I jerk my arm away. "Stop."
"You're sweating."
"I was nervous."
"We don't want sweat to get on that lovely dinner dress of yours, do we?" she says. "Pod temp down ten notches."
The hover-pod system responds, and cool air wafts from the vents, flowing over me. "It does feel good," I admit.
"Wonderful. Now we have less than a hour to get you ready for the dinner. Let's get you home and into that gorgeous dress."
The Council Dinner usually takes place at the Immortal Palace, the building where previous Magnates and their families used to live, decades ago, before our current house was built. The Immortal Palace is my favorite building in the city, with its glistening white stonework and spindly columns and hexagonal windows and triple doors. It's a magnificent example of Charvan Era architecture. My mother loves it too, but my father calls it old-fashioned and fussy. Still, it boasts the grandest dining halls in the capitol, so most of the top-tier events take place there.
When the hoverpod halts before the Immortal Palace, I'm cool and calm. This is my element—navigating Ceannan society, simpering at the feedrunners and their vid drones, and mocking the Council members in conversation, so subtly they don't realize I'm doing it.
As I step out of the pod, night air wafts across my exposed back, sifting between the ruby strands like fingers against my skin. I wish Rak could see me in this dress.
A dozen drones swoop toward me, lights blinking, and I flash them a smile. What if Rak is watching one of these newsfeeds, wherever he is? I broaden my smile and blow a kiss at the drones.
I glide up the shining pathway, light streaming from the doors and flashing from vid lenses all around me. This is me, showing Emsalis and Ceanna and the world that I am not broken. I am beautiful, I am whole, I am better. Stronger. This, more than anything I said at the conference, is my truth.
And then a tall figure slips to my side. A voice, sinuous as a snake. "You look stunning."
My head whips toward the voice. "Gareth! What are you doing?"
"Didn't your father tell you? He asked me to accompany you this evening."
"You mean you volunteered."
He flashes perfect white teeth. "I didn't want you to be alone."
"Alone? There are dozens of people here, Gareth. You're the only one I was hoping not to see."
He lifts his chin, looking at me out of the corner of an amber eye as we approach the entrance. "It's done, Zil. Don't fight it. You'll only make things worse."
Is that a veiled threat passed on from my father, or is it directly from Gareth?
"You don't scare me, and neither does my father." Not exactly true, but he doesn't need to know it.
"Your problem is not knowing when to back down."
"Some would call that an asset." Drones approach me again and I wave them away angrily.
Gareth's fingers grip my arm just above the elbow. "Watch it," he says. "Remember to smile. Your father is counting on you to perform well tonight."
"Is that why you're here? To ensure a good performance from me?"
Ridley's voice floats up from somewhere behind me. "Miss Zilara, do you need me to remove anyone from your presence?"
Gareth's grip tightens again. Definitely a warning. As much as I appreciate Ridley's offer, it would be foolish to have her lay hands on a Councilwoman's son. Especially now, with all that's stake.
Besides, I can handle this boy myself. "Thank you, Ridley, but that won't be necessary." I lay my fingers over his and smile into his face. "We're fine here."
His hold relaxes a bit. Right before we pass through the doors, I twist his little finger viciously, and he gasps, jerking away from me.
"Touch me, again, bastard," I whisper, "and I'll show you the kind of pain you deserve. I'll walk beside you and smile tonight, but you will never fool me again."
His smile drips with venom. "Whatever you say."
We glide past the guards at the door, and they nod to us—but the Palace security system beeps audibly and an orange light flashes when I move through the entrance.
"Excuse me, Miss Remay," says one of the guards. "Your skull-port doesn't seem to be transmitting the passcode."
"My re-install didn't take," I say smoothly. "And I haven't had time to get it checked."
"Of course. We'll do a quick bio-scan then." The guard whips a holo-screen from his own port and scans my eye and fingerprint. Gareth fidgets at my side till it's done.
"What was that about?" he hisses, taking my arm again as we continue on toward the dining hall.
"Nothing that concerns you." I refuse to look at him.
A pause. "You didn't get the re-install."
Curse his acuity. "I wasn't ready."
"You're hiding the real reason, Zil. You may as well tell me now—you know I'll figure it out."
"You can try." I smile and wave at a pair of ambassadors.
It's foolish to challenge him. Once baited, Gareth is like a bulldog; he'll sink his teeth into flesh and never let go. But I can't tell him the truth, and I can't resist letting him feel that he's not privy to all my secrets anymore.
I used to tell him everything. And he would listen with a careless smile on his beautiful face, and then change the subject to himself.
Gareth pulls back from me suddenly. "Are you ill?"
"No."
"You feel very warm, like you have a fever."
I sigh and mentally adjust my energies. "I'm not ill." Before he can question me further, I walk toward Councilwoman Ellery, one of my favorite council members. She's a massive woman, but she wears her weight gracefully, as if it is armor purposely assumed to give her a physical size proportionate to her authority. Tonight she is draped in green and gold, her broad chest boasting a waterfall of enviable jewels and her hair clustering in generous curls around her head.
"Zilara, love," she says, drawing me in for a light hug that smells of lavender and heavy florals. "What a delight to see you here, and safe."
"It's a delight for me to be here," I say. "They certainly don't have dinner parties like this in Emsalis. At least, none that I was able to attend."
"Of course, yes," she says, looking into my eyes. "Your report to the council was very interesting, and I appreciated your comments afterward."
My comments in defiance of my father. "Thank you."
"You are young," she says. "You have the spirit of change and an indomitable sense of justice. I've seen it in you, even before all this. But a wise woman knows when to wait, and when to speak."
"Yes, I'm still learning that part." I look down at my hands.
"The time to speak will come," she says. "And when it does, you will find that other ears besides mine are open."
"Thank you."
She looks past me, and her eyes ice over. "Mr. Vandelor."
"Councilwoman." Gareth bows slightly.
"Such pretty manners," says Ellery, but her lip curls disdainfully and I almost giggle. She sees straight through his graceful charm to the scheming heart inside.
A hostess approaches us. "If you would like, I can guide you to your seats," she says, dimpling. It's a hint that dinner is about to begin.
We're at my father's table, of course—not directly beside him, but a few seats down. My mother sits at his side, a beautiful dark-skinned doll, smiling and making small talk and managing to look less fragile than usual. Intermingled with the Council members and their families are some of my father's top generals, including General Binney, who raises his glass to me from the next table.
Course after course of delicate, delicious food passes before me. Like my mother, I eat and smile and converse, not dipping too deeply into the political chatter that ripples around the table. After the dessert course, the dance floor opens and a few couples sway and step elegantly to the soft music.
Gareth has been talking to everyone but me—a blessing, but also a bore. At last he turns and says, "Would you like to dance?"
Anything is better than sittin
g at this table, listening to the nonsense spewing from the mouths of these sharp-eyed politicians. "Yes."
Whatever his faults may be, Gareth dances well. He sweeps me into the music, catching and releasing my hands and my waist with perfect timing. Can Rak dance? I imagine him taking Gareth's place, his lean body moving with the music. He might not be as graceful as my ex, but he would make up for it with passion.
"You're distracted," says Gareth.
"Sorry." Why did I apologize? "Actually, I'm not sorry at all."
"Rude," he breathes, spinning me around and stopping my momentum with a hand at my back. I flinch at the touch of his fingers on my bare skin, and he smiles, letting his nails graze me as we whirl into the next move. A minute later, his hand brushes my breast, so quickly that anyone else would have thought it was an accident.
I pull free. "I'm done." I walk away, swerving through the crowd of dancers and the throng of tables, heading for the edge of the dining hall where bodyguards in dark suits stand respectfully along the walls.
Nodding to Tram and Ridley, I walk out of the dining room to the corridor, where it's quieter and cooler. I lean against the wall, taking long breaths.
A few nights ago I was in the wilderness of Emsalis, watching my rebel suffer the worst pain of his life at the hands of his own family. He has lost everything—his tribe, his faction, his mother and sister—and what am I doing to help him get through it? Eating seven-course meals and dancing with my serpent of an ex-boyfriend.
As if he could hear my thoughts, General Binney comes out of the dining room into the hallway and stands beside me without speaking for a moment.
"Are you all right?" he says at last.
I sigh, angling my eyes up at the ceiling to keep the tears from spilling over.
"I have good news for you. I think you could use some right now."
"What is it?"
He hands me a slip of paper. Actual paper. There's an address written on it.
My heart leaps. "The safe house?"
"Yes."
"Should I burn this, or eat it, to hide the evidence?" I smile at him, and he smiles back.
"No need for such drastic measures. But be careful whom you tell, until you're ready for everyone to know. And don't let any of the newsfeed vultures follow you."
He bows and moves away, disappearing into the dining room and the throng of guests.
Rak. I'm going to see Rak.
I'm going to see him right now.
I beckon to my guards, and they approach. "Tram, call the pod, please. I have somewhere to go. Have it come to that little side entrance in the east wing."
Tram's eyes glaze briefly as he taps into his skull-port's neural commands. Ridley clears her throat. "The dinner isn't over, Miss Zilara. There's still your father's speech, and—"
"It's over for me. Let's go before anyone tries to stop me." I'm about to hurry down the hallway to the exit when I hear Gareth's voice.
"Trying to sneak away early?"
"I'm tired." I yawn widely. "Good night. Thank you for the pleasure of your company." My voice drips with sarcasm.
"The pleasure is all mine. You have been such a delight this evening, Miss Remay." He bows dramatically. "But before you leave, allow me to return something of yours." He slides a ring from his little finger. A ring of thick, twisted silver strands, with a single dark jewel.
My breath catches. It's my birthstone ring, the one I gave him while we were together. It was meant to be a promise and a reminder of my affection. After we broke up, he didn't return it, and I was too proud to ask for it back.
Why is he giving it back to me now? Maybe he's truly sorry—but if he thinks this will fix everything between us, he is radically wrong.
I let him lift my left hand and slide the ring onto the middle finger, where it used to rest. Then he blows me a kiss. "Until next we meet."
"May the interval be long." I walk away from him, and my guards close in behind me to prevent him from following.
"Thank you," I tell them when we're out of earshot.
"Happy to help," says Ridley, a smile in her voice.
The hall to the east wing exit seems interminably long, but at last I'm out of the Immortal Palace, breathing the night air before slipping into the hoverpod. Quickly I type the address General Binney gave me into the console.
"Where are we going?" asks Ridley.
I turn from the console. "What I'm about to tell you has to remain between the three of us. Your allegiance is to me, not to my father, yes? I can trust you?"
"You can," says Ridley immediately, and Tram nods.
"I brought three people with me out of Emsalis. General Binney knows about it, and it's perfectly safe. We're going to visit those people now. You can't tell anyone, and we have to be sure we aren't followed."
Tram runs his thick fingers over his fuzz of red hair. "You don't want autopilot then. I'll fly the pod manually."
"Thank you."
He moves to the swivel seat at one end of the pod and unfolds the guidance console from its hidden compartment, brushing dust off the steering stick. Ridley takes a seat at the opposite end of the pod, where she can look out the back. Instead of sitting on the circular bench, I slip into the seat near Tram.
"Scan for drones," Tram says, and the holo screen near him lights up with four red dots.
"Those rutting newsfeed runners. They never stop," I groan.
Tram grins. "Let me show you a trick. Expand shields by thirty percent. Engage."
The invisible shield around the pod expands instantly, colliding with the oncoming drones. The drones tumble over and over in the air.
"They'll be disabled for several seconds," he says, guiding the pod up and away.
"That was brilliant," I say, peering through the dark glass at the nearest drone. It's jerking and rolling around in midair, lights blinking erratically.
"We're not clear yet," Ridley warns. "Look."
Another pod has risen from the exit dock of the east wing and is gliding along behind us, far enough away that I can't see any identifying marks. It's a glossy black half-oval, rimmed with white guidance lights, barely distinguishable against the backdrop of the Reigning Complex's dark towers and gleaming windows.
"Can you shake it?" I ask.
"I can try. You'll want to buckle up for this."
6
Ridley's belt clicks into place at the same time mine does. Tram lifts the pod higher with a stomach-thrilling lurch, and we zoom away into the dark, heading toward the wall of the Reigning Complex. Solid for several stories, the wall turns into a honeycomb of shields that arches in an impenetrable dome over the Complex.
Tram heads for a section of the shield, activating our pod's access beam. The octagonal rim of the shield cell blinks from orange to blue, indicating that we're cleared to pass.
The instant we're through, the shield snaps into place again.
"Did we lose them?" I ask.
"I'm looking," says Ridley. "I think we—no, there it is." She points.
The black pod passed through a lower section of the shield. It's hanging back, but still drifting in our direction.
"It's easy to lose a tail downtown," says Tram. "All the traffic, the buildings. We'll shake them off, then head to your friends."
He guides the pod along an invisible pathway toward the city center. Normally the pod's system would keep us at the correct elevation and trajectory for our destination; but with autopilot disengaged, it's up to Tram not to stray into another pod's air tunnel and cause a crash. A holo projection over the windshield shows our tunnel in green outlines so he can stay on track.
Tram zips along the air tunnel, branching off to take another, then soaring up again to a higher zone. The pod tunnels are like an invisible network through the city, viewable only via hoverpod tech, with a myriad offshoots and layers. I grip the arms of my seat. My pod rides are usually not this exciting; they're the smooth, swift kind, safely from one point to another. Tram executes dramatic d
rops and sudden lifts and side twists when I least expect it.
"They're still behind us," says Ridley. I glance back at her. In the dim lights of the cabin, the whites of her eyes seem to glow.
"We'll have to take more evasive action," says Tram.
"Remember Priority One." Ridley's voice carries a warning. "If you endanger her beyond what is absolutely necessary, I'll have to report you, Tram."
"As long as we come out of this alive, don't you dare report him!" I say. "He's doing this on my orders. Go ahead, Tram. Do whatever you need to do. I can't let some feedrunner trash follow me."
"As you wish."
The bottom drops out of the world as we plummet from our prescribed lane, and we're falling, falling, through a swirling mass of pod traffic.
"Tunnel breach," warns the pod system, showing our off-course trajectory in red. "Correct your position."
Tram jerks the pod to the left and then up again, darting into a open spot in another tunnel. I glance to the right—and there's the black oval pod with its circle of white lights, gliding along a parallel path not far away.
"Still there," I say.
Tram swears and veers up and away.
"Tunnel breach. Correct your position. Tunnel breach. Correct your—"
"Disable warnings!" Tram shouts, swerving to avoid a passing pod. He loops around another tunnel, finding the barest of spaces between two more lanes where our pod can slither through.
"Lev-train!" I scream, pointing ahead.
"I see it!" He wrenches back on the steering stick, and we barely clear the top of the lev-train as it speeds beneath us.
Tram whips our pod around and follows the lev-train, running alongside it. Red lights blink on the console—a proximity alert.
"You're too close to it!" shouts Ridley. "We'll get sucked in!"
"I know what I'm doing," Tram says between gritted teeth.
After a few seconds of terror, he dips the pod below the lev-tracks and mounts another tunnel, finding us a space in front of a big yellow pod. We're much lower down in the city network now, at the bottom of the hoverpod lanes. Below us, I glimpse the city streets, bridges and overpasses crisscrossing each other, wheeled vehicles rolling along their two-dimensional routes.
Princess of Lies and Legends (The Evolved Book 2) Page 6