“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Yeah. I’ll come with you.”
I can’t hold back my smile. I’ll say it again: Roc is like a brother to me; I’m not sure what I would’ve done if he decided not to come. I’m glad we’ve made it through our serious talk without killing each other.
Roc says, “I’ll help you find your crush.” I spoke too soon. I leap off the bed, tackling him to the ground, pushing his face into the soft carpet. I’m laughing, he’s gasping, trying to take a breath. I release him and stand up, but I’m not done yet. As he turns over I place a foot atop his chest and raise my fists over my head, relishing my small victory.
* * *
We spend the rest of the day making plans. Now that the contract negotiations are finally over, I’ll request a holiday. My father will insist I go to one of the finest Sun Dweller resorts, one that has the brightest fake sunlight and truckloads of synthetic sand. But I’ll tell him I’m tired of those places, tired of the same old scene. It won’t surprise him—he already knows how I feel about the customs of the Sun Dwellers. If I request another trip to the Moon Realm—an unofficial, off-the-books trip—I think he’ll authorize it, as a sort of reward for all my work over the last few months. The first chance we have, Roc and I will ditch my security guards and go find the girl, and hopefully ourselves at the same time.
When we leave my apartment, I’m feeling good. I won’t go so far as to say I’m happy—I haven’t been happy in a long time—but I’m satisfied that I’m finally doing something real. Something I want to do. Cutting another one of my father’s ropes away, so to speak.
* * *
We’re at dinner, the three of us—me, my brother, Killen, and my father, his lordship. Dinner is funny in our palace. The table we sit at is about a mile long, with enough place settings to host the entire forty-third ghetto of the Star Realm (their population is only twenty-three). My father, his majesty (a president, not a king), sits at one end. My mother used to sit at the other head, but now her seat is vacant, like it has been for a long time. My brother and I sit across from each other, in the middle, so far from my father that we can barely see him.
When we were younger, my brother and I would get into all kinds of trouble at dinner, kicking under the table, slinging food across at each other, whispering nasty names so our parents couldn’t hear what we were saying. It was great fun, and we enjoyed the challenge of trying to get away with things while our parents shouted across the length of the table in a ridiculous attempt to have a conversation.
Now it isn’t worth the effort. Day by day, my brother is becoming more and more like a clone of my father. He even sits like him at the table, his back straight, his head held so high I don’t think he’ll be able to get his fork to his mouth without dropping his food. Killen is two years younger than me, but I know he thinks himself to be the older, wiser son. We haven’t had fun together in forever, since before my mother left.
“So I hear the contract negotiations were a success, brother,” Killen says. He’s trying to sound smart. In reality, he’s never so much as negotiated a turd from his butt.
I put on a fake voice and say, “Splendid, my dear brother. Simply splendid. We got an even better deal than last year and the people of the Tri-Realms seem to love us even more!” To my father it’ll sound like we’re having a mature, brotherly conversation. Killen knows better.
“That’s wonderful, Tristan,” he says. Under his breath, he mumbles, “Quit being a dumb arse.”
“I’d never take that title away from you, Brother,” I hiss. I feel his leg swing out as he tries to kick me. He misses, his toe thudding against the leg of my chair. His face turns red and he curses under his breath. It probably hurt, too, because he’s wearing these absurd shoes that look like white ballet slippers and provide zero protection for the foot. They’re just another Sun Dweller fashion trend that my brother has bought into. It’s a hard decision, but I’m sticking with my boots.
“Father,” I say loudly, maintaining my fake voice, “I’d like to take a holiday, now that the negotiations are complete.”
My brother is glaring at me, but I ignore him.
President Nailin shouts, “Of course! Shall I have Lima book a few weeks at the Sandy Oasis like last year?”
Shocking how predictable my father is.
I pretend to consider it. “Hmm, maybe…” I say. “But I’m also considering doing something a little different…something a bit more exotic.”
“What did you have in mind?”
I glance at my brother. His head is cocked to the side. It makes him look even younger than he is.
“I’d like to travel inter-Realm, to the Moon Realm. I think it’ll be a good way to show the Moon Dwellers that we appreciate their support. You know, by having a holiday there, spending some Nailins at their shops.”
“Absolutely not,” my father says.
I really thought he’d go for it, that my lie was a good one, believable, sensible. So I don’t have a backup plan. Killen is snickering, which doesn’t help.
“Why not?” I ask, really wanting to know what has prompted my father’s quick and decisive rejection.
“It’s just not proper,” he says simply.
I’ve never hated him more than I hate him now. It’s the way he says it more than his words. As though such a trip would be like me sleeping with the rats—no, worse, with the cockroaches. He wants me to be all smiles and winks when I’m in the other Realms renegotiating our so-called contracts, and yet I can’t even take a simple holiday there?
Killen’s nodding, wagging his head up and down like a dog. “It wouldn’t be proper, Brother,” he parrots. Now I kick. My aim is true, connecting solidly with my brother’s shinbone. To his credit, he doesn’t cry out, although I know it hurts, can see it all over his face. He winces and holds his breath, trying to stifle a groan of pain.
“You’re right, Father, Brother. How silly of me. Have Lima book my usual.” I’ve lost my appetite. Before standing up I take another shot at Killen under the table, and from the shade of purple his face turns, I know I’ve hit the same spot. It’s the only thing satisfying about the meal.
Chapter Seven
Adele
“What do you know of my father?” I say. It comes out as a croak, because I stop breathing when my heart rises into my throat. I gulp the words back down, trying to clear a passage. I take a deep breath.
“Only that he’s probably alive,” Tawni says.
I don’t think the words will come out right, so I hope she’ll anticipate my next question.
“How much of our conversation did you hear?” Tawni asks.
Damn. I’m hoping for answers, not questions. I’ll have to speak. I try a single word: “Enough.” It comes out better this time, but still isn’t my natural timbre.
“Look,” Tawni says, “I’m sorry I didn’t open up to you before, but we’d only just met. The things I know are dangerous…”
She glances left and right, like the walls might have ears. She’s making me nervous. Although the snippets I’d heard of Tawni and Cole’s whispered conversation intrigue me—particularly the stuff about Tristan—I’m not interested in that now. I only care about one thing.
“It’s okay. Just tell me about my dad.”
Tawni takes a deep breath. She looks stressed, her brow furrowed and eyes narrowed and intense, like something heavy is weighing on her. She says, “As you probably gathered, my parents are traitors. They live amongst the Moon Dwellers, but work for the Sun Dwellers. They’re spies for the president. I heard them talking one night. They thought I was out with my friends, but I’d returned early with a stomachache. They spoke about how Tristan is different from his father, how he cares about the people from the Lower Realms, even if he enjoys the comforts of the Sun Realm.”
Her words are interesting, and typically I’d be hanging on every single one, but I’m still missing the point. “What does that have to do with my father?�
�� I blurt out.
Tawni stops abruptly, her eyebrows rising. “Sorry. Your father first—then the other stuff.”
She sits on the bed and motions for me to join her. I don’t feel like sitting; I’m too wired to do anything but pace around the room, but I don’t want to argue as I’m afraid it’ll delay the conversation further. I sit next to her, tapping my toe rapidly on the stone floor.
Tawni looks at me with sincere blue eyes and says, “My parents were the ones who recommended that your parents be taken away.”
It wouldn’t sting any more if she’d slapped me across the face. My parents dragged away in the middle of the night, out through the kicked-down door; Enforcers swarming through our home, smashing picture frames and tables and chairs and anything they could get their hands on; me, fighting like an animal to defend my family, who were eventually wrenched away anyway. The most disturbing image from that night: my father’s eyes, intense and scared, not fearful for his own life, but for mine and Elsey’s.
All because of Tawni’s parents. I don’t think kids should be judged by what their stupid parents do. Tawni’s words from before suddenly make sense.
I want to walk away from her, to leave her and her evil family behind forever, but I stay. First, because I owe her for sitting down and talking to me in the first place, in the Yard; for not walking away when I was rude and acting like a nutter. Second, because she still hasn’t told me everything she knows about my father—and I have to know. And third, because I want to believe in her words about kids having the potential to be different than their parents. I want to believe it for Tristan’s sake. Because if he isn’t different than his father, then all my thoughts and feelings over the last day have been fake, pure fantasy.
As I try to make sense of my thoughts, of my feelings, I realize Tawni’s crying. Her earlier strength gives way, her body crumples, she tucks her face into her hands. I know she’s been putting on a front—an attempt to be strong, to chase away her sadness with a brave face. She thinks I’m going to leave. She doesn’t know I have three reasons to stay.
I feel warmth in my bones, welling up from beneath my feet, until it reaches the top of my head. The warmth is compassion for Tawni. She didn’t ask for her parents to be traitors. And from what I understand, their treachery caused her to run from them, to leave home all alone, and to eventually be caught and brought to the Pen. No, she isn’t like her parents at all.
The sudden compassion I feel reminds me of my mother. I always think I’m more like my dad, but now I wonder if there isn’t a lot more of my mom in me than I realized. I hope so. My mom is a special soul.
Instinctively, I put my arm around Tawni and pull her close. Her eyes flick open for a moment, red and wet, and then reclose as she buries her head in the nook between my shoulder and chest. “I’m so sorry, Adele,” she moans.
I say nothing—there’s nothing to say. I just hold her while sobs shake her body. I rub her back, smooth her hair—even kiss her forehead. Those were the things my mother used to do to me when I was scared—usually when still stuck in the throes of a waking nightmare about drowning, my greatest fear. Slowly, Tawni’s body stops shaking and her muffled sobs relent. Her choked breaths deepen and grow consistent. For a moment I think she might’ve fallen asleep.
But then she says, “Why are you forgiving me?”
I haven’t said a word to her, certainly haven’t uttered the words I forgive you, but I guess my actions speak louder. But I haven’t forgiven her, not really, because there’s no need.
“You haven’t done anything wrong,” I say.
Her puffy eyes look into mine as she sits up straight again. “Thank you,” she says.
“My father?” I say.
Her words come out in a rush, without pause to breathe. “He’s been taken to a camp set up for traitors—my parents called it Camp Blood and Stone—where the prisoners are made to work in some of the most dangerous mines in the Moon Realm. I understand it’s somewhere in one of the Northern subchapters; my parents mentioned subchapter twenty-six, I think.”
“What about my mother?” I say, realizing Tawni hasn’t mentioned her. She was very specific: Your father is alive.
“I don’t know,” Tawni says, “they only mentioned your dad.”
“How did you know they were talking about my dad?” My questions are coming rapidly now, as all of the investigative skills that my father taught me come back.
“They said that the traitors they’d turned over to the authorities had two daughters, Adele and Elsey. Your name isn’t that common, so when I heard it and then later you told us about your parents, I made the connection.” Tawni crinkles her nose, like she knows what my next question will be and is dreading it. But I have to ask it.
“Why didn’t you tell me last night when you realized?” I ask.
“I don’t know. I should have. We’d just met and I usually talk to Cole about stuff before I do anything. He’s my best friend. Has been for a long time.”
I’m not mad at her. She was in a tough position, not knowing how I would react when she told me, and yet she told me anyway. She could’ve just kept it to herself, told me to go stuff it when I eavesdropped on her, but she didn’t. She did the right thing. She’s not like her parents.
“What about the other stuff?” I ask.
“You mean about Tristan?” Tawni says, understanding immediately what I mean.
I nod.
Tawni says, “We should include Cole in the conversation.”
My heart sinks. Cole. For a moment I’ve forgotten about him. He looked so angry at me. I’ve just met the guy, so I shouldn’t care what he thinks about me, but to my surprise, I do. Probably because of what he did for me yesterday during the riot. Or perhaps because he’s Tawni’s best friend, and she seems like a good person, so that must mean he is, too. Or it might just be because I actually like him. Certainly his sarcasm works well with me.
“Will he still be pissed off at me?” I ask, frowning.
Tawni laughs. “Don’t worry about him. Sometimes he has a bit of a temper, but he makes up for it by forgiving and forgetting faster than anyone I know.” Wiping the tears from her cheeks, Tawni rises, offering her hand to help me up. I take it.
I allow her to pull me down the hall. Already some of the juveniles are leaving the cafeteria, looking unsatisfied by their breakfasts, heading outside for another long, boring day spent lounging in the Yard.
When we enter the crowded eatery, I notice Cole right away, sitting alone in the corner. Thankfully, he’s facing away, so he doesn’t stare at us as we approach. When Tawni slides onto the bench across from him and he sees her tearstained face, he nearly knocks over the table as he leaps to his feet.
“What happened? Are you okay?” he says. His eyes flit back and forth between Tawni and me, one minute showing concern for his friend and the other angry and glaring, like how he’d looked at me earlier.
“I’m fine. Please calm down, Cole,” Tawni says, reaching across the table to rest a comforting hand on his shoulder. At first his body stiffens at her touch, but then he relaxes and melts back into his seat. For a second I’m jealous of the kind of relationship they have. It’s a true friendship in every sense of the word. I’ve never had that kind of friendship—probably never will. There isn’t room for it in my world.
I tense up, waiting for the next spout of anger from Cole. It doesn’t come.
“I’m sorry,” Cole says.
Never would I have expected those to be his next words. To be honest, I don’t understand.
“What for?” I say.
The corners of Cole’s mouth turn up slightly, a complete one-eighty from his tense expression a moment earlier. The steely twinkle I saw in his eyes the day before is back. “For my temper,” he says. “Tawni tries to help me with it, but it usually gets the better of me. Sneaking around and spying on us wasn’t right, but my reaction was even worse. I should’ve let you explain.”
“Thanks,” I say. Ta
wni’s crying coupled with Cole’s quick forgiveness makes me feel even worse about what I’ve done. “And I’m sorry for eavesdropping. I won’t do it again.”
Cole dismisses me with a wave of his hand. “Even,” he says. The way he says it makes me believe my transgression is like a distant memory to him, soon to be forgotten entirely. Tawni wasn’t kidding about him.
“Can I get you something to eat?” she says.
I nod, sliding out of the booth to let her past. “Anything not green, not slimy, and not still moving,” I say wryly.
Cole chuckles. “Good luck with that,” he says.
Tawni marches off, her hands fisted and her head firm, as if she’s on a mission. Meeting my criteria will be a mission, I think.
When Tawni is gone, Cole says, “How are you feeling?”
“Feeling?” I say absently, trying to decide how to respond. In truth, I have no idea how I’m feeling. In the last twenty-four hours a lot has changed in my life. Two new friends, the strange pain I felt when I saw the president’s eldest son, my dad being alive: it’s all too much to take in, to process. I mean, I’m happy—no, make that extremely happy, ecstatic, over the moon—that my dad might be okay, but it feels weird, too. For one thing I don’t know anything about my mom’s whereabouts. Also, for the last six months I’ve been trying to come to terms with the possibility that my parents are dead, executed as traitors. Now there’s hope that at least one of them is alive…I dunno, it just feels weird. Then again, I’m not sure it really matters that he’s alive. It’s not like I will ever get to see him again. And I’m sure that the conditions for him are awful to the point of complete misery. So that isn’t much to live for either.
I almost shout at myself aloud. Thankfully, I keep it inside, opting to scream in my mind: No, no, no! You’re better than that, better than a quitter! Dad would be ashamed by such thoughts! I know then what I have to do: rescue my father and find out whether my mother is still alive. Oh, and also take a detour to find my sister, too, if I have time. Should be easy, simple, no problemo! Or impossible. It’s definitely one or the other.
What Tomorrow May Bring Page 33