Page 48 of Dalla's Royal Guards
He studied the myriad of expressions crossing her face with a slight, curious smile. “Why?”
She looked at him, her expression slightly defiant, and lifted her chin. “I don’t want to forget who I am… or where I came from. I’m afraid—” Her eyes moved from his face to the scene outside. “I’m afraid if I do, then I truly will be lost.”
Harlem shook his head. “You won’t forget… or become lost.”
She watched as he broke the baguette in half and placed a portion in front of her on a clean, chipped plate with red and white squares running around the edge. Her stomach rumbled at the delicious aroma. He used his knife to slice several chunks of cheese off the round roll in front of him and placed those next to the bread.
“How… how is this possible? After all this time, how are you still?—?”
“Alive?” he finished for her. “You know my story; at least most of it.”
“Yes, but—” She shook her head and broke off a piece of the bread, then placed a slice of cheese on it. “Do you know if there are others like us?” she asked in a husky voice.
Harlem leaned back in the chair, his dark eyes watching her with unreadable calm. “Rarely. Over the centuries, I’ve met a handful—maybe three, four others. All different. All cursed. Or gifted. It depends on who you ask and how they are feeling at the moment.” He paused. “But most… most don’t stay around long.”
Dalla raised the glass to her lips and drank.
“It doesn’t feel like a gift,” she told him in a solemn voice.
“No,” he murmured. “It doesn’t, but it also doesn’t always feel like a curse.”
She gazed out the shattered window frame. Two soldiers danced arm-in-arm, soaked and laughing in the muddy street.
“I died shortly after you left,” she explained. “After that, I wandered, waking in places I didn’t recognize. Sometimes it was hours after my death… other times… years. I never remember where I go in between. Only that I come back.”
Harlem nodded, picking up his wine. “For me, there are not long expanses of time between deaths. I’ve stopped trying to understand it. Knowing the ‘how’ won’t change what we are.”
They sat in silence, the candle flickering between them.
“Then why?” she asked at last. “Why us? And why are we not the same?“
He turned toward the laughter and lifted his glass towards the men outside.
“Because of that. We are what remains when everything else burns—hope, in human form. It’s not always about saving the world… sometimes it’s about saving just one.”
Dalla looked away, her vision blurring. “My family were not saved.” Her voice cracked. “My family. My people. They died. I couldn’t stop it.”
“No,” he said gently. “You couldn’t. But if you’d lived with them… loved them for decades, watched them grow old and die… it would have broken you in other ways.”
His words struck like a blade sheathed in velvet.
“Pain is part of what we carry. But so is love. And hope. That’s what we offer. The only thing wecanoffer.”
Tears slid down her cheeks, silent and warm. She didn’t wipe them away.
Fourteen
Dalla felt the press of warm hands on her cheeks. She blinked as two blurred faces came into focus—Musad to her left, Nasser to her right. Each of them gently brushed the tears from her skin.
She drew in a shuddering breath and gave them a watery smile. From the concern on their faces, the grief in their eyes, she realized that she must have spoken aloud the last time she saw Harlem.
“Thank you,” she whispered, swallowing as she carefully looked into the chest.
The scent of leather, wood, and time drifted out, soft as a ghost. Faded fabrics. A yellowed letter. A folded rebel cap from France. Her trembling hand reached in, brushing a wax-sealed journal that had once been hers—and beside it, a single wine glass, carefully wrapped in linen. The twin of the one Harlem had kept.
Hope stirred in her chest. Not for the past. But for the truth. And for what was still to come.
Dalla reached into the chest, her fingers brushing over the familiar textures. Her breath caught as she lifted the first item—a leather-bound journal, supple but worn, its edges frayed and softened by time. She pulled it out and set it gently on her lap, then opened it.
