Steel Rose

Chapter 29

Ptolemus Pov

   The now king Maven is quickly falling off the edge. I can tell, and so can his mother, always keeping in close touch with her loose son. We never stay in one place too long, always on the move. It didn't take long for me to realize that he had no desire to catch up with the red girl, but to stay ahead of her. 

   Days, hours ahead, picking and choosing certain reds as we went along. String them up, humiliate them, make a show. For who, it was easy to guess. We never left a town without leaving a wailing corpse behind. It was easy at first, until Christian approached me one night, his golden honey hair bearing a striking resemblance to his sister. 

   "Ptolemus, right?" he asks as he walked up, sitting beside me like we'd been friends all our lives. "Of course you are." He says, answering his own question. He extends his hand, "I'm Christian." 

   I eye his hand, "I know who you are." I tell him. "I meet you remember?" 

   He nods pulling his hand back, not looking offended in the slightest that I didn't except it. "Yep," he nods, "I just thought it would be best if we meet face-to-face." He gestures to himself a cud grin splitting across his face. "Man," Then to me, "To boy." 

   Despite his blatant insult, I find myself laughing. "I am older then you,"

   He shrugs, "How much older?"

   "I'm 23." I tell him and he tilts his head to the side. 

   "Belle is only 18," he states. 

   I nod, "I'm aware." 

   He purses his lips and once more I'm reminded of his sister. So many things, looks, movements, even words are similar.  He looks me over, like he's trying to determine something about me. I shift at his sudden silence. 

   "She's turning 19 soon," he tells me. 

   I raise an eyebrow, "Her birthday is coming up?"

   "I just said that?" he replies.

   "When?" I press.

Belle Pov

   The escort back to my residence seemed to drag, as my fingers clawed at the unopened letter. My name was written beautifully across the front, but I knows its not his handwriting.

   I can't help but wonder why it took him so long to write mine. I look down at it, its thick. I don't want to think ill of him, and he's not even here. Evangeline is his sister, yes. But my gut is telling me I can't fully trust what she told me.

   I rush back into my house when we stop, not bothering to talk to anyone as I pass. I close my door and sit on my bed, kicking off my shoes.

   I stare at the envelope, my nerves igniting and my heart thumping in my ears. I run my fingers over the smooth paper, it's crisp scent tickling my nose. I wonder if I can catch Ptolemus' scent inside.

   I shake my head. Of course not. I imagine him, pen sprawling across the blank paper, words of his mind only meant for my eyes. His jaw clenching as he debated over what to write, what words to use. The more I think about it, the less I seem to remember of his face. Has it been that long? Or am I not observant enough?

   I'm careful. I work at the tab, piece of piece. Section of section. Something in my head finds this sacred in a way. In a hopeless, sick, and wonderful way.

   I pull out three full pages. The paper clinkles under my touch, folded perfectly. So meticulous. It makes me smile. I open them up, seeing full pages of black ink, written in a way that makes me giddy. No wonder it took him so long, if Evangeline's words ring true.

   My lips move with the unsung words, each letter better then the last.
Each stroke of his pen, more prized. I run my fingers over the dried ink, the imprint fresh and bold. My eyes fall to the first word, Isabelle. He never calls me by my full name. 
  
   Isabelle. I have so much to say and  so much time, it feels like none at all. What little sense that must make.

   That makes perfect sense.

   Its been two agonizing long weeks since I've seen you and I must admit I feel as if  its been years, and I haven't treasured you enough. Forgive me for my stupidity. 

   We think so alike.

    As you know, I am a fool with my words, so be patient with me. It took me a long time to write this, and I've wasted more paper then you'd ever imagine trying to get what I want to say, said properly. Even then, you must laugh. I wouldn't fault you. The men here sure do. 

   I miss you. I knew this would be hard, being apart, I knew I wouldn't enjoy it, but I could have never expected suffering like this. Its an odd feeling, one I quickly decided was not welcomed. Maybe you could explain it to me. Longing? Itch? Ache? Maybe its all of the above. I know I miss you, yet I can't seem to figure out what I miss most about you. Your smile? How I love that smile. 

   Love? I stare at the word until my eyes burn, unable to make anything of it. It could mean nothing. It could mean everything. We have yet to whisper such complicated words to each other. We have yet to do so many things together. My heart thumps louder in my chest as I continue to read. 

    King Maven keeps us occupied, which is good. Keeps me busy. Keeps me alert. I'm never alone, family and friends a constant reminder of that. I've yet to decide if that is good too.  And speaking of family, its been a horrible pleasure getting to know half of yours. Brothers. You have four total, I know, and yet I can hardly handle the two. Christian, is a constant reminder of you. You two are so alike. If this is how I am about Eve, I want to apologize now. Both have proven to be respectable men, and I guess we're on good terms. I wouldn't want to compromise that. 

   You're probably wondering where I am. Hell, I know I wonder where you are. What you could be doing, and I know you're safe at home. Truth is, its classified information. I want to tell you, but the burden of that knowledge may be too much, and I wouldn't want to be responsible for that. I can tell you, I can't wait to get home. I thought I knew cold. I thought I knew darkness. A harsh lesson for many people. And because of it, you occupy my thoughts even more. At least I have one good thing in my life. 

   I breath deeply as I switch to the second page. I can't help but wonder what he means. I read the paragraph once more. It does nothing to further my knowledge, and I know he meant for it not to. I've only gotten through the first page, two more to go. 

   I continue reading, well into the night. Reading it over and over. Making sure my eyes fell on every word, that I soaked up all meaning. A knock on my door, if the first thing in hours to stop my quest. 

   "Isabelle," my father says, "Come join us for dinner." 

   I sigh, placing the letters back into the envelope, and sliding it under my pillow so I can come back to it later. "I'm coming!" I call back. 

   I make a quick mental note to get started right away after dinner. I have so much to say too. It feels I'll burst with the information of updates in my life. I want to know more about my brothers. I want to see how awkward he is on paper once more. I want someone to talk to again.

   I take a deep breath trying to calm my buzzing nerves as I join my family at the table. I'm the last to sit. The food is placed in front of me right away, the savory scent makes my mouth water and I realize how hungry I am.

   Father, who is on my left touches my hand gently. His warmth relaxes me. I look at him, or shared hazel eyes meeting. A unspoken understanding passing through us. And I feel a peace I didn't even know I was missing.