Beyond the Crimson (The Crimson Cycle) Read online

  He looked at me curiously. “Ah, so he was holding out on me,” he joked. “Maybe one day you could bring it in?”

  “Sure,” I said smiling. It would be exciting to have some of it translated, and maybe I could even share it for my presentation.

  “Now,” he began seriously, looking back to his book, “this time was no fairy tale as we hear of it today, and it certainly wasn’t the way it is depicted in romances and movies. It was harsh and cruel; there were many bloody battles and more death than one would want to see, but King Arthur helped to bring light to the land in that dark and perilous time.”

  The way he spoke made it difficult to remember that he was telling me a tale, not factual evidence.

  He continued flipping through the pages, briefly elucidating some of the stories, and the pages were filled with drawings that helped me to understand what was being said.

  He skipped past drawings of some knights when suddenly I caught a faint glimpse of a familiar crooked grin.

  “Wait! Wait!” I practically yelled, making him jump. “I’m sorry,” I said, my cheeks reddening. “Can you please turn it back to that picture?” He wrinkled his eyebrows but flipped backwards a few pages. “Yes that one!” I cried excitedly. It was the knight! The drawing didn’t do his beauty enough justice, but I could tell from the soft curl by the ear and the self-assured half-grin mixed with menacing eyes, that this was the same knight.

  Mr. Riley shifted his jaw and scrunched his eyes together causing a deep wrinkle in the center of his forehead. For a moment I was afraid I had let my secret out that I had seen the beautiful painting. Would he even care that I had? Or maybe it was covered up for a reason. After all, it hadn’t been placed on his medieval lore aisle. And if it was, why was he trying to keep it hidden? The questions blazed in my head but “Who is that?” was all my mouth could blubber out.

  “Umm… this here is Sir Brendelon,” he answered carefully.

  Bren-de-lon. Even the name seemed to hold a power over me.

  Mr. Riley covered a smile. I frowned. I could only imagine how I must have just looked, probably like some awe-struck little teenybopper drooling over a pop star in a boy band. My cheeks burned.

  I cleared my throat. “Was he a knight?” I continued. I hadn’t missed the Sir part, but I played dumb to fish out more details.

  “Yes,” he replied, as he began flipping through the pages once more. Oh gosh, was he really going to make me pry information out of him? What happened to all that carefree chatter?

  “Why is he in the book?” I questioned.

  He glanced at me carefully, watching my face for a minute. “Maybe we should discuss Sir Brendelon another time. It’s already late, and his story might take a while.”

  I was utterly disappointed, but I tried to hide it vigilantly. After all, I didn’t really want to give away to Mr. Riley how infatuated I had become with some portrait. It was embarrassing enough that he caught me acting awestruck; I didn’t need anyone else knowing my dirty little secret. But his sudden discretion only mesmerized me more, and the obsession of the mystery grasped me tighter in its hold.

  He continued through the book and showed me some old drawings of the castle halls. He explained how the land was divided up into different realms—where kings ruled—and within their own kingdom, they gave land to high nobles, whom they called lords, in return for their fealty. He explained the jobs of the servants, the roles of the hierarchy, and how knights were championed in tournaments. He showed the pictures his ancestor had drawn and briefly explained some of the battles that had been fought and won, but I didn’t see or hear anymore of Brendelon.

  “These are some cups that actually came from the castle my ancestors lived in.” He handed me two silver cups and despite my disappointment of not finding out more about the knight, I was truly intrigued. I loved this kind of stuff and carefully grazed my hand over the silver cup.

  “It’s like transporting into the past,” I whispered, finding myself becoming swept away with the romance of it, feeling as though I were right there in the medieval times.

  He smiled down at me. “Well, I suppose if you are very careful, I could let you borrow these cups to show your class since they belong directly to my family and weren’t donated.”

  My eyes lit up. “Oh, thank you! I promise to be very careful with them!”

  “I know you will. You can pick them up before your presentation.” He looked down at his watch. “It’s getting really late my dear. We better get going.”

  My stomach dropped. I really didn’t want to leave. “Um, do you think that maybe I could come back tomorrow? To uh… take some pictures?” I added.

  He smiled genuinely. “You’re welcome back whenever you want.”

  I beamed, squeezing my hands together in glee. I couldn’t wait to come back, and even though I loved hearing Mr. Riley’s stories, I really wanted a chance to snoop around alone once more.

  *****

  I trudged up the stairs to the third floor, stopping in front of the white door to the small apartment I shared with Stacey. It was in my hometown, only a mere ten-minute drive to Maridon University where we went to school, and though I had always wanted to go away to college, longing for knowledge and curious of the unknown, I had chosen to stay because I didn’t have it in me to leave my grandfather—the man who had raised me since I was twelve—alone when he was at his sickest. He had been diagnosed with lung cancer in the middle of my senior-year in high school. It was already at its final stages, and we weren’t sure how much longer he would have, so I took the partial scholarship at the local university to be near him. He passed quickly after, and here I was, still stuck in this monotonous town without even the comfort of his presence.

  I sighed and pushed open the door, smelling the familiar vanilla scented candles that burned from their wrought iron holders on top of the dark wooden coffee table. Stacey was sprawled out on the brown leather couch her parents had bought her as a house-warming gift, flipping through channels so fast I wasn’t sure how she even knew what was on each channel.

  “Hey,” I said.

  She casually glanced at me. “I cannot believe you chose to stay at that creepy place.” She shuddered dramatically.

  I rolled my eyes. “It’s not creepy. Actually, it was quite interesting.”

  She snorted in disgust, so I decided to not give her the details. I yanked the white refrigerator door open, reaching for the plastic container of leftover spaghetti I had made from the night before and popped it into the microwave before plopping down at the small round kitchen table made of the same dark wood as the one in the living room. I pulled my notebook out of my bag and began reading my Anthropology notes while I waited for my dinner to heat, fighting against the boredom of it. I couldn’t wait until I could just focus on my major. I wanted to be a journalist; it would set me free, allowing me to travel and find the answers to the questions I had about the world around me, but I was stuck taking general education classes for at least another year.

  I glanced up as Stacey let out a deep sigh, clicking the TV off and dropping the remote to the floor. She was in my freshman history class too but was planning on majoring in business and design. Her parents were wealthy and would surely plug her into their company. A college degree was simply a formality for her. For me, it was a lifeline. I couldn’t help but feel envious, as my stomach took a dive, thinking about the student loans I was accumulating even with my partial scholarship.

  Stacey finally rolled off the couch and bounced her way over. She sat across from me, resting her elbows on the table, as she placed her chin delicately on her hands, dark brown hair contrasting beautifully against the sage green paint on the wall behind her. “So what did you find for our project?”

  I cringed, not wanting to tell her I hadn’t even taken any pictures.

  “Oh my god, Kate, please don’t tell me you spent hours there and didn’t even get anything for our project!”

  “Well, that’s not entirely true,�
�� I started as the microwave beeped. I jumped up, thankful for the distraction and grabbed the spaghetti out of the microwave.

  “What do you mean not entirely true?” She leaned back in her chair, folding her arms as she stared at me.

  “Well, Mr. Riley told me some interesting stories about King Arthur and his knights…”

  “Katarina Cole!” she scolded, as though I were her child. “We need facts not fiction!” She threw her hands up, rolling her eyes to towards the ceiling.

  “Well, he also said I could borrow some medieval cups that were handed down from his relatives, and I’m going back tomorrow so I can take pictures then,” I added, grabbing a fork from the drawer and shutting it with my hip, before I sat down again, hating that she was upset.

  She leaned forward on the table again and rubbed her temples with her index fingers. “Alright. Well, while you work on that, I’ll get everything typed up for the presentation board. The cups will be great.”

  I nodded taking a bite of the spaghetti. Ah, still too hot.

  I was thankful we had finished most of the project last week. Stacey was definitely a princess but she wasn’t lazy, and I guess it motivated her that this project would be the difference between whether she passed or failed the class.

  “I really need an A,” she whined, almost as if reading my mind.

  I smiled at her. “We’ll get an A,” I reassured her. After all, I couldn’t remember the last time I got less than an A on any project. The thought felt arrogant, which reminded me of that smile. My face dropped as I began to ponder the obscurity of the knight; why did Mr. Riley seem so secretive about it?

  “What’s wrong?” Stacey asked suddenly full of concern.

  I sat up, slightly embarrassed at myself. “Just stressing over finals.” I gave her a weak smile. It wasn’t entirely a lie, and I certainly couldn’t tell her I was becoming obsessed with a medieval painting.

  “Were you able to get some shifts covered this week?” she asked, still seeming worried.

  “Yeah, everyone jumped on the extra hours.”

  “And you’ll be okay on money?” She glanced at her perfectly manicured nails.

  My stomach dropped. Ugh money, another concern. I was working double shifts as a waitress just to make rent. I gave another weak smile. “Yep.”

  She looked at me doubtfully. “Well, if not, I can cover you...”

  She might have been a princess, but she was a kind-hearted one. I knew money came easy to her, but I didn’t need her to take care of me. I definitely didn’t want to come off like a freeloader. She already paid the larger portion of rent, justifying it by taking the master bedroom. I needed to take care of myself that was just how it was going to be.

  “No seriously, I’ll be fine. Thank you though.” I took another bite of spaghetti not wanting to talk about it anymore.

  “I really think your father should be helping you out on money,” she said saucily. “It is the least he can do.” She crossed her arms. “You’re his daughter, who cares what that wife of his thinks.”

  I frowned; her words bothered me. I was over eighteen; he wasn’t responsible for me. In fact, he hadn’t been responsible for me for nearly seven years now, and that had been my choice. I couldn’t stand it when he got remarried. I felt it to be a betrayal to my mother—who had died in a car accident not even a year earlier—but I also wanted him to be happy, so I asked to move to California with my grandfather; it seemed like the best solution. It wasn’t his fault. I was the one who left him in Colorado. “No, I’m fine,” I muttered, staring into the container of spaghetti that now didn’t seem so appealing.

  She raised an eyebrow before deciding to drop it. Then her face lit up. “Oh, guess what!”

  I smiled thankful for the distraction and also amused at how easily my friend could change moods.

  “Steeeeeven called me,” she squealed.

  I laughed. Steven was in our history class too. He was a year older and on the football team— tall, blonde, and handsome, very much like a Ken-doll. Stacey had spent most of the semester trying to get his attention.

  “What’d he say? You have to tell me everything.” I wasn’t really into gossip, but I played the part because I knew it’d get her talking so I wouldn’t have to, and then I’d be free to think about the medieval knight.

  Chapter Two: Brendelon

  She ran her hand over the lovely frame that surrounded the painting, admiring her work. She liked him much better this way, and it had been so easy; she could thank his arrogance for that.

  It was simply a penalty for his defiance, to put fear into that dark heart. Soon, his comrades would save him; they would reveal what she needed, and he would be forced to cooperate. She chuckled lightly and traced her dainty white fingers over the inscription.

  “A face so beautiful, it belongs in a painting,” she cooed, “and there you will stay until I have what is mine!”

  My alarm buzzed annoyingly, jolting me out of sleep. I couldn’t quite remember my dream, but I was haunted by menacing eyes and crooked smiles. I groaned slapping my hand down on the off button.

  “Three more days,” I muttered. Then it would be summer break, and I would be able to pick up extra shifts to hopefully rebuild my ever so dwindling savings account. I threw the fluffy white comforter off me and rolled out of bed, stretching out my back, suddenly renewed with excitement.

  After classes, I would get to see Brendelon again. I was so giddy it was embarrassing. I practically danced my way into the bathroom and turned on the hot shower.

  Big blue eyes stared back at me as I looked at my reflection in the mirror, waiting for the water to heat up. I toyed with my long blonde hair that always seemed to have slight waves in it, thankful I lived in California and could get away with the “beach waves” look. I ran my hands down from my hair onto my sun-kissed cheeks, trying to imitate the knight’s charming smile, but it was useless; I would never be able to copy that mesmerizing grin. I had never seen one like it, and it left me awestruck. I tried to imagine his personality. He was definitely brave; his eyes were free of fear but they were slightly wicked too. Perhaps he was funny with some sort of twisted sense of humor, after all who really smiles like that while going into battle? Or maybe he was just as crazy as Mr. Riley and me. I chuckled quietly at the thought as the mirror slowly steamed up, covering the certifiably insane girl from my view.

  *****

  Stacey sauntered into the kitchen, just as I spooned the last bite of apple-cinnamon oatmeal into my mouth. She looked lovely as ever. Her long soft brown curls bounced flawlessly as she walked. She was always polished to perfection, never a hair out of place or a smudge in her perfectly applied make-up. Yep, if we lived in Brendelon’s time, she would definitely be of nobility, where as I would probably be a peasant of some sort. I frowned as I washed my dish out in the sink and placed it carefully in the dishwasher.

  “So are you planning on seeing Steven?” I asked to distract myself from my delusional thoughts, grabbing the pot of coffee and pouring it into a metal travel mug with a red Maridon University logo on the front.

  She grinned. “Yes, we’re going to lunch.” I smiled back, grabbing my black book bag from the counter. “You know… I could see if he has a friend. We could double date!” she practically squealed.

  “Uh, I don’t think so.” I gave a short laugh. “I don’t have time for dates.”

  She frowned. “You need to live a little, Katarina,” she scolded, pulling her bagel out of the toaster. “You’re only eighteen after all.”

  “I’m almost nineteen,” I joked. “Plus dating is not high on my priority list right now.”

  “You’re so lost in your own world, you don’t even see how many guys are drooling over you,” she said, grabbing cream cheese from the refrigerator.

  I shook my head. I didn’t believe her and even if it were true, I wouldn’t be interested in the guys I went to school with; they were all still living off of their parents’ checking accounts with
their only concern being where the next big party was. They had no clue about the harsh realities of life, and the last thing I wanted to do was put hooks in the ground.

  “I’m serious,” she said looking up at me with big brown eyes, under thick perfect eyelashes. “You hardly wear any makeup and you still look gorgeous, imagine if you dolled yourself up.” Her eyes lit up, and I could imagine that she was suddenly intrigued with the idea of making me her own personal project. I had better make my escape before she got too far in her ideas.

  “Maybe some other time, I better hurry before I’m late. See ya later, Stace,” I called heading for the door quickly, ignoring her sudden frown. She took a big bite of her bagel and mumbled a sloppy goodbye. Okay, so maybe she wasn’t always so glamorous, and despite myself I laughed at the sight of it.

  *****

  I only had English Composition and College-Algebra, but they both were long classes and the seconds seemed to creep extra slow. I shifted uncomfortably in the small plastic chair as I tried to concentrate on last bit of information the professor was giving out before the final exams, but of course I couldn’t stop thinking about the knight. I slowly doodled circles and hearts on my notebook paper, thinking of Mr. Riley’s words. He said it was a long story, but I wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing. The book had information on King Arthur and his knights; did that mean he was one of them? But I had never heard of him in any of the legends or myths. Surely, a knight like that would have been talked about. Deep down I hoped he wasn’t because there was something about the portrait that made me want to believe he had been real, not some fictional character without thoughts of his own. There was too much life in those indomitable eyes and charismatic grin, but why would he be in the book? It didn’t quite make sense, and Mr. Riley seemed hesitant to discuss it, which only had me more suspicious.

  Dark, menacing eyes flashed through my mind. Could it be possible that he was a dark knight? Maybe he wasn’t one of the good ones that were always idolized in stories. I shook my head. I had trouble believing that; a face beautiful enough to be an angel’s couldn’t be evil, but the questions continued to burn through my mind.