by F. F. John
I won the first competition and I know I should be happy. However, that doubtful voice weaves its way into my consciousness. It makes my mind twirl. As Neith continues congratulating the rest of the participants, I wonder about the situation I’m in.
A new round of cheering sounds as we are ushered to the exit. I should look for my family and wave to them, but, I want to get out of here. A commotion behind me makes me freeze. Loic is walking out of the shell with the assistance of two men. He buckles at the knees before being held upright by his companions. Why is he struggling to walk? He didn't suffer a virt death nor an injury while in the shell. I’d expect to see that from James or Erhart but they appear fine.
A female usher tells me, “It’s time to return to your suite, Scion Floran.” Without giving Loic or anyone else a second thought, I quickly exit the auditorium.
My foremost concerns are a shower and a nap that will last days.
Chapter Sixteen
Neith
Two hours later and I’m still giddy from Invier’s performance. There was a moment, however, when I feared he’d lose. He’d offered Seth the chance to win the challenge. The crowd yelled its disagreement but all I could do was grip the arms of my seat. Luckily, Seth didn’t take him up on the offer because now, Invier has a hundred and fifty thousand points. Seth has eighty thousand. Adela has sixty thousand and the others fall at twenty thousand increments in the rankings.
“Some shortcut this is,” Bel grumbles as we take a different way to my living quarters. This one is out of sight from the teeming crowds that continue to linger on the estate.
“Why are there no underground passageways?” She kicks a wiry twig out of her way. “That would be the dignified way to secretly get from one corner of the estate to another.”
We completed a grueling round with the press and we’re tired. Between posing for photos with at least two hundred different people and the random fans that have popped up as we cut across the grounds, both of us need quiet.
“Yes, yes. We don’t have underground passageways like you do but this path isn’t too bad.”
She purses her lips. “We’d have been able to avoid your fans.”
The words are no sooner out of her mouth before a green-haired girl bounces our way.
“Scioness Neith!” She squeals. She’s no older than eleven and as she gets closer, her emerald eyes are piercing. “I wanted to say how lucky you are to have a Pursual.” She grabs my hand, holding it tight, her deep dimples charmingly cute. “I’m going to have one when I come of age so I can have all the cutest boys compete for me.”
Unbeknown to this young girl, it was never my intent to have anyone compete for me. At least not the way she thinks. I remove my hand from hers with a polite smile. A grim-faced groundsman soon appears to escort her away.
“You’ve influenced a lot of people. Mom told me Titane Opitz wants a Pursual for Madina. Pursuals are going to be the way to pair the children of the nomes once again.”
“The Titane doesn’t want one for Adaora?”
We snicker. We know why Titane Opitz won’t seek a Pursual for her older daughter. Her plans for her are a lot shrewder as we learned at the reception for Enyama Damil and Lance Singer’s pairing some months ago.
I put an arm around my best friend and rest my head on hers. “Aww, your Pursual is going to be next, Belly.”
As expected, she shoves me away. “Get off me.” Her voice has a hint of amusement to it.
“I see. You wouldn’t want to do that to Acri—make him compete for you.” My tone is saccharine sweet and she rolls her eyes.
Not falling for the bait, she plucks a blue and yellow hibiscus and twirls. The colors blend into a dizzying green.
“How hilarious was it to watch Invier and Seth run from those dogs?” She changes the subject with a growing smile on her face.
Trying not to chuckle, I say, “It’s not right to laugh …”
“Oh, please! It was funny.” Her hands close on her hips and she cocks her head to the side. I can’t hold back any longer.
We bend over laughing. Bel smacks her thigh and I grip onto my pink pants. Watching the boys run from the dogs wasn’t funny at the time. In fact, it was downright terrifying. The crowd yelled for them to keep running while I sat there with my heart in my mouth. But, thinking back, the incident had comedy written all over it. Two big boys running away from virtual dogs in fear. Many of those dogs were cute and fluffy though there were a couple of Rottweilers in the mix. I know I would have been running too if I’d been in the boys’ shoes but I can’t help but laugh.
Our cackling fit slows as a soft breeze blows through the estate. “Your boy might not need any help winning this thing.”
There hasn’t been time to tell Bel of my meeting with Invier and his stern refusal of assistance. I’m glad the competition’s clues made sense to him and that he won. If he wins the first three challenges, he’ll definitely become the Paladin. The points difference between him and the next competitor would be too wide to overcome. For any of that to happen, however, he’ll need to win more competitions.
How long will his luck last? I sigh to myself thinking about how naive Invier can be. Does he realize leaving things to fate makes no sense? If I’d opted for that approach, I’d already be paired with someone chosen by Father. I desperately hope Bel is right and that Invier won’t need help to win. If and when he needs a boost, however, I’ll be there to help. My promise be damned.
Portan cuts across the grounds ahead of us. The coming dusk shadows his face but I can tell from his hunched shoulders and harried pace that something is wrong. Bel and I exchange a look. She also knows something is amiss. We run to catch up with him as he heads towards the Participant’s building.
“Portan,” Bel’s chest heaves. “What’s wrong?”
His face contorts into worry lines - something he avoids at all costs. Never let anything, or anyone, give you wrinkles, is one of his constant refrains. I search his features to determine whether our secret has been revealed. I begged him to include Invier’s name as a participant even though he never completed an application. Although he knew it would be a perilous move without Father’s permission, he obliged. I’d explained that I recognized the responsibilities on my shoulders and pleaded him to give me a chance to have love, as well. He’d listened to me, though he posed many questions. Still, it was the type of conversation I could never have with Father, but Portan has always treated me like a daughter and ultimately, couldn’t refuse.
Sweat builds on my palms at the thought that our intrigue is no longer secret.
“Ah, Scioness Mezan.” He nervously gulps. “Scioness Reffour.”
There’s a slight tremor in his voice. Something must be terribly wrong. “What’s wrong? Tell me.” I keep my voice as soft as possible.
He clenches his hands nervously. Another giveaway that something bad has happened.
“Tell me.”
He swallows and takes on a dazed expression. “We’ve lost a Participant.”
“What do you mean ‘lost’?” Bel inches closer. “The estate’s huge but, none of those boys could go missing like that. Who—”
Portan blinks then squeezes my arm with a hand as smooth as silk. “I must go. I have a few things to deal with.”
“What happened?” I call out to him but he doesn’t respond.
When he rounds a bush trimmed to resemble my family’s insignia, I take off.
“Where are you going?” Bel calls.
“To get answers!”
Chapter Seventeen
Neith
I race the entire distance to Father’s office in my six-inch heels. As I get closer, my mouth dries. Still, I know I’ve got to compose myself. I can’t run into his office or I’ll reveal my true feelings for Invier and knowing him, he’ll use it against me in some way or another. So, I force myself to slow down and take meaningful breaths.
In the hallway leading to his office are images of the family members that have come bef
ore me. They all walked these corridors at some point in time. My Grandmother, the late Titane Armida Reffour, stares at me with unfriendly, golden eyes. She singlehandedly schemed at least three Titans out of their fortunes. Looking at her makes my pace hasten.
Then, a smile is upon me and I delay plunging into the narthex—the waiting room that leads to Father’s office. My mother’s face is framed for posterity in an interactive photograph. Unlike with my other ancestors, meeting her gaze activates the image into motion. It never fails to soothe the nerves that always develop when I meet him here. I step into the narthex when the doors part.
Before I can take another step, however, Father’s AI assistant is in my way, casting a ghostly glow over the dark room.
The ultimate barrier to Titan Nabo Reffour is Aina. Built to be female, she’s a humanoid who thinks she’s a comedian, often playing stupid pranks on me. She once let me into the office for a pre-arranged meeting but failed to inform me that he left on an emergency trip. I sat there, stressed with the waiting. I finally asked her to comm him only for her to reveal her ‘joke’. I’ve suggested she be modified to prevent a recurrence, but Father hasn’t taken my advice.
“Are you here to visit your daddy?”
What other reason would I have to be here? I’ve instructed her on several occasions not to refer to Father as ‘daddy’ but my request has always fallen on deaf, synthetic ears.
I look her up and down, certain my disdain is plain on my face. The row of lights traveling along her sides flicker as she processes information.
“If you are here for your daddy, he is otherwise engaged,” she chirps, unusually professional which is fortunate as I’m not in the mood for tomfoolery.
“Shall I let him know you are here?
“Do so.”
When Portan said we’d lost a Participant, what did he mean? Like Bel said, it’s impossible to physically lose someone on the estate. Groundsmen and women patrol the property especially now that we will have a higher number of visitors here to watch the competitions. And as for the participants, they can also be tracked across the estate because Father’s placed tracking chips in them all.
The only other possible meaning to those words is that a Participant will no longer be a part of the Pursual. The reasons for such a scenario are too many to consider. My main concern, though, is Invier.
Pacing, I walk between the long eastern and western tables that stand flush on the side walls of the narthex. I’m trying not to think but my mind is pervaded with worry. Did someone hurt him? Did he quit? Was he disqualified right as he started to do well? Father’s chilling words from the ballroom yesterday ring in my ears. Has he delivered on his threat?
I won’t forgive myself if any harm comes to him. The possibility pervades my thoughts and I can’t rid myself of the dreaded idea.
My gaze slides up to the ceiling where small inlaid lights stare back at me. This room is darker than it should be, given it has no windows and the light fixtures are too small for the space.
“One moment, please.” Aina’s sides dim as she sends a message to my father. I can imagine a bright red light blinking on his desk and him tapping it to read the message’s contents. He’ll type back immediately or speak his response, depending on how much he wants his visitor to be privy to.
No longer pacing, I head over to the western table. Nerves thread into a knot in my belly and there's nothing I can do to get rid of the sensation. Not now anyway. My palms skim the table, that like everything else in here came from one of our factories. There are no obvious imperfections in its cold surface.
I’m tapping my foot on the mahogany floor when Aina says, “No reason to be impatient, Scioness. Your daddy will see you shortly.” The machine produces a chair. “Would you be more comfortable seated?”
“I’ll stand, thank you.”
The sound of my foot on the mahogany sends me into a mild trance. My mind wanders to an unhappy memory in this office suite.
I must have been four or five. My nanny at the time made me apologize to a maid I’d kicked. She’d served me veggies when I’d specified I wanted none with my lunch. I distinctly remember the feelings I had back then. I thought it was beneath me to apologize to a maid. Even at such a tender age, Father always told me to never apologize for anything. Thankfully, I’ve learned to make an exception for those I love.
Dismayed, I ran all the way to his office. He didn't have Aina back then and I'd gone straight in. Father wasn't there and I cried myself to sleep under his desk. At that time, it was a wide desk made from honeyoak. Later, he picked me up, his face a jagged mask. I’m not sure if he shook me or if my body shook in fear but I recall feeling rattled. He’d warned me that his office was not a place to lick my wounds and that if I was that mad, I should have done something about it. He warned me never to come to his office unless summoned.
I never saw the nanny again or went to Father’s office without an invitation.
His office doors slide open and out steps Landen Sohr, our head of security, rubbing her bald head. She’s more serious than normal if it’s possible.
“Scioness, please come in.” She waits for me to walk past before stepping back in. Sohr remains by the door. A sentry always on alert.
Where the narthex is a dark, prehistoric tomb, the office is primarily glass walls that serve as an ever-changing background, subject to his whims. Today, he works surrounded by an array of bright fish leisurely moving through the depths of an ocean. The skin is on three walls and hides the sculpture garden below as the fish travel across invitingly-blue, simulated waters. Now I’m certain something is wrong. The last time I walked in on this as Father’s office skin, a senseless man in Old Shanghai got drunk and messed up an entire order of parts for Nome Parashar.
Head bowed, Father continues to read information as it scrolls on his table. Having long disposed of the old honeyoak desk, his new glass table feeds him everything he needs to know at a touch. He swipes his hands back and forth, ignoring my presence. Unlike Portan or Sohr who hold their tension in their shoulders, he displays no sign of being ill-at-ease. He’s perfectly calm. Too calm.
Why does he always leave me waiting? He does this too often for it not to be a conscious act on his part. It’s annoying to be treated like a child. Expected to be invisible. Despite my misgivings, I stay mum. Like always.
My attention turns to the fish on the wall behind Father. An orange fish hides behind him for a few seconds then its head peeks out by Father’s right shoulder. As if shy to continue its journey it dashes back, hiding once again. Having decided to hide no longer, the fish navigates past swaying sea plants and a school of much smaller, silver fish. It disappears again, this time, into the three-paneled wooden wall behind me.
My gaze follows the imaginary path the fish would take until it falls upon a painting of our estate. The colors are a blend of dull grays and blacks as if depicting a cloudy day. The picture beside it is much brighter. It’s one of my mother and father. He stares, unsmiling, while her lips are frozen in a wide grin.
Two people who seem so different and yet they loved each other madly. Or at least, it’s what Portan and Bel’s mom, Aunty Tari, have told me because I never saw them together. According to Bel’s mom, my mother could say the slightest thing and reduce Father to long laughing spells. Those have been rare for as long as I’ve known him. And it’s all my fault.
“Fill her in,” Father says, his voice punctuating my thoughts.
Sohr leaves her position at the door and walks up to me.
“Scioness Reffour …” She puts her hands behind her. “I regret to inform you that one of the participants has passed away.”
Passed away? How is that possible?
“Was it Invier?” I wince at how the words rush from my lips, wishing I could swallow them back. I mustn’t put Invier in Father’s crosshairs. If he’s to get through the competition, I must appear detached from him.
Father’s head jerks up. Golden eyes watch me coolly
under bushy eyebrows.
“Pardon me, Scioness?” Sohr frowns in confusion. Is her reaction because she didn’t hear my question or because she’s surprised by it? Father’s face, however, leaves no doubt that he caught what I said.
I straighten my back. “Who was it?” The time, the question comes out with timbre. Perhaps I can steer the conversation away from my revealing gaffe and back to determining who died.
“Scion Loic Carre,” she says.
A wave of relief washes over me and I struggle not to crumple to my knees in gratitude. I truly believed she was going to say Invier’s name.
“How?”
“He was allergic to a chemical in the trackers.”
That’s not good. “A scion dying during my Pursual is bad news. What are we going to do about it, Father?”