Equilibrium

Chapter Sixteen

It does not take long for the light-hearted mood in the palace to take a dark turn. A rider was sent to Shakra with our demands, and now we are waiting for Ezra to return. He volunteered to go, surprisingly. It is not that he is not dedicated, or that I find him lazy or self-preserving, but he does not really strike me as the type to do...this. He has been pacing all day, fuming silently for reasons no one understands. Elias disappears shortly after Ezra and I cannot find him anywhere. Suspicion takes root in the pit of my stomach, but I say nothing.

"Emmaline?" Nehemiah knocks as he enters the library. I can see the same restlessness in myself reflected in him.

"Yes?" I inquire, trying to keep my wariness out of my tone.

"I was thinking about going to the marketplace. I thought that it might help pass the time." He says, and I wait patiently for him to continue. I have a book open in my lap, but I have been on the same page for nearly ten minutes. I cannot focus on the words. They swim along the page, making no sense in my mind. "I was wondering if you wanted to come along?"

I can easily use my book as an excuse to stay indoors and I almost do, but it is nice out. And I want to be near to him. I don’t know if he will be leaving soon.

"Of course." I smile at him, closing my book and setting it on another one of the red chaise lounges that are scattered through the library. I quickly re-lace the boots lined with rabbit fur that I had taken off to tuck my feet up next to me. Nehemiah waits for me, and I am not surprised when he has a light gray cotton cloak--with sleeves, this time--waiting for me. The gesture warms both my heart and my cheeks. I turn so he can't see it. It would only confuse things more.

"What book were you reading?" He asks, curiously, and it takes me a minute to remember.

"The Song of Achilles." I recall, and he gives me an odd look.

"You enjoy Greek and Roman literature?" He does not sound judgmental. Just a little surprised, which I guess is judgmental.

"Yes. Are you? I have a few copies of Homer's epics." I grin and he shakes his head.

"I've read them." He flashes me a rare smile, and then we are faced with the choice of walking or riding.

At the same exact time, we decide to walk. It is not all that far. People watch us from the side of the streets, wary about Nehemiah, but they are not hostile. They are merely curious. It does not keep me from staying close to Nehemiah's side. There are no guards to protect him. As far as I know, he is unarmed. His sword is still sitting inside our bedroom. The only thing protecting him is the respect the people have for me.

"What is your favorite color?" Nehemiah asks, suddenly, and I look at him out of the corner of my eye. He is taking in the marketplace with a sort of alacrity that surprises me. He is not afraid in the least.

"Yellow. Why?" I retort, not unkindly, and he smiles.

"You're my wife and I know nothing about you, aside from your mercy." His tone is playful, and I find that I enjoy this side of Nehemiah.

"Well, what is yours then?" I inquire, stopping at one of the stalls that has hot chocolate for sale. I buy two cups, handing one to Nehemiah. He has clearly never had it before. He sniffs it warily, then he takes the tiniest sip and his eyes light up.

"Enoch would be delighted with this!" He grins, and he proceeds to take a larger sip. "And to answer your question, my favorite color is brown."

"What kind of brown? Like...her hair?" I gesture to a young woman walking with a small child.

"No. Like chocolate." He gives me a boyish smile and I laugh. The people are starting to relax, and as we are walking, someone starts up a dance. It is one I have participated in before. There are two circles, one large and one small, and everyone is doing a "swing dance", where partners are traded every few seconds. It doesn't take long before the entire square is full. I set my drink down and give Nehemiah a grin before plunging into the fray, dragging him in with me. As the rules of the dance go, we have to trade partners immediately and his expression makes me laugh. I am twisted away, and he vanishes from my sight. I search for him as I twist and turn and spin and clap, expertly stepping over feet and ducking arms. The music picks up speed, but the trading slows down, so I spend nearly half a minute with each person until, in the last leg of the song, I find Nehemiah again and we are partners. He is grinning madly as we dance, ending in the very center of the square. Our hands are clasped tightly together and we are nose to nose--despite him being taller than me. I feel that unfamiliar twist in my stomach and look away, tucking my hair behind my ears nervously. He does not release one of my hands, instead swinging them between us.

“I have a theory,” he begins slowly, quietly, as we stand apart from the crowd. He tugs me a little closer and wraps an arm around my shoulders. We both take a seat.

“And what is that?” I inquire lightly, searching his face, but he gives nothing away.

“I think that your people seem distant to you because of what happened to you. Hear me out--I think that they saw how scared you were after the attack, how you flinched and hid, and so they changed how they were around you so they could keep you. They love you.” He shrugs, as if talking about the weather. I ponder this for a while, watching how the people--our people--interacted with one another. I think he may be right. Neither of us bring the topic back up as we return to our hot chocolate. It isn’t the first time I have heard this theory--he was muttering to himself about it last night.

But our cups have mixed with many others, so instead of risking taking the wrong cup, I turn to the buyer, prepared to buy two more cups, but guards are beginning to flood the square on horseback, yelling for everyone else to clear the area.

Someone has been poisoned. By mistake, clearly. The poison was meant for either Nehemiah...or me.