“Civilized? It’s like they’re offering us up as collateral!”
Callum looked me in the eyes. “That’s exactly what we are,” he said darkly.
I grimaced. “Well, I don’t like it. No offense.”
“None taken,” he said. “I have to say, though—if I had to be married off to anyone, I’m glad it’s you.”
“Really?” I would’ve thought he’d hate the idea of having to live in a foreign country, to marry the enemy. Not to mention that Juliana had a reputation for being difficult and demanding and stubborn. Other than the rather unique situation they’d both been born in to, it didn’t seem to me that Juliana and Callum had much in common at all; while Juliana had run, Callum was here to do what was being asked of him. He would probably be disgusted if he knew what she’d done.
He nodded. “And I’m glad to be here. I don’t know how much they’ve told you about me, but my life until now has been … restricted.”
“Well, don’t get any ideas about this place,” I said. “It’s quite the gilded cage.”
“You don’t understand,” Callum said. “This is the first time I’ve ever left Farnham. It’s actually the first time I’ve ever left Adastra.” Adastra City was the capital of Farnham; I’d seen it on the map in the Tower room. Thomas had mentioned that the name came from the Farnham national motto: Per Ardua Ad Astra—Through Struggle to the Stars. “I wasn’t allowed to travel anywhere or do anything. Mother wouldn’t even send my brothers and me to school. She said it wasn’t safe. I almost never leave our palace, I don’t have any friends besides Rick and Sonny. So to me, this”—he gestured vaguely at the surroundings—“this is freedom.”
“I didn’t realize.” I was starting to see why Thomas had such a low opinion of the queen of Farnham. She sounded like a real piece of work.
Callum waved my pity aside, clearly discomfited by the discussion of his confined—and, I’d gathered—unhappy childhood. “It doesn’t matter. I’m here now.”
He wandered over to the grand piano in the far corner of the room. Though it was meticulously dusted, it didn’t appear to have gotten any use in years. He sat down at the bench and started randomly pressing keys. After listening for a few minutes, I realized that he was picking out a real melody, though I didn’t recognize it.
“It’s a little out of tune,” he observed.
“What’s that song?”
“Oh, nothing you would’ve heard.” He paused, his fingers hovering over the keys. “Actually, I wrote it.”
“You did?”
“Yeah,” he said. “I had a great music tutor. I play a whole bunch of instruments, but piano is my favorite. After a while I got tired of all the stuff she made me practice and I started writing my own songs.”
“Will you play it for me?” I asked. “I mean, really play it?”
Callum blushed and looked away. “No, that’s all right.”
“Are you sure? I’d like to hear it,” I insisted. I’d never met anyone who could write his own music before, and the song—or what I’d heard of it—had been lovely. I had a healthy appreciation for classical music; it was the only kind Granddad ever listened to, and the sound of a piano always reminded me of quiet nights spent sprawled out on the living room rug, doing math homework while Granddad read in a nearby armchair.
“Well, how about this one? I wrote it about living at home with my mother. It’s called ‘I Hate This Place So Much (So Much).’ ” He flexed his fingers, then brought them down hard on the keys and sang, “I hate this place so much—I’m crushed. Gotta get outta here, outta here, outta here.”
I giggled. “That’s very good.” He had a beautiful voice, deeper than I’d expected, a nice, strong baritone.
“I’m glad you think so.” He grinned. “Maybe I’ll play you another one later. We have a whole lifetime, after all.”
“Yeah,” I said, trying not to sound surprised. I’d almost forgotten who he thought I was, which was dangerous. I could never forget, but it was easy with Callum; he was so friendly and relaxed, remarkably unaffected. “I guess you’re right.”
“What about you?”
“Oh, I don’t play the piano.” As soon as the words left my mouth, I was seized by a sudden panic. For all I knew, Juliana could play the piano.
“No, I meant, what do you like? Do you have any hobbies?”
I considered the question. What did Juliana like to do? No one had ever told me. All I had to fall back on were the old visions from my childhood, which told me almost nothing. “Shopping?” Juliana certainly did own a lot of clothes.
Callum laughed. “Traditional royal pastime,” he said. “Anything else?”
“Well, I really like reading and history,” I continued. “I spend a lot of time in the Castle library.” That was true, at least, a little gift of knowledge gleaned from my dreams, though I hadn’t thought to mention it until it popped out of my mouth.
“That’s interesting,” Callum said. “Maybe you can teach me a few things about this place. It’s much bigger than our palace in Adastra. Older, too, I’m sure. Lots of history here.”
“Of course,” I said. “Like you said, we have a lifetime.”
Callum smiled. “Something tells me that might not be enough.”
THOMAS IN THE TOWER / 3
“How’s our little princess?” asked Dr. Moss. He was speaking to Thomas, but his eyes were locked on his computer screen. It was driving Mossie crazy that he couldn’t figure out why Sasha of all people could see through the tether, and he was determined to discover the cause of her unusual ability, even if it meant working around the clock.
“Fine,” Thomas told him, picking up a slip of red paper and folding it into a star. He’d amassed a small pile of them in the time he’d been there. He paused to fish a handful of toggles out of his pocket, popping them in his mouth one by one. “No thanks to us.”
“She’s a strong one,” Dr. Moss said, giving Thomas a pointed stare.
“Yeah,” Thomas murmured. “She is.” He paused. “She asked me last night if I was in love with Juliana.” The question embarrassed him, but he felt like he had to tell someone.
“Are you?” They’d never discussed this before, but Mossie must have wondered.
Thomas shook his head.
“And did you tell her that?”
“I didn’t get the chance.” He wasn’t sure if he would ever tell her. She might not have the nerve to ask again, and he preferred not having to talk about it at all, but he also didn’t want her thinking what she clearly already thought was true.
He rubbed his eyes. He never slept well anymore. He was too worried about Sasha and Juliana, and when he wasn’t thinking about them, he was thinking about his own analog, lost and trapped in a universe where he didn’t belong. His mind kept wandering back to Grant’s mother, who had cooked for him, done his laundry, asked him about his day, and told him every night before bed that she loved him. Thomas couldn’t remember the last time someone had said that to him, as himself. The thought of the General saying the words “I love you” to anybody was absurd, and Alice Mayhew, though she had been kind and generous with him, was only his mother by default. Come to think of it, Thomas couldn’t remember the last time that he told someone he loved them. Love just wasn’t the sort of thing he had much occasion to express.