“I'm happy to report that everything's coming along nicely for your coronation,” she says. “The extra few days have been a Godsend, honestly. I think you'll absolutely adore the flowers we're having sent from a hothouse in Miami.”
I couldn't possibly care less about flowers, or any other coronation details, if I'm being honest. I can't believe she thinks any of this matters. Rhonda may die, but at least I'll have some lovely memories of the time they handed me a crown I didn't care about, to rule a bunch of people I don't know, in a bower of flowers from I don't care where. “Wow, well, that's really . . . wonderful, I guess.”
Adam's face edges its way into the corner of my window. His smile looks more natural than Mom's at least. “I'm sorry you missed your father's service. I do hope you're finding your lodgings acceptable.”
Adam and I fought yesterday, and he's been super weird ever since. He wanted to prepare rooms for me in the huge white house everyone still insists isn't a palace. I told him a typical quarantine room in the holding facility was fine. I'm tired of them trying to convince me I should be using silk toilet paper. He gave in gracefully enough after I bit his poor, misguided head off. If I close my eyes, I can still see the shocked look on his face when I told him that my poop smells just as bad as his.
“Your Royal Highness,” Adam says. “I hate to interrupt your time with your mother, but several Port Heads have requested the opportunity to speak to you.”
I raise one eyebrow. “Which ones?”
He sighs. “Sawyer Blevins.”
I grimace. David Solomon's cousin is probably my least favorite of all, even worse than the sour-faced Dolores. Every time he calls me darling my skin crawls as though Solomon’s actually back.
“Also Rosa Alvarez and Steve Young. Initially all seven requested entrance. I informed them the window into your room only has space for three faces.” Adam offers me a half smile. “I think you made them nervous when you threatened to eliminate Port Heads God tells you aren’t doing his will. Now that no Mark has appeared, they’re nearly frantic. Do you wish to speak with them?”
“Not really,” I mutter. “But when has that mattered lately?” I speak loudly enough for Adam, Sam and Josephine to hear me. “Go ahead and send them in.”
Sam says, “I'll verify none of them are armed or harboring any ill intent.”
Adam narrows his eyes. “I already performed a thorough search.”
“Your version of thorough and mine aren't the same.” Sam walks out of view with Adam on his heels.
“I've got an appointment with the dressmakers,” Josephine says. “Can you believe they're making me fill in for your fittings?”
It makes perfect sense, actually. My mom’s almost exactly my size. After she walks off, I stand up and brush off my white button down shirt. I pick a piece of imaginary lint off my jeans and push my hair back behind my shoulders.
Wesley stays flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling. I doubt he'll move when they appear, either. “You don't need to impress them you know. You beat them and now you can fire them all.”
I could, but it’s more complicated than that. Who would I put in their places? “I have a feeling anything I try to do will lead to a fight. If I were my father, I'd have them all executed and appoint new ones. Or you know, if I was Solomon and I had any interest in doing anything here other than preventing the Cleansing and leaving as soon as possible.”
Wesley shrugs. “Firing them all isn't a horrible idea, actually. You can appoint anyone else you like as a new Port Head, and they'll all be terrified of you and simultaneously grateful for their new position. If that's the kind of inspiration he had, maybe there's a reason Solomon ruled for so long.”
Adam's face appears at the window. With me stuck in quarantine, like a sitting duck in Adam's words, he's doing double duty as guard and butler. “Your Royal Highness Ruby Solomon, may I present the Port Heads of New Orleans, Miami, and Jacksonville. Sawyer Blevins, Rosa Alvarez, and Steve Young.”
Rosa's face appears, her bright red lipstick and perfectly curled hair taking up more than her fair third of the window. Sawyer brushes at her hair with frustration. Steve walks calmly into view, practically ignoring the other two.
“Thanks Adam. Hello Sawyer, Rosa, and Steve. What can I help you with today?”
Sawyer opens his mouth, but before he can speak Rosa says, “We came to help you, actually. It's been almost a full day since your Trial and no Mark has appeared. We first wanted to express our delight that God has protected you. Congratulations on finding His favor. That was a bold move you made.”
I sit on the edge of my bed and lift my chin. “Not bold so much as desperate, since I was obviously not going to pass your test.”
“In any case,” Sawyer says, “we're happy to see how well you're doing.”
I exhale. “Are you?”
Steve's jaw drops. “Of course we are, Your Royal Highness. How could we not hope for your success?”
I lift my eyebrows. “Well, seeing as one of you would've taken over for me if I failed, and by failed I mean died, I did wonder whether your loyalty to me might have been shake-able.”
Wesley whistles.
Sawyer and Rosa narrow their eyes at him. “Why are you whistling?”
Wesley sits up enough that they can see him shrug. “You underestimated my girl, Ruby. She's never been a leader before, but clearly she has more skill and gumption than you expected.”
“You've developed entirely the wrong impression,” Sawyer says. “We want to help you in any way possible. Clearly God's chosen will be crowned on Sunday, and you’ll be leading the largest group of people still living in the Americas. For those unfamiliar with pondering and understanding God's will, it can be . . . complicated.”
“As you’ve mentioned.”
Sawyer clamps his mouth shut.
“I do appreciate your willingness to help,” I say. “What sorts of things did you want to help me with, exactly?”
Steve says, “King Solomon had to approve each of the trade agreements between the various Ports. This was to ensure fairness and equity, and also to verify we were paying the proper tributes to the crown. I was an accountant Before and sometimes the agreements were hard to understand, even for me. I'd be happy to review the proposals with you, at your convenience of course, and help advise you on what's fair and what isn't.”
Sawyer clears his throat. “I'd be happy to help with that as well. Two sets of eyes are nearly always better than one.”
“Do you mean three sets are better than two?” I ask. “Or do my eyes not count?”
Sawyer's eyes widen. “Three, yes, that's what I meant. But in addition to helping you navigate the monetary and trade issues, we can help with managing your people and their expectations.”
“And I can help you prepare your Sunday sermons,” Rosa says. “We women must strike a different tone. The men can bang on the podium and yell, brimstone and whatnot, but the people respond differently to females.”
“I'm going to stop you right there,” I say. “I won't be giving a Sunday sermon.”
All three jaws drop.
Rosa splutters. “Who will administer the word of God on Sunday? It's an excellent time for you to get a feel for your people's wants and needs, and for them to get to know you. And understand your goals and desires too, of course.”
Wesley says, “You make the Sunday sermon sound like a political rally.”
Steve closes his eyes, exhales and opens them again. “It's not a political rally, but the people need to be reminded of what matters and why. Religion binds us together as a community and reinforces you as their leader. Surely you can see that, Your Royal Highness.”
“As you may have noticed yesterday, I lack both religious knowledge and the desire to manage people.”
“And yet,” Sawyer says, “God chose you, and the people absolutely love you.”
I clench my fists. “I'm sure the people will be happy to hear from someone I appoint to shar
e the word of God with them.”
Rosa presses her lips together. “Well, I'm sure any of us would be happy to suggest qualified ministers for the role. It's certainly one way to go.”
“I really appreciate your good intentions,” I say, “but it's nearly dinner time and I'm starving. I'd hate to make you watch me chew and swallow my dinner through a Plexiglas window, so maybe you can wrap things up.”
“Absolutely,” Steve says.
Rosa glances at him sharply. “Actually, we did have one more thing we wanted to discuss. All the Port Heads were concerned after what you mentioned yesterday.”
“Oh?” I ask. “What was that?” This should be good. I’m ready for them to beg me for their jobs.
“You mentioned that your father was wrong,” Rosa whispers. “Which is a dangerous enough thing to say on its own for reasons we can discuss in greater detail later.” She glances sideways as if trying to ensure none of my guards can hear her. “But you also stated quite clearly that the Cleansing was, well, off the table so to speak. You said we should try to cure the Marked children, and only if that fails would we ease their suffering.”
I nod. “All of that's true. I don't know what precisely about any of that concerns you. Was there a question, or maybe a clarification you wanted?”
Sawyer smacks his lips so loudly I can hear it through the window. “I believe Rosa thought she implied our issue. To contradict royalty, especially someone chosen of God, is problematic. It undermines your authority at a baseline and throws all your future decisions into question, at worst. But even beyond that, to counteract your father's last plan, when your own intentions don't make sense—”
I step toward the window, one hand on my hip. “What part of 'provide aid in seeking a cure, and ease their deaths if necessary' is nonsensical to you people?”
Sawyer throws his hands up in the air. “There is no cure. We've looked, and the Unmarked have looked, and presumably the Marked have looked for over a decade. At this point the final option you mentioned, easing their suffering, that's our only viable solution.”
“They aren't dying in a week or two,” I say. “It's not like they've been hit with the accelerant.”
“Precisely,” Rosa says. “But the suppressant is failing. The status quo has shifted. If they had been accelerated, that would be more merciful. As it is they will slowly die, and when that happens, their community, such that it is, will break down. They'll begin scavenging and wandering, the ones healthy enough, and that's when they become a real threat to all of your people.”
I bob my head. “Because they're just like the rabid dog I mentioned. They're doomed, and we may as well put them down before they can bite us while trying to steal our food.”
Rosa's face lights up, but so do Sawyer and Steve's. “Yes, exactly,” she says. “You're finally getting it. The thing is, when they aren't ready, before they've gotten desperate, it's the perfect time for us to Cleanse the earth of this wretched disease once and for all.”
I lift my eyebrows. “What about providing them with the food and supplies they need?”
“Why should we have to provide for them? We need our resources for our people.”
“Right,” I say. “So a simple bullet to the head for each of them would be merciful and conserve resources. Is that what I didn’t understand?”
Sawyer frowns. “Well, we were thinking to drive them together with a series of controlled fires—”
I slam one hand into the Plexiglas. “We should roast them alive because you greedy tyrants won't share your food? Quentin needs more food, does he? Dolores needs more roast chicken? You, Rosa, you need more salsa? You people are a disease. You'll be lucky to stay alive, much less be Port Heads when I'm crowned. Do you hear me?”
Rosa flinches. “You think we're selfish and greedy. But it's not a bad plan to keep your own people safe from a very real threat, one that can kill us all. It has already killed almost every human on earth. We're all that's left, and we didn't survive by providing for every sick person we could.”
I very nearly growl. “As far as I can tell you haven’t done a single thing for any of them.”
“We never proposed the Cleansing lightly,” Steve says.
“Anytime someone suggests taking someone else's life on their own terms and calls it an act of charity or mercy, it's problematic. But you're all missing the point. I think we may be able to save them.”
Steve inhales slowly. “Why do you think we'll find the cure now, after we've come up with nothing in eleven years?”
I should tell them, but then they'd know it wasn't God who chose me and I won't stay queen, and these maniacs will kill all the Marked kids. I could tell them about my dad and how he created Tercera, but I'm sure that would come around to bite me in the tush, too.
“Because God told me so. I’m a scientist. Did you know that?”
Rosa and Sawyer and Steve all shake their heads.
“My foster mother among the Unmarked was on the cusp of solving this when I left. As soon as I'm crowned, I'm going to visit her and we'll provide her whatever facilities and resources she needs to reach the finish line. We've allowed this plague to threaten us for too long. It needs to end now, but I won't have my rule as queen begin with a mass slaughter of children. If I haven't been clear enough, let me say it again. There is literally nothing you can say or do to change my mind. We will not Cleanse the earth of these children. We will petition for God's aid in saving them. Is that clear?”
Sawyer's lip curls. “And if you can't? If they die anyway?”
“Then they'll die in the nicest beds, with the best food that we can provide for them.”
“Why would we do that?” he asks.
“Why indeed, you ask?” I stand up and walk toward the window, my face inches away from theirs. “A man of God is asking me why we should provide charity to children? If I know anything about the Bible, it's that Jesus was humble. He gave and gave and gave. He didn't sleep on ten million thread count sheets. He didn't dine on freshly made chowder. He ate what he needed and shared whatever was left. If I have to grind your face into the ground and take your fancy bed away to make you see that, well. Consider it done. You can thank your lucky stars I’m not my father, because if I was, I’d cut your heads off now.”
Rosa and Sawyer exchange a glance before nodding slightly and begging my leave to depart. Steve merely stares at me thoughtfully.
“I believe my dinner of loads of imported and rich food is on its way,” I say. “You better leave so I can eat it. But don't get too used to yours.”
Adam sees them out and returns with a tray for me. One of the other guards has a second tray. Adam slides the first through, and then on the second, he whispers through the slot. “You need to be careful, Your Royal Highness. You're making some powerful enemies, and you're not in the safest of spots right now.”
I sigh. “Sam will keep me safe, Adam.”
Adam puffs out his chest. “You mistake me. I'll keep you safe. I'd simply prefer not to have to kill too many people in the process if I can avoid it.”
I smile. “Good to know. We're in agreement on that.”
Wesley and I set our trays up on our laps since there isn't room for a table and chairs now that the cots have been replaced with beds.
Wesley takes a bite of a crusty roll and sighs. “I'm with you on everything you said. Bravo.” He chews and swallows. “But do we really have to give away all the good food, even the chocolate cake?” He stuffs a huge bite of cake with frosting into his mouth and moans.
I roll my eyes, but before I can tell him to shut up, someone bangs on the window.
Sam.
I smile at him. “I wish you could come in to eat with us.”
He shakes his head. “There's news.”
I set my tray aside and cross the room to the window. “What is it?”
Sam frowns and my chest tightens. He holds up a piece of paper, shoving it flat against the Plexiglas so I can read it.
Your Very Esteemed and Royal High-ney:
I regret to inform you that your request for additional time has cordially been refused. I was quite clear when we spoke not two days ago. I told you that we don't care about WPN or its plans. We are quite capable of protecting ourselves.
The longer you spend dealing with their problems, their tests, and their demands, the longer they will make them. The only way to end the threat of WPN and the Unmarked and everyone else who fears us is to CURE us.
I don't care whether you're the Queen of WPN or the Queen of Sheba. We're running out of time. If you don't report here tomorrow as I initially demanded, I will execute your cousin Rhonda. Or actually, I guess she's not related to you after all. In that case, you may not care.
We'll find out where your priorities are tomorrow I suppose. Stay and get a crown from your daddy's people, or come save your not-cousin.
Either way, the deadline's still sunset tomorrow.
Rafe
My eyes turn toward Sam’s so he knows that I've finished reading the letter.
His face reflects the horror in mine.
“I can't leave and go to Baton Rouge, and then simply come back a week or two later to be crowned. The Port Heads are insane, and I just yelled at and threatened them. They'll seize control for sure.”
Sam frowns. “Maybe it won't matter. Did they even care about the Cleansing?”
I collapse on my bed, my face in my hands.
Wesley crosses the room. “I take it Rafe declined your request for an extension?”
Sam nods.
Wesley runs his hand through his hair. “Well that really blows, because Stalin and Pol Pot were just telling us how stupid it is to allow the rabid Marked kids to continue foaming at the mouth near enough that the people of WPN might get sick.”
“Who are Stalin and Polpot?” I ask.
Wesley shakes his head. “My dad made me read a lot of history texts. Never mind. Look, this really sucks, but we don't have much time to decide what to do.” Wesley's voice drops to a whisper. “If Sam's breaking us out of here, he's got to do it tonight or we won't make it in time for Rafe's deadline.”
Sins of Our Ancestors Boxed Set Page 54