by Bella James
* * *
LIVY SPENT ONE TOO-SHORT, too cruelly perfect night with Arash, the two of them holding on to each other and talking, each making believe they trusted there would be a future.
In the morning, the Plutarch's kidnapped fiancé, dressed in rags, her hair matted, her aspect delirious, was taken to Arcadia to be miraculously found.
Instantly Olivia Bane begged her rescuers to send a message to her husband-to-be: Tell him I'm back. Tell him we can't be safe until we're wed. Tell him this time we marry in Arcadia, not my hometown. It will be safer. For him.
I could not bear to put him in danger again.
Mostly, though, she just needed him to know she was alive. She was mostly well. She was looking forward to being reunited.
IT WAS BELIEVED the Plutarch would be so very relieved.
CHAPTER 10
A RCADIA
JULIA WOKE IN A PANIC.
From somewhere in the Plutarch's household, morning was shattering as the Centurion marched, staves drumming, shouting orders. From beyond the confines of her luxurious prison, the bedroom she'd been given with every luxury except freedom, Julia could hear the sounds of someone being beaten, screaming as bones cracked.
Servants, she thought. In the ruler's household they suffered every terrible whim. A crash came from somewhere in the house, someone screaming in agony, and the scream broken off unexpectedly.
Someone had just been killed. She was certain of it. Julia was on her feet in the middle of the room with no idea how she'd gotten there.
For the moment, they'd forgotten her. Too much else going on, too many people shouting. No way of knowing what had happened, only that the supreme leader was in a rage.
She had to get out before anyone remembered she was there. Only she couldn't move. The fear was so great, none of her limbs wanted to obey. If she just huddled with her arms wrapped round herself, surely –
She'd be found and probably killed.
Her thoughts started to race. What could have put the Plutarch into such a rage? But that was easy. Rebels. Or Olivia Bane. And either spelled the end for Julia. If rebels were the cause of the commotion, her connection could be found out. If it were Livy, then Julia would be one intended bride too many.
Swallowing, still too scared to move, she turned to an old trick of her brother's. Taking her lip between her teeth, she bit down hard enough to draw blood.
The world rocked around her briefly. Her mouth tasted like hot salt. But she could move again. She slept in clothes, always waiting for something to happen, and now she wore black tights, a long tunic over a tight pullover shirt of rebel cotton. She'd stashed a bag, a small one, with water and bread, replaced it from her meals every few days. She had shoes.
And she had an exit. Days earlier she'd found the window, forgotten by the people who had locked her into this room. It opened into a gully of sorts than ran directly alongside the house, and meant her room was partly underground. Julia didn't care. It would be easier to climb than drop. And the window was unlocked, unbarred, because the bars were put on from the inside, hastily erected by guards, and the window near her armoire was small and hidden behind a standing mirror of surprising size and ugliness.
No one had checked.
Except Julia, who'd been trapped in the room since the trip to the Oracle's when the ruler was told his intended was still alive. Julia was now held. If he needed her, if Livy was actually dead, he'd marry Julia after a suitable period of mourning. If he needed her gone, because the Oracle was right and Livy lived, he'd have her executed, easily as he might swat a grain fly. It would never occur to him to buy her loyalty by sparing her life.
So she'd investigated every nook and cranny the room had to offer, and found the window behind the mirror.
The sounds weren't coming any closer. Not yet. Julia pulled the bag out from under the bed, pulled on her tunic, crept to the window. It opened silently, with a latch to keep it open if she wanted. Julia was willing to fight her way through the window with the glass banging down against her back, then hips, then legs, until she had slid all the way out, lowering herself onto her hands in the gravel and mud, sliding a little which was fine, it allowed her to leave her toes in the window until the very last instant. It closed with a barely perceptible sound.
She hadn't moved the mirror.
The window was closed behind her.
She took a breath, preparing to run, and heard the Centurions as they burst into her room.
Julia ducked down even farther below window level, huddling there, waiting. She was partially hidden by bushes, and so close against the wall of her room she doubted anyone could look down and see her.
She held her breath just the same.
"Shite!" shouted one of the guards. "The room can't be empty."
"What the hell has happened?" one of the guards demanded and the other said something Julia couldn't make out.
She could guess, though. The Plutarch had sent his army to every corner of the land searching for the new Oracle. If they'd found her – if she'd told them about Livy – if they'd told him about Julia –
His rage was utterly predictable.
Something shattered on the other side of the wall and Julia held very still, trying to make her wild heartbeat slow.
Inside her room, the sounds of search as furniture was ripped up and away, tumbling and breaking.
"The windows are sealed!" one of the guards shouted.
Julia's heart nearly stopped. She squeezed her eyes shut, as if that would stop them looking at the windows.
A voice from somewhere farther inside shouted. There was the sound of the Centurion clattering through her room. Followed by silence.
Someone thought they'd found something. Whoever it was, Julia breathed a breath of thanks to them.
She crouched lower in the gully, pulled more blown brush over her, and waited until the patrols were sent out in force, searching for her.
NOW A STITCH LIVED in her side. The Plutarch's home, his retreat when he needed to get free of the capital – when he was too close to killing everyone and everything, she thought, when he was too close to a rage that would leave no one wondering who and what he was – was in the countryside, not more than 30 miles from Arcadia but surrounded by acres and acres, easily defended, and far from any kind of help.
Even in Arcadia there were rebel waystations. It was getting to one without getting caught that would be nearly impossible.
Julia paused to drink from her rapidly emptying flask, and ate another piece of stale bread. If she'd had breakfast before all hell broke loose, she'd have more energy to run on. But if she'd had breakfast right before the commotion, they would have remembered her, almost certainly.
The bread wasn't enough but she didn't want to take any more time or eat any more of what she had.
Julia ran again.
MIDMORNING she was free of the Plutarch's land. There were walls, and cameras, and razor wire, but there were delivery exits and open gates where those searching had gone through, somehow convinced they were behind their fugitive rather than in front of her.
The pain from running lived inside her.
Julia ran.
BEFORE HE LEFT, her brother had forced her to commit to memory every one of the rebel waystations that could transport a runner to the Void and safety. He'd used mnemonic tricks, letting her name the stations for favorite foods and favorite songs and he drilled her until sometimes she cried and until sometimes she answered all of them. All 70. In order.
Then he'd started on the landmarks near the stations. Julia had wailed at the idea and he'd shouted at her until she cried, then started again, naming the 70 waystations before beginning, relentlessly, to make her memorize the landmarks.
They were arranged in concentric circles, spilling free of the capitol building and the capital city. Breathing hard, standing in the shade and shelter of a weeping willow along the bank of a sluggish tributary to some river, she made herself slow and think, remembe
ring her brother's voice, Paul slowly reciting, Julia answering back.
The one closest to the Plutarch's holdings was alliterative.
The foolish farmer feeding folly.
She closed her eyes. The direction had been west of the Plutarch's household. She remembered because -- ?
Because when reading she read left to right and E came before F. But this memory trick was all F's and in reverse Alphabetical order. Because F came before E. Because the waystation was to the west, not the east. It came first if she looked at a map.
Julia opened her eyes.
The foolish farmer feeding folly.
That wasn't all of it. She rubbed her forehead.
The foolish farmer.
They'd be out this way before too much longer. They'd expand the search when they didn't find her close.
The foolish farmer feeding folly –
Forgot.
She opened her eyes again. Forgot the outbuilding. The one behind the barn. The one built to hold farming tools. So ubiquitous to be invisible. So obvious on a farm no one would question the number of duplicates in the outbuilding.
Julia looked up. For as far as she could see past the tree, there was no sign of the guards. It took her only a moment to run across the clearing to the barn and from the barn of the farmer to the farthest forgotten outbuilding, the one with the farm tools inside and the hidden trap door that led to a basement, no big thing, a basement, warmer to keep goods in during winter, cooler for summer, and no one much expected the trap door in the basement.
She'd find her way to the rebels.
She wouldn't leave once she got there
Just before she entered the building a bright hummingbird darted to her. The message was short, blunt: P taking more taxes. Pleasure palaces at capacity. Planning something. Missing Ones there. Wedding imminent. He knows OB is alive. Has her sister.
And the last word, the one she'd already spent the day obeying without knowing she did so:
RUN.
Julia stepped into the outbuilding, searched out the first trap door and raised it.
The Centurion's spear stopped a bare half-inch from her face.
DEAD. I'm dead. I'm dead.
The Centurion came up out of the basement, stalking up the stairs with her spear in Julia's face.
Julia closed her eyes, backed away until she hit the wall of the tiny outbuilding, and slid down it.
Make it quick.
The Centurion was speaking. It was enough to invite Julia's curiosity. She opened her eyes and focused on the brass-blond woman.
"You are Julia?"
She barely managed the breath to respond. She tried to steel herself.
The Centurion lowered her weapon and extended her hand. Julia only stared at it, confused and terrified.
"My name is Selene. I bring greetings from your brother Paul, and from Arash Walker, and from Olivia Bane."
"WHY COME LOOKING FOR ME?" Julia asked.
Only 15 minutes had passed and she'd spent it in the outbuilding, eating fruit, meat and fresh water the guard had brought her.
"Your brother requested it. Livy did as well. She's back in Arcadia now."
"She's what?" Julia demanded. Her head swam in confusion. Maybe she'd only imagined the Centurion was on her side? But there was food, water, a message from her brother.
"Breathe," Selene said, sounding at ease. "There's more. I'm taking you back into the city. You'll be named a traitor. Don't panic, girl, what do I have to do to convince you? I'm loyal to Olivia Bane."
Julia looked at her, doubtful, still ready to run.
Selene considered, then said, "This, then. I'm loyal to the Bane name. Julia."
Julia wanted to back away. It seemed like too much. "That's what the Oracle said. She called me by the name Bane. But that’s impossible! I’m not a Bane.”
Selene looked deceptively lazy. "They're seldom wrong. Didn't the most recent tell the Plutarch his bride had been found?" She toyed with the knife in her belt.
"How could you possibly know that? Even the rebels don’t know. I haven’t sent any messages… Oh, rot and frost, you didn't."
Selene said mildly, "Arcadia needed a new seer. Maybe we just made it easier for them to find one. And with such helpful information."
“You created a fake seer,” Julia said flatly.
“She’s never wrong,” Selene said with a predatory smile.
Julia sat back, considering. “So your fake Oracle tells the Plutarch his bride has been found. Then you send me in as a traitor. But Malvin will have me killed!"
"He'll try," Selene said. "You swore loyalty to the rebellion, Julia. In an actual fight, you'd have no such reassurances. This way I can promise you, the might of the rebellion will circle round you and Olivia Bane, waiting for the signal that will launch the revolution."
Julia swallowed. She'd faced death in reality back when she convinced Livy and Simon to train together. And when she'd been named the replacement bride. Even if she'd had no hand in that, she'd still been in danger. When she ran, she signed her own death warrant, a moot point because they'd been coming to kill her anyway.
If she resisted now, she'd be a coward, putting everyone else at risk. If Selene went back to the Centurion and announced she'd failed to find Julia, they wouldn't stop searching, and whoever found her would kill her, no conversation, no questions, no bread and water.
No chance.
"We should go," she said, scrambling to her feet.
Selene, crouching, the spear balanced across her knees, said, "Where are we going?"
Julia drew in a breath. "I believe you are taking me to the capital."
Selene gave her a tight smile and then, unexpectedly, she rose to her feet smoothly and reached out one hand and tapped the spot on Julia's chest where the hummingbird symbol would go.
For the first time, Julia truly believed. Into that short silence she said, "There's one more thing."
Selene frowned, clearly impatient now they were going. She didn't speak, just waited.
"The Plutarch has demanded new taxes again. He's punishing the villages and lands until the rebels are turned over to the leadership. The pleasure palaces are overflowing and there's talk that some of the older pleasure workers are being killed, or deemed untouchable and dumped, or simply abandoned in the Void."
Selene showed no emotion. "There are abuses of power everywhere. I thought you understood the reasons behind the revolution."
The patronizing attitude made Julia bite her lip before responding hotly. Instead, she brought her emotions under control and said, "You don't understand. This matters because Livy needs to know."
"Why? Why this, especially?"
Julia let out a shaking breath. "Because the Plutarch has her sister Pippa."
Selene considered. "How do you know that?"
"It's what I was trained in. I was chosen Alpha, but once I wasn't the Chosen Bride, I got to take my pick of assignments. If I wanted to work, of course," she said quickly. "Alphas can just – exist."
Selene nodded impatiently, apparently no more surprised by that abuse of power than of any other the aristocracy exhibited.
"I chose communications. If I wasn't going to marry the Plutarch, maybe working in communications would be the best place for me until the rebels were ready to act."
Selene considered. "There may be a better place for you than as branded traitor."
Julia let out a long breath.
"The revolution will come together under the Bane name. We already have Livy. And it never hurts to have more information." She made up her mind. "Give me your wrist."
"What?"
Impatient again, the Centurion gestured. "I'm going to modify your ID chip. Don't look so surprised – it's the Centurion who learned how to do it first to track the most important – personages."
"Prisoners."
Selene shrugged. "I'll make you into someone else. And we'll slide you back into Arcadia." Her bright eyes considered Julia. "From th
ere, we'll find out what you can tell us." She searched Julia's face. "And if you're lying to me – "
"You'll kill me," Julia interrupted. "Got it. Let's get on with it."
She tried not to shudder when the Centurion pulled out her knife.
CHAPTER 11
C urled into a ball in the white, starched hospital bed, Olivia Bane trembled in fear. First she'd been kidnapped, then she'd been saved by a spear-carrying Centurion, then a flank of Centurions, then brought to a hospital where they treated her for dehydration and malnutrition and hallucinations. None of the doctors wanted to admit she seemed healthier than many of the members of their own community. Her skin tone was good, her body hydrated, and she seemed fit. There were strange marks on her left arm, where something tight had been fastened, but whatever it was, it was gone now.
The ramblings of speech were at least something they could point to! They tested her mental capacity time and again until Livy was almost tired enough of the tests to pretend to get well.
Only then the Centurions came to question her. So she trembled and wept, exhausted from her ordeal at the hands of the rebels. Now she faced two Centurions, one male, one female, intent on questioning her.
It was almost too much.
So she trembled, even as she was grateful the metal sleeve was off, no matter the consequences. .
"Olivia Bane."
That was the male. It was easier to pretend with him. Livy really was afraid of the Centurions. So much was at stake now.
She managed a quavering, "Yes?"
"No one means you any harm," boomed the man. The very volume of his voice gave lie to his statement. He was enormous, muscled and deeply tanned, his black hair and beard menacing. If she were back in the fields in Pastoreum, he'd be one of the guards she tried to avoid, one she waited impatiently to see rotate out. "You may speak freely. You have the Plutarch's ear."
Livy plucked at the nubby blankets that covered her despite the summer heat outside the hospital. "I've already sent a message." Abruptly she dropped the blankets and sat up in bed, reaching for the Centurion with both hands. He did not step back. Neither did Selene. "We have to wed. The rebels are planning something! We have to wed soon and we have to do it in Arcadia! It won't be safe in Pastoreum. We're expected there because of my family. Please! You have to tell him! Tell him I have to know he's safe!"