Rebel Song (5 page)

CHAPTER 8

With the taste of lemons on her lips, El returned home from the encounter with Rogan glowing and practically dancing on air. Every concern she had when she awakened that morning had melted away in a puddle of indifference. Her eyes saw nothing but blurs of brilliant colors and she could hear nothing but the pounding of her own heart. Everything else faded into the background. Ada gave her a skeptical look when she greeted her at the front gate.

“Elyra, where have you been? And what are you all dreamy-eyed about?” Ada studied her with narrowed hazel eyes. Her sharp northern accent was still present after two decades of living in the capital.

“Hmm? Oh, nothing. I just…read the best story. It was…a romance,” El said with glazed, half-lidded eyes and a lazy smile. Ada let out a deep, soulful laugh.

“Then it begins. You’ve discovered the presence of great love in the world. And now your pretty little brain is filled with fantastical nonsense.”

Elyra scowled at her, but secretly mulled over the words. Is that what she had felt in the clearing with Rogan’s mouth on hers, his hands gripping her face as if to keep from devouring her whole—fantastical nonsense? He had quickly become her best friend—perhaps her only real friend, other than Ada. Was that the same thing as love?

“It’s just a book, Ada.” Elyra brushed off her lady’s maid with an indifferent eye roll. “It doesn’t mean I know anything about all that love garbage.” She pushed past her into the main entry of the palace.

“Garbage?” Ada squealed, scurrying after her. “Love is the most amazing gift you can hope to receive in this lifetime. And a girl like you should pray for such a gift.”

Elyra snapped around and glared.

“What does that mean? Why wouldn’t I?”

Ada’s mouth gaped slightly as she caught herself, averting her eyes toward the giant royal portrait in the front hall, mindlessly smoothing her mousy brown bun.

“I just mean we all should be so lucky. Look at your poor Ada. No one’s slipped a ring on this finger yet and I’m over the thirty hump.”

“Yes, we all know you’re a dried up old spinster. You said a girl like
me
. Is there something wrong with me?” Elyra’s hand went to her hip, her volatile temper rising.

“Calm down, El,” Ada raised a hand to her. “You know you’re a beautiful young woman.” This softened Elyra’s grimace. Despite her practice at humility, Elyra was admittedly vain. “I meant a girl like you, who happens to be...a princess. Life is a little more complicated for someone like you,” Ada answered delicately.

Elyra opened her mouth to protest but found no words with which to argue. Ada was right—she would be lucky to find love and not just a business arrangement. She had always known that reality and simply chose to ignore it. She stood, silently searching for a rebuttal.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. It was a very stupid slip of the tongue,” Ada said. Elyra looked up at her with burdened eyes, and turned to walk toward her quarters in silence.

“Elyra...” Ada rushed after her. Elyra stopped before the lift and turned around.

“No, you’re right, Ada. I’m not so naïve that I don’t know you’re right.” She shrugged, her fantasies slipping back into the storybook. “It won’t be about love for me. It will be about what’s best for the nation. And it’s time I start accepting that.”

“You absolutely don’t know that. It’s not like it used to be in the old days. People don’t get forced into marriages anymore.”

“No, but they get highly persuaded into them,” Elyra muttered with a snicker.

“Come now, don’t be so dramatic. You’re still so young to worry so much about things like that. You’ll find the right match when the time is right. Someone who will love both you
and
Arelanda. And your da won’t have a thing to say about it.” Ada offered a warm smile, but Elyra could see the truth behind her feigned optimism.

“Thank you Ada. You are always a comfort.” Elyra turned and headed toward her rooms

Ada’s harsh reminder dug into El’s bones, giving her the final motivation she needed to confess to Rogan who she really was—
what
she was. It wasn’t fair to keep him in the dark as whatever they had between them grew deeper and stronger. What had she been thinking to let herself go down this road? He was some farm kid from the Valley, for God’s sake. Did she actually think they would have a shot at happily ever after? She couldn’t let him fall for someone who could never reciprocate. And more importantly, she was dangerously teetering on the edge of falling herself.

She waited patiently amongst the orange trees and damp dirt in the park clearing, anxiously intertwining her fingers until he finally emerged from the woodland. He was in his usual cotton shirt and worn denim pants with black boots.
Were his arms always so muscular?
she thought, before flicking the consideration away.
She had to keep a clear head
.
He paused when he caught sight of her in the clearing and his eyes fixed on her until it made her squirm. He walked toward her slowly, then slid his hands to the small of her back and pressed her waist to his. She whimpered and seriously reconsidered the whole idea of a solemn confession. With desire bright in his eyes, he leaned his lips to hers.

“Rogan, wait,” Elyra pulled away, her lips tingling.

“I’m sorry.” Both embarrassment and lust bubbled in his eyes. “I just couldn’t wait to see you.” He stroked her lips with a rough fingertip.

“I know. I’ve been anxious to see you, too. But I need to talk with you.” She brushed his hand from her face. Rogan tensed and eased away.

“Are you okay? You look pale. Even for you. C’mon, sit.” He led her toward the makeshift rock table. Elyra was silent. “What is it, El? Is everything all right?”

She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. Her voice cracked as she tried to speak.

“No,” she whispered. “Things are not all right. I’ve done something terrible and I am dying over it.”

Rogan’s brow furrowed.

“Whatever it is, you can tell me.” She blinked back a few tears and took in a deep, mindful breath.

“I…I don’t…” She couldn’t focus. Her heart pulsed with racing adrenaline.

“You don’t have some other boyfriend, do you?” He teased, although there was unmistakable concern in his expression.

Elyra took another breath and brought her eyes to his. “No, it’s not that. I need to introduce myself to you.”

Rogan raised an eyebrow, confusion masking his face.

“Excuse me?” He laughed slightly. She breathed again and forced herself to hold his gaze.

“I’m not exactly who you think I am,” she continued, keeping her tone serious.

“Your name isn’t El?” He smiled as if she were speaking nonsense.

“Well, some do call me El, but my true name is Elyra.”

Rogan regarded her curiously.

“Hmm, Elyra. I like it. But I’m not upset you gave me a nickname.”

Elyra forced a soft smile.

“No, it’s not that. What I really need to tell you is my family name.”

“Ah. So you’re finally going to tell me which fat cat lord you belong to, eh?” Rogan crossed his arms, playful, yet serious.

“He’s definitely a fat cat,” she said half under her breath. “My full name is actually Elyra… Ballantyne.” She let the words flow out as quickly as ripping a bandage from a wound. His eyes processed the words, then widened as they sunk in.

“Ballantyne?” He repeated uncertainly.

She nodded.

“Like the King?” The side of his mouth rose in an incredulous smirk.

“Yes.”

“So what are you saying? You’re related to the king? A niece or second cousin or something?”

Elyra sucked in a breath. She stood straight and mustered her courage. She smoothed her hair and focused her eyes on Rogan’s.

“I am Elyra Ballantyne, Princess of Arelanda, Duchess of the five Commonwealth realms and sole heir to His Royal Majesty, His Grace King Henri Ballantyne II.” She tried to sound proud and confident in her birthright as she spewed her titles, not terrified to her core of what that meant for them. To add a moment of jest, she offered an exaggerated curtsy, which did not seem to soften the blow.

For a few agonizing moments Rogan was a silent statue—his eyes drained of light as his face fell. He stared at her as if her features had rearranged themselves.

“Rogan, say something!”

“Are you trying to be funny?”

She shook her head.

“You’re a…princess?” He finally managed, notes of disbelief in his tone. “Like
the
princess?” Elyra nodded. “Why didn’t you tell me this?” 

“I couldn’t. You would have never agreed to meet me. Not that first time, nor this time. You would have never been there for me. You would have never kissed me—”

“Damn right, I wouldn’t have!” He finally seemed to realize what she had really,
really
said. He threw his shoulders back and shuddered, eyes searching for a handle on reality. “But you spent all that time out in public…”

“I’m a person too, Rogan. They do let me leave the house. And I have always been careful to remain private.”

“But how could you not tell me? All this time—”

“You have to understand. Those long days with you...I could be myself with you. I didn’t have to hold on to pretense or lie.” She reached out to touch him but he jumped away from her fingers as if they were knives.

“But you
were
lying! Everything you said, or didn’t say, was a complete lie. You played me for a fool.”

“No, Rogan! I never meant to—“

“Don’t you know what this means for me? For both of us? I could be arrested. I could be hanged!”

“Don’t be so dramatic. We’re not doing anything illegal.” 

“Are you sure about that? I’m pretty sure there’s a law somewhere on the books preventing some low-born Valley boy from consorting with the Princess!”

“You give me too much credit. I’m not a deity.”

That made him laugh.

“Too much credit? What do you think your father, you know
the King,
would have to say about that? For God’s sake, El, you let me kiss you!” His face was a steaming cocktail of hurt, betrayal and terror. She had never felt more vulnerable.

“Keep your voice down. Look, whatever the laws are, they don’t matter to me,” Elyra pleaded.

“They matter to someone. Or they’d never have been written.”

“No one knows about us but us. Our secret is—”

“How do you know? How do you know you aren’t being followed? What makes you think the royal heir wouldn’t be tailed everywhere she went? This is crazy.”

“They think I’m helping poor, lowly Valley children. And in a way, I am.” She smiled and reached her hand up to touch his cheek, but he swatted her hand away.

“This isn’t a joke. So why tell me now? Why, after all this time together, did you think it was okay to come clean? Did you realize I wasn’t as stupid as you thought?”

She ignored his dig.
Could she answer that truthfully?
Could she really tell him that they could never be together? That she came there today to end it forever for both their safety?

“I never thought you were stupid. I told you because you deserved to know. I realized how dangerous this was. Things have changed between us; it isn’t a game between children any more. I can’t pretend that I’m a normal girl. What happened between us…it comes with risks.”

A thick lump formed in her throat as she watched Rogan absorb and process what she was saying. He had known from the start she wasn’t just some farmer’s daughter from the other end of the city. He knew she was noble; she had admitted that much. He even guessed that she was from an important family—her secrecy told him that. But evidently he had never guessed the real truth.

“So what does this mean then?” Rogan asked. It was a rhetorical question. They both knew exactly what it meant. Elyra stared desperately at him, trying to imagine her world without the comfort of his friendship, without ever feeling the energy that was between them—without ever feeling his kiss again.

“Rogan...since I’ve known you, my world has been a brighter place. You’re the only one I can talk to—the only one that understands me. And you’ve opened my eyes to things. Things I can’t look away from. I don’t want to lose that...” She bit down on her lip to keep the threatening tears at bay. “I don’t want to lose you.”

Rogan stepped toward her and touched her cheek for a moment, then lowered his hand his eyes full of regret.

“You already have,” he said, shaking his head. “Maybe…maybe you never really had me.” He backed away from her slowly and turned. And as she called his name, he just kept going.

CHAPTER 9

Each day away from her was agony—mind-numbing, paralyzing agony that felt like a piece of his core had been carved out. He traced the photo he had snapped with his old rickety camera, but a simple low-quality image could never be enough to satisfy his desire for her. He hungered for her,
craved her
. Knowing he might never taste those lips again was maddening. Was he a complete idiot for running away? She might have betrayed him, but she hadn’t meant to. And he couldn’t deny the fact that he’d been a completely blind, love-sick idiot. How had he not seen this? How did he not know what the Princess of Arelanda looked like?
She had to have been in the papers at some point… but when had he ever cared about royals? Hell, the cause barely considered them human. He knew the King’s face and his fat-cat Minister General’s—who didn’t?—but the Princess? How could he have been so utterly stupid?

His anger faded into something like understanding as the days passed. She hadn’t known how dangerous her game had been. She couldn’t possibly know because he hadn’t told her the entire truth, either. She didn’t know about his father, or Uncle Colt or the taint on his blood. She didn’t know about his involvement in the Cause. He was just as responsible for their predicament as she was. At least, that is what he told himself. It helped to quell the burning in his chest when he thought of her. He desperately wanted to confess to Ben, but now more than ever, discretion was a necessity. He dared not even think about her too loudly. Coupled with his yearning was genuine fear—fear he would never see her again, fear they had been followed and had already been discovered; fear that everyone could read his desperate thoughts. He had held the Princess of Arelanda in his arms, for God’s sake. He had tasted her mouth and felt the smooth curve of her hips against his. In some countries, he could be hanged for far less.

As the days passed, he kept his head down but his eyes wide and shifting. He filtered out Jasper’s chatter as they strode through the vineyard rows and ignored the babble circulating Rawdry’s Pub. He listened for whispers on the air and stayed awake at night in case she slipped through his window with the shadows. Lorena was convinced he’d taken ill with red fever and he played into her fears to mask the truth. But after three weeks of sleep deprivation and self-induced near starvation, he knew something had to be done or he’d be a ghost before the month was out.

His guts were twisted and raw with bile when he finally stood facing the Arelanda City Library’s iron gates. He hadn’t been inside the ancient, ornately-carved building, which pre-dated nearly every structure still standing in the capital, since his mother  died. She had loved the ceilings that seemed to stretch to the heavens, painted with whimsical murals of river nymphs and centaurs and other fantastical allegories. When he was little, he would whine and pout every time she dragged him inside for hours on end to read about the histories of the world. Atlanna Elwood had been passionate about the stories of those that walked before them. “We must understand our past so as not to repeat it, Rogan,” she would say. Now, he would have given anything for a long boring Saturday among her books with her. Would his mother approved of what he was about to do now?
Probably would,
he smiled.
She had fallen in love with Theron Elwood, after all.

Rogan took a brave step toward the gates. Then another and another until his hands grasped the cold iron bars. With a deep breath of courage, he pushed the gates open and walked into the courtyard. A pristine garden of rose bushes and well-manicured shrubs decorated the short narrow path to the engraved wooden front door, which stood as tall and ominous as if it were a the entry to a palace. Once the site of a great library and temple to the ancient pagan gods that held rule over Arelanda nearly 2,000 years ago, the refurbished library hosted an archive of works dating back to the dawn of Arelanda’s first kingdoms. When the New Faith—as they called it then—conquered the followers of old gods, a bloody slaughter invaded the temple library, painting the ancient texts red with holy blood. To be in the presence of so many souls was chilling.
Maybe that’s why Atlanna had loved it so much,
he thought.
Maybe she could see things in that old library the rest of them couldn’t.

He made his way up the narrow path to the front door—
Sants Keep the King
painted boldly over the entry—and forced himself inside the old building. A wiry woman with streaks of silver in her otherwise raven black hair sat behind a reception desk, scribbling away. He stood for a few seconds, finally coughing to alert her of his presence. She raised her head from her work and stared at him through her thick framed glasses with a dull look that suggested she was entirely uninterested in whatever it was he had to say.

“Can I assist you?” She asked.

“Yes, I heard that you have an afternoon program for tutoring. Reading and such,” he babbled, too anxious to be fully articulate. The receptionist twisted her thin pale lips and ran her eyes up his frame.

“You look a bit old for a tutor, my boy. But then again, I am never surprised to see grown men and woman around here who don’t know their letters.”

Rogan shook his head.

“Oh no, not for me, ma’am. It’s for my little sister. She’s only six and has a terrible time making sense of it all. She might be slow, we’re not sure. But we think she could use some extra help if you have the space,” he lied. The receptionist nodded.

“I see. Well Mistress Pryor hosts a session every Friday, which is today, in the back room. I don’t think she’s full up this time of year. Most children that age are in school full time. It’s none of my business why your little sister is not,” she raised her hands to show her indifference, although her tone of voice was laced with both curiosity and disdain. Only the poorest of the poor kept their children from school. When Rogan didn’t offer her any explanation, she raised her eyebrows and reached for a large book with a black leather cover. She flipped it open to what looked like a schedule and scanned the page, uttering mindless
hmms
as she did.

“Well, as I said it looks like there are good amount of spots open right now. You are welcome to drop in next week to observe and see if your sister will find it useful. But I can’t imagine you have other resources available to you then, do you?” She said with a hint of accusation.

“May I observe the session right now?” he asked. The receptionist’s mouth gaped open in uncertainty. “It’s just my sister is very shy. I’d rather be sure she will feel comfortable first.”

“Well,” she started, looking apprehensively to each side. “I…that’s an unusual request, but I suppose that would be acceptable. If you promise to be quiet I will show you to it.” She rose from her desk, and led Rogan down the narrow hallway of the old library. As the door approached like a beacon of hope, she stopped abruptly and turned around to face him.

“Before I show you in, there is something I must go over. We are very fortunate that our great leaders have determined that the education of our children is of utmost importance to our prosperity.”

“That is very good,” Rogan bit back the urge to laugh.

“And because of this generous dedication, we are fortunate that a great member of our country has committed her time to touching these children with her own majestic hands.” The words sounded scripted and rehearsed as she spoke them with a stern expression. “I understand that you don’t encounter such greatness in your daily life, so I must ask that you do not make a scene or badger Her Highness with mindless questions or complaints. Is that clear boy?”

Rogan smiled but nodded.

“Her Highness?” He tried to offer a natural response to such news.

“The Princess Royale, of course” she revealed.

“What an honor.”

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

“Are we clear?”

Rogan nodded.

“Of course, ma’am. I will be a shadow on the wall.”

She nodded curtly and proceeded toward the door.

“Wait here.” She rapped on the door gently, then entered and quietly announced to Mistress Pryor that there was a visitor. Upon being given permission to enter, the receptionist opened the door wider and gestured for Rogan to enter. The room was speckled with children ranging from five or so to about twelve, seated at wooden desks, eagerly listening to instruction. When he caught site of El, his chest nearly collapsed. She stood at the front of the room with a book in hand. She was dressed in a knee-length blue dress with long flowing sleeves and a neckline revealing just enough to heat his blood. Her auburn hair cascaded to the side, tied in place by a blue ribbon. She was chatting with a young boy of seven or eight who had long, shaggy blonde hair and wore tattered coveralls with his right arm in a sling, summoning memories of a young Benton. She glanced up and her words caught in her throat when she spotted Rogan in the doorway. For a few seconds, or maybe years, they stood locked in a private gaze. She then realized herself and pulled her attention back to the class.

“Pardon the intrusion, Your Highness,” Mistress Pryor began. She was a younger woman of perhaps twenty-five with a soft kind face and muted brown hair twisted into a knot. Her floor-length skirt embroidered with delicate flowers and a long sleeve shirt buttoned up to her neck did everything it could to hide any possible femininity. “We have someone who would like to know more about the program we offer.”

Elyra stood straight and Rogan noted the way the right side of her mouth turned up in a subtle grin.

“Of course. Jonah, can you excuse me for just one moment, darling?” She said to the shaggy-haired boy. The boy nodded and she affectionately tousled his hair. Elyra glided toward him as gracefully as if she were floating, one slender leg in front of the other. He could see the fire in her eyes as she sauntered up to him, offering him a courteous bow, a gesture reserved for those you regard as important and owed respect.

“May I present her Royal Highness, Princess Elyra Ballantyne,” Mrs. Pryor said to Rogan with glee in her voice, obviously proud to have the princess in her presence.

“Your Highness honors me,” Rogan said with well-practiced courtesy and a deep bow. He noted Elyra’s smirk and did his best not to laugh.

“I am pleased to meet you Mr.…” she trailed off.

“Rogan Elwood, Miss.”

“Pleased to acquaint you Mr. Elwood. You are here to be tutored then? You seem fairly learned, if you were to ask my humble opinion.”

“Her Highness is so kind,” Mrs. Pryor interjected, still beaming.

“I’m seeking someone who can help my little sister. She struggles with her letters. She might be dim-witted. Not sure.”

“That is very sad,” Elyra made an artificial frown to mask a smirk. “We would be happy to have her. I happen to specialize in the dim-witted, apparently. Why don’t you have a seat and observe how we run our sessions?”

Trying to ignore Mistress Pryor’s glare, Rogan took a seat in a red child-sized chair in the back of the room—feeling more than slightly ridiculous as his long legs protruded into the aisle. Elyra picked up her book and began her lessons again. After she had recited a few poems and reviewed the way to properly write cursive letters, she closed her book and smiled warmly.

“Thank you, my darlings,” Elyra said to the rows of wide-eyed children. “Remember to practice writing your letters every day and read whatever you can. I will see all your lovely faces next week.” She offered them her warmest smile.

“What do we say to Her Highness?” Mrs. Pryor asked the classroom.

“Thank you!” They squealed.

“And?”

“Sants keep the King!” They all shouted. Mrs. Pryor nodded and excused the children.

Elyra waited patiently at the front of the room with Mistress Pryor until the children had all scurried out eagerly, a few stopping to stare curiously at Rogan. One wide-eyed girl with curly blonde pig tails stopped in front of him.

“She’s a real princess, you know. Just like a fairy tale,” the little girl said with a toothless grin.

“That’s what I hear,” Rogan smirked as the girl scampered off.

Elyra walked to where Rogan stood cross-armed at the back of the room.

“Well done, Miss,” he said with a wry smile. She narrowed her eyes at him.

“Mr. Elwood. I would love to know your thoughts on the session. Would you care to accompany me for a cup of tea in the back garden?”

Rogan had to admit she was a devilishly convincing actress.

“How nice of you to spare the time.”

“I will see you next week, Mistress Pryor.” Elyra said as they left the room.

The old city library boasted an elaborate back garden with sprawling exotic ivies and robust rose bushes. With two glasses of chilled black orange tea in hand, they found a stone table that was far enough from curious ears but central enough to avoid arousing suspicion, including that of the two broad-shouldered guards standing cross-armed by the doorway.

“Your friends?” Rogan nodded toward the guards. She scowled.

“What are you doing here?” she snapped in a whisper. Her eyes narrowed into emerald slits.

“I had to see you. I’ve been going crazy these past weeks.” He reached out to touch her hand but she ripped it away.

“Do not forget yourself, Rogan.”