Equilibrium

Chapter Two

I am not sure how much longer it is before the other soldiers all loop through the fields one more time before making their way to where I sit.

“Em, we need to get back. You need to get cleaned up.” Danny whispers, putting a gentle hand on my shoulder. I cringe away from the contact and he shoots me an apologetic look. Danny is the only one besides our parents that could ever get away with touching me, but sometimes even his touch is unbearable. No one else would dare to touch me, but there were times it was necessary. When getting stitches, when stumbling, when dismounting.

It is not the first time that I have helped a Chautin, and every time before, it has gone smoothly, but I still worry. I have heard rumors from guards, how they claim that there is an angel on the battlefield. It always makes me laugh. I am no angel. This one weighs on my mind, though. There was something almost familiar about the boy.

“Do they know?” I ask wearily, accepting the hand he offers to soften the blow of my flinch. The scar from the left side of my jaw ends on my right hand. Danny always hesitates at the sight. I always pretend not to notice.

“They will know by the time we get back. The funeral will be set for noon.” He waits patiently for me to get on one of the wagons before he wraps a long shawl around me, one that hides my face. I accept it gratefully. It is early October, and the temperature is dropping a little each day. The cold, wet spots where blood soaked my dress burn with frigidity.

Even the dead are unforgiving.

“There were Chautin still in the fields. They’re usually gone by this time.” I don’t look at him as I mention it, trying to sound casual. I’m afraid that if I look at him, I’ll give myself away.

“That’s because we won, Emmaline.” Daniel sounds quiet now, lost in thought. He turns to look at me as he leads his horse on so I give him my attention. “There was no one left to take the wounded.”

I bite my tongue hard to keep from replying.

The funeral is held within the palace, out of the brisk fall air. Almost everyone in the kingdom comes to see it. Having everyone gathered in one place makes me feel small. It used to be that we couldn’t fit everyone into the ballroom, but the doors are shut firmly behind the last straggler and there is room left to breathe. I stand near the closed casket, gripping my wrist behind my back so tightly that my nails bite into my skin. Daniel stands beside me, emanating heat as always, and neither of us will look at the other. Our mother is standing a few feet away, a shell of the person she once was. Everything about her feels fragile and frail. Her skin is pale and her hair is brushed, but loose around her shoulders. I can feel her looking at me, but I don’t return her gaze.

I don’t remember a single word that is said. I only know that I am not allowed to go outside as they bury my father. It could prove to be dangerous, so I return to my quarters alone. I don’t cry. I don’t think. I sit out by the window and watch the sky darken, darken…

The knock on the door startles me out of my stupor. I had been leaning against the cold glass and I feel the mark it leaves as I pull myself up. When I glance in the mirror, it appears as though I was crying. I wasn’t, but I am embarrassed nonetheless. The feeling is amplified when I open the door and it is not Daniel as I had been expecting. He has been in and out of meetings for hours as they hurriedly try to prepare the throne for him.

Instead, standing at my door is the Chautin soldier from the fields. His helmet is in his hands, my kingdom’s sword strapped to his waist. The tunic he was provided with is a little small for him and it outlines every curve in his waist and chest. I can see the raised surface of the bandages. I should probably be afraid--I am his sworn enemy. Instead, I only feel exhausted. I open the door as an invitation, but I leave it open. The guard down the hall glances back, searching my face for alarm. When he does not see it, he turns back around. He won’t be able to hear us from that far away, unless I shout for him.

“I wanted to thank you in person, Miss…” He trails off helplessly as he enters and I motion at a chair that he sinks into with a grimace. He should not be moving this much. I frown at him, then offer him the glass of water that was left on my bedside table. I will want it later, but I don't regret giving him a drink--especially after he drains the whole thing. His eyes dart across my room and I can see that he is taking in the exit routes. I wonder what it feels like to be this deep into enemy lines. To be this close to someone that you would be celebrated for killing. The thought makes me nervous. I sit on my bed and tuck my hands under me.

“Emma. My name is Emma.” I supply wearily and he nods. He looks me in the eye and hesitates. I look away, refusing to let him acknowledge that I look like I’ve been crying. My eyelashes stick together when I blink, so I try to wipe them as discreetly as possible. I should be worried that he will hurt me, worried that he will figure out who I am and kill me, but I cannot muster the strength to care.

“You lost someone today.” He whispers, and I sit on my bed quickly as my knees give out with the weight of his words, with the weight of loss. His critical eyes look away from me and the creeping sense of vulnerability ebbs, easing.

“I lost my father. I’ve already lost my mother.” I scoff and the bitterness in my tone surprises me. I've lost my mother and she isn't even dead. It also surprises me that I have answered at all, words tumbling out before i can stop them.

“All the more reason for you to have let me die. Why--why did you do what you did?” He looks down at his palms and I notice now that his hands shake. His palms are smooth. I trace the shape of them with my eyes, trying to memorize him. He looks...human. Somehow fascinating. I’ve seen hundreds, thousands, of people. Something about him feels...familiar. Not that I recognize him, but familiar in a way that is more internal than external. Intrinsic.

“Why not? Who says that,” I cross my arms, “because I was born on the Eastern side of a theoretical line, I have to hate those on the western side? A person is a person.” I retort, but not in a harsh way. More in a defeated tone than anything else. He seems to stiffen for a moment. Something moves through him--not hostility. I’m not entirely sure what, but it makes me shiver. When he looks up again, his eyes burn.

“I’m sorry, Emma. I really am. For everything.” He whispers hoarsely, and and as he is speaking, someone from deeper within the palace shouts, their voice saturated with alarm. My head snaps towards the window on instinct, searching for danger. There are small flickering lights of hundreds of torches coming up to the castle, but they are not from my people. All of my people were accounted for already, which means that it must be the Chautin. There could not be that many of us unaccounted for and no one else, no other country, would arrive unannounced in the dead of night to a nation riddled with war.

They’re here. Their prince must have died and now they want their revenge. The horror of it washes over me as the soldier stands. He takes a step towards me and I take a step back. My heart is pounding in my throat and I open my mouth to yell, but nothing comes out For a single moment, our gazes meet and I know that he won't hurt me and he knows that I won't out him. For one single moment, I let a tiny bit of hope bleed back into me. Surely not everyone is bad. Surely there must be a few good people left. Try as I might, I just can’t bring myself to assume the worst of everyone.

For some reason, particularly him.

“You should go. You need to go.” I tell him calmly, in resignation, as my door is thrown open wider than before and Daniel bursts in accompanied by two guardsmen. His hair is windswept and his clothes are wrinkled. He has blood on his shirt, but he appears unharmed. He glances at the soldier and relaxes a little bit. He must think that he is one of ours, and he must assume that I was safe.

“Em, we have to get you to the safe room.” He urges, reaching for me. He doesn’t allow his fingers to brush against me, but the warmth of him propels me forward. I hesitate, though. If I leave the soldier here, someone will order him to attack his men because they will think he is one of us. I glance back and our gazes lock, and I wish that I could read his emotions, but he is so good at hiding them. He is watching me leave with his shoulders drawn in a little, making his massive frame seem...small. Maybe he deserves it, but I would not be able to live with myself if something happened to him because of me. It is not my duty to decide what anyone deserves, anyway.

I plant myself in the doorway and Danny’s hand brushes against me. I don’t recoil. “He’s hurt, Danny. If we leave him behind he will die. He-he’s my friend.” I lie, and Danny doesn’t think twice before motioning for the soldier to follow us, because I have never lied to him before. The soldier moves to follow us. I am tense with the soldier following behind me, especially after he unsheathes his sword, and I am tempted to out him but I don't. I couldn't--not now. I keep my mouth pressed shut firmly. Daniel takes my hand as the hallways are plunged into darkness and I fumble for the hand of the soldier. His fingers are warm and mine are cold. His grip is soft, gentle. Wary. I wonder if he recognizes Daniel as the crowned prince. I wonder what he thinks of me. His arm brushes against my back and I shiver. How is it possible for him to be so warm? It feels like my back is to a furnace.

“Thomas, Elias--go find my mother. Don’t leave her side.” Daniel commands the two he brought with him, his most trusted men. His closest friends. We press on quietly, pressed close to the walls. At the next window we pass I see lights retreating and hope burns through me.

I stumble, but the soldier behind me catches me by the waist. Daniel stiffens as he glances back, but I am calm. I am okay. His touch--the soldier’s touch--hadn’t affected me. Hadn’t left me gasping in crippling pain or cringing away with the unbearable vulnerability. Normally when touched, especially where my scars run, it feels as though someone is running a blade down the bones in my spine. Suspicion flicks across Daniel’s features, but then we are moving again. He can ask questions later. I will have to come up with something...especially when the soldier does not resurface.

Daniel peeks through a door at the end of the hall and immediately shuts it. The message is clear--the Chautin are still here. We have nowhere to go. The sharp sound of clashing swords is growing louder behind us. He looks to me, praying for an idea, but I don't know. I don't know--

Before we can really decide what to do, the doors in front of us burst open and I recoil so quickly that the soldier and I collide. His firm chest is at my back and the Chautin in front of us pause. We are surrounded. It is true. They aren’t wearing the emblem of my people. How did they get in so quickly? Daniel stops cold, then moves over a foot or two to shield me. There is no one else in this hallway. It is just us. Eight to three...to two, really. I am still standing against the soldier, one of his arms trapping me in place. I can feel his heartbeat jackrabbiting in his chest. It matches the pace of mine. His fingers curl around the crook of my arm and this time, I flinch.

“Step away from him!” One of the soldiers shouts and I understand, but Daniel doesn’t. He must think that they are speaking about him. He moves away from us, but I can’t pull away. The soldier won’t let me. He moves to stand halfway in front of me and the silent message is clear. The soldiers are looking at him--no. Looking to him. I feel a strange twist in my gut and glance towards Daniel, who is staring at the soldiers who are not looking at him. I can see what he is about to do and I open my mouth to stop him, but I am too late.

“Stop!” The voice coming from behind me, above me, has changed from the soft tone he used when speaking to me before. I recognize the authoritative infliction, however. Fear coils in my stomach and I want to wrench myself away from him, but I don’t want to disrupt the sudden stillness of the hall. Daniel can’t stop mid-swing and I watch as his sword bites into the arm of one of the Chautin soldiers, but they still don’t respond to him. The simply move away and take a defensive stance.

They can’t attack--their prince has commanded them not to. Daniel stumbles back, glancing at the man behind me with a newfound wariness. He steps towards me, his sword dripping crimson, and I hear the door open behind me.

I don’t hear the four arrows as they sing past my face, but I see them hit the wall behind Daniel and the blood start blossoming on his abdomen. One in his stomach, one in his chest, one in his arm, and the other in his shoulder. The soldier releases me, shouting something that I cannot understand. I am already moving away, to catch Daniel before he can hit the ground. The soldier tries to reach for my arm but I duck away from him.

Daniel is dead before I can reach him. The soldier’s second grab for me proves successful and I am wrenched back towards him. In that moment, I hate him. I jerk away scanning the room for an escape, but there is none. The soldier is giving me a pleading, desperate look, but it disappears within seconds, replaced by that cold smoothness. His expression hardens and he turns away from me.

“She’s nothing. Leave her.” He tells his men, sheathing the sword I had given him. I wonder what story he will tell them. I wonder how he will twist this into something to fuel them, to feed their hunger to destroy us.

He glances back as he leaves and our gazes lock. I can almost see an apology in his eyes, but then he is gone.

And I am completely and utterly alone. Alone when the guards find me, alone when they take Daniel’s body, and alone when my mother ushers me into her bedroom, into the dark, and shuts the world out.