Page 23

23

NEO

H ead throbbing, Neo moved gingerly through the jungle, conscious of the forthcoming sunset. He sensed the aura of her presence moments before he saw her. Pausing beside a papaya tree, heavy with unripe fruit, he waited for her to notice him.

She grimaced when she saw him, brown eyes widening, then lingering on his bandaged head. Awkwardly, he touched his bandage, aware it made him look more injured than he was, which might be to his advantage.

“My sister made me wear it,” he said by way of greeting .

Zula always looked beautiful to him, but now he sensed her frustration and utter devastation. Something terrible had transpired. Her hair was a wild tangle, her dark eyes red-rimmed, and she radiated an angry aura he’d never felt before. It eclipsed the fury she’d directed at him for capturing her. Her energy had shifted to something feral and desperate.

She limped closer, but he held out a palm, warding her off.

Shoulders sagging, she nodded, and then, in the softest, most contrite tone he’d ever heard, said, “I’m sorry, Neo. I’m so sorry.”

He let his hands hang by his sides, unsure what to do with them. His men were in the woods, likely with crossbows drawn, ready to shoot Zula if she tried to harm him again. It also made him feel awkward, aware they were listening to their conversation.

He had to speak calmly, with control, as though Zula weren’t his undoing. “I thought you might betray me. I sensed it.” He shrugged. “It’s only what thieves do.”

Zula’s face crumpled and she hugged the ukulele to her chest. “I . . . I should have trusted you, but I wanted to do things my way. I’m used to being in control, to ensure everything goes right. But they double-crossed me, and worse, the witch gave me another task. It’s too late to throw myself at your mercy, but I have to save my father.”

Neo nodded, which only made his head hurt. He’d expected as much. Where was the honor among thieves? He should make her suffer, make her sweat, because her actions didn’t just impact him. Her actions threatened the crown, the kingdom, and all the people living within it. “What do you want from me?”

Zula stared at the ground, her words barely above a whisper. “I have thirty days to find the buried harp and deliver it to the witch, or my father’s life . . . ”

She choked, unable to go on.

Neo’s throat went tight. The buried harp was nothing but a legend. In the beginning, there was no magic until a god chose to dwell alongside mortals. All who heard the music of his heart were blessed, and a quickening began in their blood, and magic flowed from their fingertips. All was well for a time; most used their magic to contribute to the growth and expansion of their world. Eventually, there came a rift, and those who were magical disagreed on how they should rule the world. War broke out for the first time, and the god, in his grief, decided no more gifts, no more magic, and so he buried the harp where no one could find it and vowed no one would find it, not until the mortals could learn to live in harmony. Treasure hunters sought it out as the ultimate magical relic, an instrument many believed would allow one to control magic.

Neo forced the next words out, harsh as they were. “Is this another ploy, another trick? A ruse to gain my trust and steal from me?”

“No! I’m aware there’s nothing I can say or do to regain your trust, but you’re the only one who can help me, the only one who has told me the truth. I don’t deserve it, but I’m backed into a corner with nowhere to turn. Don’t do this for me. Do it for my father.”

Neo’s heart softened as he watched the tremor of her lips, heard the heartbreaking agony in her tone. She was sorry because nothing had gone her way. Would that change when she was no longer desperate?

“Zula. I’ll tell you the truth: the mission never changed because you tricked me. It was always to take your father out of reach of the witch. Even as we speak, he’s on his way to the palace, guarded by my sister.”

Zula let out a cry and sank to her knees.

Neo resisted every urge to go to her, to take her in his arms and comfort her. His station in life called for him to be above temptations of the heart, to deny himself for the good of crown and kingdom. He’d gotten carried away at the masquerade and again traveling with Zula to the jungle. Her actions helped him see reason, and now she kneeled before him, contrite. He’d come to find her, to take her away to prison and lock her up, to put an end to the yearning of his heart.

Except somehow, his longing was worse than ever before. He wanted to gather her in his arms, kiss away her tears and reignite that fire in her eyes, to chase her as she strove to escape, to hunt her down, claim her, and make her his own. All thoughts a sheriff, let alone a prince, should not have for a thief.

His jaw tightened, which only made his head hurt worse. But it was the least of his worries, because the witch knew about the buried harp.