Kiran flinched at Jericho’s name and I instantly regretted sharing the memory until I realized that it shouldn’t matter to Kiran if I talk about Jericho. I should be able to talk about him whenever I wanted. And I planned on talking about him all the time.
“You can ride with Talbott,” Kiran instructed, his voice taking on a harsh tone.
Sebastian passed out sleek, black helmets and I was thankful I had worn my hair down and to the side; helmet hair would be much more manageable this way. I climbed onto the slender motorcycle behind Talbott by pulling my maxi-dress up to my knees, a little unladylike, and secured my arms around his waist. The boys started their engines simultaneously and took off abruptly through the narrow, cobblestone streets of the Citadel.
The gates to the city were open and we flew threw them, driving fast on the paved road that led away from the castle and through the mountains. Talbott drove expertly over the winding mountain roads and I was able to relax and sit back a little, keeping a loose grasp on his sides.
The drive through the mountains stilled my anxiety for whatever lay ahead tonight. The thick canopy of trees darkened the already twilighted sky and bursts of gleaming pink and purple flashed through holes in the trees up above. The wind whipped against my arms as Kiran sped behind Talbott over the smooth pavement.
We rode for an hour, through well-aged villages and picture-perfect antique towns, before coming to a dirt road leading away from the main highway. I bunched my dress further up my legs, away from the splattering mud the motorcycle flung against my shins as we kept pace with Kiran and Sebastian.
The moon shined above by now, a full orb of luminous light, and we rode through the night with only the lone headlight of each of the bikes leading the way. The boys seemed to know where they were headed though, so I tried not to conjure up images of what could be waiting for us at the end of this getaway.
Eventually lights came into view in the distance, not electric house lights, or even lamps, but the strong flames of a large campfire and torches. The motorcycles slowed down and we entered a primitive village. Tiny huts made of anything from scrap metal to broken pieces of wood outlined a village with nak*d, dark-haired gypsy children running around rowdily. Adults dressed in layers of ragged clothes milled about the campfire, eating a stew of sorts on tin plates or talking expressively with each other. From the other side of the campfire, deep, somber melodies played, keeping a fast tempo, and in a minor key that made my heart beat with it and the electricity in my blood soar.
I stepped off the motorcycle grabbing Kiran’s outstretched hand for support, barely acknowledging his gesture. I was mesmerized by the gypsy camp, wholly consumed with curiosity and a quiet awe. There was a growing feeling building inside of me that tonight could be life-changing if I let it, if I let the music take me away and let down my guard. I turned to Kiran with bright, ready eyes and he smiled back at me in a way that made my heart jump. His expression confirmed my eager suspicions and I let him lead him further into the camp.
Several of the gypsies gathered to greet Kiran, shaking his hand and speaking in the flowing Romanian dialect I began to recognize. Kiran relaxed here too; he spoke with each person familiarly, as if he knew everyone by name and I stood at his side in awe of his ability to transform from spoiled prince to the charismatic conversationalist standing next to me now.
“How do you do it?” I asked, unable to hold back my curiosity. We were alone for the moment. Sebastian and Talbott wondered off in search of food and Kiran seemed to be looking for someone while he led me around the camp. The sky brightened above our heads, millions of sparkling stars came to life the later the hour. The moon was bright and full, shining down on us with warm welcome, inviting us to dance.
“Do what?” he laughed, turning to me. His eyes were deep pools of the ocean tonight, brilliant aqua that twinkled in the darkness.
“How can you be so stiff at the castle, so.... royal? And then here, it’s like, I don’t know, it’s like you’re a completely different person....” I trailed off, not able to verbalize the difference between his two personalities.
“I’m not two people, Eden. When we're not at the castle.... I mean, here.... I don’t have to pretend to be perfect here.” He smiled at me, too embarrassed to admit that there were two sides to him.
“It’s more than that though,” I tried to explain; “It was the same way in India.”
“How was I in India?” he pressed. He stopped walking to listen to me, his back was to the fire and his soft tussled hair glowed against the firelight.
“I don’t know.... you were different.... you were.... charming. There’s something about you when you’re away from.... I don’t know, maybe your title or something. You change,” I admitted, waiting for him to scoff at me.
“I’ll have to remember that,” he whispered conspiratorially and then we were interrupted.
A little boy, maybe six years old, wearing only shorts made from old brown pants that were much too big for him, started tugging on Kiran’s shirt. The little boy had thick waves of unruly dark hair that fell into his chocolate, oversized eyes. He brushed it away, irritated with the nuisance and tugged on Kiran’s shirt again.
Kiran bent over to give the little boy his full attention, speaking to him in fast Romanian, while the little boy lit up with all of Kiran’s attention on him. Kiran laughed when the little boy talked back and I admired the difference in him for the second time tonight.
Kiran’s hair was loose tonight, pushed back out of his eyes, but nothing like the untamed dark hair of the gypsies that emanated an earthly attachment to their lifestyle. He wore a white-collared button-up shirt, rolled at the sleeves, and gray knee-length shorts, with designer sandals. He was casual but still managed to look polished and well-bred. Still, he looked at home near the campfire, in the middle of a gypsy village.
The little boy asked him more questions, with which he answered in fast Romanian and an amused smile. When Kiran stood up and the little boy ran away, Kiran was still laughing.
“That was Emilian,” Kiran offered, watching the little boy run to his friends retelling them everything Kiran said.
“What did he ask you?” I couldn’t hold back my curiosity, especially watching the excited way Emilian was talking with his friends.
Kiran turned to me, his eyes growing just the tiniest bit darker. “He wanted to know if you were my wife.” He smirked at me, but it didn’t reach his eyes and for some unexplainable reason my heart slammed into my chest.
“What is it with all these little kids?” I laughed, the sick feeling spreading from my heart to my stomach. I looked back at the animated Emilian as the other children laughed at his story. “They are always trying to marry us off, I swear!”
“In his culture, we are too old not to be married. He’s known me for a long a time, and I’ve never brought a girl here before, so he naturally assumed I gave up my long life of bachelorhood,” Kiran joked, relaxing again.
“We’re only seventeen!” I gasped, wondering how on earth seventeen was a long life of being single.
“And tonight we are attending the wedding feast for Pesha and Florika. Pesha is fourteen and Florika just turned thirteen,” Kiran explained seriously.
“You can't be serious! They are too young to be married!” I gasped.
“Not in their culture,” Kiran reminded me. “So you see, I am much too old to still be alone.”
“Well, what did Emilian say when you told him we weren’t married?” Emilian had finished his retelling of his conversation with Kiran to his friends and now stood across the camp from me waving excitedly.
“He told me, that if I didn’t marry you soon, he was going to win your heart and bring you back to his home and make you his wife.” Kiran turned to face me, somber and thoughtful so that I would take Emilian’s decision seriously. I tried to hide my smile.
“Oh, I see,” I nodded along, “and did you break his heart and tell him we’re engaged?”
“No, of course not! He was so determined, I couldn’t let him down. But he did say that if I married you first, he would never be able to even look at another woman because he would always compare their disappointing looks to your beauty.” Kiran took a step toward me, and my hands began to tremble just the slightest.
“You should have told him how easy it is to get over me!” I laughed nervously, trying to make a joke.
Kiran opened his mouth to say something, something I was sure I didn’t want to hear. I took a step back, wrapping my arms around myself and trying to tear my eyes away from the hypnotic gaze he had pulled me into.
“Finally!” an old woman with a crackly voice cried out and I saw movement out of the corner of my eye. “You have finally brought her to me!”
I turned then and greeted an old gypsy woman with violet eyes and a large gold nose ring. She was the same gypsy woman from the train last October. The same gypsy woman that promised me I would be the next Oracle.
Chapter Eleven
“Yes, finally I have brought her to you,” Kiran agreed, slipping back into his relaxed smile. “Eden, allow me to introduce you to Ileana Lovari, the Gypsy Queen.”
The old woman, still dressed in her layers of rags and scarf that covered her wispy dark hair, stepped forward and grabbed my hand, clasping it tightly between hers while the dozens of gold bangles on her wrists jingled in harmony. Her violet eyes sparkled in the dark night and her face lit up with the same youthful mischief I remembered from the train.
“We’ve met,” I mumbled and she gave out a cackling laugh that pierced through the loud music and laughter of the rest of the camp.
“That’s right, we’ve met!” She danced excitedly from one foot to the other and I had to laugh with her.
“On my way to the Citadel last fall,” I explained to Kiran who looked between us with poorly masked amusement.
“But you did not look nearly so pretty!” She reminded me. She lifted a hand to my cheek and patted me roughly, her hand smacking against my cheek. I blushed, even under the red mark her hand left, from the memory of my greasy, tangled hair and my ill-fitting cruise wear. “I wondered how you would win our prince’s heart.”
“Ileana,” Kiran scolded, “do you think I’m so shallow?”
“Not at all, my dear, not at all,” She let go of me to grab Kiran’s face roughly and pull him down for a wet kiss on the cheek. He looked at her for a moment, a silent thought passing between the two of them. “Not shallow at all. But, I think, maybe there is more work than you hoped for.” She winked at him conspiratorially and then turned back to me.
She linked her arm with mine and began pulling me toward a set of three folding chairs near the fire. Kiran patted my arm and informed me he was going to check on Sebastian and Talbott, whom we hadn’t seen for a while. Ileana led me to my chair, while she took hers in the middle. The chairs very much reminded me of the throne room at the castle, only instead of gold, they were made from plastic. Still the reverence associated with them insinuated that this was a very special place of honor.