Rebel Song Read online

  “Can you do it?” He asked, looking up at the small cliff. El looked down at her ankle nervously but then nodded. He squeezed her hand and gently tugged her up as they climbed. She was slow and awkward on the mossy rocks; her flat slippers were no match for his well-worn leather boots. Her foot caught a spot of slick moss and she stumbled, grabbing his arm, nearly toppling them both. She looked up at him in panic. Part of him wanted to laugh at her expression, and at the fact that she couldn’t climb rocks—who couldn’t climb rocks?—but he refrained, offering an encouraging smile instead.

  “You can do it,” he reassured her. He steadied himself on a jagged edge and adjusted his hold on her hand. She took a deep breath and gave the climb all she had, heaving herself upward. They climbed over the tip of the slippery rocks and carefully down into a cove, well hidden by the tall wall of slimy stones. When they reached the sand, El plopped down and let out a relieved sigh, cheeks flushed and fiery hair tousled. Rogan finally let himself laugh.

  “I guess rock climbing isn’t in your typical daily routine then.”

  She laughed, shaking her head.

  “Wasn’t that evident by my previous nosedive off the cliff? A little sad isn’t it?” She worked to catch her breath.

  “Only a little,” he grinned. He sat next to her and took a deep breath of salty air.

  “You ought to get yourself some boots if you’re going to make a habit of it.”

  El stared at her shiny black flats, intricately detailed with dainty pearls, now scuffed and slick with moss. Her cheeks ripened with embarrassment.

  “Damn. I liked these shoes too.”

  Awkward silence took over for a few minutes as they sat listening to the sounds of the lapping waves and serenading sea birds.

  “So we’re here,” he finally said, breaking the uncomfortable quiet. She nodded.

  “We are,” El looked around. “This is an amazing spot.”

  “I come down here a lot when I just want to be alone.” Rogan wiped his sweaty palms on his cargo pants.

  “And you shared it with me?” She tilted her head to the side, letting her long curls drape over one shoulder. Rogan didn’t answer and just looked out at the reach of the ocean. Another moment of silence engulfed them.

  “So I guess I have to ask,” Rogan assembled his nerve. “Why did you want to meet up with me?” He hesitated before looking her in the eyes again. He noted the way her cheeks sat high on her face and how her mouth was shaped like a little pink bow.

  “Who says it was you? Maybe I wanted to see the ocean.” She raised her brow. Rogan laughed.

  “You really love the water, don’t you?”

  She nodded.

  “There’s something very liberating about it, don’t you think?”

  “We have that in common. One of these days I’ll open a tasting room right on the beach so I can see the water all day.”

  “I’d definitely stop in,” she smiled, then sighed. “I don’t know why I wanted to come,” she continued in earnest, averting her eyes. “I just…I never meet anyone interesting. I don’t lead a very interesting life.” She mindlessly ran her hands through the grainy white sand. He found that hard to believe. Rich people always led interesting lives.

  “So, sneaking out to the beach with some guy you just met is interesting?”

  El shot him a sly, lidded glance.

  “Scandalous isn’t it? So you live in the Valley?”

  “Yeah, with my aunt and uncle. And little sister.”

  “You have a sister? I always wanted a sibling.”

  “Ha,” he smirked. “You won’t once you try it.”

  “So where are your parents?”

  He paused, mouth agape, and then shrugged.

  “They’re dead,” he said frankly, uneasily running his hands through the sand. El’s eyes softened with pity.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry.”

  Rogan shrugged again.

  “It’s okay. My da died when I was only eight. Mom… about four years ago. That was a little harder.” Rogan fiddled idly with a rock in the sand then tossed it toward the water. El reached out and placed her hand gently on his.

  “That’s a terrible loss for you.”

  Rogan shrugged off her concern, forcing a layer of stone to wrap around his heart, keeping in the painful memories contained in his depths.

  “Yeah, thanks. I’m over it. So what about you? You have parents or just a personal assistant?”

  El laughed at that, rolling her eyes.

  “Oh no, I definitely have parents.”

  “You don’t sound too thrilled about it.”

  “Things are just a little….tense right now. We don’t really see eye-to-eye. They just want me to be something I’m not.” She sighed and looked up to the sky. “It’s hard to explain, I guess. They had this specific idea of what they wanted from me and I don’t think I’m anything close to it.”

  Rogan smirked, thinking of the constant look of worry and frustration in Lorena’s eyes. He definitely wasn’t living up to any of his aunt’s expectations. One more thing they had in common.

  “Yeah, I know how hard that is. But you should be happy you still have them. Living without them is a lot harder.”

  He was suddenly aware of how close she was to him. He could feel the warmth of her skin bridging the space between their arms and the sensation sucked the moisture from his throat—as if her mere presence extracted the life force right out of him. He retrieved a flask of water from his back pocket and took a swig, then offered it to her, pausing as the shimmer of her emerald eyes ensnared him.

  “So will you always grow grapes then?” she asked as she accepted the flask, breaking his trance. Rogan thought about it. Would he? He shrugged.

  “I guess so. I’ve never really thought about doing anything else. The farm—the vineyard—it was my father’s and his father’s before. It wouldn’t feel right if I didn’t keep it going. Ari—that’s my sister—she doesn’t exactly have an interest in getting dirt under her nails.”

  “What about your uncle?”

  “Jasper’s part owner; he’s been running things since my da died, but he’s not really an Elwood. He’s family, but not blood—married to my mom’s sister. Besides, they don’t have any kids of their own. So in the end, there’s no one it should really go to other than me.”

  “It’s nice that you keep your father’s memory alive.”

  He shrugged, beating back threatening emotions. Even after all this time, it was hard to talk about his father.

  “So what about you? You still in school?” He switched the focus to her. She nodded.

  “I’ll be finished this summer. I attend a…private school outside the city.”

  “Figured as much,” Rogan laughed. “So then what? Big plans to run off and marry the Emperor of Suell?” He teased. El seemed to study him for a moment, and then her face relaxed.

  “Oh, I’ll take over the family business as well,” she said with a resigned nod. “Not a lot of choice in the matter on that one.”

  “And what’s that, leader of the new world?”

  A coy smile crept over her and she brushed a few rogue strands of fiery hair from her cheeks. Rogan felt the space between them bubble with energy as she cocked her head and shifted her weight ever-so-slightly closer.

  “Something like that.”

  “Well, keep me in mind when that happens,” he said with forced breath as he tried to ignore the butterflies tap dancing in his chest.

  “I just might.” She smiled and turned her attention to the waves.

  CHAPTER 6

  Three months later

  Since the first day he had helped a haughty, naïve little girl with a twisted ankle up the cliff, something had taken over inside of him. It was something in the way his eyes took in her features. Something in the way her buttery voice resonated in his ears. When she took his hand, electricity jolted up his arm and into his lungs, stealing his breath. He had never been the kind of guy to chase girls a
round with wide-eyed infatuation—he didn’t have time for such frivolous things when there were vines to be tended and knives to hurl against unsuspecting tree trunks. But it wasn’t like that with her. When he was with El…it was like the rest of the world faded into the background.

  Although she adamantly refused to talk about her family or background, she couldn’t hide that she was every bit a well-bred, high-born girl—he guessed the daughter of a government official or land baron. Someone high-ranking enough that their meetings had to be kept an absolute secret under what she dramatically swore was “the pain of death.” Her mystery only fueled the inferno growing in him. And, although he could never claim to be an expert on the aristocracy, she was different than what he would have expected from some heiress. The sheer fact that she wanted to hang around him at all was proof of that.

  He glanced over at her as she chatted on about her last trip to the northern province of Batem as they snuck through the dank alley to watch the sunset from the best rock point he knew. She went on, completely oblivious to the fact they were climbing into the depths of Arelanda City’s underbelly with each step, carefully avoiding shattered glass and decaying rats. Without warning, a skeletal figure manifested in the shadows in front of them. El shrieked, her eyes widening in fear. She grabbed his hand so tightly he felt bones grinding. Instinctively, he put his arm out to protect her from any potential danger, but sighed when he realized it was just a withering gray woman clutching what he was sure was a dead baby. A tattered beggar woman was the least of their worries in the dismal shipyard backstreets. The woman was curled against a wooden crate, draped in rat-eaten shawls, clutching the tiny, skeletal infant to her deflated bare breast. She cooed and willed the tiny thing to nurse in a nearly inaudible voice, but her milk appeared as dried up as the rest of her frail body. Rogan instantly regretted taking El down this way. It was so easy to forget her skin was paper thin compared to his. He turned to pull her away.

  “C’mon,” he whispered, taking her arm, but she hesitated. Realizing the lack of threat, El’s eyes fell into sadness. She shook off Rogan’s grip and gingerly edged forward, staring in bewilderment at the sight of the frail woman.

  “El, don’t,” he insisted, but she ignored him. It dawned on him at that moment that she had probably never actually seen starvation’s vicious face. She had probably never even known a growling stomach.

  “Is she…” El began in a choked whisper. “Is the baby dead?” The words barely came out. Rogan examined the pair more closely. The infant was a sliver of frail gray life, but he detected a faint heave of breath in its sallow face.

  “It’s alive,” he whispered. “But I don’t think it will be for long.” He reached for her hand. “We should keep moving.”

  She scowled and huffed at him, jerking her hand from his grip.

  “You mean to just walk past a dying baby without fetching a physician?” She said it with such a mix of hauteur and naiveté that Rogan had to stifle a smirk. “Oh it’s amusing?”

  Rogan stifled a heated retort. He raked his fingers through his hair and sighed.

  “You think the woman starving to death in a shipyard alley, trying to feed her nearly dead infant from a powdered breast, never thought a doctor could be useful?” He asked emphatically. El opened her mouth but the sudden realization of her ignorance crept across her face.

  “I don’t suppose she would have the means,” she murmured, more of a statement than a question. Rogan took her hand again and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

  “No,” he sighed, flicking his eyes to the woman. “Not many around here do. Even if you could find a doctor to trudge down here, a doctor isn’t really what she needs to save her baby. It’s a bottle full of hot milk and a warm shelter.” He watched El’s face contort into such confusion that he knew it was beyond her comprehension. How simple a bottle of hot milk must seem to her.

  “Oh. I…well,” she took a breath and let go of his hand. She walked toward the woman gingerly. The frail woman looked up but her gaze was unfocused and hollow, her eyes two empty pits of despair. With a look of resolve, El removed her tailored black wool coat and draped it around the woman’s shoulders, which hung loose despite her being nearly twice El’s age. Then El reached into the pocket of her dress and pulled out a small purse embroidered in swirls of purple and gold satin—the material alone probably worth a week’s worth of food for a street beggar. She fingered it for a moment then looked the woman in the eyes.

  “I do not have anything for the baby. But if you’ve the strength to go to the market, this should be enough to keep you for some time.” She extended the small purse toward the woman, who just stared at her, processing the gesture with obvious skepticism. She managed to shake her head slightly in protest, and pressed her body back against the crate. The alley rats feared any sign of charity was always a scam.

  “It’s all right,” El pushed. “I want you to have it. As long as you promise that you’ll keep that baby alive and get yourself healthy.”

  Tension clung to the air as Rogan half expected the frail woman to lash out. But after a moment she nodded slowly. Then, with barely a visible movement, she cautiously extended her hand toward the purse. El placed the satin bag into the woman’s shriveled hand and closed her fingers over it. She let her hands rest tenderly over the woman’s closed fist for a few moments.

  “Sants be with you,” El whispered. The woman didn’t thank her, just stared at them incredulously as they moved away, keeping her hand outstretched.

  They walked on in silence. El was visibly rattled, but Rogan was still in awe of her kindness and grace. He had never seen anyone extend such charity to a beggar on the streets. Even in his world, alley rats were the very bottom rung of life’s ladder.

  “That was—you just saved two lives, you know,” he said once the sun was once again warm on their faces and the hellish shadows of the alley were a memory. She nodded slightly but didn’t answer for a few seconds. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes, I’m okay,” she started, then stopped suddenly and spun toward him. “No, I’m not okay. That…is that just normal for you people?” She shook a finger toward the alley. Rogan stood back.

  “Excuse me? Who are you people?”

  “You were about to just walk by that poor woman. Without doing anything.” She shook her head and extended her arms in frustration.

  Rogan tightened his mouth and clenched his fists, but summoned a deep, composing breath. She wasn’t one of them. He wasn’t exactly sure who she was, but she had been born on a silk pillow far away from the fish-rotting shipyard alleys. She would never understand his hardened soul. He pursed his lips and toyed with his hair.

  “There are so many you know, in this part of the city,” he began. “So many that no one stops to notice anymore. It’s not that they don’t care. It’s not that I don’t care. It’s that there’s nothing to be done. Most passing are just trying to keep themselves from the same fate. A lot of people around here are only a few grains of rice away. If you gave every beggar even a penny you’d be destitute yourself in no time.” Heartbreak swelled in her eyes and he almost regretted his candor. She wasn’t ready to hear such hard truths. But then again, no one had ever asked his permission first.

  He expected her to argue, to yell, or even cry. But she just looked at him, expressionless and drained.

  “I didn’t know things were so bad,” she muttered. She shook her head, then walked toward the beach in silence. He tried to remember the first time he’d seen a lost soul starving in the darkness. He couldn’t—those memories stretched back to the beginning.

  They sat watching the sunset without speaking, the tide creeping up to kiss the shore. The sun dipped into the horizon’s cradle, streaks of reds and orange scratching the blue sky. Without warning, she leaned into his shoulder and sent a surge of energy racing up his limbs. Flames fluttered and licked at his insides until he was so hot that his skin prickled and burned. He looked down; noticing the way the slight curve of her
narrow hips touched his. He had the urge to wrap his arm around her waist and explore that curve, but settled for gently brushing a piece of wind-teased hair from her eyes. He tried to focus on the glowing sun bouncing off the sleepy waves, trying to ignore the heat running through his body and his pounding pulse.

  “Are you going to be all right, El?” He finally asked. She breathed in a few times before nodding.

  “Yes, I’ll be fine.” Then with a small laugh, she said, “but I’m not sure I’ll ever be the same.”

  This time, Rogan couldn’t resist, and let his arm slide around her slender shoulders. She didn’t flinch, only nuzzled her head deeper into him.

  “Are you ever going to tell me who you really are?”

  She didn’t look up.

  “Do you really want to know?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Then no.”

  CHAPTER 7

  I probably think about you more than I should, El said to herself as she walked up the path, replaying the past few weeks in her mind. Is that how it usually began—the slight touch of a concerned hand, the prolonged glance, the surreal moment that suggested they shared a secret? She didn’t know it would be quite like this. She imagined a thrill. She even anticipated the sharp guilt that would nip at her skin as she smiled in secret. But she didn’t—couldn’t—imagine the complexity of what she now felt—overhanging guilt juxtaposed with spine-numbing exhilaration, overlapping acrobatic butterflies and deep nausea. No, there was no way to anticipate such a physical reaction to what she had always perceived as a purely emotional situation.

  It had been a little more than three months since she had climbed on the back of some rogue Valley boy with deep ocean eyes. It had been a little more than three months since her small world had been ripped from its darkness and shaken until she could see the world with a new set of eyes—eyes that actually saw what was standing right in front of her. She had a catalyst to the outside world. She was no longer confined to knowing only what they would tell her. She finally had a friend that didn’t have to call her Your Highness or refrain from cracking crude jokes at the risk of offending her. She could finally let down her guard and breathe in the fresh air, knowing he was there with her for the simple fact that he wanted to be, and not for social favor.