his shoulders seemed wider. Overnight, he transformed from someone safe and innocuous to a dark and exhilarating force. It sent icy shivers through her veins. At first, she was terrified of the bizarre fluttering inside her, of the tremble in her skin and inability to focus her thoughts. Now, she was beginning to seriously question what she had gotten herself into.

El stepped through the thick blooming orange trees overtaking the narrow path, walking to where Rogan sat waiting for her at the table carved from rock. It wasn’t their usual place in the rock cove on the beach by the edge of the docks, but a secluded clearing hidden beneath a cluster of thick trees in the outskirts of the city park. It was a conceivable walk from the library, where she was always delivered each Friday morning at 11:30 to volunteer with the illiterate children of the city. And every Friday at two, she told the Secret Guardsmen assigned to her that she was going to read in private for a few hours, a pretense she could hardly believe ever worked. She was beginning to realize how little care her guardsmen took with their jobs.

The clearing was tucked far enough away from the city center to provide absolute seclusion. When Rogan had first suggested they change their spot, panic consumed her already nerve-rattled body. She’d heard whispers in the palace halls about uprisings and protests in the countryside—in Pear Valley. She’d heard of people being bludgeoned in the streets for refusing to cooperate with Rangers or dragged from their homes in the night, accused of inciting unrest. She knew something serious was bubbling and couldn’t help but fear Rogan was about to tell her something unthinkable had happened. And she was somehow to blame by default.

Rogan sat mindlessly shuffling a deck of old playing cards, a wedge of cheese and a loaf of bread spread out on the table next to him. A bottle of what looked like chilled lemon tea sat on the edge of the table beside two small glasses. He was in his signature unkempt attire—a fitted dark blue tee shirt that exposed the ends of swirling black ink on his upper right arm and dark denim pants over his usual scuffed black work boots. A thousand needles pricked at her skin at the sight of him. The crack of a branch grabbed his attention and his eyes shot up to embrace her image.

“Hey,” he said softly—almost distractedly—as his eyes lingered, half-lidded on her.

“Hey, yourself.” She tried to fight down a blush. She stepped closer. “So why are we meeting up here?”

He stood to embrace her in a friendly hug. She lingered in his scent—earthy and crisp.

“I just thought it might be nice if we got away from the open air for a change and could relax. It’s hot today and there are so many eyes on us everywhere we walk. I hate that you’re always looking over your shoulder.” He smiled, but his tone was uneasy.

They snacked on the bread and cheese and played a few rounds of Rummy, carrying on as always about places they wanted to visit at the ends of the world and local celebrity gossip. She told him about the latest antics of the noble circles, including how Minor Lord Menin had gotten a sixteen-year-old girl from the Valley in trouble in the most “carnal of ways.” Rogan related the comical antics of his friends, leaving her rolling in laughter. But despite the normalcy of their conversation, El couldn’t shake the twisting in her belly and the dampness in her palms. She could feel a new kind of energy vibrating between them—one she couldn’t contain. It wasn’t exactly tension—it was more intense—and more frightening. It rippled up her spine, rattling her limbs. Feeling light-headed, she stood abruptly.

“Are you okay?” Rogan jumped to his feet. El took a deep breath and steadied herself.

“Yes, I’m fine. I think I’ve just been sitting too long. The damp air is making me a little woozy,” she sputtered. She shook her arms as if she could wring the energy out of them. She walked toward the small creek that ran through the clearing and reached in to splash her face with icy water.
Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.
When she stood, Rogan was standing beside her with his hesitant arms outstretched, as if preparing to catch her. She turned around and nearly fell into his body.

“I...I just...was feeling a little hot.” She wiped her wet hands on her yellow sun dress. She looked up at him; he was nearly a foot taller than she was, finding his stormy eyes locked on her. Cool water dripped from her chin. Rogan’s thumb brushed away a drop, then a piece of damp hair from her eyes. His fingers lingered on her flushed cheek. The fragile joints of her knees began to buckle at his touch and her heart thrust against her chest in swift convulsive thumps.

“I…” Rogan’s lips parted as if he were about to make a confession, but instead he brought them down on hers with a hungry urge. She lost control of her balance and fell backward, but his arms were ready to hold her up. With hardly a moment of hesitation, she gave in and kissed him back. Her mouth filled with the taste of earth and lemon as the soft skin of his lips pressed into hers. With a melodic rhythm, their lips danced and swayed in perfect cadence. It seemed a lifetime of uninhibited, interlocking lips before he finally pulled back from her and stared down with eyes that were both satisfied and terrified.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered with a haggard breath. He loosened his grip on her and pulled away. “I should have never done that. I’ve just wanted to do that for so long. I just had to…at least once.”

“Rogan,” El began, her face burning. She touched a finger to her swollen lips. “I...” She couldn’t focus her thoughts into words. Her head was spinning and her nerves were fraying at the ends.

“I know,” he interjected and dropped his hold on her all together. “I’ve probably ruined it all now...” He raked his fingers through his thick, black hair, damp with humidity. He dropped his head to stare at the moist dirt beneath their feet. El took a deep breath and placed a warm hand on his chin, thrusting his face back up.

“You’ve ruined nothing.” She stared at him intently, then brought his mouth back down on hers.