‘That’s where someone like Cormac comes in,’ Enora explains, her soft voice rushing through the information as we walk. We must be getting close to our destination. ‘Officially, he’s a spokesman who keeps the public apprised of what goes on in the coventries and the work we are doing. People think he’s a friendly goodwill ambassador between the Spinsters and the people.’
‘Unofficially?’
‘He keeps us in our place. He may not be head minister, but he’s just as powerful. Don’t let him fool you. That’s why he’s here.’
‘As thrilling as that information is, why am I being dragged into this?’ I ask.
‘Good question.’ Enora sighs, and I’d bet she’s wondering how she got stuck mentoring the new troublemaker.
‘Don’t they tell you anything?’ I didn’t mean for this to be an insult, but Enora bites her lip as if it were.
‘No, they don’t, Adelice.’
‘They don’t tell any of us anything,’ I note. ‘So it’s probably stupid to ask, but did you find out about my sister Amie or my mother?’ Asking sends a thrill of dread through my stomach.
‘I’m sorry,’ Enora says, shaking her head. ‘The one person who might have information has been travelling.’
‘Travelling?’ I ask in surprise. ‘Is it a politician?’
‘No, she’s one of us,’ she says quietly, but I can tell she can’t say any more.
I stop asking questions even though my mind is heavy with them, and she leads me to a large red-lacquered door and knocks timidly. The door flies open.
‘Yes?’ an officer dressed in the jet-black uniform of the Guild Special Service asks without meeting our eyes.
‘It’s fine,’ a familiar voice calls from inside the room. ‘They’re my guests.’
The officer moves to the side, and we step into the lounge. It’s more dimly lit than most of the rooms in the compound. Probably due to the heavy velvet curtains that drape the oversized windows. Enough light streams in that I can make out the plush sofas and slick leather chairs strategically placed around the room, but the lack of natural light leaches the colour from the furniture. Cormac sits by a marble hearth, cigar in one hand and cocktail in the other. He’s clad as always in his double-breasted tux, although his bow tie hangs loosely around his unbuttoned collar.
‘Miss me?’ he asks.
‘It hasn’t been that long,’ I remind him.
‘I’m sure it’s felt like a lifetime,’ he says, running his eyes down me. ‘Adelice, you are looking . . . malnourished.’
‘Cormac, you’re looking overdressed.’
‘Good,’ he sneers. ‘Now the hair matches the attitude.’
Beside me Enora fidgets.
‘And who are you?’ he asks, turning to her and squinting in the dark.
‘Enora,’ she says quietly. ‘I’m Adelice’s mentor.’
To her credit she sounds calm.
‘Nice to meet you, Enora,’ he says, taking a swig from his glass. ‘I’ll have Adelice escorted back to her quarters when we’re through.’
‘I’m happy to stay,’ she tells him.
Cormac chuckles like this is a bold suggestion and shakes his head. ‘That won’t be necessary.’
With one worried look, Enora steps back through the door, and I’m left alone in the room with the Guild’s official Coventry Ambassador.
‘Sit,’ he commands. ‘Cocktail?’
I shake my head.
‘Whatever.’ He sets down his glass and moments later, someone steps from the shadows to refill it.
I feel my breath catch and turn away, hoping Cormac didn’t notice my reaction.
‘Will you be requiring anything else?’ Jost asks him, and I feel heat creeping into my cheeks. I’m suddenly thankful for the heavy curtains.
‘Not at the moment, but stay close just in case,’ Cormac says in a dismissive tone.
‘Happily,’ Jost murmurs, but our eyes meet as he turns and I can see he’s anything but happy. A moment later he’s faded back out of sight.
‘So you’ve been causing trouble,’ Cormac informs me as he swirls his whisky.
I focus on the soft clink of ice against the glass, and say nothing.
‘Maela has overstepped her bounds as usual,’ he continues. ‘Technically, she’s your superior, you know.’
‘Technically?’ I ask in surprise.
‘Do you think we usually let girls who try to tunnel out of their houses live?’
‘So why me?’
‘Your skills assessment at your testing was off the charts,’ he admits, setting his glass down and leaning forward.
‘Why are you the only person who tells me anything?’ I ask, shifting back in my chair.
‘Well, I know more than anyone else.’
‘But they know more than they let on,’ I press. His cologne’s heavy musk is making my head swim, and I can’t hold back the thoughts I’ve locked in since my arrival.
‘They do,’ he admits, ‘but I have so much more power. It’s easier to share little secrets when you’re in charge.’
‘And you are?’ I ask him pointedly. ‘Then why tell me? You have no more reason to trust me than they do.’
‘No, I don’t,’ he says, ‘but unlike them, I can have you killed.’
‘And I thought we were finally becoming friends.’
Cormac laughs a deep, barking cackle. ‘You are delightful. I do hope I don’t have to kill you.’
‘Finally, something we can agree on.’
He reaches out and places his warm hand on my knee. ‘You could be the most powerful girl here if you start playing your cards right.’
I shift my leg away and cross it over the other.
‘I’m here to make sure Maela doesn’t kill you,’ he says, straightening back up in his chair, ‘and you aren’t making that job easy.’
‘And if she kills me?’
‘We’ll rip her.’ There’s not a hint of sadness in his voice.
‘Does she know that?’
‘I’ve spoken with her,’ he assures me. ‘Of course, it makes her hate you more.’
‘Fabulous.’
‘You’d be wise to stop trying to piss everyone off and start worrying about yourself.’ The amusement is gone from his voice. ‘I can keep her from killing you, but until you move out of her control, you’re still at her mercy.’
‘And how do I do that?’
‘First, you start doing your job. Then you start making allies.’
‘Enora already told me to make friends.’
‘You’re going to need more than friends,’ he says. ‘Your only chance is to move past Maela’s grasp, and to do that you’ll need someone with real power here.’
‘Any suggestions?’
‘I have someone in mind.’
I feel his eyes travel back to my legs, and I straighten in my chair. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Jost stiffen in the shadows.
‘Adelice, you’ll be accompanying me on a public-relations tour of Arras this weekend. Your aesthetician and stylist are fully prepped on expectations, and I assume your mentor—’
‘Enora,’ I remind him.
‘Yes, her,’ he says. ‘She’ll inform you of protocol measures.’
I swallow hard and nod.
‘See? It’s easy.’
‘May I ask you something?’
‘More polite every day.’ He raises one eyebrow, which I assume is a yes.
‘Did you find my mother?’ With the death threat hanging fresh in the air, now seems like a good time to ask.
‘Hold on.’ Cocking his head to the side to use his complant, he voice-dials a woman named Penny.
‘Can you pull the binaries on Lewys Subject Two?’
My eyes drift to Jost again, who’s stepped forward into a slant of light. He gives me a tight-lipped smile. I think he’s trying to be supportive.
‘No, I don’t have the personal identifying sequence. It was the mother.’
Subject. It. It pains m
e to hear my mother described this way.
‘Thanks, doll.’ Cormac turns his gaze back to me. ‘She was found during the cleaning of Romen and removed.’
‘You ripped her?’ The words are thick on my tongue, and I barely push them out.
‘Standard procedure and much more humane than how I usually deal with traitors.’
I can still feel the sticky warm blood on my dining-room floor. I know exactly how he – and the Guild – usually deals with them.
‘You,’ he calls to Jost. ‘Have Maela’s assistant pick her up.’
Jost grunts from the corner and taps the order into the small companel.
‘Adelice, one more thing.’
I stare at him, blinking hard against the tears burning up my throat.
‘These are Stream events, which I’m sure you know.’
I nod once. Guild events are required viewing in every home. They usually consist of a lot of back-patting and flashes to the beautiful, important visiting politicians. Since the Streams come in automatically, my parents usually let them play while we continued our nightly chores and activities. When we were very young, Amie and I would squeal over the lush satin dresses and sparkling jewels worn by the visiting Spinsters. Now that would be me.
‘Remember the deal we made when we first met?’
I tilt my head at Cormac curiously and sift through my recollection of that night. I hate the fuzzy final memories I have of my retrieval and the last time I saw my parents, and if I could remember more from that night, I wouldn’t want it to be memories of Cormac.
‘Stupid Valpron.’ He tilts his head again and barks: ‘Penny, the head medic for the Lewys retrieval. Put in a removal request.’
I gasp, and in the corner Jost whips toward us but doesn’t come forward.
‘So incompetent,’ Cormac tells me, but there’s no anger in his voice. He’s already moved on. His poor secretary probably hates her job.
‘I told you I had someone you loved very much and you put on a dazzling show,’ he continues.
‘Too bad you ripped her,’ I say with only the slightest break in my voice.
‘No, not your mother,’ he says. ‘Your sister, what was her name?’
‘Amie,’ I tell him in a small voice.
‘She’s been rewoven, and I’m told she is safe and happy.’
‘Happy?’ I ask doubtfully.
‘We did some modifications on her.’
‘So you turned her into someone else?’
‘She’s in essence the same,’ he assures me.
‘But you took away her memories of my family. Of me.’ I can feel the tears drying up as I struggle with this new information.
‘One of our very best Spinsters in the Northern Coventry cleaned her thread,’ he says with a patronising tone.
‘What does that even mean?’ I explode. ‘First you alter my town, and now you cleaned her thread?’
‘It’s a process we’ve been using on deviants for years. If a child shows a predisposition to violence or mischief, we go in and map his or her brain. The method allows us to follow how the individual’s brain processes information, and then we isolate the problem areas and map where the issues occur in the individual strands.’
‘So you can see how their minds function and store memories, but how does that change anything?’ I ask, looking past him, afraid to meet his eyes.
‘We can often replace parts of the thread with artificial or donated thread material. It’s a science we’re still perfecting,’ he tells me. ‘But it’s usually very successful. It’s a lot like the renewal patching that strengthens and refines an individual’s threads. Someday, we’ll be able to completely control both techniques, eradicating behavioural issues and larger problems like ageing.’
I shudder at the thought, but I’m not surprised someone like Cormac wants to control ageing.
‘If Amie’s a completely different person, I’m not sure we have a deal any more,’ I hedge, hoping he’ll reveal more about where she is or what’s happened to her.
‘Screen,’ he orders, and a burst of colour illuminates the swirling marble mantel. ‘Location service.’
‘Clearance?’ a pleasant voice prompts from somewhere in the ceiling.
‘Cormac Patton.’
‘Subject?’
‘Lewys Subject Four. Amie?’ He looks to me for confirmation, and I nod.
The abstract pattern draws together and blurs, slowly forming the shape of a young girl. Her back is to us as she walks with another girl along a shady, tree-lined lane.
‘Visual realign. Face recognition,’ Cormac orders.
It’s not necessary. The girl’s hair is pulled up loosely and it curls into soft, golden tendrils at the backs of her ears. I turn from the screen as it flashes an image of Amie, laughing, with her new friend. Happy. My heart cracks along its barely healed lines and falls back to pieces.
‘No harm done,’ he confirms. ‘Do I have a date?’
‘Do I have a choice?’ I manage to ask.
‘Of course,’ he says. ‘Although, choose wisely.’
‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ I tell him quietly, holding back the tears in my throat. There’s no way he heard me, but he doesn’t ask again. I’m grateful for a knock at the door. I couldn’t handle being with Cormac much longer. Erik ducks into the room and strides over to him.
‘You’re Maela’s assistant?’ Cormac asks smugly, staring at his wild blond hair.
Erik, to his credit, smiles and extends his hand. ‘Erik, sir.’
Cormac stands and shakes his hand. Clapping a hand over his shoulder, he turns Erik to face me. ‘Escort Miss Lewys to her quarters. Oh, and Erik?’
‘Yes, sir?’
‘Keep your hands to yourself.’
‘Of course,’ he agrees, without missing a beat.
Letting go of Erik’s shoulder, Cormac turns back to the corner.
‘Bring my meal here and order my motocarriage for pick-up in an hour,’ he orders Jost.
‘Sir.’ Jost bows and moves across the room to exit. As he passes, he dares a glance at me. Beside me Erik bristles at Jost’s appearance. I hadn’t pegged him for an elitist.
‘Miss Lewys?’ Erik offers me his arm after Jost has passed.
I make it to the hallway before the tears start.
‘Yeah.’ Erik pats my hand. ‘Ambassador Patton has that effect on me too.’
‘Sorry,’ I whisper, and offer him the smallest smile I can muster.
‘Don’t be,’ he says. ‘It’s nice to be around someone who has more than two emotions, and if I have to suffer Maela’s wrath later, I might as well enjoy your company.’
‘She’s going to be mad?’ I ask between sobs.
‘Patton’s a jerk. He sent for me to put Maela in her place – remind her who’s in control. I mean, I’ve met him at least ten times before today.’
‘But you were so polite when he forgot your name.’
‘Being rude won’t get you anywhere,’ Erik says. His tone is conversational, but I’m sure it’s a warning.
He lets me cry for most of our walk back through the halls, and in the brass lift he hands me a soft linen handkerchief.
‘Thanks.’
He nods.
At my door, I offer it back to him.
‘Keep it.’ He pushes it into my hands. ‘I have a feeling you’re going to need it more than I am.’
I wish I could tell him he’s wrong.
8
As a child I sat rapt on the bathroom floor and watched my mother line her eyes with a fine pen and then smooth pink rouge on her cheeks. She was the perfect Western woman – attractive, groomed and obedient – but she was made more beautiful by her laugh-lines and the faint crow’s-feet that crinkled as she smiled. Day by day, I am remade, into someone else, and I wonder if age will ever leave her tracks on my face. I’m sixteen now, and I will be almost flawless forever. That thought helps me fall asleep at night, secure in my place here, but it also wakes me up trembling wit
h nightmares.
Stockings are the biggest sartorial change in my life. The first time I wore the flimsy hose I loved how the silk caressed my bare legs, but I soon realised that they leave a film of sweat on my skin. The seam is always running crooked up the backs of my legs, and the stockings constantly slip down. Keeping up my proper appearance has ceased being glamorous, and now that I’m expected to travel with Cormac Patton, it’s even worse.
I’ve spent little to no time at a weaving station since his visit. Instead I’ve been fitted and measured and trained in etiquette. While it’s saving me from actually using my weaving ability, it’s also leaving me plenty of time to dwell on the fate of my mother and sister. The image of my father in a body bag is inexorably burned in my mind and while I see it when I close my eyes to sleep, at least his death is real to me. But my sister’s fair hair and my mother’s flawless face feature endlessly in my dreams. I obsess over Amie’s new life while they pin and tack my new gowns. She would love this – being fitted for fancy dresses. At least my Amie would. The idea that she’s alive but a completely new person makes me ache like I’ve been hollowed out and left to stand too long without a core. It’s too much to process, so instead I count the dresses I’ll need. Dresses for rebounding, dresses for interviews, dresses for pictures. Judging by the amount of silk and tulle filtering into my quarters, I’m not looking forward to wearing any of them.
Enora might as well move into my quarters. I’m expected to know every Guild official, the name of his wife, where he resides, and his sector’s primary exports. Arras has a prime minister, and then each sector has a governing minister; every metro has one as well. The roles are granted through bloodlines as long as each man has a male heir. A Guild office can never pass to a woman. It’s more information than I learned in ten years at academy, and I can’t imagine how I’ll ever use it. I’m not much for small talk.
‘Will there be a test?’ I ask Enora after the third hour of quizzing she’s given me on the Eastern Sector.
‘Why don’t you call and ask Cormac?’ she snaps, clearly as tired of this as I am, but too worried to send me off unprepared.
‘So how do I address these officials?’
‘Address?’
‘Yes, what do I call them? Are they considered ministers?’ I recall how many of his officers refer to Cormac as Minister Patton instead of Ambassador.
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