Princess of Lies and Legends (The Evolved Book 2)

by Veronica Sommers

  She rolls her eyes. "I forgot how bossy you can be."

  "Vissa, I'm serious. If things go wrong, he could be sent back to Emsalis, and then the Fray will kill him." The words crack my heart.

  Vissa frowns, tilting her head. "I suppose we can keep your dirty little secret until you're ready to share. Now, enough heavy talk. Lunch?"

  As we leave Reya's room, Tram precedes us down the hall and Ridley falls in behind. I feel bad for them, having to follow me around wherever I go and wait outside rooms or in doorways all the time. But I suppose there are worse jobs. At least they're well paid, and I'm not a total bitch. My father barely acknowledges his bodyguards, and Gareth treats his security man like a servant who's there to fetch and carry as well as protect.

  I'm used to having just one guard with me when I'm on campus. Two feels much more conspicuous, and as we walk across the plaza toward the cafeteria building, I'm conscious of the eyes—dozens of them, hovering over me like laser sights.

  A trio of girls stop in my path. "Zilara, we're so glad you're back safely!" says one, her hand fluttering at her chest. "It must have been so dreadful for you!"

  "Oh stars yes!" says another. "But you're amazing, really, so inspiring, and you look just gorgeous."

  "Are you coming to the Riot House party tomorrow night?"

  Here's my chance. "Yes, actually. I'll be there. With someone special." I force myself to giggle and wink at them.

  They titter in response. "How exciting! Good for you. We'll see you there!"

  The same scene repeats itself, with variations, a few times before we finally make it into the building. Even when I'm seated with my friends, trying to enjoy my food, clusters of students keep approaching me. Some of them I recognize, others I don't—all seem to think I should know them like they know me. I'm public property.

  "I was never this popular before I was kidnapped," I whisper savagely to Vissa as yet another group of admirers moves away, gently propelled by Ridley. A pair of nervous-looking boys are already moving into the empty space.

  Suddenly I can't stand it. The noise, the people—the people—bodies pressing, eyes hungry, mouths moving—it's hot in here. Too hot. I have to get out, to get away for a minute.

  I stand up, leaning toward Tram's ear. "Please get rid of them."

  As he steps between me and the boys, I dart away, weaving through the tables to a short hallway at the back of the huge dining area. Here in the hall, by the bathrooms, I'm briefly out of sight of the crowded tables; and instead of entering a bathroom, I dodge through a maintenance door into a dim, quiet stairwell. Gray metal steps twist upward into the shadows above me.

  It's cool here, and quiet, and there are no people.

  I can breathe.

  Climbing the half-dozen steps to the next landing, I sit down in the dark and rest my elbows on my knees. My bodyguards will find me soon. In ten minutes or less they'll figure out I'm not in the bathroom, and they'll sweep the hall and this stairway. But until then, I'm blessedly alone.

  The door opens below me, light pouring over the gray steps and turning them to gold. A tall figure slips in and closes the door behind him. Pale hair shines under the stairwell's emergency light, and amber eyes gleam up at me.

  Gareth.

  "Hiding from your fans?" he says.

  "What are you doing here? Are you following me?"

  He mounts the steps, eyes slitted. "Yes."

  I stand up and move away until my back hits the wall behind me. It's a tight space; I don't have room to squeeze past him. He comes closer, so he's nearly touching me. A chill courses over my skin.

  Without warning his fingers slide up my thigh and under my short skirt, finding their target so swiftly and surely that I gasp. I shove his hand away.

  "Do you remember what I used to do to you?" he says, smirking.

  Of course I remember. The things this boy can do with his mouth, and his fingers, and—

  "I remember you said it was an unpleasant chore," I tell him, edging away.

  "Maybe I lied."

  I don't believe him for a second. And the fact that he would touch me, after I asked him not to—after everything I went through in Emsalis— "You're disgusting," I spit at him.

  "Well, there's no accounting for taste," he says. "Apparently yours has regressed since we were together."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I know you brought someone with you from Emsalis."

  My jaw drops. "It was you following me, the other night, in the pod."

  "Tram almost lost me, but I picked up the trail again. I saw you outside, with those two Emsali men. I assume they're here illegally?"

  "Illegally?" I arch an eyebrow. "I'm the Magnate's daughter. Why the stars would I do anything illegal? It would be terribly inappropriate."

  "Don't play with me, Zil," Gareth says, his face darkening. "I saw you with him. The dark one with the unkempt hair. Who is he?"

  "A friend."

  Gareth's laughter rings out, echoing hollow against the metal. "Do you kiss all your friends? Honestly, Zilara, what do you see in that Emsali mongrel?" His voice turns soft and sinister. "Did he take you by force? Did you like it?"

  I smack him across the face as hard as I can. His head jerks to the side, and red finger marks bloom on his pale cheek. His gaze sharpens with hate.

  "He never hurt me," I say. "Not even before we became friends."

  "Don't insult my intelligence, Zil. The two of you are much more than friends. I wonder how your father will react when he finds out."

  My heart stills. The Magnate can't find out, not yet. Not from someone besides me, and not till I'm ready.

  A smile spreads over Gareth's face. He has managed to frighten me, and he knows it. "I might consider keeping your secret a while longer, if you'll do something for me."

  Is he going to ask me to kiss him? Sleep with him? "What do you want?"

  "Get your father to appoint me as Junior Attaché to the Council. The previous one is moving to a new position, so there will be a vacancy."

  I should have known. In spite of his pretty words, he isn't interested in me at all. He's angling for power and prestige, as usual.

  "Let me see what I can do," I tell him, keeping my eyes downcast. I don't trust myself to hide the defiance that I feel, and I need him to think that I'm cowed, that I'll play along.

  "Don't be long about it," he says, sauntering down the steps. "I'll give you two days to make it happen." He blows me a kiss before stepping back into the lighted hallway.

  I grip the stairway's metal railing with both hands and pump energy into it, wave after searing wave. Just as the metal begins to glow faintly, Tram bursts through the door below me.

  "Miss Zilara." His tone carries relief and rebuke. "You can't leave like that. You know how this works; we have to stay with you."

  "I know." I release the railing and follow him back out into the cafeteria.

  Vissa and Reya don't seem to realize that I wasn't in the bathroom. They're chatting about classes and scrolling through gossip feeds on their holoscreens, as if suppressors and war don't exist. Like there isn't a country full of wretched, weary people waiting to be saved from decades of violence.

  "I have to go," I say suddenly.

  "No, stay!" says Reya, catching my hand and pouting, her aqua eyes pleading with me.

  "You have classes this afternoon anyway." I force a smile. "I'll see you all tomorrow night, at the party."

  "Wear something tight and short," Vissa says.

  "That's your job," I retort. "Be good. Learn a lot of useless things for me."

  Vissa sticks out her tongue at me as I spin away.

  On the way to the safe house, I use the hoverpod's uplink to make an appointment with my father for tomorrow morning. Lucky for me, he has a twenty-minute break between virtual meetings. I'll have to go to the building where his primary office is—which is a good thing, because it's more public and he can't yell at me too loudly in front of his staff. And after I tel
l him about my Emsali friends, he's going to want to yell. Either that, or he'll go into his scary-quiet zone, which could be worse.

  By the time we reach the door of the safe house, my stomach is twisted into a dozen anxious knots.

  This time Safi opens the door. "It's you," she says, and before she can say anything else I hug her, gently, because of the wounds.

  "We're not doing the hugging thing," she protests, but she doesn't push me away.

  "Finally," groans Alik. "We're dying of boredom, Zilara. Can we leave yet?"

  "Do you have your guest passes?"

  He wrinkles his nose. "No."

  "Then you can't go out. Everyone on the streets has to have a Ceannan guest pass, temp rez ID, or permanent rez ID. If you have a skull-port, your port transmits the code. Otherwise, you have to carry a chip or card with you."

  "Seems restrictive," says Safi, frowning. "People can't just—be?"

  "No. Maybe out in the country, but not in the cities." I glance around the room, but Rak is nowhere in sight.

  "He's on the roof," Safi says. "Exercising. He's bored, too."

  Neither Alik nor Safi want to join me in a rooftop excursion, so I leave them behind with Ridley while Tram and I mount the steps to the top of the building. The roof is flat, tan-colored, and faintly dusty, a little like the desert—except for the chunky metal chutes and vents and temp control units jutting out of the concrete tiles. At the center of the roof, in a clear space, Rak stretches parallel to the floor, hands splayed on the sun-baked slab, supporting his weight on his palms and toes. His damp shirt clings to his body.

  "I'm going to do a security sweep," says Tram, and he strides away, pulling out his holoscreen and linking a scanner attachment to his skull-port. He'll check the area for drones, snipers—anything that might pose a threat to me.

  I pad silently up to Rak and run my nails along his spine. He bounces to his feet and whips me into a chokehold so fast that I gasp. Tram whirls, gun trained on Rak's forehead.

  "We're playing, Tram! Would you rutting relax?" I gasp as Rak releases me.

  "Can't be too careful," Tram growls, holstering the gun and returning to his sweep.

  Rak grins. "I think he likes me."

  "Idiot. Don't pull those moves with my bodyguards around, or you might end up dead."

  "What moves? Like this?" With a swift kick he knocks me off balance and tosses me lightly to the ground, his hand catching my head before it strikes the roof tiles.

  "Exactly like that," I say, breathless. With his body so close to mine and his raw male scent in my nostrils, I'm having trouble thinking clearly. I dig my nails into my palms to clear my mind, and then I dart away from him.

  "You're quick," he says, eyes lighting with pleasure; but before I can respond he has me in the chokehold again. His breath flutters across my ear. "But not quick enough."

  "Playing aeroball helps with reflexes," I tell him, trying to figure out a way to free myself from the band of bone and muscle across my throat.

  I've had a couple of self-defense classes, and the instructor taught us what to do in this exact situation. Tuck the chin, step to the side, strike the groin—and then smash an elbow into the attacker's jaw as he bends over from the pain of the groin shot. Rak has locked me in this hold before, but last time, instead of using my training, I tried to use my ability on him and I lost precious minutes; I lost air, couldn't focus, and nearly passed out before he let me go.

  "You think you've got me?" I ask.

  "I know I do." His arm tightens a little around my neck, and he presses soft lips to my temple. It almost buys him mercy, but I steel myself and I twist, step, and strike, just hard enough to make him grunt and bend over. My elbow jabs upward, but I control the impact so I don't hurt him too much. His teeth snap together, and I slip from his grip.

  "Nice work," he says, bending over farther, hands on his thighs. "I let you go easy, though."

  "And I could have hit you much harder, so we're even."

  He winces, touching his chin. "Why do you like hurting me?"

  "Want me to make it better?" I say softly.

  His eyes flash up, caution and craving mingling in them. When he straightens, I press myself against him, tugging down his head and kissing the edge of his jaw. A shuddering sigh escapes him; he takes my hand and kisses the center of my palm. There's something poignant in the touch, and when he gathers me close, I sense a sadness in him.

  I pull back enough to look into his face. "How are you doing, with everything?"

  "Fine." His eyes shift away from mine.

  "Tell me."

  "I'm happier than I thought I would be. And that makes me feel even more like a traitor."

  "You're happy?"

  "Let's see—I'm not running for my life, or sneaking out at night to plant explosives, or training for hours and then sleeping on the floor with a squadron of other rebels. I may not be entirely free, or safe, but I'm a rutting sight closer to both than I ever was back there, in Emsalis."

  "You don't usually swear," I say, passing my finger over his lips.

  "Alik's influence." He grins.

  "You like him."

  "The thief is growing on me, yes. But I still don't trust him." The smile slips from his face. "He's been talking to people, Zilara. People here, in Ceanna."

  "Who does he know in Ceanna?"

  "I'm not sure. I asked, but he wouldn't answer—he made a joke of it."

  "General Binney thinks he's hiding something."

  "I wouldn't be surprised," Rak says.

  "Do you think you keep an eye on him for me? Find out what he's up to?"

  "I can try."

  "Good, because I'd hate to think I brought a real danger back home with me." I push Rak away, lightly. "Now, teach me more."

  "More what?"

  "Teach me how to fight. Teach me some dangerous moves." I jab a fist at him, and he avoids it easily.

  "You're not my usual type of sparring partner," he says. "Usually they're taller, heavier, smellier, and definitely uglier."

  "I sense a compliment in there somewhere." I feint with my left hand, then lash out with my right and manage to connect with his ribs.

  "You have good instincts," he says. "But your punches wouldn't harm a kitten."

  I raise my eyebrows. "You offend me."

  "Stop being offended and watch." He shows me how to power the punch with my whole body, how to keep a steady stance. We practice some basic blocks, then a little sparring in slow motion. I lose my patience quickly and start throwing wild punches at any part of him I can reach, until he laughs in exasperation, picks me up, and hoists me over his shoulder.

  I hammer his back with my fists. "Rak, this is ridiculous. Put me down."

  "Calm down and stop hitting me first."

  "I'll stop hitting you after you put me down." I catch sight of Tram, standing tensely nearby, watching us. He's ready to crush Rak if I signal that I'm in genuine distress.

  Relaxing my body, I place my hand at the back of Rak's neck and slowly heat his skin.

  "Not fair," he says, letting me slip back to the ground.

  "You wouldn't let go. And I have an idea—why don't you spar with Tram? He's more on your level."

  "Far above my level, I'd say." Rak eyes my bodyguard.

  "All the better, if you want to improve yourself. Just don't damage those skilful doctor's hands of yours." At my beckoning, Tram approaches. "We were wondering if you would spar with Rak. He wants to stay in shape."

  Tram's stance changes from watchful to eager. He probably welcomes the chance to do anything but stand around.

  When Alik, Safi, and Ridley finally come out onto the roof, Rak and Tram are both sweating through their shirts, muscled arms glowing under the afternoon sun.

  "So this is what passes for entertainment here? Sweaty men on a rooftop?" Alik rolls his eyes. "Where are the pools, the beaches, and the beautiful women?"

  "Patience," I tell him as he sits cross-legged on the sun-heated ro
of tiles beside me. Ridley and Safi stand by the roof exit, watching Rak and Tram spar.

  "I should have gone to Carrasen," Alik says.

  "Why didn't you?" I watch him carefully. I don't have Safi's Evolved ability to detect a lie, but I can usually read deception.

  He shifts his gaze from me. "I came because of Safi, and because it seemed easy. And someone had to keep Rak out of trouble."

  "You like us," I say, grinning and pushing his shoulder. "You like having friends. You've been a loner for a long time, but it's not your natural state, is it?"

  "I have friends." He ruffles his golden locks.

  "So I hear. Friends in Ceanna?"

  He throws me a sharp look. "Not exactly."

  "Professional contacts, then."

  His eyes ice over. "Princess, if you have something to ask me, just ask."

  I meet his gaze, unflinching. "Do you have something to tell me?"

  "Nothing that directly concerns you."

  "Alik, everything that happens in Ceanna is of concern to me. I'm—"

  "The Magnate's daughter—yes, I'm well aware. What does that mean, anyway? Do you take over for the old man after he finally croaks?"

  "No, we're not a monarchy, exactly. The Magnate of Ceanna rules until age sixty, unless the Council passes a vote of 'no confidence.' At sixty, the magnate steps down and appoints three potential replacements, and the people vote on those three candidates. Usually the candidates include one or more of the Magnate's children; so I suppose the legacy of government does look a little like a monarchy." I stop talking, suddenly aware that Alik expertly steered me away from the topic of himself and whatever he's hiding.

  "You'd make a fine politician," I tell him.

  "Thank you."

  "That's not a compliment." I rise, brushing bits of dirt from my backside, and approach Ridley and Safi.

  Safi eyes me appraisingly. "You're upset. What did Alik say?"

  "Things of Alik. You know." I shrug. "What about you? How are you adjusting to all this?"

  "Being a prisoner in a pretty cage?" Her perfect mouth twists. "I'm ashamed to say that I love it. No more sitting at that lobby desk all night, fending off drunken travelers. No more living in that hovel. I do miss Deathspawn, though."