Brighter Than the Stars

Nicole - Just Be

The silence after the explosion didn't last long. The lull quickly broke into a third explosion of noise and movement, as people rushed around, searching for familiar faces and attempting to make sure everyone was accounted for. Leo stuck close to my side as we made our way down the stairs, his arm occasionally brushing mine. He headed straight for the kitchens, which didn't surprise me. His mom was there, and Clara usually hung around them around this time of day, looking for a snack.

We made it to the kitchens–loosing James and Annabelle along the way, as they stopped to animatedly discuss the explosions with some of our friends (James would also probably take the opportunity to get someone else to shave their head)--which still smelled like baking bread and something cooking, despite the chaos unfolding everywhere else.

"You're alive!" Clara squealed, before practically tackling me in a hug. I regained my balance and hugged her back.

"Leo? Nicole?" Mrs. Dayal stepped out of the kitchen. "Good. We've already been told that the attack was near the ports; I'm arranging for food to be prepared to be sent over there. I need you two to do me a favour and round up some of your friends and other people to take it down there and pass it out. Queen Madeline is already getting some other supplies ready to go. She asked me to tell you two to meet her at the gates if I saw you."

It felt odd to hear Maddie addressed as "Queen Madeline," though that was what she technically was. I still just saw her as Maddie–composed and logical, of course, but also the girl I'd tricked into believing a bunch of nonsense customs–an idea James had picked up on that he liked to try (which never worked for him). She liked pretty dresses and tea–and was the ruler of a country.

"We'll go," Leo said. "I think James and Annabelle are back upstairs with some other people. We'll get them and head out."

"I want to come," Clara piped up. She let go of me and turned back to her brother, then her mom. "Please? It's not like it's a bad thing. I could be out partying or something. And I'm not a child–I'm sixteen. You let Leo leave the house when he was fourteen, and I'm two years older, so–"

"Clara, no one ever said no," Mrs. Dayal said. "You can go, so long as you behave and act appropriately."

Clara's face lit up and she bounced off, presumably to find Annabelle and the rest. I wouldn't have been that excited about going to help people at sixteen–at sixteen, I'd stolen the Queen's Jewels and started dating Leo, nearly at the same time, which I supposed could technically be considered impressive. Not exactly something I could introduce myself with, though, or hope to get a job with. Hey, I have tons of experience with theft–interested?

Somehow I doubted it would work well.

By the time we made it to the gates, everyone else was already there, loading things into wagons and carriages. Annabelle flicked her fingers upward to move baskets of food and supplies, and Clara watched on eagerly, like she was watching a street performer. Annabelle, as always, delighted in the attention. James rolled his eyes at her as he walked past and snatched a box out of midair, setting it in the wagon. I couldn't hear him, but could tell that he was telling her not to be a show-off from the way she huffed and rolled her eyes. They were predictable–as usual.

I could tell when we got close to the sight of the bombing by the way the roads suddenly changed from smooth or cobblestone to a rough jolting, little more than broken bits beneath us. I peered out the window at the surrounding chaos; destroyed buildings, panicked people. It was little more than a glorified rubble heap. I tasted bile in my mouth. This mess, this panic–what if it was because of me? I had said that I wouldn't meet with him, had accepted war instead of confronting my father. He had offered a solution, a way to make peace, and I had told him no–rightfully so, I'd thought, at the time. But now, with the world in pieces around me, I wondered if saying yes would have prevented this, if it would have changed the course of the world in the slightest.

Maybe I just read too much into it; he would have been sure to do something, either way. But so soon after my reply? Was that what he'd been waiting for, to determine what his next step was? I bit down, hard, on my pinkie nail again, until I could taste blood as well as bile.

"What's wrong?" Leo asked, beside me, dropping his voice so only I could hear him.

I set my hands in my lap. "Nothing's wrong."

He gave me a sharp look–as sharp as Leo could, which was really a joke. Even the scar over one eye didn't make him look any tougher or scarier–the other was still a soft brown framed with long, dark lashes that James had called "girly" on more than one occasion. Before he could question me further, the carriage rolled to a stop, and people began to stand up. I hopped out the door before he could say another word to me.

The swarm of people moving to unload things from wagons and carriages provided an ample distraction, and I moved to help Annabelle unload a large basket (she'd been forbidden from using magic after she'd "accidently" nailed James in the head with a basket).

Leo caught my elbow before I could get too far into the mess and bent down to my level, his lips near my ear. "We'll talk later. And I'll remember, so don't bail on me."

I shrugged him off and focused my attention back on Annabelle's chatter. It was my problem to deal with–and I would deal with it. I was being stupid and dramatic (again), and he'd probably had enough of me. Living in my head was exhausting, and even I wanted to smack myself. He'd seen enough of sobbing-in-the-middle-of-the-night Nicole, and probably would have appreciated it if I was just a little more cheerful.

For the rest of the afternoon, we milled about, handing out blankets and food. Leo took care of most of that–most of the things we'd brought didn't need preparation, but for the few things that did, he built up and used the small fires several people had attempted to start for warmth. Within a few hours, he had a small crowd of children around him as he taught them how to fry tiny bits of dough, which he then topped with cinnamon. Only Leo would have brought cinnamon.

James and Ollie gathered a crowd of more rambunctious children and started up a wild game of jeuco, using the sticks and stones or larger pieces of rubble as the pieces to find. When I'd played it for the first time–at fourteen, coming to the inn–it'd been just as chaotic, if not more. It was best with a lot of people, which meant more objects, which added to the chaos. Annabelle had always screamed bloody murder when she'd been tagged out, which had gotten us in trouble more than once.

Soon enough, it was dark, and we headed back to the carriages. This, I figured, would almost definitely force Madeline to enter the war–as it had been most likely designed to do. She'd probably spent her afternoon talking strategy and hosting meetings, which would mean Leo would be expected to head off and get a report as soon as we go back, if there weren't more meetings for him to attend.

I rested my head against his shoulder as we started to head back toward the palace. I could smell the cinnamon, which seemed almost permanent–like it'd soaked its way into his skin and was now just a part of him. He rested his own head against mine, neither of us saying a word. Even so, I knew he already had me figured out (per usual), and, right now, I was able to let things slip away for a moment. To just be. 

Word Count: 1,386