Page 2 of Reckless
“Thank you, Gail,” I say softly. “For every year.”
“And the rest to follow.” She winks before shoving me toward the door.
I glance back at her, at this woman who was a mother to me when the queen could not be. She was warm hugs and affection, well-deserved scoldings and much-desired approval.
I fear where the Azer brothers would be without her.
“Kai?”
I’m halfway through the door when I stop to look back at her.
“We all loved her,” she says quietly.
“I know.” I nod. “She knew.”
And then my feet are carrying me out into the shadowed hallway beyond.
The sticky bun sitting atop the plate in my hand is tempting, smelling of cinnamon and sugar and simpler times. But instead I force myself to focus on walking the familiar path to the gardens, the same one I take this time each year from the kitchens.
It’s not long before I’m heading for the broad doors that separate me from the gardens beyond. I barely glance at the Imperials standing guard or the ones sleeping uselessly beside them. The few who are awake pretend not to notice the sticky bun I’m carrying into the darkness with me.
I follow the stone path between the rows of colorful flowers I can’t make out in the shadows. Statues covered in ivy litter the garden,several missing chunks of stone after taking one too many topples that certainly had nothing to do with me. The fountain ripples at the center of it all, reminding me of stifling days and understandable stupidity that had Kitt and me jumping into it.
But it’s what sits beyond the gardens that I’m here for.
I step out into the soft stretch of grass that was once layered with colorful rugs for the second Trial’s ball. Not allowing myself to reminisce any further on that night, I follow the moonlight that strokes its pale fingers over the outline of her.
The willow tree looks hauntingly alluring, her leaves rustling in the soft breeze. I run my eyes over each drooping branch. Over each root breaking through the dirt. Every inch is beautiful and strong.
I push through the curtain of leaves to step beneath the tree I visit as often as life will allow it—but always on this day with a sticky bun in hand. I run my fingers along the rough bark of the trunk, following its familiar grooves.
It’s not long before I take my familiar seat beneath the towering tree, draping an arm over my propped knee. Balancing the plate atop a particularly large root, I pull a small matchbox from my pocket.
“I couldn’t find a candle this year, sorry.” I strike the match, staring at the small flame now sputtering on the stick. “So this will have to do.”
I push the match into the center of the sticky bun, smiling slightly at the pathetic sight. I take a moment to watch it burn, watch it paint the massive tree in a flickering glow.
Then I look down beside me, running a hand over the soft grass there.
“Happy birthday, A.”
I blow out the makeshift candle, letting darkness swallow us whole.
CHAPTER 1Paedyn
My blood is only useful if it can manage to stay inside my body.
My mind is only useful if it can manage to not get lost.
My heart is only useful if it can manage to not get broken.
Well, it seems I’ve become utterly useless, then.
My eyes flick over the floorboards beneath my feet, wandering over the worn wood. The mere sight of the familiar floor floods me with memories, and I fight to blink away the fleeting images of small feet atop big booted ones as they stepped in time to a familiar melody. I shake my head, trying to shake the memory from it despite desperately wishing I could dwell in the past, seeing that my present isn’t the most pleasant at the moment.
… sixteen, seventeen, eighteen—
I smile, ignoring the pain that pinches my skin.
