The Reformation Page 13

  There was a reason that he tried not to look at Celine while Jax was here; he knew that Jax had hope, and he would hate to crush that all. Because Z had admittedly lost hope as soon as the sinking dread settled at the bottom of his gut when he had heard Fey list off the symptoms that Celine was showing only a week or two ago. Funny- it seemed like that was years past because now the only important thing was the fact that Celine was fighting, and much to Z’s dismay, losing.

  At least, that’s what he thought. It’s not like anyone was spewing out important information to the mechanic, but he could read the language of knit together brows and too tight jaws. The chances weren’t good, and Z had long since lost hope.

  It wasn’t like Z didn’t want Celine to live. God, far from it; Hollingsworth was his first friend out of everyone, and most probably the one he trusted the most. Dying wasn’t an option, but what else could Z choose? He respected that Jax, Fey, and maybe even part of January, still held their heads high, but Z was done right now. Hoping only led to disappointment, and he had enough of that. So for now, he just waited. Waited for a positive sign. Waited to ignore the fact that she might not…

  No. Z pushed back the poison seeping into his mind and tried hard to focus on the files in front of him. He had brought upon the harrowing task of gathering all the palace documents and sorting through them on his laptop; least to say, it was a distraction.

  Still, his eyes flitted upwards, but he fought them to go downward and stare hard at the bright screen. Dates, focus on dates. Surprisingly enough, it helped. 1 T.E., 2 T.E… 299 T.E. 30- wait. Where was 300 T.E.? The palace documents weren’t exactly the most organized (that was a work in progress), but missing an entire year?

  Z clicked again and dove deeper into the documented information. And he found a strange pattern. Files were missing, but judging by the missing dates, it wasn’t a random draw. Z picked up his pencil, and started to write out dates and files, ready to decode.

  And for the first time that night, he found something to distract himself from Celine, his own memories, and seemingly everyone else’s never-ending list of problems as well.

  …

  Bright sunlight woke up Z. Well, not quite woke up. More like caused him to sputter into consciousness. His head jolted up, looking at his surroundings with confusion, until the fog in his mind dispersed. He was still in the room with Celine, papers haphazardly spread out around him, his laptop still warm from staying on through the night.

  Sleeping as he was supposed to stay on duty? —thank god no one walked in. That wouldn’t be embarrassing at all. Surprisingly though, Z slept like a rock. No bad dreams or restless turning. Though might be because—seeing as he had no memory of falling asleep—he was exhausted to the point of passing out, which he was pretty sure wasn’t a good thing.

  Quickly shutting down his laptop and reviewing his file (composed of the interesting file abduction patterns), he realized that despite sleeping like a rock, he was still feeling horrible. Of course, he probably was worse off yesterday, but it wasn’t like Z was ready to go sprinting and shouting in excitement and take on the world. In fact, Z was pretty sure that since his body finally caught scent of sleep again, it remembered the sweetness of slumber and now wanted to return to it. Tough luck, body.

  Fighting the urge to dose off again, he stared at Celine.

  And stared.

  And stared.

  Celine made no move. She actually looked peaceful for once since she got Scorchen, and Z was worried. Because Celine Hollingsworth never looked peaceful while fighting (obviously, but you know what he meant). And if she was peaceful, then was she fighting?

  Z wasn’t sure how long he stared for. At her petite frame, her long golden locks, at her pale, clammy skin. It was Fey barreling into the room that shook him out of his trance.

  “King Ja- oh. It’s just you, Z.” He turned to look at her, fighting the weariness and trying for a usual charming smile.

  “It’s just you Z? You sure know how to offend a guy-”

  “I know a guy,” Fey interjected.

  Z continued without a hitch. “-but we both know that I am pretty kingly.”

  “Sure. You finally convinced the guy to take a break?”

  “I know, I know. I’m a genius inside and out. But would you mind delivering this to said king?” Z asked, holding out the file. Realizing how serious he was, he threw in a joking, “And no Fey, don’t give it to me; thank you. I know it’s hard to believe, but I’m not the king.”

  Fey just took the file from Z’s hand, smiling but shaking her head nonetheless. “You’re truly a piece of work. I’ll be back.”

  “Hey, not too soon!” Then she rolled her eyes, the smiling dropping from her face immediately. Z grinned to himself as he turned back to Celine’s unmoving body.

  “Z.”

  “Yeah, Fey?”

  “Z,” Wait; that voice wasn’t Fey’s.

  He looked closer at the glass, moving closer towards the speaker that he had installed between the sarcophagus and the rest of the room. “Celine? Are you-” his breath stopped in his throat.

  “Miss me?” she asked weakly, one of her dark eyes fluttering open.

  “Fey!” Z called from over his shoulder, overcome with happiness. “Tell the king to get his royal arse over here. Say pink incognito flamingo.”

  “You owe me.” Fey hollered back, voice echoing in the hallways.

  “Yeah, yeah; Downcley. Hurry.” Z couldn’t stop smiling, seeing as he knew this hell of a secret that no one else did.

  She was awake.

  Twenty-Two

  THE meeting room was in pandemonium around Z.

  There was Z himself, whose foot was bouncing up and down non-stop, looking as if he won the lottery; then there was Fey, a rare toothy smile splayed across her face; and Jax, normally disarrayed clothes pressed, hair thrown everywhere. Jan just sat there somberly, hunched over something requiring his pen scraping over the paper in front of him, ignoring the occasional glare that Fey sent his way.

  It had been a few hours since Z had sent the message to Jax, who came running in shirtless (what was it, with the king, and his inability to throw a shirt on?), looking frantic. Then Z remembered that he never said if pink incognito flamingo would signify a good chance or a turn for the worse.

  “Is she-?” Z smirked, before stepping to the side, allowing Jax to see the slightly uncomfortable but awake, Celine Hollingsworth.

  “Awake? You betcha. And you should put a shirt on; it’s quite distracting for everyone in this room right now.” Jax shot him a look, but pulled on the shirt that a servant scurrying after him was holding. “What? Can’t you think of the scandal that would be floating around the castle? The king and the mechanic, trapped in a room together, with a certain someone baring the skin of his torso?”

  “You should be a poet, Z. Now let’s get her out.”

  Z held a hand out regretfully, keeping the king a safe distance away from the girl. “No can do. We still need to clear her. Now I was hoping that you could use your kingly authority to get some of the people around here to help me lug this sarcophagus to the quarantine room.”

  “Bu-”

  “It’s only safe,” Jax looked like he was about to say something else, when Areya came walking onto the room, her heels softly clicking against the floor. Z almost winced, it sounded all too similar to Millinde walking away, but Z restrained himself; after all, it wasn’t Areya’s fault that he was having painful flashbacks point blank in the middle of the day.

  “I heard of the great news,” she said, as excited as Z thought her voice could go, a sparse but bright smile pulling her face up pleasantly. She turned to Z next, the same smile not faltering one bit. “Thank you, Z, for keeping such a close monitor on her. And King Jaxcon,” she turned back to the king, a knowing look on her face. “Z’s right. It’s only protocol and she’ll pass with ease, I’m sure. I know you’re anxious, but it’s better to be safe than sorry. This way, our king has no po
ssibility of being out of commission, fighting for his life.”

  Jax looked between his secretary, Z, and then finally at the resting figure of Celine. “Alright. You guys are correct, and I’ll get you help, Z. How many minutes do you think it’ll take?”

  “20, tops.”

  “Great. Areya, would you kindly ask the others to meet me in the meeting room? I’m afraid I left Fey quite confused, running away from her as soon as she said pink incognito flamingo,” he mused, and Areya looked more than a little confused.

  “Code word,” Z explained, which only cause her cock her head further in question.

  “After you’re done with the analysis, could you and Celine come to the meeting room? We will all be anxiously awaiting your arrival.”

  Z just gave Jax a quick salute, and he was making his exit when Celine decided to speak up, her already weak voice distorted by the poor quality of the speaker.

  “You all know that I can hear your every word, right?”

  And now, they were here.

  Celine was miraculously free of Scorchen; Z had been the one to check the results over. She had asked him for a few minutes to get herself together, and who could blame her? —the girl had almost died.

  So now, they were here, waiting.

  “How long did you say, Z?” The mechanic had to smile at the eager tone of King Jax’s voice. The king was fidgeting ever since he got the news, waiting impatiently for the Head Strategist to make her highly-anticipated post-Scorchen debut.

  “She wanted a few minutes, Your Majesty. You kno, to wrap her head around the fact that she’s completed the seemingly impossible.”

  “Not impossible,” Fey interceded, cutting a quick glance at January. “Celine’s a fighter. It doesn’t matter that she showed so many symptoms so fast, because fate is on her side. Because we hoped.”

  January abruptly stood up from the table, sending the pens on the wood rattling. He stormed over to the window, looking out of it, breathing heavily enough for the entire team to hear. Although Z didn’t react as violently as Jan, the words affected him as well.

  Because we hoped. Those words got to him, because he didn’t, did he? He didn’t hope. He lost hope, and that’s not what you did to your friends. (But why had January seemed so affected by these words before? What did Fey know, that he didn’t?) He looked up all of a sudden, a noise capturing his attention.

  A sharp clicking sound that broke him out of his reverie, almost to cast him in a new one.

  …

  “Where did he go?” He knew that voice. He knew it all too well. It was the same voice that haunted his dreams, the same one belonging to a certain wearer of blood-red heels. The same blood-red heels that he was facing, as he crouched uncomfortably underneath something—a table, maybe?

  He didn’t dare move though—he was too scared to contract a single muscle. It had taken one careless guard to leave him unbound and unattended, and Z had made a bolt for it. Luckily for him, he had managed to wedge himself underneath furniture before anyone—more importantly Millinde—could find him. He was so close to freedom, he would be damned if he lost it all right now.

  It was that sharp clicking noise. It was resonating against the walls of his brain, digging its way through all of his reasonable thought, instilling a fear that was bone-deep. He was terrified.

  “Where? Is? He?” Millinde asked once again, punctuating each word with menace. Z couldn’t see her face, but he could visualize the snarl she wore, the threat lurking behind her eyes; he saw it every time he refused to cooperate. “I want him found. Understood?”

  There was a word of quick agreement, scurrying, and the sound of a door thudding shut. The clicking halted, and Z almost sighed in relief.

  But much to his dawning horror, the clicking resumed again, but this time, the blood-red heels were coming closer into view. She was nearing.

  His heart stilled as the clicks became more rapid. He was so close, so so close, the thought of a missed opportunity like this almost made him hurl. It was that clicking noise, the sound of blood-red heels walking on marble floors-

  …

  “Mister Z?” Z looked up, meeting the inquisitive dark eyes of Areya, set in concern. He blinked, shaking himself out of whatever other memory was coming back to him. This was growing to be a problem.

  “Areya. I’m sorry; sleep is a rare commodity these days.”

  She just smiled warmly at him, taking the seat beside him. “I do hope that the latest news of Miss Hollingsworth helps with your lack of sleep.”

  And now he was letting important details that should not be said, slip. “I was joking, Areya. I’m quite well-rested, actually,” he lied, trying for a smile. Well, it wasn’t lying per say; he had just had a wonderful rest. The past few days however…

  “Are you sure, Mister Z?” she asked, head tilted in concern. “I by no means wish to intercede with what you wish to do with your life, but you do look awfully ill.”

  “I’m not ill. Just excited. Miss Hollingsworth’s recovery has been some great news, indeed.” This time, it was a bit easier, smiling and doling out lies through his teeth. “Now,” he started, trying to avert to topic. “Why was it that you wanted to see me?”

  She gave him a small sheepish smile, but it suddenly dropped as she cast a fugitive look around. “I reviewed the files that you sent King Jaxcon,” she whispered. “And the contents are quite—how do I put this—unsettling. It is information of the most distressing kind, and I wanted to thank you for uncovering it. Not only for making the discovery, but also, for all of your help regarding the management of Miss Hollingsworth. Without you, I don’t know how we would’ve managed.”

  Z didn’t think of himself as one who was easily dissuaded by sugary compliments, but Areya was genuine. Z was no master of human behaviour like Fey Downcley, but he knew that Areya meant every word sincerely. And being appreciated for once, felt nice, amidst all this bad.

  “Also,” Areya continued on in the same hushed tones as before. “King Jaxcon decided that it would be best if this matter would remain a secret exclusive to us three.”

  Z cracked a grin, giving her a salute. “You have my word, Miss Carson.”

  “Thank you, Z,” His grin spilt even further at the noted omission of the prefix Mister that always seemed to hang before his name. He was just about to open his mouth to shoot her a teasing comment, when the door opened shyly, Celine Hollingsworth poking her head in.

  “Hope I’m not interrupting anything?”

  It took them all a moment to react.

  Then Fey came barreling to give her a hug in the most un-Fey like way possible, and Z couldn’t help but to laugh. Celine looked shocked at the sudden gesture, but embraced the girl likewise anyways, because she almost died, and this was a good outcome.

  As Celine was occupied by trying to make sure that Downcley wasn’t strangling her, Z took the moment to watch everyone’s reactions. Jax stood, watching the interaction with a strange look in his eyes. Almost vulnerable, and most certainly not in the current time. And then it struck Z; King Calix had perished from Scorchen. It killed his dad, once the ruler of the nation, and now a mere girl was saved. Somehow—miraculously—saved. But Jax didn’t resent the fact, Z could tell that much from the tenderness in Jax’s smile, the excitement that brightened up the sorrow deep in his eyes when he had learned that Celine was awake. Jax was simply living in a blissfully bittersweet fantasy world of what ifs, and Z could hardly judge him, because the mechanic did the same thing every night.

  January just stood by his place at the window, turned so he faced Celine, stone faced. He looked shell-shocked, with the most emotion that Z had ever seen Jan have on his face at one time. He was taken aback, looking as if he got kicked in the stomach, approving, yet disappointed, and resentful? Deciding not to linger on the enigma of January any longer, Z reverted his attention back to Celine.

  “So, what did I miss?” she asked, weary eyed and bleary smiled, though Z could tell that it was g
enuine. And although it was very much like Celine Hollingsworth to get to business, it was very unlike her to start and rely on the rest of them a bit more. Z adored Celine, of course he did, but that didn’t excuse any of the shortcomings that Z saw in Celine—they just made her seem a little more human (in contrast to her totally inhumanely perfect hair).

  Celine Hollingsworth was built to be a leader. But she was also built to forge on, no matter what the situation, even if it regarded the feelings and opinions of others, which wasn’t exactly the best trait that someone in her position could possess. But now? —she seemed to have learned something (maybe near-death situations really did change your perspective on everything).

  Celine moved to sit in her seat, like this meeting was the same as any other, smiling winningly at the stunned looks from everyone in the group. “What did you guys do while I was out?”

  While I was out, said as if she went for a nice sunny vacation in one of the Western Isles. Although Z knew that it was hardly appropriate, he felt a chortle build up in him, bubbling into laughter. And soon, he was doubled over in tears, from laughing so hard.

  Areya placed a hand on his back, looking concerned. “Are you alright, Mister Z?”

  “Perfectly, Areya. It’s just that-” he had to stop for a moment, attempting to sober up as he faced the Scorchen escapee. “We did absolutely nothing.”

  “You did nothing in- wait. How many days was I under?”

  “12,” Jan informed her, his mask of indifference set back into his features. He was giving facts, and from Z’s observations, he could tell that January liked dealing with harsh, cold truths.

  “12 days? And you guys did nothing in 12 days?”

  “We signed up for shifts to see when you would die,” January stated as he sat down in his chair, and Z subtlety shot him a look—laughter suddenly gone -, which the blonde promptly ignored, instead fixing Celine with a stare.

  “Ah, but I didn’t, did I now?” Celine replied, coolly and unlike anything that Z had ever seen Celine Hollingsworth like under fire. She leaned back, capping and uncapping her favourite purple pen, looking back at Jan with the same shrewdness. “Must be disappointing for you, seeing the position of Head Strategist falling out of your hand like grains of sand, huh?”