Shatter City

by Scott Westerfeld

  CONTENTS

  TITLE PAGE

  DEDICATION

  PART I

  EVERYTHING

  STEADFAST

  CLICK

  BASH

  CRASHER

  FATHER

  TROPHIES

  DONA OLIVER

  APPEARANCE

  ESCAPE

  FLIGHT CONTROL

  JOLT

  JUMP

  ALLIANCES

  TRUST

  X

  PRETEND

  BIG SISTER

  ORBITALS

  TUNNEL

  PAZ

  PART II

  COAT

  CRASH

  APARTMENT

  SRIN

  FEELS

  EXTRACTION TEAM

  SHAKES

  SHATTERED

  LIFT

  ESSA

  ELIO

  DRONE

  PART III

  WATER RUN

  FABRICATOR

  UNDERGROUND

  COUNCIL

  WARDENS

  INFAMOUS

  ROOMMATE

  SMART MATTER

  RUN

  DEAL

  PASSAGE

  FIREFIGHT

  RUN

  COL

  VICS

  PART IV

  CONTINENTAL DIVIDE

  REBELS

  BOSS FREY

  SPIDER ROOM

  BACKUP PLAN

  RUMORS

  SKELETONS

  ROBOT

  HAZE

  FIRE IN THE HOLE

  FEELS

  CAVES

  CORPS

  PAZ

  SEANAN

  PARTY

  NAME

  SPY

  MISSION

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  COPYRIGHT

  My engagement bash is the talk of the feeds.

  It should be.

  My dress is spectacular—an azure sheath orbited by hovering metal shards. My publicity team designed it, using crowd metrics and flash polls. It was big news, Rafia of Shreve letting randoms choose her outfit.

  But the dress is nothing compared to my fiancé: Col Palafox, the first son of Victoria. The leader of a guerrilla army, until a month ago, when he attacked my father’s city and lost everything.

  Our families are at war, you see. Col is our prisoner as well as my betrothed. Engagements don’t get much better than this.

  The feeds love it. They’re calling us the most logic-missing couple of the mind-rain. The scandal of the season.

  Wait till they watch me kill my father on my wedding day.

  Wait till they find out that I was never really me.

  “Rafia?” my room asks. “Dona Oliver is here to see you.”

  Rafia isn’t my name, but I answer, “Let her in.”

  The door slides open. My father’s secretary wears a distracted look, her eyes glinting with data. All those details swirling around the party, like the hovercams around this tower, waiting for luminaries to arrive.

  “We’ve added something to tomorrow’s schedule,” Dona says. “A public appearance, just the two of you.”

  I try not to flinch. “Dad and me?”

  She shakes her head. “You and Col, so the citizens of Shreve can see you together. Give them your best smile, he said.”

  “This one?” My lips curl, a perfect imitation of my twin sister.

  But the smile doesn’t impress Dona. Her eyes clear of data, and she lowers herself into the chair where I used to sit and watch Rafi do her makeup.

  I keep my gaze on the mirror, letting a drone layer my foundation in smooth strokes. Dona stares at me, a little uncertain.

  Maybe because Rafi would never allow a machine to do her makeup.

  “It’ll be okay,” Dona finally says.

  She’s wrong.

  I’m a prisoner in this tower, just like Col. There’s a bomb collar around my neck, like the one around his. Spy dust watches my every move, tracks my every glance. Sooner or later, I’ll choose the wrong dress or make the wrong joke and someone will realize I’m not my big sister, Rafia.

  She’s out in the wild. Free at last, but hunted by my father’s forces. They think she’s me, and have orders to kill her on sight.

  Everything is a long way from okay.

  “We’ll have a dozen guards around you,” Dona goes on. “A hundred security drones overhead. You’ll be just as safe as when Frey was here to take your place.”

  That’s almost funny. Dona thinks I’m scared of a crowd of randoms, because I don’t have a body double anymore. But it was me in front of those crowds.

  I was born to be sniper bait. My body resists sitting here motionless, letting a drone spray on my makeup. Dodging bullets was better.

  And I miss my sister. Rafi deciding on our makeup, our hair. Telling me the gossip from a party the night before, trying to give me a life.

  Living in her shadow wasn’t so bad. Pretending to be her is a hundred times more lonely. In this whole city, only Col knows who I really am.

  I hope Rafi’s okay out there in the wild.

  “I’m not afraid of crowds,” I say.

  “Maybe something else is making you nervous.” Dona’s voice goes soft, as if the spy dust won’t hear. “Like marrying a boy you hardly know?”

  Wrong again—Col and I love each other. We fought a war together. He was the first outsider to know my secret. I was there when his world crumbled.

  Here in my father’s tower, we see each other only at formal dinners and publicity events, never alone. Me playing the haughty Rafia, him the humbled prisoner. But the air still sparks between us.

  I’ve fooled everyone else; he recognized me in the first five minutes.

  It was worth it, staying here to save him.

  “He really does seem to like you,” Dona says. “That’s more than we could hope for … given everything.”

  I give her one of Rafi’s sidelong looks. Everything includes my father’s missiles destroying Col’s home and family. The army of Shreve occupying his city. Our forces still hunting his younger brother.

  My publicity team was worried that our engagement would look like a sham, a spectacle to make the world forget my father’s crimes. But it turns out people live for stories about lovers whose families are at war.

  “Col’s not a problem,” I say.

  “You hardly know him, Rafia. And marriage is serious.”

  “So is war. Allying our houses will end this one. Maybe the world will start to forgive us for invading Victoria.”

  “I know you’re doing the strategic thing,” Dona says. “But that doesn’t always make it easy. This must be scary.”

  I put on my sister’s imperious voice. “I’m not afraid of some boy.”

  “You’ve changed,” Dona says gently.

  Those words freeze me. I stare at the mirror, watching the drone sculpt my face with artful lines.

  I am Rafia of Shreve.

  I am always watched, but I am never seen.

  “It’s no wonder, of course,” Dona continues. “Your home was invaded. You were forced to admit your oldest secret in front of everyone.”

  She means my speech with Rafi, the night Col was captured. We sisters stood together in front of the hovercams, revealing at last that there were two of us—the heir and the body double. Explaining that our father used his own daughter as a decoy for snipers and kidnappers.

  That speech was supposed to make the city rise up against him. But speeches don’t win wars, it turns out.

  “What does that have to do with Col?” I ask.

  “He came along just as all your certainties vanished. When you felt most exposed.”

  I laugh. “You think I have a crush
on him?”

  “You persuaded him to accept your hand in marriage. That took some work.”

  “Hardly.” One of Rafi’s shrugs. “Dad would’ve executed him. Col’s lucky he’s more useful as a son-in-law than a corpse.”

  “But you still had to convince him, and your father, and the rest of the world that you wanted to be together. Maybe you convinced yourself too.”

  I close my eyes, letting the drone work on my lashes while my heart settles in my chest.

  Dona has seen the way I feel about Col.

  She was always the most thoughtful of my father’s staff. Not just a thug. I will need her on my side in the all-important seconds after he’s dead. For now, she needs to think that Rafi remains as selfish as always.

  “I have plans for that boy.”

  “I’m sure you do,” she says. “You’ve worked hard on your part of the bargain.”

  She means my deal with my father—I get to marry Col, to keep him alive, as long as I’m the perfect daughter. Go to my classes. Do what Publicity tells me. No public mention of Frey.

  “But sometimes the heart makes its own plans,” Dona says. “You’ve fallen for him.”

  I keep my eyes closed, letting the drone work. She must have watched us in those early days—Col pretending to resist my offer of marriage, like a defeated, sullen captive. At first, we insulted each other, then we argued the merits of an alliance, only letting ourselves flirt a little at the end.

  It made my skin hum, keeping a secret together while the spy dust watched.

  But something true must have slipped out, caught by Dona’s sharp eyes.

  “Believe what you want,” I say. “That boy is a means to an end.”

  “Of course, Rafia. Sorry to presume.” She stands up, adding lightly, “By the way, he wanted to see you before the bash. He’s waiting on the eighth-floor terrace. Alone.”

  I open my eyes too quickly, and the drone pings its disapproval.

  My eye shadow is smeared, just a touch. Brain-missing of me, but the promise of a private moment with Col makes me want to run to the stairs.

  Dona smiles, noticing everything. “Don’t do your hair yet. It’s windy out.”

  Spy dust doesn’t work well in the breeze. But I stay in character—cursing softly, flicking the drone aside to inspect its work.

  “Tell Col I’ll be there in forty minutes.”

  On my way to see Col, I step across the red line like it’s nothing.

  Growing up, only our tutors and a few of my father’s closest advisors knew there were two of us. I stayed hidden in the secure part of the tower, my world bounded by colored markings on the floor. I was trained to walk and talk like Rafi, to stay in her shadow, to kill. A deadly secret in the shape of a girl.

  But now that I’ve taken my sister’s place, I can go anywhere. The staff looks down at the floor as I pass, clearing my way with small backward steps. They remember Rafi’s temper tantrums, her rage at being the first daughter of Shreve—his daughter. Or maybe they sense something nervous-making about me now, the killer inside.

  I’ve changed from an invisible girl into someone dangerous to look at.

  When we were little, Rafi was always beside me, telling me what to wear, which rules we could break. She knew the servants’ names, and how to stand up to our father.

  She always promised that after he was gone, she’d reveal me to the world. That was all I wanted back then—to walk freely in my own home.

  But not like this, alone.

  Without Rafi, I don’t belong here anymore.

  I only see her on the feeds now. Out there in the wild, with the rebels and what remains of Col’s army, Rafi records herself every few days. She calls on the world to punish our father’s crimes, telling them to boycott everything Shreve makes.

  Pretending to be me.

  The impersonation is uncanny. Like she’s been practicing all along.

  Watching her is dizzy-making, like leaving my own body and seeing myself from the outside. All those years of me copying her walk, her stance, the way she raises her eyebrows—that whole time she was watching me too.

  And I have to ask myself …

  Was it this unnerving for Rafi, watching me impersonating her?

  Col waits on a high stone terrace that overlooks the gardens. We’re on the private side of my father’s tower, where newscams aren’t allowed to fly. The late-winter sky is pale blue. No clouds, just spirals of birds coiling up from the forest.

  Col isn’t dressed up yet—tonight he’ll be in a silver knee-length suit, its threads programmed to reflect the colors of my dress. But he looks beautiful in his rust linen jacket and …

  When did I start paying attention to clothes? I used to only care about improvised weapons and my enemies’ weaknesses.

  Maybe after a month of pretending to be Rafi, I’m turning into her. Studying for interviews, trying to impress my tutors, taking on every duty my father asks of me. Sometimes in bed at night, my muscles ache from standing like her all day.

  But it’s worth it to keep Col alive.

  “You look lovely,” he says, taking my hand.

  He plays his role well, enthralled by me reluctantly, someone who’s fallen for an enemy’s daughter. We have to stay in character, even out here in the breeze. Security can still listen through the walls, the windows, the smart fibers of our clothes.

  “Thank you.” I push my hair behind my ears. “But they’ll all be staring at you tonight.”

  “Don’t be silly, Rafia. You’re the belle of this ball.”

  I keep my eyes fixed on the horizon. I want to look at him, kiss him. But the real Rafi wouldn’t give Dona the satisfaction.

  And every time we kiss, my father might be watching.

  “The people of Shreve have always been fond of me,” I say. “But now that they know about Frey, what if it’s her they love?”

  “Maybe it doesn’t matter.”

  A frown crosses my face. “Are you saying we’re interchangeable?”

  “Hardly. Frey isn’t like anyone else.”

  “She had an unsual upbringing.” I try to sound flippant. “Strange hobbies as a child.”

  “I know. We fought a war together. Your father should be afraid of her.”

  “He is.” My laughter sounds like a bubblehead’s. “But Frey won’t bother us.”

  “Don’t be so sure. She’s as fierce as she is beautiful.”

  Fierce. One of our words, like steadfast. I flush under my party makeup, trying to think what Rafi would say.

  “Are you trying to make me jealous, Col?”

  He shrugs. “You’re more like her than you realize.”

  “We’re opposites. She’s a warrior. I’ve never even punched anyone!”

  He gently curls my fingers into a fist. “There’s plenty of time to learn.”

  His touch makes me shiver, and I watch the military hovercraft circling overhead, just to have something to look at. I want him to keep saying these things about me, so I tell myself it’s what Rafi would want too.

  “I’ve always meant to ask …” I give him one of Rafi’s dramatic pauses. “When you two were playing soldier together, were you ever more than just comrades-in-arms?”

  Col hesitates, glances at the tower behind us.

  “Not that it matters,” I add. “It wouldn’t be the most awkward thing in our past. The point of this wedding is to get beyond all that.”

  I come to a halt, flustered by how the words all that compare to my father’s crimes. Rafi is never flustered.

  “Your sister and I were allies,” Col says.

  Such a neutral word. Anyone listening would think we weren’t even friends. But that was our first promise to each other—to be allies.

  “I’ve been meaning to apologize,” he says. “I laughed when you proposed to me. That was rude.”

  I shrug. “Under the circumstances, it must have sounded odd.”

  “It took a while to understand.” He takes my hand again, f
irmly this time. “You weren’t just saving me from execution. You really do like me.”

  Rafi would look away, so I do. “It’s a sin to waste good breeding.”

  He nods. “I’m just saying, I see you for who you are. You aren’t your sister.”

  I turn to him. “Col.”

  His lips barely move, mouthing my name.

  Frey.

  I have to look away again. It’s madness, playing games like this, hoping the dust won’t catch it.

  But something tightly wound inside me loosens a little.

  I am seen.

  The scars of war spread out beneath us—gouges in the earth where invading Victorian craft fell during our attack on Shreve. The hedges where my own hovercar crashed still haven’t regrown.

  We almost won, almost ousted my father from power, only to fail and wind up here. Two prisoners.

  But at least we showed the citizens of Shreve that my father isn’t invincible. We infected his surveillance dust that night—the system still crashes once a week or so, giving the citizens of Shreve a few precious hours of privacy.

  My plan hinges on my father being weaker now. And, of course, on everyone thinking that I’m the spoiled Rafia, not the trained killer, Frey.

  “About our appearance tomorrow,” Col says lightly.

  “Yes. Dona just told me about it.”

  “We should wear something special.”

  I’m not sure what he means. My staff always chooses Col’s clothes, walking the fine line of making him desirable without anyone forgetting that he’s our prisoner.

  But then he glances at my necklace—the bomb collar.

  He wears one too, a thick gray ring of metal around his neck. If we try to escape this tower, the collars will detonate, turning us into a fine mist of blood and meat. Now that I have no body double, my father likes to be certain that no one can ever steal me away.

  But there’s something he doesn’t know. On the night of the attack, we cracked the code that unlocks the collar. The key is hidden in the trophy room.

  Col doesn’t know about the key either. So why is he staring at my neck?

  “Something less formal?” I suggest.

  “Exactly—I don’t want to look stuffy.”

  I nod, still uncertain of what he’s trying to say.

  Then he steps forward, as if hugging me good-bye, and murmurs so softly that the wind takes it away …

  “Dress to move.”

  “Entrance in ten minutes,” Dona says. “Are you ready?”