Riddle Of The Owl - YA Fantasy

Chapter Twelve

The evening air was sweet, warm and clear as Alleria waited outside the hotel's entrance for Cassel. She removed her dove-grey cardigan and hung it over her shoulders like she had seen the other high-class girls do.

She looked at her reflection in the tinted window of a car parked in front of her. Mam had taught her how to put her hair up into a presentable knot, her brand new tan-coloured shirt-dress with pointed bottle-green collar looked very handsome and made her seem almost willowy. But her face was drawn and anxious and she wasn't even wearing a hint of a smile. She looked much older than she remembered herself to be.

Why was she even here? How could she let herself fall into such a place? Did she really think she could step out into the world without falling short?

A sudden breeze picked up, blowing errant strands of hair that had escaped the knot into Alleria's eyes. It carried with it the smell of damp green darkness, moss-covered earth, cedar and pine. And then, all at once, she was homesick. She missed the pastures, the forest, the river and the pond. She missed her friends, her freedom, the old gossiping grannies and the little musty library behind the church. Callivar had been exciting at first, but it became an uncomfortably dangerous place.

She couldn't remember anymore why she had chosen to do this.

A familiar figure got out of a nearby car, blond hair ruffling in the breeze, Cassel waved at her.

"Miss Bellencreek?"

She turned at the sound of her name, surprised to come face to face with Lord Salem Dagen. He looked properly ruffled, as if he had been thrown into a sack and tossed about. His longish brown hair was standing in several odd directions, his shirt was buttoned irregularly, only half tucked into his trousers and his collar was strained with ink and overturned. He wore no belt and was missing a sock although he did have both shoes on. There was ink all over his palms, as if he had tried to wash his hands in it. "What happened...?" she spoke before thinking, then remembered she was talking to a nobleman. "My lord, what happened to you?"

He rubbed his forehead, then looked down at himself as if only now noticing the state he was in. He made no attempt to straighten himself out. "I either failed spectacularly," he whispered looking off into the distance, "or I made First Paramount."

He shook his head and then staggered back, leaning against a nearby lamppost. "Am I bragging? Is this bragging?" he passed a shaking hand through his messy hair.

Alleria felt sorry for him. He didn't seem like an arrogant person, and looked very rattled from his own success. "Even if you were bragging, my lord," she said, "the effect would've been ruined because you look like you've squabbled with an inkwell and maybe a few pens."

"Squabbled? Squabbled with a...?" He gazed at his ink-stained hands, opening and closing his palms as if he were surprised to find that he actually had fingers. Then, what must have been at least fifteen seconds later he started laughing hysterically. "Squabbled... with... an... ink...well..."

Alleria fished her handkerchief out from her purse, handing it to Dagen who by now had tears of mirth spilling down his cheeks. It was embarrassing to watch a grown man losing it so completely. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed Cassel making surly faces at her but decided to ignore him. You didn't just excuse yourself and walk away from Count Dagen's fourth son while he was in the midst of a nervous breakdown.

Dagen automatically took the offered handkerchief and wiped his streaming eyes, smearing ink all over his face until the only spot that wasn't blue was the tip of his nose. Alleria bit her lip to stifle a laugh.

He looked at her ruined handkerchief in his hand and then back at her. "Thank you for this, Miss Bellencreek. I was dazed, I don't really know how I got here after the exam was over." Then he smacked himself on the forehead. "I'm sorry, I seem to have misplaced my manners."

"And also, one of your socks, your belt and your jacket, my lord." Alleria offered what she hoped was a kind smile.

He laughed. "Those too. How did you do?"

Her face fell, words failed to be uttered. Upon noticing her expression, he sighed, patting her on the back. "You can't know for sure until the results are in," he said, but she simply shook her head at his words. If only failing the Exam was her only failure.

Dagen accepted her quiet lament without question. "This was my third time," he said gently. "I tried when I was seventeen, and again when I was twenty-one and now... now I think I got it right. But as a lad I wasn't... I wasn't even nearly as remarkable as you."

"I'm not remarkable, my lord."

"The world begs to differ," he said. "You're meant for this. Don't lose sight of your dream, Miss Bellencreek."

Alleria didn't know how anyone could judge what anyone was meant for. She didn't know what her dream was anymore. What was she losing sight of? The question circulated in her head over and over as she heard herself bid farewell to Dagen and then was somehow inside the car, sitting next to a sulking Cassel.

***

They stopped on the side of the road. Alleria looked out her window, then looked out the other window. There was nothing but fields on both sides. Up ahead, Callivar was still distant lights on the horizon.

"Are you wondering why we stopped?" Cassel asked.

"No," Alleria said weakly.

"Hello Cassel," said Cassel. "How have you been this past week, Cassel? Are you well? How's your mother? Stepdad noticed you yet? No? You were so chatty with big-nose there, but you've got nothing to say to me? Nothing at all?"

"What? Are you...? Is this a tantrum?"

"It certainly is!"

"Lord Dagen doesn't have a big nose," Alleria said.

"All Dagens have big noses. Theirs is the special-est royal-est case of ginormous nose-hood. And anyway, speaking of that. Stay away from him, in some countries in the world he's old enough to be your father."

"What? He's only twenty-five." She was unspeakably annoyed. "And we were only talking. Why would you be angry at me just for having talked to someone? That's ridiculous!"

"Maybe you were talking to him. But he was flirting with you."

"That is wrong on so many levels."

"Tell me about it!"

She lost it. "Cassel, calm down, will you?" she squeaked, feeling suddenly so frustrated with everything and everyone she was ready to explode. "What's gotten into you? If you think so little of me to assume —"

Then he kissed her.

Awkward and unsynchronised at first, they collided, grappling and wrestling, until they were suddenly connected. Warm, moist and rushing, he slid his arms round her waist, pulling her against him, deepening the kiss. At first, she was numb with warmth and shock, but then her hands moved on their own, her arms wrapping round him.

All this time, she had wanted to hold him too.

He broke away, only to trace soft kisses down the side of her neck. "'Leria," he whispered her name, and then again: "'Leria."

He was going too low. "Cassel," she scolded, pulling slightly away. He raised his head with a grin. Laughing, he kissed her lips again and again. He took the hair-clip out of her hair and brushed his fingers through it until she was almost purring and her hair-do was properly wrecked.

"Want to be my girlfriend?" Cassel joked softly, beaming.

"I thought I already was."

He laughed.