by Lyn Forester
He steps closer, and in the reflection of the holo-screen, I see his hand lift to my shoulder then drop away. “But I would ask for the chance to prove I’m on your side. We’ve known each other so long, our history together should mean something.”
I meet his eyes in the reflection. “It does, Nikola. It means everything.”
SAVING THE PRINCESS
The next morning, a maid comes to help me dress. If this is Nikola’s silent way of showing his hurt, he went about it the wrong way. For the first time since returning to Lonette Manor, I can relax as the maid moves silently throughout the room, getting my clothes ready while I sip on my morning tea. When she styles my hair, there’s none of the gentle touches of assumed familiarity. She’s quick and proficient and even gives me the braid I request instead of putting my long hair in an updo that will make my head ache all day.
The clothes she lays out are appropriate for casual business with a white blouse and narrow legged trousers in hunter green. Even the shoes she brings out are made for comfort, flat-heeled with soft cushions. I didn’t even realize I had clothes like this in my wardrobe.
After I’m clothed, she steps back, her head bowed. “Will there be anything else, ma’am?”
I pick up my palm-port from the nightstand and check the messages, but find them empty. “Please inform Nikola that I’ll be in the study.”
“Yes, ma’am.” She bows low before backing out of the room.
Steps light, I follow her out, not surprised when I enter the hall only a moment later and find her already gone. Secret doors hide within the paneling, so that the staff can be functional, but nonintrusive. As a child, I tried to find all the secret ways around the house, but the constant changes to the manor make inside the walls a maze of dead ends. I don’t know how the staff don’t get lost. Unless they have maps...
I file that thought away for future consideration.
When I reach the study, I find a fresh tea service waiting for me on the desk. This is my father’s domain, and I’ve never been brave enough to assume I can use it myself. But grandmother gave me the run of the house yesterday, and until a memo arrives retracting that assignment, I plan to take full advantage.
My fingers run along the solid wood of the desktop. In a world of poison, real wood furniture comes at a high cost. Green and orange whirls create a hypnotizing pattern of poisonous sap beneath the thick lacquer that covers the desk. The piece has been in our family since the houses first formed, and it perfectly represents the toxic environment of our line.
My pulse races with excitement at what I’m about to do. Even as a child, I’d never dared to sit at father’s desk. When I slide into the large chair behind the desk, it overwhelms my smaller stature, a child playing at being an adult. The desk comes up to my chest to further shoot the message home. I don’t belong here.
But Father’s not an especially large man, so I run my fingertips under the armrests until I find the appropriate buttons that shrink in the sides and scoot the back forward until it fits me perfectly. My feet leave the ground, and a bar slides out to give them a place to rest as the chair rises to proper height.
From here, the room takes on a different perspective, smaller somehow. Whoever stands in front of the desk will be made lesser somehow. A heady feeling, to be made a ruler. Is this how Father sees the world?
Apprehension creeps down my spine. This feeling could become addictive. If Father had wanted to open my mind to the desire to follow in his footsteps, he should have sat me here. My heart races with adrenaline, and energy vibrates through my body.
Pushing aside the false sense of power, I key in my code on the desk drawer, breath held as I wait to see if it will open for me. As demi-Councillor, I should have access to most of the family documents. The lock on the drawer turns green, and I reach for the handle, fully expecting it to be a trick and refuse to open.
Instead, it slides open on well-oiled rails, and I lift out the slender folding port within.
Around the room, the recessed lights flicker for a moment, before steadying again. I frown at the brief power fluctuation. Do we have a sky-skipper infestation? The gelatinous creates are impossible to keep out of the city, and they invade the upper levels with a tenacity no amount of netting around the city can prevent.
I shrug it away. Mr. Purnell will already have exterminators on the way. It’s standard protocol for any shift in electricity, as sky skippers can take down even a house of this size in a matter of hours.
Opening the folding port, I log in and pull up the family investments, curious to see if Grandmother made any new acquisitions yesterday. The title, Cafe Brinu, sits at the top of the list. She didn’t waste any time in buying out the café, and I wish her the best of luck in her efforts to finally nail down her hot chocolate. If she can get it right, it will be a coup on anyone else in the beverage industry attempting to do the same and add one more victory to Lonette House’s efforts to reclaim some of what our ancestors lost when our ship was ripped out of space and thrown through the vortex that stranded us here.
I stare at the list, pride filling my chest that I was a part of this newest decision. Is this what Grandmother feels every time she perfects one of her designer drinks, or nurtures a new herb to grow in her solarium? The flicker of emotion reminds me of disc-bike racing, a tiny spark compared to the crackle of victory at nailing a corner perfectly and shooting ahead of the other racers.
Curious, I scroll down the list to see what other businesses Lonette House acquired recently. When I spot a bakery on the roster, it brings a smile to my face that quickly dies. It doesn’t matter if Felix would like that we own a cake shop.
A knock echoes from the front hall. It makes me straighten in my seat. Usually, someone has to have an appointment to make it all the way to the door, at which point the butler coordinates the entry to be unintrusive and silent. Curious who would arrive unannounced, I switch the folding port over to the security system.
Small images from all over the manor fill the screen, and I tap on the one that focuses on the front door. A man in brown uniform stands at the entrance, a net in hand. The classic uniform for a sky skipper exterminator. That was really fast. They must have had a break in the net that surrounds the rim of the city and been following the creatures inward.
A moment later, a warning message pops up on my monitor, to let everyone in the household know we’ll be switching to standby power while the problem is fixed. Five minutes pass, and the lights dim once more as we switch to the backup generators in the basement. Surrounded by concrete walls, with minor ventilation and only one access door to limit the risk of infestation, the backup power will last for three hours, providing everyone heeds the warning and stops using power sucking devices.
With a sigh, I shut off the desk-port and pull out my palm-port instead. It doesn’t have the same access that the house computer has, but it can at least entertain me while I wait.
A gentle clink of a tea cart comes into the office, and I wave it away without looking. “Thank you, but I don’t need more tea right now.”
The sound of the latch catching jerks my attention to the door. A man in one of our staff uniforms stands inside the office, his back to me as he turns the lock.
Alarm shoots through me, and my hand drops to the switch hidden beneath the edge of the desk that will sound an alarm.
His quiet command halts me. “Don’t do that, Sparks. You’ll ruin the rescue.”
“Connor?” My voice squeaks as I leap from the chair, then stumble when I forget I’m not on the ground. Catching myself against the side of the desk, I stare as Connor turns around.
His black hair is parted on one side and slicked back in a gentle wave, and the uniform he wears sags around his trim waist, obviously not designed for his lean frame. He doesn’t have his glasses with him, but I recognize his voice, lower and more precise than Felix’s.
The carefully built wall around my emotions splinters, and every moment of anxiety and hurt I’v
e felt since coming back here floods through me. The rush makes my knees shake, and I clutch the edge of the desk to stop myself from falling.
Connor’s brows furrow together. “Sparks? Are you okay?”
“No.” My hands fist against my chest. Mouth open, I wheeze as my vision blurs around the edges.
Connor rushes to my side. “What’s wrong? Do you need a doctor?”
His touch brings with it a rush of calm, and I clutch the lapels of his jacket to drag him closer and gasp against his chest. He smells like household cleaner, and under that, the fresh scent of his cologne. The familiarity of it helps push the panic back, and when his arms hesitantly close around me, I sag in his embrace.
“I’m sorry, Sparks,” he mutters against the top of my head. “I didn’t mean to scare you like that. This was supposed to be a rescue mission.”
“It’s okay. I’m okay.” I force myself to release him and step back. “What are you doing here?”
“We got Myrrine’s message that you needed us.” He scowls and glances around the room. “We already had something planned, since you weren’t returning our messages.”
“What are you talking about?” I hug my elbows close. “You haven’t been returning my messages, or when you do, they’re curt.”
His serious green eyes focus on me. “I promise you, we’ve been trying to contact you.” He reaches inside his jacket and pulls out his palm-port. Unlocking it, he shows me the message log.
Lines of text fill the screen, and when he swipes through them, they keep scrolling. There must be over a hundred of them, all addressed to me.
Numb, I pick up my own device off the desk and pass it to him. He takes it with a frown that only deepens as he reads through my messages.
After a moment, his eyes snap to mine. “Someone’s blocking us.”
“But I did get a couple responses.” I reach out to flick my finger over the screen, moving to the bottom to show the most recent one from Felix.
He reads it and scowls. “You can’t have thought that was actually from him.”
“I did at first.” My shoulders hunch under the weight of guilt. “It was a shock, and I wasn’t thinking clearly. But later, when I reread it, something seemed off, so I asked Myrrine to contact you.”
“Well, for one, he never uses complete sentences with punctuation.” He reads over the message again. “And he wouldn’t call you Cait.” He tsks quietly to himself. “Sloppy work.”
I ignore the frisson of shame at the obviousness of the fake message. All the ones that came before it were short, making style impossible to judge. “I think someone messed with my device. There’s an app missing, too, that I downloaded on the flight back here.”
“You don’t say.” He flips the slender case around in his hands. “This is beta tech, not open to the market yet. Who would know how to mod it?”
“I don’t know.”
He runs a nail along the edge of the case to try to get it open. “Who’s had access to it since you got home?”
Restless, I pace away from him. “I always have it with me, even when I sleep.”
“What about when you shower?”
“I lock it in my vanity.”
“So it’s unlikely it happened in your room.” His fingers move over the screen. “There’s no point that you left it unattended?”
“No—” I freeze mid-step. “Yes, once.”
“When?”
Sweat breaks out under my arms. “Nikola held it for me while I had tea with my grandmother.”
His head jerks up. “Who’s Nikola?”
My lips feel numb at the proof of Nikola’s betrayal. “My secretary.”
He stiffens in place. “Your what?”
My gaze shoots to his in surprise. “We’re not contracted or anything. It’s a trial run.”
“But he’s acting as your secretary?” Eyes narrowed, Connor sets my palm port on the desk. “Your Lonette House secretary?”
While every house runs differently, it’s no secret what function secretaries perform in ours. Apprehension ripples down my spine as Connor stalks forward.
“He’s only temporary.” I back up a step, uncertain of the possessive expression on Connor’s face. “He has his own room.”
He reaches for my arms and pulls me flush against his hard body. “Where’s his room? Connected to yours?”
A hard lump forms in my throat. Where’s my calm Connor? I’d expect this from Declan or Felix, but not from him. “Why are you acting like this?”
“You’re with us, right?” His fingers tighten on my biceps. “I thought that meant no one else. Was I wrong?”
The implication angers me.
“I’m not with anyone. Not really.” I push my hands against his chest. “We agreed to try this relationship out, but nothing’s really changed since then. And when I saw Declan, he completely ignored me. And being here— It’s just all so confusing!”
“Let me clear the air then.” His hand moves to lift my chin, his gaze darkening.
But when his head dips down, I throw a hand up between us. “No.”
He rears back in surprise. “What?”
“No,” I say firmly. “You don’t get to come in here, make accusations, and then kiss me.”
A stunned look crosses his face, and his hands drop from my arms. “You’re right. I don’t know what came over me.” He takes a deliberate step back. “I’m sorry, Sparks. I’m not usually the jealous type.”
I rub my arms. They feel tender with the first hint of bruises. What will I tell my maid, or Nikola, if Connor left marks? I turn my face away from him. How could he grab me like that? It scares me to see my calm and gentle Connor blinded by jealousy. How well do I really know him? Any of them?
And Nikola’s betrayal just adds salt to the wounds. How can I trust anyone?
I turn away from him. “I can’t do this right now. You need to leave.”
NOT LOVE
“Sparks...” Worry fills his voice, and I sense him move closer once more.
I imagine the heat of his hands near my shoulders and step forward, out of reach. “I can’t keep doing this, Connor.”
“Doing what?” He moves to stand in front of me. “Caitlyn, please look at me.”
I shake my head, gaze fixed on the swirls of burnt orange and gray in the area rug beneath my feet. “It’s too hard, turning my emotions on and off.” My hand lifts to my tightly braided curls, each piece where it needs to be to make a whole. “You throw me out of sync. All of you do. And I can’t function like that.”
His voice drops to a whisper. “What are you saying?”
“I think...” I pull in a shuddering breath. “This separation between us, no matter the cause, just shows how easy it is to tear us apart. And if it’s that easy, maybe it’s not meant to be.”
“No.” The confidence behind his denial pulls my focus up. His green eyes flash with determination. “No, Sparks. Someone did this to us. Someone deliberately drove a wedge between us with the sole purpose of isolating you. They wanted this to happen. Don’t roll over, and simply let them win. That’s not the Sparks I know and love.”
My heart trips at the declaration, followed immediately by rejection. “You don’t love me. We don’t even know each other.”
Connor’s face hardens. “Maybe you’re not there yet, but I am, so please don’t belittle my feelings.”
The blood drains from my face at the harsh rebuttal, but he continues before I can apologize.
“The Sparks I love takes corners fast, flares her light rings to mock us, and when she loses a race, she comes back even more determined.” His hands lift to cup my elbows as his voice gentles. “And the Caitlyn I love stands up for what she believes in, can admit when she’s wrong, and refuses to give in to pressure.”
Tears thicken my throat and sting my nose. “But this is just too hard.”
“No, it’s not.” He leans closer. “How do you win races?”
I shake my head. “I don’t
know.”
“Yes, you do,” he insists.
“But, I don’t!” I blink to fight back the tears that want to fall. “I just stop thinking and let the energy rings lead me.”
“That’s instinct, passion, and trust.” He grabs one of my hands and lifts it to his heart. It thrums beneath my palm, pushing his belief into me. “Stop analyzing, and listen to what your heart tells you.”
A buzzing fills my arm and flows down into the rest of my body, the gentle hum of a circuit that wants to be completed. I lift my other hand to place it on his chest, and calmness rushes through me. A shaky sigh of relief escapes my lips. This is what I need from Connor, what no one else can give me. His steadiness grounds me, pushing away the confusion until I can see clearly once more.
“I don’t know if this is love.” I lean closer to rest my ear against his chest and listen to the steady whoosh of life flowing through him. “The only thing I’ve ever loved was racing, but this is different from that feeling.”
His hand cups my head to hold me close. “I’m willing to wait until your mind catches up to what your heart already knows.”
My arms slip around his waist. “What if it never does?”
Lips press against the top of my head. “Then, I’ll just keep loving enough for the both of us.”
A laugh escapes me. “That’s very generous of you.”
“I don’t think my efforts will be wasted.” His body stiffens against mine, and he releases me to pull his palm-port from his pocket. Eyes skimming over the screen, he curses quietly. “The power’s coming back on soon. I have to go.”
Disappointment rushes through me. He only just arrived and most of our time was spent at odds with each other. But he can’t be caught in here. It will look bad for both our houses. “Do you need help getting back out?”
“No, I’ll be fine.” He tucks his palm-port away. “In the meantime, don’t trust this Nikola. If he’s the only one who’s had access to your device, then he must be the culprit.”