Rosalyn and the Secret of the Bluebloods

Chapter Six

It takes four days to arrive at our destination — a bustling town on the outskirts of the city woods.
As we trot up to the intricately carved sign, I slow to a stop and peer at the letters in undisguised confusion — Rêalshavik a Alejandria.
"Welcome to Alexandria," Damien says quietly into my ear.
I half-glance at him in surprise, noting how the evening rays cast his long shadow across the fallen leaves. The past few days with him have been fluid, easy, even — a sharp contrast to my usual interactions with Cassian. The only red flag? That there have been none, until now — and I hate to admit it, but Cass was right. I can't trust Damien.
With that thought, the impatient neigh of my horse pulls me back to reality. Shaking my head, I tug on the reins and clop onto the crowded cobblestone streets. Vendors bark at us in a language I don't recognize as we weave around citizens of all backgrounds and classes. For an apple, a red-shawled woman exchanges a foreign currency in the form of coins, and in the distance, a fiddle plays merrily. I shake my head again in amazement. How can this town be so wealthy and prosperous, while the West Province remains a barren wasteland?
"Volshën miek?"
I turn to find a young girl standing beside our horse, looking up at Damien with hopeful blue eyes. It isn't until he throws his in my direction that I notice the striking resemblance. He holds my gaze for a lengthy second before looking down at the girl again.
"Mælshun, grêkie."
She smiles brightly, stroking the horse for a moment before disappearing back into the crowd.
"Alright, what the hell is going on?" I ask angrily, surprising the both of us.
"She wanted to pet the horse."
"Don't play games with me, Damien, or I swear to God I'll push you off this horse right now."
"Just take a right at the end of this block, and I promise everything will make sense in a minute."
"It better," I hiss, jerking the reins forcefully.
We turn onto a quieter, more abandoned road, and as we near a streetlight Damien motions to stop. He dismounts clumsily and offers his hand to me. I ignore it, landing easily beside him, and begin tying our horse to the pole. She whinnies unhappily.
"Should I ask if I can pet her, too?" I ask innocently.
Damien rolls his eyes, then becomes incurably nervous — fiddling with his dark hair and adjusting his tunic as if looking in a mirror. As I balance between laughing and wincing, he proceeds to pop his knuckles with a sound like a thunder crack. A crow, having landed nearby moments ago, takes off with a startled cry.
Finally, he turns to the house we've stopped in front of. It's a modest, chestnut-colored home, with overgrown, dead grass littered across the small lawn. He steels himself, and then before I can stop him, strides right up to the front door. Undecidedly, his hand hovers for a brief second, and then comes down on the wood with three quick knocks.
The door swings open to reveal a middle-aged woman with obsidian hair and light, sapphire eyes.
"Vanúsha?" she whispers, white with shock as I step up beside them uncertainly.
"Fá," Damien breathes, and, to my absolute bewilderment, they collide with each other in a fierce embrace.
"Fá, hakasante," Damien says softly.
"Gai judo. Hayo puêdi?"
"Faya guche." He turns to me. "Fá, esha Rosalyn, meh . . .frienta."
"Uh . . .hi," I greet awkwardly.
"Tëha ræina layaa beaquinte," the woman says coyly.
Damien blushes a deep pink, and I can't help the smile that creeps across my face.
"Fá. . ."
"Dayaste," the woman insists.
He looks at me helplessly. "She . . .she wants me to tell you that you're very beautiful."
My cheeks heat against my will. "Oh . . .tell her I said thank you." Hurriedly, I add, "she's very beautiful as well."
Damien, nods staring at me for another moment before relaying my words to her, and then she abruptly cocoons me in a firm hug, murmuring her language over my shoulder.
"She wants to know if we can keep you," he translates, smiling.
"She's your mom," I say suddenly, unable to keep it to myself any longer.
He runs a hand through his hair. "Yeah . . .she is."
Did Haleigh know about this? She must — in fact, maybe she's not onto Cass at all. Maybe she just needs a last resort method to get obsidian, and Damien fits that requirement.
His mother finally releases me, ushering us into a well-furnished living room and onto a small loveseat. We sit awkwardly, so close my entire right side feels like it's on fire. She offers us clean water, and I look at her in surprise before accepting it warily. At last, she sits across from us, pleased with herself, and waits for Damien to speak. He sighs in reluctance.
"We need the obsidian," he says finally.
Her mouth presses into a thin line. She sits in silence for several seconds before giving a short, clipped answer.
"I know you have clean water here, Fá, but it won't last forever. This is bigger than Alexandria."
She says nothing, and he pins her with his stare. "This is bigger than Dá."
Suddenly, it all makes sense. The uncut grass. The loveseat. The absence of his father. In those six syllables, realization collides with pity. Empathy, because Damien and I have more in common than I thought. I reach for my pearls, taking comfort in their presence.
His mom sighs a long, defeated sigh — and then gets up and walks out of the room. Damien and I stare at her empty chair, but neither of us moves. My hand finds his, and we sit together in silent understanding. Suddenly, I'm not thinking about the task anymore, or even Cass, but the boy sitting beside me who could understand me in ways Cass never could — a boy for whom I could be pearls.