14 – 4
Inside the room, leather soles scuff the wooden floor. It's been quiet in there since Clarke made her fierce promise. They seem content to simply sit in each other's company, and the absence of mine. How long will it be until she realizes where and how I was left? When she does, should she find me here or back down there? I dig my brow into the crown of my knee; squeeze my eyes shut tight.
Clarke's words echo: it's been nothing but bad for so long... I can't keep doing this. I just...can't.
Why didn't she tell me? There's been plenty of opportunities where she could have, more than enough empty hours in need of filling. Any one of them could have gone to this instead of that choked, frightened silence. That strange, painful feeling finds its resurgence, striking my heart. It's not loss or longing; not heartbreak or homesickness. It's not grief.
It's failure.
She didn't trust me with this; kept it hidden and let it gnaw and chew on her; until Juliana woke up and she could confess it. What if that hadn't happened? What if, Goddess and Lost forbid, all of Clarke's efforts came to naught and Juliana never woke?
It would feast. It would grow and grow until it was too large, too painful, to be kept for one moment longer; until it was all she could think of when she saw me, heard my voice, or felt my touch. She didn't tell me because she doesn't trust me; she doesn't trust me because I am why she feels this. Without me, she would not. It is as simple as that.
“Where's Zira?” she asks, voice muffled by distance and the wooden door.
“I asked her to give us a few minutes,” Juliana answers, “she should be downstairs.”
The bed-frame creaks and leather soles scrape the floor as Clarke jumps to her feet. There's no hiding the worry in her voice when she shouts, “Alone?!” Juliana must answer by nodding; the next things I hear are her storming towards the door and, “That inkeep better have kept his hands to himself, or I swear, I'll...”
Should I hide? Should I not? Whichever I choose, I hurt her; one will just take longer than the other. As the handle turns and hinges creak, I find that I can't decide, which means the decision is made for me. Clarke's threat dies in her shock-slack mouth and her fierce eyes go wide and round in surprise. “Hi,” I say.
From within the room, Juliana asks, “Is that Zira?”
“It's me,” I call back. With my eyes on hers, I can see the moment that Clarke realizes and the hurt that follows.
“Oh!” Juliana's pleased. She says, “We were just about to come get you.”
“She heard,” Clarke says; disappointed and not at all surprised. Juliana echoes herself, neutral instead of pleased, and there's a moment of terrible quiet. I look at Clarke. She looks back, betrayal sharp and bright in her blue, blue eyes.
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I stand, numb-needles prickling from hip-to-heel. There's a knot in her throat and I watch her swallow it. She takes a short, calming breath. I say, “I –” and she stops me with an outstretched hand.
“Later,” she says; cool, distant, and turning away from me; back into the room and onto the bed we shared these last few nights. I close and lock the door behind me, then lean against it. Clarke won't look at me. I can't look at Juliana.
Another moment of terrible quiet ends with a knight clearing her throat. She looks from one of us to the other, then asks, “How much coin do you have left, Zira?”
Clarke hooks her foot beneath the bed, catches the strap of my satchel on her toe, and kicks it across the floor to me. What little coins remain clink and clatter pitifully inside. I pick it up; loop it over my shoulder. “Five silver,” I answer, “and the three gold. Why?”
Juliana nods, then says, “Because, with the gates closed and Queen Merigold being a miser with permission, there has to be some poor boat captain in dire need of coin.” She waves her hand at my satchel, “We give it to them, – if – they'll get us out.”
“We tried bribing someone,” Clarke says, “it didn't work. They took half of what we had and vanished.”
“Then we steal the damned boat!” Juliana answers, “We'll throw everyone overboard and row like all hell's come after us! I promised you I'd get you out, and I'm not waiting around for whatever it is Her Highness wants me for. We're doing this, tonight.”
- - -
After that, Juliana suggested that we get as much rest as we could while the opportunity was present. It was a reasonable suggestion; we all knew there'd be no stopping until we were well quit of this place and had no idea of how far from now that would be. We certainly set ourselves up to: Clarke and I in one bed, Juliana in the other, and the room's only chair jammed against the door. It won't do much to keep it closed, but will make a great deal of noise, more than enough to wake us.
If we were asleep. I am not. I can't find it, not with all the stress, anxiety, and guilt in my way. Clarke's put as much distance between us as the bed will allow and turned her back. She's not sleeping, either. It's only Juliana, who I suspect intended for the inverse of this situation, who's managed to. She snores when she's not in a coma, it would seem, little snorting ones. They're endearing.
I give a small, quiet sigh to the ceiling and look at Clarke from the corner of my eye. I whisper her name; she doesn't answer, which is fitting. There's hurt and upset in the tightness of her shoulders; stress and anxiety in the ball she's made of herself. I whisper her name again, this time more urgently.
This time, she answers, “I'm trying to sleep.”
It's an absolute lie, but who am I to say anything? “I'm sorry,” I say, “I–”
She shakes her head; still won't look at me, interrupts with, “It's fine,” then, “We should get some rest.”
I told myself I needed to know. I didn't; I wanted to, and here is the price of it. “Alright,” I answer, nodding at the ceiling. We're both lying, but what more can I do? Offer promises or apologies until sunset? I can't make her believe or accept them. “Later, then.”
She says nothing more, so I close my eyes and listen; to the sound of our slow, careful breathing; to Juliana's little, snorting snores; and to the hungry cries of greedy gulls. It is one or all of these things that helps me find sleep. I wake to the touch of a large, warm hand on my shoulder.
My eyes snap open, heart pounding in my ears. Juliana's face fills my sight; urgency in her narrowed, blue-dark eyes. “It's time,” she says, and rises smoothly to her full height. It seems I am the last to wake; Juliana is fully ready, and Clarke is finishing up the laces of her boots. I rush to catch up and manage to be ready by the time our alarm-chair has been moved away from the door.
Juliana reaches the door first; pauses with her hand upon the lever. She looks back at us, “Ready?” she asks. We nod and her mouth twitches up, “Brave girls,” she praises, then says, “Just like last time: stay as close to me as you can. Everyone's asleep, so we shouldn't have much trouble, but just in case. Alright?” More nods. “Alright. Let's go.”
She opens the door; the creak of its hinges sound as loud as screaming. We freeze in the empty frame and wait to be found out. When that doesn't happen, off we go; down a hallway that seems to be triple its previous length; down stairs seemingly made of naught but cracking splinters; and into a common room whose every shadow seems to hide entire regiments of Merigold's beloved Guardsmen. There are none, but knowing that does nothing to soothe the savage beating of my heart or the sharp, heavy breathing of Clarke beside me.
If there was ever need of proving the moon's accursed nature, here it is: the same light that made crossing the common room easier will do the same for guards looking for people breaking curfew.
Juliana leans her brow against the door and sighs out her relief. Then she gathers herself and turns to us, “That was the easy part,” she whispers, “You alright?”
Clarke nods; so, do I.
Her mouth twitches up. “Brave girls,” she says, then leads us out into the streets.