Equilibrium

Chapter Twenty

Grace bursts into tears the second that we open the door and before she hugs Nehemiah, she first hugs me. It takes me by surprise and I release Nehemiah's hand to bend down and hug her just as tightly. Her tiny arms choke the life out of me, but I’m so relieved for her to be here and be alive. Safe.

"How about that cake now?" I ask, and it makes her laugh a little. Nehemiah gives me a curious look and I shrug. The cat is out of the bag, and I don't think he could say no to Grace at this point. "We were going to have a small party before she went to bed. With chocolate cake and Snow White." I admit, a little sheepishly, and Nehemiah forces a smile. He is lost inside his head again, hearing and not hearing at the same time. My spirits fall a little, but I force another cheery smile.

"I'll get the cake if you two get the book." He whispers conspiratorially and Grace smiles. I pick her up and carry her as if she is two instead of seven, but she is too tired to complain and even if she wasn't...I don't think that she would protest. She wraps her tiny arms around my neck and I hold her close the whole way. We find the book easily--Grace directs me right to it and then I swing her around so she is riding on my back piggy-back style. We find Nehemiah pacing in her room as we arrive, cakeless. Irritated and impatient, but the second we shut the door it dissolves.

“Someone volunteered to get the cake for us. They don’t want us moving around too much. They want to search the grounds and make sure everything and everyone is okay and clear.” He explains, helping Grace down from my back. It puts him in close proximity and I feel it again, that tug between us. I want to lean closer into him. I don’t, but I want to. Instead, I crawl onto Grace’s bed and let her snuggle up against me. I think her fever broke.

“How about we start the story and eat the cake when it gets here?” I offer, to which Grace nods. With both fear and adrenaline gone, she is exhausted. The stress of the day is making me weary as well, but I open the book and clear my throat, looking at Nhemiah. He is still standing, watching us without really engaging. He blinks, coming back into focus, and I pat the bed next to me.

“It’s storytime. This is very serious.” I say, almost a reprimand, and Grace giggles again before getting just as serious. She stares him down until he surrenders, easing cuatiously onto the bed next to me. After a pause he relaxes and turns his body to face us, one hand settling gently on my stomach. Grace’s bed is smaller than ours and I think he is steadying himself, so close to the edge.

"Once upon a time, long, long ago a king and queen ruled over a distant land. The queen was kind and lovely and all the people of the realm adored her. The only sadness in the queen's life was that she wished for a child but did not have one. One winter day, the queen was doing needle work while gazing out her ebony window at the new fallen snow. A bird flew by the window, startling the queen, and she pricked her finger. A single drop of blood fell on the snow outside her window. As she looked at the blood on the snow she said to herself, 'Oh, how I wish that I had a daughter that had skin as white as snow, lips as red as blood, and hair as black as ebony.'"

I finish the story long before the cake arrives, because it is a shortened version, and when the cake does come, Grace is fast asleep. Nehemiah answers the door, one hand on the hilt of his sword. I tuck Grace in once more, painfully aware of Nehemiah watching my every move once the door closes again. I leave the book on her bedside table, blow out the candle, and then take his hand when he offers it. His warm fingers lace through mine and he squeezes. We walk to our own rooms in silence, followed by a company of a dozen men that stop outside our corridor. They had combed our hall at least twenty times by now.

I still don’t relax until there is a door shut and locked firmly behind us. I start to make my way towards the closet, but Nehemiah seems to be frozen by the door. He has been lost in thought all night, but it isn’t until now that I realize he wants to say something. He opens his mouth to say something, then closes it. Then opens it...and closes it. When he finally speaks, his words are halting and careful.

"I do trust you, Emmaline. I-I didn't say it earlier, because I couldn't tell you about the plan, but...I do trust you. Ezra said that someone on the inside must be working against us, and he didn't want the chance of something slipping up, but...I trust you." He looks sincere, and I want to believe it. I’m not sure why I don’t.

Or maybe I do, and I just don’t trust me.

“What happened?” He asks, turning his back as he takes his shirt off. I catch myself staring and turn quickly to the closet door. I leave it ajar as I change so he can hear me.

"I was coming back with cake when I saw one of the guards get attacked. I took Grace to the secret place and locked her inside, and then I climbed on top of the bookshelves. I thought I was safe. There were guards in the library trying to get to me, but they were spotted and then I was spotted, so I tried to run. One of the masked men caught me, but he couldn't do anything. I got away, ran the other way, and right into you." I keep it very short--especially when I feel the tone of the atmosphere between us go very...still. Tense.

"I'm so sorry, Emmaline. You were supposed to be safe. They promised me that you would be safe." He is upset. The volume of it surprises me. I step out of the safety of the closet and shut the door firmly, leaning against it.

"I'm fine, Nehemiah. I promise. Nothing happened." I try, again, to reassure him, but he shakes his head. He is pacing again.

"Something could have happened, Emma. You-you could have been hurt. I don't know what I would have done if you were hurt." The last part sort of slips out unintended. I know by the way he tenses after he says it and my heart starts its incessant race, running in circles and getting nowhere. It isn’t so much what he said, but how he said it. I slowly look up to meet his gaze and he is staring at me, his pupils so large that his eyes are nearly black. The dark edge of blue around his eyes seems darker than before, and it greets the darkness of the room. I am surprised that I can see his eyes at all, but the warm flickering glow beside the bed casts out a gentle light. There is one tense second where I look at him and I see him, and he looks like that boy in the meadow, hurt and scared and lost. I don't look at him and see death. I don't see pain and suffering or the loss I have felt. Instead, there is a stirring in my chest, and that stirring keeps me rooted in place when he leans down, nearer...nearer. His breath cascades across my cheeks, and I am glad for the darkness--he cannot see the rosy tint in my skin as I blush. My chest is nearly heaving with each breath. I can see his pulse at his neck, light and fast, like a bird's. I feel lightheaded, and then...

Then he kisses me.

For just one second, his lips are on mine, soft and warm and supple--the fluttering butterflies in my chest turn into hawks and I feel like I might burst-

And then there is a knock on the door and we spring apart, both of us breathing hard. I stand on my jelly-legs and before he can stop me, I burrow into the bed and feign sleep, leaving him to answer. I can breathe again, easily, once there is an audience. I hear him call out for the visitor to enter and I bury my head deeper into the pillows. He can never love me--he said so himself. But the way he was looking at me? That was something.

He was wrong.

He leaves quietly with one of the men in his guard, and he does not return before I give in to the pull of sleep.

I dream that I am in a labyrinth, running from some monster behind me, chasing a golden light before me. I know that it is a dream, but I cannot wake up. It feels so real...the branches of the bushes that act as walls reach for me with hard, painful fingers and I cannot escape. The beast roars behind me-

And I am finally wrenched out of it. Nehemiah is sitting on my bed, his hands on my shoulders. Where I could not wake myself, he did. I sit up, gasping, and there are tears streaming down my face. I feel like I am going to be sick, but I know that I won't be. The sick-feeling settles in my stomach and refuses to go away, like an impertinent child that does not want to go home.

"Emmaline, shh. You're okay. It's okay." He moves closer, and I am not sure if it is a good idea or not. I am not sure if I want to be touched and I tense, but then his hand finds my back and I relax. He moves closer yet, until he is beside me, and I lean against him. I can't stop crying but I don't think he expects me to. He just wraps a tight arm around me and smoothes a hand over my hair again and again until I finally calm down, totally exhausted.

"I'm sorry." His voice is strained when he says it, and I know then that he still feels guilty for what happened.

"You didn't know. You couldn't have known for sure what would happen. I told you--I trust you. I don't blame you." My voice is hollow, but I am speaking the truth. I can hear his heartbeat beneath my ear, which is against his chest, and it steadies me.

"You have the right to blame me." Nehemiah protests and I move an inch closer.

"Just because a person has the right to do something does not mean that they should do it." I retort, but there is no venom behind my words. Nehemiah mulls this over for a moment. He smells like chocolate. It reminds me of our kiss earlier, because his lips had tasted like chocolate...chocolate cake.

"For example, when a person has done many bad things and winds up in the middle of a field with a deep wound, and someone has the right to abandon them, that someone doesn't?" Nehemiah inquires and I smile in spite of myself.

"Exactly like that." I agree, and he laughs quietly. His chest moves with his laughter.

"Emma...I-"

The ever interrupting knock occurs and a guard pokes his head through the door.

"I am here, Travis. What is it?" Nehemiah inquires. His hand stops moving, but it rests against the back of my head.

"Chaldor has declared war on Shakra, sir." The guard, Travis, announces softly.

"What?!" Nehemiah demands, and we both sit up at the same time.

"Shakra withdrew. Chaldorian troops are now stationed on their side of Shakra. King William said that if we need anything, to just send word and he will attack." Travis sounds awed and Nehemiah is stunned into silence for a minute.

“Tell him to stand down and bring his company here.” Nehemiah decides and the door closes. He waits for a good two minutes before sighing and lying back beside me.

“You should sleep. We will have company in the morning.” He kisses my forehead gently and I close my eyes against the butterflies in my chest, willing them to fly away.