by Eve Langlais
Contents
Introduction
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Epilogue
Copyright © 2019 Eve Langlais
Yocla Designs © 2019
Produced in Canada
Published by Eve Langlais ~ www.EveLanglais.com
eBook ISBN: 978 177 384 101 4
Print ISBN: 978 177 384 102 1
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
This is a work of fiction and the characters, events and dialogue found within the story are of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, either living or deceased, is completely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced or shared in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including but not limited to digital copying, file sharing, audio recording, email, photocopying, and printing without permission in writing from the author.
Introduction
In a Deviant Future, the world has been reshaped. Humanity has been changed. Yet despite it all, one thing does survive—love.
New Earth isn’t a kind or gentle place, so Gunner isn’t entirely surprised when a freak windstorm leaves him blinded in a strange place. At least he's not alone.
Sofia might have been banished but she enjoys the freedom of living by her own wits and rules. When a handsome stranger shows up needing help, she agrees if he'll give her the one thing she's always wanted.
A child.
Before Gunner can make good on his end of the bargain, a calamity sends them fleeing right into danger. The monsters aren’t what defeats them, though. They end up captured, unwilling guests in a strange new city with a self-proclaimed king.
Since a dungeon isn’t Gunner's idea of a forever home, he’s breaking free, and when he does, he’s bringing Sofia with him.
If they survive, will Sofia get the child she wants? Or will they both crave something more?
Prologue
It took decades for the Earth to recover from a catastrophic event that not only reshaped the surface of the world but also took a chunk out of the moon—which turned out to be a really bad thing. The tides in the oceans kind of needed it whole. It was amazing the ripple effect something like that had. Add in meteor showers, a few nuke strikes, and BAM!
Once the worst of the destruction ceased, meaning the craters only smoldered and the shuddering waves from the impacts had subsided, the planet was never the same. The Ancients, as some called them—although could a few centuries really make them so old?—had done a number on the planet. It wasn’t the plastic pollution that did it in—as so many predicted. The Earth had a way of breaking things down when given a chance. There were other less natural things that did it. Toxic waste from nuclear bombs. Biological hazards that, when released, killed, not just humans but huge chunks of life, animal and insect alike. The meteor showers brought shit to an extinction level event.
But humans, like the rats and roaches of the world, knew how to survive and adapt.
New Earth needed them to change because, while some of the poisons in the ground eventually dissipated, others remained, requiring a stronger constitution. Evolution of the fittest ensured life on the planet didn’t die out.
Humanity lived, but they weren’t the same people as the Ancients. They were wilier. Stronger. And also very divided.
In that nothing changed.
There were a few disparate groups, the most prominent being the Enclave and its citizens. Ruled by the members of specific families—a strange process that involved breeding and testing to ensure a certain quality—the Enclave lived for the most part in the Cities. One major city per kingdom. Everything else was considered a satellite to it and existed to serve.
There were five kingdoms on the continent, with some being more divided from their neighbors than others because of natural barriers. The Emerald domain consisted, for the most part, of a barren wasteland with mountains running along part of it, an impenetrable forest on another, and a chasm to complete the lopsided triangle. The Sapphire City and its satellite towns were past the encroaching marshlands and bordering the Savage Sea.
There was Ruby—where debauchery ran rampant—Diamond, and Lazuli. Those five kingdoms—with a sixth emerging from the boggy lands vying for status—were ruled by the Enclave, two kings, three queens, and their various courts under them. The Enclave regulated every inch of their citizens’ lives from creation, to placement, to punishment if someone objected to their lot in life.
They provided a direct contrast to those who chose to ignore the Enclave’s rules, sworn enemies known as Wasteland Rats, Marauders, Deviants. They preferred the term survivors. They managed to live outside the domes in dangerous places like the barren Emerald and very wild Ruby. It wasn’t easy, but they were free. However, they did long for something a little safer, more permanent. A real home.
Rumors spoke of a fantasy place, a city with the highest walls, perfect for repelling monsters. Trees in tended gardens that didn’t try to capture and digest the unwary. Clean running water, food, justice. A city where everyone was treated equally. Every traveler passed on a story about Eden from someone who’d heard it from someone else.
It was ruled by a man who refused the title of king. Who forged a kingdom out of the Wasteland. Who ruled fairly. A true leader and savior who might be able to save them all.
Or so they said.
Now if only someone could find him.
One
Many years ago, in a city ruled by a queen…
“You there, behind the counter, pay attention. You have business to conduct if you can be bothered to do your job.”
The acerbic tone and words might as well have been a slap. Staring at the jars she dusted, Sofia bit her lip lest she speak out of turn.
The customer is always right.
Not always. Only once had she dared mutter that back to her teacher.
She still remembered that lesson, and the stinging on her knuckles from the spoon he’d used to smack them. Never tell them they’re pompous jerks.
With a fake smile pasted on her face, Sofia turned to greet Jezebelle, a regular customer—and pain to deal with. She was always quick to verbally abuse. Insulting those she considered inferior. Which included Sofia.
The older woman, her blonde hair pulled into an intricate series of knots, had a sneer on her lips. “About time you did your job. It would seem you need lessons on promptness.”
If they insult, do not respond. Do your job. Serve the client.
“Can I help you, Citizen Jezebelle?” Sofia used her most polite tone, the one that required her grinding her teeth lest she scream something else. She knew some choice words, since she’d moved from apprentice to assistant. It meant she got to leave the shop more often and that she was allowed to handle the shop on her own. It was as if Jezebelle knew when the master left on business and visited on purpose.
The woman always arrived determined to taunt, firing Sofia’s temper. A temper she never realized she owned until recently.
The master had been gone fo
r more than a week, felled by an illness, with no one available to take his place. A week during which Sofia had no one to tell her what to do. Or what to eat. Was it any wonder she skipped that disgusting shake he fed her each morning that he claimed was full of vitamins? Perhaps she should have been more diligent about drinking it, because she felt quite out of sorts.
She couldn’t have said why her emotions toward people like Jezebelle had turned fierce of late. She felt quite rebellious. Inside at least. On the outside, she pretended servitude and mouthed platitudes.
“Do I look like a person who requires anything from you?”
Knowing how this game was played, Sofia kept her pasted smile as she murmured, “Of course not, citizen. You are perfection yourself. None of my wares are obviously worthy or needed.”
It was the same stupid game each time. Jezebelle pretended she wasn’t going to get anything, but she knew the Red Rosy was the place to go when it came to certain remedies. Especially the one to keep skin supple and young.
“I dislike giving business to one so obviously ill-bred, but at the same time, one should encourage the local merchants,” she said with a resigned sigh.
The urge to roll her eyes resulted in Sofia fisting her hands so hard that her nails left marks on her palms. “Perhaps as a gift, a soothing lotion, not that your skin requires aid. But one can never be too careful about the toxins in the air.”
“If you insist on atoning for your rudeness, then I shall accept.” The haughty air deserved a slap.
Instead, Sofia offered a bob of her head and a short curtsy. “Of course, citizen. I will prepare it immediately.”
Sofia turned to the display of jars lining the wall. As recently promoted assistant apothecary, she prepared fresh salves and powders for the rich of the city who could afford to shop. They happened to be the most annoying people to deal with. They wanted things done now, because they demanded it, and then tried to find reasons to avoid payment.
When she asked the master why he didn’t refuse some of them service, he’d shrugged, his white beard quivering as he said, “You don’t say no to an Enclave family.”
Meaning they had to accept that behavior. Those that protested and claimed all citizens should have equal rights? They paid a visit to the arena.
It proved simple to mix together the ingredients for the facial cream; after all she’d been doing this from a young age. She’d been apprenticed right out of the Creche but was now the only one left. The others the master trained were deemed lacking in talent and sent to the factories to help mass produce toiletries for the lower-ranked citizens.
Sofia knew better than to celebrate. She was still considered a step below her master, which meant she had to keep working hard.
“Why is this taking so long?” snapped Jezebelle, drumming her fingers unevenly, trying to disrupt Sofia’s train of thought.
She knew how to tune the woman out and kept kneading. Once the mixture appeared smooth, she dug her fingers in it and whispered her intent into it.
Which sounded dumb. And yet, the master apothecary who taught her could always tell if she skipped the murmured command. She got a rap on her knuckles if she lied.
She closed her eyes and whispered, “Moisturize.” That was it, along with strong thoughts of what that word meant. The intent.
Her hands heated as the ingredients reacted to each other, the spurt of warmth over as quickly as it began. She scooped the cream into a jar then turned to hand it over.
Citizen Jezebelle had her lips pulled down. “You did not make that correctly.”
“I assure you, I did.”
“Don’t lie to me, apprentice. I saw you skimping from that jar with the green powder.”
“The mint? That just gives it a refreshing feel.”
“Did you just talk back?” Jezebelle recoiled, her rouged lips pulled into a rictus meant to feign shock. Yet it also hinted of jubilation. Jezebelle had found justification for her actions. “Insolent wretch. I’ll have you punished for this. Where is your master?”
“Attending more important people than you.” There was horror and yet deep satisfaction in saying it.
The gaping expression on Jezebelle’s face was worth the explosion. Quite literally. The citizen uttered a high-pierced shriek of rage, which rang in the shop. The waves of it sent Sofia to her knees, hands over her ears. Still the scream went on, shattering glass, shaking the very structure of the shop.
When it ended, Sofia lay huddled among glass and ingredients, her nose tickling at all the sharp scents. The waste of it incredible, especially since some of the items were very rare and valuable.
“You idiot. Look what you did,” snapped Sofia. “You destroyed the master’s shop.”
“You provoked me.”
“Don’t blame me for the fact you can’t control your temper.” Sofia rose, shedding glass and powder.
“We’ll see who’s blamed.”
“I’m not the one who just pulverized a shop.”
“I was protecting myself,” was Jezebelle’s haughty reply.
“From what? This?” She held up the jar of cream that had remarkably stayed intact on the counter. “I can see the danger. Moisturized skin. Such a horrible thing to suffer. Totally justifies you having a tantrum.” Once started, she couldn’t seem to stop. The insults kept coming and coming. Given the shattered window, with citizens peering inside, she imagined it wouldn’t be long before the city guards arrived.
Jezebelle must have realized it. She grabbed at some broken glass and lifted it over her arm.
Would she seriously…she did. She slashed herself a few times, shallow messy cuts.
“Everyone knows base citizens can be violent.” She shot a triumphant smirk in Sofia’s direction.
It was an utter lie. Yet, Sofia already knew they would believe Jezebelle.
Sofia would be placed in a cell. Execution would be the kindest thing if that happened. She knew what happened to those who were put on trial. She could end up being forced into labor on a farm or in a factory where people were literally worked to death. Pretty prisoners were often given to the soldiers as whores. There was banishment. Public humiliation. Death.
All horrible choices because of a rotten woman. An annoying, entitled, mean woman who delighted in attacking Sofia.
No more.
Before Jezebelle could put down the glass, Sofia dove over the counter for her. If she was going to be punished, she wanted to have the satisfaction of hitting her at least once.
Not expecting the attack, Jezebelle staggered under Sofia’s weight and hit the ground hard. Sofia grabbed the wrist with the hand holding the glass. She drew back her other hand and balled it into a fist.
Before she could hit that rouged mouth screaming for help, the door to the shop smashed open and guards poured in, yelling, “Halt, or we’ll shoot.”
She froze and released Jezebelle, raising her hands over her head. Before she could stand, Jezebelle slashed her across the cheek with the glass shard.
The hot blood heated skin as it dripped off her jaw. She gaped at the woman. “What is wrong with you?”
“Arrest her! She attacked me!” Jezebelle screeched.
“She started it.” Sofia stuck to the truth.
Rough hands gripped her by the arms and dragged her away. The soldiers had no interest in listening to anything she had to say. She might be a citizen of the city, but she ranked low in the hierarchy.
The cell they tossed her into proved nicer than expected. A clean space of her own. An actual bed. Water to wash herself. Food three times a day. Blander than her usual fare, but better than nothing.
She only wished she’d had some access to herbs. Thread would have been nice. The wound on her cheek—the skin splayed open from the jagged glass—scabbed in a thick line. It would leave a mark if she couldn’t treat it soon.
The day of her trial arrived, and the level of activity around the cells multiplied as the prisoners were prepared for their day in court. Les
s justice and more a spectacle, court took place once every seventeen days.
Given it was a show, she endured a scrubbing followed by a rinse in a room along with the other female prisoners. Through the water pouring steadily from the ceiling and sluicing down a huge drain, she counted thirteen.
When the deluge ended, they were blown dry quite literally by the large fans that sent blinding gusts, which whipped around hair and removed all moisture from the skin.
Those who had managed to retain their long hair were combed and plaited. Simple, shapeless, knee-length robes of coarse fabric were placed on them. Their feet were kept bare.
They were lined in a hall, more than fifty men and woman in total. Some arranged in small groups.
She was second to last. When it came to be her turn, she stood almost numb behind the door, knowing her fate was about to be decided.
Would she live, die, or be sent somewhere horrible, wishing she could die?
The door slid open. The guard by the opening, wearing the bright red armor that the queen insisted upon, gestured, and she stepped out slowly onto the large stone tiled floor.
The bright lights of the arena almost blinded, and there was a hum of noise. She managed a quick glance around and saw the walls ringing her broken only by a few doors. One being a rather large double metal portal with dents, as if something had punched it from the other side. That door was for the bigger monsters they sometimes brought to court.
No sign of blood, although the stones were still damp in some spots. They tended to be efficient when it came to cleaning up between court cases.
“Would the defendant take her position, or does she require aid?” an impersonal voice boomed, and the crowd tittered.