City of Deception (The White City Series Book 1)

by Alexa Mackintosh

  Talia,

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  There are many things I should have told you but never had the courage to. I’m returning soon, and look forward to seeing you. Things will change today.

  Dmitri

  “What is that?” My mother asks lugging in the empty tub and a bucket of water.

  “Dmitri sent me a letter. Did you take it out of the en- velope?”

  “No. Why?”

  I turn it over. “There’s no envelope. Did someone drop it off?”

  She frowns. “I went out to town earlier, but no mes- sengers stopped by.”

  Then how did his letter get in here?

  “You must get in the tub if you’re going to be ready,” Mama says.

  I don’t question as I succumb to her orders. I’m too busy wondering what Dmitri meant by “There are many things I should have told you but never had the courage to.”

  s

  Mama tugs on strands of my brown hair. My hair isn’t as long as the other girls because I find it easier to work with short hair. Desperate to see me chosen, my mother tries her best to make me beautiful. She pulls my hair into decorative wooden clips, as we are too poor to own the popular metal clips.

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  We argue over the dress to wear. I own one dress, but it is too small in the shoulders, and my mother says it is out of style. She proposes I wear hers, the blue paisley that she wore so long ago for her wedding to my stepfather. I refuse and swear I won’t wear the dress. We finally come to the agreement that I will wear a long skirt and blouse. The outfit may be far from new, and it may not be my best, but it represents me. The other girls will come in dresses, and the few that can afford them will wear neat hats. Let them; I care not. This is Angelica’s moment, not mine. It is my job to stay here and fight the dictator of the future. It is hers to fight the dictators of today.

  I want to see our planet returned to peace under the rule of Prince Ivan, but I want to see them gone so I can have a future I choose. I want to open a shop. I want to run a small bakery because the women in the village say I have a knack for baking.

  My mother finishes last minute details as I pull on my winter coat and boots. Glancing at my reflection in the mirror, my appearance satisfies me. I look as I should: a girl who works, and who cares not about her clothes.

  As we finish, my stepfather enters, letting a burst of cold air flood through the door behind him. “The Em- peror’s carriage arrived. The women are being gathered in the courtyard because none of the buildings are large enough to hold them all.”

  My mother hugs me. “Think what this could mean if you are the one.”

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  I know what it could mean, and I don’t like the pro- spect of anyone but Angelica becoming the Royal ward.

  She must be the winner.

  s

  Entering the courtyard, I spot Angelica. She wears her best dress, a white gown with lace trim. Her mother’s broach rests at her throat, and her golden hair has been braided and tied into a bun. A green, velvet hat rests on her dainty head, neatly tied beneath her chin. A fur shawl rests on her shoulders. She appears richer than she is, for every piece that she wears has been handmade by her mother the seamstress.

  She greets me in a bustle of excitement. “Can you be- lieve the Emperor is here? His carriage arrived several minutes ago, and he has gone into the supervisor’s house to talk with him.”

  “It is hard to fathom,” I admit, giddy along with her. I know her excitement is an act like mine. I lean close and whisper, “I expect you to be back by the end of the sum- mer. If you’re not back, who will I go skinny dipping with in the river?”

  She laughs. Every summer since we were ten we’ve gone swimming in the river. We choose one night, usually a few days before school resumes, and spend the night skinny dipping. It all started as a dare, but we keep going every summer. We spend the night sharing our deepest secrets and laughing. It was on one of those nights that I

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  confided to her what truly happened to my father. Now that we’re almost finished with school and though we will not be able to attend university due to the money and prestige needed, we plan to continue our tradition.

  “I’ll try not to miss it,” she whispers.

  I know her mission could take a few months if not an entire year. She must win the Royals trust first if she is not to be implicated in their murders. If the Firsts suspect a Third of the murders, there will never be peace among the classes. No new government will fix the problems then, and many will suspect Prince Ivan hired Angelica to kill the Mersiovskys.

  The Royal family is complicated. Ivan’s family ruled the planet until illness killed Ivan’s parents and older sis- ter years ago. With their death, the Mersiovskys ap- peared, claiming guardianship over the throne until Ivan was old enough and wished to take the throne. They are distant cousins of Ivan’s.

  The Emperor had a son from his first wife, Prince Orion. She died when the p was an infant. The Emperor remarried several years later to the current Empress, Marcella. They have a son together, Prince Kir.

  Eyeing the group of approximately fifty women stand- ing around us, I study their excitement. I must act like they do to avoid suspicion.

  A soldier calls out, “The young ladies need to gather and stand in a line. Families may stay on the far side of the courtyard.”

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  Families separate from us. Before long, a walkway forms between the women and families. We are like a line of soldiers waiting for inspection.

  Angelica squeezes my hand, and I return a small smile. She can’t wait to be chosen by the Emperor and swept off to the capital. Angelica is perfect for this mission as she will be exceptional in high society, and makes friends with everyone who meets her. Who would expect an angel like her to be death in disguise?

  Silence falls over the crowd. I look at the head of the line to see what hushed everyone.

  A middle-aged man enters my line of site. He smiles, accenting his rounded face and a pudgy nose. He strokes his silvery beard in thought as he speaks to the stern- looking, young man on his left. The other prince stands on his right. I do not doubt that they are the Royals as they are adorned with symbols of wealth and status, the Royal coat of arms embroidered on their coats.

  I squeeze Angelica’s hand tighter and she glances my direction.

  The Emperor and princes begin walking down the aisle. The prince on the Emperor’s right must be Prince Orion because he looks too old to be Kir, the youngest prince. However, it’s hard to tell as his top hat is pulled down and his head bowed towards the ground. The prince on the left must be Prince Ivan, the prince who will inherit the throne but who will have a weak reign unless the Mer- siovskys are taken care of. Prince Ivan was adopted, but

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  that is a complicated story once explained to me. Prince Ivan is respected by every rebel; he is our planet’s salva- tion as the last surviving, true-blooded Royal.

  Everything I think I know changes the moment Prince Orion turns his head up towards the line of women.

  Angelica whispers in my ear. “Isn’t that…He looks like your boarder, Dmitri.”

  I haven’t seen a photo of the Mersiovskys in several years. They rarely allow anyone to take photos of them. Last time I saw a picture of Orion, he certainly didn’t look like that.

  But there is no mistake Orion is Dmitri. Or rather, Dmitri is Orion.

  He meets my gaze for a moment and smiles, but I break his stare and turn my attention to Prince Ivan. I can’t pro- cess that now or I’ll make a scene. I must stay calm for Angelica’s sake.

  Prince Ivan studies every girl, taking his time with each one. He pauses when he comes to Rachel, the lovely daughter of the butcher, but continues. He halts in front of Angelica and me.

  Prince Dmi- Orion leans towards his brother and whispers something in his ear before walking away. I’m surprised he says nothing to Angelica
or me.

  We stand still as Prince Ivan gazes at us, his eyes tak- ing in every inch of us. I look straight at his face while Angelica blushes and, in perfect lady-like conduct, bash- fully glances to the ground. I do not hesitate to examine

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  him as he watches me. He continues, and when he reaches the end of the line, he doubles back. Again, he stops in front of us.

  I hold my breath. He picked Angelica!

  “What is your name?” Prince Ivan asks.

  When Angelica doesn’t answer, I realize the question was addressed to me.

  { 8 }

  Chapter 8

  Y LIPS GO NUMB. My fingers lose their grip on Angelica’s hand.

  “Natalia Alkaev,” I answer, careful to keep

  my voice level despite feeling anything but calm. “How old are you?” he asks.

  “Eighteen.”

  His face reveals his shock; he expected me to be older.

  Most believe I am twenty at least.

  But didn’t Dmitri say anything about me? How? Why?

  So many questions swim through my mind.

  “Would you like to come with us to the capital?” the Emperor asks, strolling up behind the prince.

  “Yes,” I answer my voice faint. I can’t say no. A rebel must get into the palace.

  Angelica glances over, but I do not move to meet her gaze. I wonder if she is panicking too. She must be chosen.

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  “I want to go, but I think my friend would be a better choice,” I say softly so that those closest can hear.

  The prince is taken back. “Why is that?”

  I glance to Angelica. “She’s…She’s much more the kind of lady that should be in the palace.”

  “I chose you, so I think you are the lady who should be the royal ward,” the prince says. His expression is as un- movable and resolute as a statue.

  I clasped my hands in front as a sign of respect. It’s traditional to fold the hands in front when addressing a superior, and behind with a person of equal or lesser sta- tus. “Of course, Your Majesty.”

  The Emperor nods and waits for Prince Ivan to speak.

  The prince cordially says, “Miss Alkaev, with your family’s approval you will come with us.”

  I should thank them and act pleased, but my tongue will not move.

  The crowd claps and whoops in my honor. The villag- ers have known me all my life. Many wish their daughters had been chosen, but they hold only a minor grudge against me. The other women are disappointed, a few even crying as they go to their parents, but I stay frozen in the same spot. It feels as if the frost has spread from the ground up my legs and holds me there.

  My family runs to me, my stepsisters enveloping me in a hug and my mother crying in joy. Even my stepfather appears delighted, but I wonder what he thinks since he knows of my involvement with the revolution.

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  The Emperor and Prince Ivan meet my family and ar- rangements begin. Angelica, yet to leave my side, whisks me away. The town leaders talk of planning a great meal and celebration, but I don’t feel ready for a party. I want to go home and hug the remnants of my old life. How could my life change so drastically over the course of two hours?

  “You can borrow one of my dresses,” Angelica says. She goes on to talk about letting the gown out to fit me and how I will need good clothes for my trip to the capitol. I fail to listen until she says “…since you’re leaving tomor- row.”

  “Tomorrow?” I gasp. “So soon?”

  “Yes, weren’t you listening to your parents and the Emperor talking? You’re pale,” she says, placing her gloved hand on my cold cheek.

  “I’m fine.” I’m anything but fine.

  My mother comes over. “The celebration will start at six. We need to go home and ensure we have you packed and ready to leave at dawn tomorrow.”

  “May I help?” Angelica asks. “Certainly,” my mother answers.

  I want to be alone, but I stand tall and hide my senti- ments. I can’t think about how I could die on this mission or the consequences if I fail.

  It is not like I leave forever. My dreams of a shop, of being independent, will simply have to wait. I might live through this ordeal and find a way to kill the Royals. My

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  thoughts are comforting, as they are something to hold onto when my world seems to be shifting from under my feet.

  But I promised I would never kill again. Not unless I had too. Now, I have little choice. And while I used to be killing vague and horrible rulers, now I’m ordered to kill Dmitri’s family...

  And him.

  { 9 }

  Chapter 9

  E FINISH PACKING HALF AN HOUR BEFORE THE

  PARTY the town’s hosting in my and the Roy- als’ honor. I want to go to bed and sleep off this

  crazy mistake, but instead, I must prepare for the party and the inevitable trip.

  My life fits inside a small valise and purse. I pack my tangible belongings, but it is impossible to imagine leav- ing everything I know behind.

  “I know it won’t be easy,” Angelica says.

  I jump because I did not hear her enter the room. She went home to prepare for the party several minutes be- fore.

  She glances around the room before looking at me. “It will be a change. I know you’d rather go off and open a shop in a year or two, but you’ve made this village so proud. To think, one of our own in the castle! I’ve heard rumors that Prince Ivan will ask you to dance with him

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  tonight. Don’t tell me the opportunities that the Emperor offers you are horrible. You’ll be presented with whatever you like, and dine at the Royal table. Doesn’t that excite you?” She tilts her head at a certain angle. I recognize the sign.

  “No one’s listening. The Royals haven’t put listening devices on me or anywhere in the house.” Her head tilt is a basic sign recognized by all fellow rebels. It’s an easy way to ask if it’s safe to speak without detection.

  Her rigid shoulders relax. “Thank the Universe! I hate talking about the Royals as if they are giving you the op- portunity of a lifetime. I’m sorry you got chosen. And, I swear I didn’t know Dmitri was a Mersiovsky. I should have researched him when he arrived, but I never sus- pected a Second…Well, no one expected this.”

  “Few see pictures of the Royals unless they live in the capital. It’s not your fault that none of the local newspa- pers have their photos. At least a rebel was chosen.”

  “Yes, but you always said you couldn’t kill someone aft- ” She stops and quickly adds, “I didn’t mean to make you think of…Please forget what I said.”

  “The Mersiovskys aren’t like us. They are monsters. They hurt our village with the massacre, so now they will suffer for their thoughtless choices. It does not matter what any of us think of Dmitri. He’s a Mersiovsky, and that means his future is set.”

  “I know why you want to complete this mission, but don’t chance your life to feel better about what you did.

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  Your father would forgive you if he were here. It was an accident that he died, Talia, and you shouldn’t make your- self suffer because of it. If you kill the Royals, you shouldn’t feel any guilt.”

  I ignore the sting of her words. “Yes, my father wanted to see the Royals gone and I need to finish this mission to see his wish completed. However, the stakes are clear. You don’t need to worry. I want the Royals gone too, and if this is what it takes, so be it.”

  Angelica begins to say something, but purses her lips. She hands me a blade the size of her palm instead. “Carry this on you as often as you can. It’s small enough the Roy- als will not see it as a threat. The Royals may want to take it, but insist you must keep it because it is a family heir- loom from your grandfather who fought in the Tyr Wars. There are five hidden compartments containing poison. You may use the poison on the Royals, or if discovered, you take it. The Ro
yals can never extract information from you.”

  I give the blade back to her hilt first. “I don’t want the poison near me.”

  She sighs. “It's ordered by the leaders. I know the memories it brings back, but you’ve been around poison before. Don’t be a delicate flower.”

  I hate when she calls me a flower and she knows it. She once told me I was like a flower: I could grow and blossom, or wither and die. This is one of those moments when I

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  wish she didn’t act like a big sister to me. We’re two years apart after all.

  I grit my teeth. “You know why I won’t go near poisons anymore. Besides, the poisons I make are far better than these.”

  “And I know your mother used to be the best at mixing poison for miles, and I know you inherited that gift. You can handle a little poison if necessary.” She presses the hilt in my hand. “If I could change this I would, but like I said, leaders’ orders.”

  She shows me the exact angle and thrust needed to give a death blow with the small blade. She teaches me other fighting techniques, but I am far from the assassin the rebels hoped to place in the palace.

  I’m an information processor. I sit at a desk scanning hundreds of files and analyzing the enemies next move. I’ve barely seen a blade before much less fought with one. “You don’t have the training I do, but the rebels will contact you with further information in a few months. I’ll take over parts of your job here and be an assistant to the supervisor. For now, your duty is to stay alive, keep sus- picion away from you, and act like a content, Royal ward,”