Mark of Betrayal

I watched his lips move and his face contort as he obviously translated the text inside his head, his long fingers firmly holding my waist, looking ever so much like David's skin against mine.

“It’s strange,” he said. “And Morgaine was right, Queen Lilith was not left with any Markings, but this is simply a signature—a line of promise, like a wedding band. Speaking of which—” He stood again and gently lowered my top, then turned and grabbed something off the table. “Mike asked me to give these to you.”

“Oh, thanks.” I slipped my wedding ring back on and put the key in my pocket, wondering why Mike didn't just give them to me himself. “He makes me take all my jewellery off when I go in the cage.”

“I know.” He leaned his butt on the table, bobbing his head like he was thinking. “I don't like that cage, Amara. I’ve asked him to stop using it.”

“He won't. He thinks it’s vital to the study of my powers. And Mike’s always right—about everything.” I rolled my eyes.

“Not this time.” His folded arms tightened. “I won't see you treated that way. It’s not acceptable.”

“It’s okay. It’s all in the name of science.”

He shook his head and looked at my hand where I scratched at my Mark. “What is it? What’s bothering you?”

I dropped my hand. “I don't like tattoos.”

“It’s not a tattoo.”

“Well, it looks like one.”

“Even then, it suits you.”

“You think?”

He grinned, his gaze running from my waist to my eyes. “Yes, it’s very…sexy.”

I thrust my head back, laughing loudly. “That word sounds so funny coming from your mouth.”

“Right. Well—” He nodded, clearing his throat. “That’s the last time I attempt crass modern-day lingo for the purpose of flattery.”

I laughed again. “So, what did the Mark actually say, anyway?”

“Can you not read it?”

I shook my head.

“It says something along the lines of By oath of blood, by promise of heart, I honour my vow,” he said, then turned away and wandered over to his window box, grabbing the scissors to trim leaves off a plant.

I walked around to the side of his bed and sunk down. “Well, I don't want it there. It sucks.”

He looked up quickly. “Language, please, my lady.”

I rolled my eyes at the old man and flopped onto my back with a huff. “Will it go away?”

“I can find out, if you like.”

“How?”

“There's a book—in the library. Shall I get it?”

I lifted my top again and arched my spine so I could see the Mark. “Yes, please. If you don't mind.”

“Not at all, my lady.” And he disappeared.

On the nightstand, his phone buzzed. I reached across and grabbed it, saw the message didn't show up on his screen automatically, like mine did, then pressed my thumb to an orange icon, leading me to his playlists. We liked a lot of the same music, strangely. I half expected his selection to be like David's, but it almost seemed as if he made a point of having nothing but modern stuff on here.

“Bon Jovi? Seriously?” I said to myself.

“I move with the times,” he said, standing by the bed.

“Oh. Crap. Sorry.” I put the phone down beside me. “I was just—”

“I know.” He smiled, carrying a book under his arm. “It’s more than all right, princess.”

I smiled back and grabbed his phone again. “You got a message, by the way.”

“Who’s it from?”

I shrugged. “Dunno. I wasn't gonna go checking your messages, Arthur.”

He sat down on the edge of the bed, making it dip a little, and opened the book in his lap. “Can you check it for me, since you clearly have no intentions of handing my phone over?”

I grinned to myself and opened his messages. “It’s just a phone service message. Apparently you’ve won an iPad if you text this word to this number.” I showed him the screen; he laughed. “So, find anything in that book?”

“No,” he said, flipping the pages. “This one mentions certain markings that appear after acts of sin or treason, there doesn't seem to be anything on the Mark of the Queen’s Promise.”

“I'm sure you’ll find it,” I said absentmindedly, scrolling through the playlists again. He had some good combinations of music, but when I came across one titled ‘A Rose’ and pressed my thumb to it, my world shifted. Every song in that list was some heartbreaking melody of lost love.

“Wow, talk about depressing,” I said, laughing a bit. “Did you make this list about Arietta?”

Arthur stopped reading and looked out the window. “A Rose?”

“Yeah.” I moved up and laid on his pillow, my thick dark hair spilling out around my shoulders.

“No.”

“Oh, why’d you call it that, then? It has a lot of sad songs.”

He placed the book on the bed and stood up. “It was not my playlist.”

“Whose was it?”

“Jason’s.”

I stared at it for a few seconds, unable to see through a sudden coating of tears.

“Arthur?” Morgaine popped her head in.

“Yes, Morgaine.”

“There’s a courier here. Says he’s picking up a package from you.”

Arthur sighed and touched my shoulder. “We’ll talk when I come back up.”

I nodded, sliding my bottom lip over the other to move a tear from it. Arthur tipped the bowl of stuff he was mixing into a small container and left, shutting the door.

The grandfather clock ticked noisily by the drawers across the room, and the gentle sound of rain on glass made me feel closed in. I scrolled down the sad playlist, hearing each song in my head. If this was Jason’s, then he made it for me. I could feel it. But why did Arthur keep this list—why not just erase it? And that thought made me wonder what else he’d kept.

I pressed the circular button at the centre of the phone and went back to the home page, then clicked on ‘contacts’ and scrolled down only far enough to see the start of the ‘J’ names. I’d never seen his name written down anywhere. Isn't that funny? How you can know someone, come to care for them, but never think of such a silly thing as seeing their name written down?

So, I scrolled down, J by J until I saw Jason Knight, losing my heart to the beat it skipped.

I copied it to my contacts, and the phone was to my ear, ringing, before I even realised I’d pressed call. I couldn't believe it was still in service. Maybe it was in his pocket, buried with him, and I would once again, if only in a small way, be able to affect his world for a moment. Or maybe the phone fell from his dead body as they carried him away; perhaps it was kicked across the floor, never to be found again. Or maybe they would find it, and just toss it in the trash or get a new sim card and use it for themselves, as though he never even existed.

It rang out. I half expected to hear a recording of his voice, but to my disappointment, the line only went silent—a rushing of air filling the emptiness of my lost hopes.

“I miss you,” I said to the nothing, as if his ghost might be out there, on an electrical wavelength I could reach by having dialled this number. “I wish you were here,” I continued, wiping tears from my face with one side of my hand, then the other. “I dream of you still. I cry for you. Do you know that? I cry for you, and I have no right to.”

“Amara?” Arthur stood in the doorway.

I put the phone down, hanging it up with my thumb. “I'm sorry, Arthur. I thought I’d get voicemail.”

He appeared beside me, wrapping me up in his long, firm arms.

“I just thought I’d hear his voice for real,” I sobbed.

“Oh, princess.” He looked at the phone carefully, pressed ‘end’, as I obviously hadn't pressed it properly, and wrapped his arms back around me.

“Where is his phone? Did you bury it with him?”

“Now, why would I do a thing like that?”

“I don't know.” I wiped my face. “I just…I guess I just feel like he was taken so quickly. I…there's no closure. What happened to all his things? What happened to everything he loved and cared about?”

“It’s right here—in my arms.” He looked down at me, and I couldn’t help but let the hysterics out. The sadness of everything Jason’s life was before he died made my heart so, so heavy.

“Is that true? Did he really care about me that much?”

Arthur laughed a little. “My dear, it is near impossible not to care for you.”

I laughed too, using my thumb to wipe the corner of my eye. “Why are you always so nice to me?”

He sat down and pushed both phones away from our legs as he pulled me into his chest. “Someone has to be.”

Once the tears finally eased, Arthur went back to his work, and I laid on his bed, on my belly, kicking my feet to the songs on his ‘Jogging’ playlist.

“We like to run to the same songs,” I said.

“Do we?” He barely looked up from his work.

“Mm-hm.” I rolled onto my back and rested my lower leg on my knee. “Hey, Arthur?”

“Yes, my dear.”

“Can I see your Mark—from your oath?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

His shadow appeared over my face. “Because, it would be terribly inappropriate for me to remove my shirt in front of you while in private.”

“Can't you just roll your sleeve up?”

He looked at the long arm of his shirt. “It’s not that kind of shirt, Amara.”

“Will you show it to me another day?”

“Of course.” He extended his hand and helped me to my feet. “Perhaps I will wear a t-shirt tomorrow. Sound good?”

I nodded, straightening my clothes.

“Right. Well, for now, we best part ways, my dear. Dinner will be served in a quarter hour, and I need to freshen up.”

“Okay.” I wandered over and opened his door. “I’ll see you at dinner.”

He smiled kindly. “You will.”

I shut his door behind me and turned around to look at Falcon, leaning on the wall, arms folded, legs crossed out on a slant.

“You know you’re not supposed to be in there with him—alone,” he said.

“I know, Falcon.” I started walking. “But he means no harm. He was just teaching me about plants and herbs.”

“I know.” Falcon wandered slowly behind me. “I was listening to every word.”

I looked over my shoulder at him. “Are you allowed to do that?”

“Yes.”

“Isn't that a little invasive?”

“No.”

“I think it is.” I folded my arms.

“Mike says it’s not.” He folded his arms.

“Fine. I don't care. Go ahead. Listen. You won’t hear anything juicy going on.”

He smiled softly. “I know, Ara. I'm not worried about that.”

“Well, what’re you worried about? That he’ll kill me?”

He shook his head.

“What then?”

“I'm worried about his intentions—romantically.”

“Oh.” I looked down at my feet. “Well, don't. Our relationship is about as platonic as it gets.”

He walked quietly behind me then, like a good little bodyguard. When we reached my room, I opened the door and waved at Quaid, who popped up on the balcony and darted around the space, way too fast for me to see.

“Is it really necessary to check my room every time I go in there?”

Falcon folded his arms and stared at that spot of nothing on the wall he always looked at while playing guard. “Yes.”

“I'm going to win this, you know. I will have you guys reassigned while I'm on manor grounds.” I used my best queen-sounding tone. “I don’t need to be followed everywhere.”

He just bowed his head a little, keeping his eyes on that spot.

I stood next to him and angled my head to look at it, too, as if there was something of great interest there. “Oh, yeah.” I nodded. “I see what you mean. Fascinating patch of paint, isn't it?”

“Go ahead. Mock me,” Falcon said. “Won't change the fact that you can't walk anywhere, talk to anyone or so much as look at a painting in this manor without my knowing about it.”

I curled my lip up, my head wobbling side to side as I repeated his sentence in a very mocking tone.

He just smirked, unperturbed.

“Yeah, well, there’ll be two less of you for a few weeks soon. Mike told me you decided to send Pure Createds to Elysium to spy on Drake.”

Falcon nodded once.

“Is…you know who going?”

He looked at me, and I knew he could tell from my eyes that I was asking about David. “No. We can't risk him being discovered.”

“Are…” I hesitated. I didn't really want this answer. “Are you and Mike going?”

“No. Quaid and Ryder are.”

“Why them? Why not ordinary Created Lilithians?”

He sighed. “Mike wants a quick, clean mission. Quaid and Ryder are highly trained for this kind of operation.”

“What, like, from when they were human?”

He nodded.