Princess of Lies and Legends (The Evolved Book 2)

by Veronica Sommers

  "Your jacanal?" I shudder at the memory of the hulking, toothy creature she called a pet. "I'm sure he's ecstatic, hunting in the foothills and terrorizing Maraj farmers."

  She chuckles.

  "I'll have to go soon, but I promise you'll all get your guest cards quickly—tomorrow, if I can make it happen," I tell her. "After that, you can use the finance card from my father to rent your own place, start a business—whatever you like."

  "Maybe I'll get a pet," she says. "Or several."

  "Whatever keeps you safe and happy."

  She looks at me, brows drawn. "You really care, don't you? Even though you haven't known me long."

  "I do." I bump her arm with mine. "You're my friend, remember?"

  She smiles, a broad, beautiful smile that floods light into her pale green eyes. I wrap my arm around her waist and squeeze her in a side hug, like I do with Reya—and for once, she doesn't pull away.

  8

  By the time we reach my home that evening, my night guards are waiting to relieve Tram and Ridley. The night guards are burly, silent men I hadn't met before my return, and they don't reciprocate my attempts at conversation like Tram and Ridley do.

  My mother comes out of her room as I reach the second floor. She's wearing a silky purple robe with sprays of golden flowers embroidered all over it. Her hair is product-free for once, twisting into its tight natural curls. "Where have you been all day?"

  "At Uni, with the gang."

  "The gang? Really, Zilara, must you use such street-level words to refer to your friends?"

  "Which word would you prefer? Crew, troupe, posse?"

  She scoffs. "What are your plans tomorrow?"

  "More friends, and then I'm going to a party at Riot Circle House in the evening." What does she want? Is she lonely? "What about you? You should get together with some of your friends. It's healthy. Fun."

  She tucks the robe tighter around her. "Friends? Those power-sucking women of the Council? Or perhaps you're referring to the mothers of your little school friends, the ones I giggled and gabbed with just to keep the peace so you could play with their daughters?"

  "I didn't realize you felt that way. But you could make new friends. Real ones. What about your stylist, Holli? She's sweet, and she's been with you a long time."

  "I'm her employer, Zilara. It wouldn't be appropriate. Why are we talking about this?"

  "Because you said you were—" I almost say lonely, but she never said that, not really. Maybe she just wants to spend time with her only daughter, to make sure I'm all right. "Did you want to talk, or something? We could get a snack, a hot drink, watch a vid or a gossip feed—" This could actually be fun.

  "No, I think I'll go to bed." She retreats toward the suite she shares with my father. "Sleep well."

  She disappears into her room, and the door slides into place.

  I stand alone in the hallway, feeling lonely, angry, rejected, and guilty all at once. A familiar mix, my mother's signature emotional blend. And I fall for it every time, even after eighteen years.

  "I'm going to be in my room for the rest of the night," I tell the guards. They nod in unison. "Very well, Miss Remay."

  I don't bother telling them to call me "Miss Zilara."

  Once I'm in my suite, I fix my makeup and hair. I'm about to make an important call, and for this one, I need to look my best.

  Berri Telani runs Ceanna's most popular gossip feed. She does a live video every night, and her headlines and snips get millions of hits throughout the day. She's got a larger audience than some of the official mainline newsfeeds. If I want to reach the largest possible swath of Ceannans with my love story, Berri is my best option.

  The best part is, I won't have to beg for her attention or convince her to interview me. The house contact feed is full of message and waves from feedrunners wanting exclusive interviews with me about my experiences as a hostage in Emsalis. I'm hot news, and I'm about to make Berri's day.

  When I wave her, she answers almost immediately, her head and shoulders popping up against a backdrop of sound-dampening boards and holo-screens. She must be at her studio, probably prepping for tonight's vid.

  "Yes?" She looks breathless, flushed, excited—probably because she has never gotten a wave from Ceanna's ruling family before. "What can I do for you, Miss Remay?"

  "Please call me Zilara," I tell her, smiling. "I wanted to let you know that I've got a juicy story for you, about my time in Emsalis. I'll be at the Riot House party tomorrow night, and I'd love to do an exclusive interview with you, if you could meet me there."

  "I usually interview at the studio." Her voice trails off; she's looking at someone beyond my sight line. "Yes, that will work! My vid crew and I can meet you at the party."

  "Great. Oh, and the interview will be live, yes?"

  "Definitely," she says.

  "Good. See you tomorrow evening." I end the call, and then I dance excitedly around the room for a minute, as Berri is probably doing in her studio.

  I take a long, luxurious bath, filled with foamy, sweet-smelling bubbles. After that, I wrap myself in a thick robe, engage private mode, and call General Binney—voice only this time. Showing up on com wet-headed in my robe wouldn't be appropriate, especially with a man as important as the general.

  After the initial polite greetings, I cut down to the heart of the matter.

  "I need the guest IDs for all of my friends, by tomorrow afternoon," I tell him. "If it's at all possible. Please."

  "Actually they were cleared tonight," he says. "I'll drop them by the safe house tomorrow morning."

  "Thank you," I say. "And you should know that I'm planning on telling my father about the three of them tomorrow morning."

  Silence. Then, "Do you think it's wise?"

  "It's less wise to keep deceiving him. The international tension seems to be ebbing a little, from what I heard at the dinner last night."

  "It's easing a bit," agrees the general.

  "I need to tell him now, before someone else does. Trust me, I have a plan to secure Rak's presence here in Ceanna. Safi is no threat to the Magnate, so I think she's safe. And Alik—I like him, but if he gets sent away, I won't cry about it."

  "I share the sentiment," says the general dryly.

  "Just so you know, I'm going to tell my father that I threatened you, blackmailed you into helping me," I say. "I hope that will protect you."

  "You don't need to do that," he says. "I'm happy for him to know that I aided you of my own free will."

  "I'll see how he reacts tomorrow. Maybe it won't be necessary."

  "Very well, I shall see you soon. Have a good night, my lady."

  Surprised, I fumble over a response before his face vanishes and the com goes dark. My lady? It's an old-fashioned term, one that bears connotations of allegiance that I'm not sure I'm comfortable with. I'm creating a network of allies, almost without realizing it, and I have no idea what to do with that, or how to leverage my scraps of power to do any good.

  The next morning I show up at my father's office right on time. It's his governmental office this time, not the home office. His suite and those of his personal staff are on the third floor of a sprawling white building that curves up into two peaks, like a pair of pale horns.

  This office is nowhere near as forbidding as the one at home. It's a wide, airy space, with a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows—thick, one-way glass that could stop anything short of a missile. Ruby-red carpet squishes under my shoes, but all the furniture is pristine white, all curves and swoops, no angles or corners. Even his desk is oblong, with rounded edges. Holo projections of former Magnates cover the wall by the door, but the wall behind my father's desk is blank. He reigns sole and central here.

  He doesn't rise when I enter, merely straightens the cuffs of the pale gray suit that matches his hair.

  "You made an official appointment," he says.

  "I needed to talk to you about something important."

  "Go ahead then."
r />   "All right. But please listen to everything before you respond."

  He's on alert already, his eyes glinting green. He seats himself and leans back in the chair, crossing his arms. "Well?"

  "Remember the man, Alik, who helped me in Emsalis? The one who wanted safe passage?"

  "The one with the price on his head?"

  "Yes. Instead of dropping him off in Carrasen, I let him come here. He's been in a safe house, and he's passed through rounds of scans and checks to ensure that he's not an assassin or a danger to us, or to Ceanna."

  I take a deep breath. "And he's not the only one I brought with me. I also brought Safi, the girl who built the sand crawler that we rode out of Ankerja. She's harmless, and she's also clever and skilled. She could contribute here in Ceanna. And I brought Rak, too. They both went through the background checks and scans like Alik did, and—"

  "Stop. You brought a Fray rebel home with you? Here, to our capital city?"

  "He's not one of them anymore. He's on our side."

  "Our side, or your side?" He narrows his eyes.

  "What does it matter, as long as he isn't a threat to you?"

  "Are you a threat to me, Zilara? Because since you've returned, every act of yours has been subversive in nature." He touches his skull-port and opens a holo-screen, flicking through commands so quickly I can't tell what he's doing. "Who helped you house and scan these friends of yours?"

  I hesitate.

  "Was it Binney?" He reads the answer in my silence. "It was. I should have known."

  "Please, don't blame him. I—I threatened him."

  He pauses. "You—what?"

  "Yes. I said I would get him dishonorably discharged if he didn't let me bring them. I had a whole plan—it's not his fault."

  "You blackmailed one of my Generals?" He's almost smirking, like it pleases him that I would do something so despicable. "There may be hope for your political future after all." He relaxes, and I breathe again. "Although your judgment is still questionable. Very well. I'll meet these friends of yours, and I'll decide whether they stay or return home. And I need all the psych reports, scans, and background files for each of them."

  "Yes, of course. I'll have them sent to you."

  "And Zilara."

  "Yes?"

  "I think I've been very lenient with you so far. No more secrets, no more subversive attitudes. Do you understand?"

  "I do. Thank you." I circle the desk and give him a half-hug.

  He doesn't move. "Go on."

  I practically float out of his office. He didn't say for sure that they could stay, but he didn't forbid it, either. And now Gareth has no power, nothing he can hold over me.

  Except the issue of my missing skull-port. Why didn't my father mention it today? Maybe he's been too busy to try syncing with my port again. Maybe he assumes that I got it fixed, and he still doesn't realize that my brain is my own, entirely and forever.

  To shake the creeping unease crawling over my mind, I create a mental schedule for myself. First, ask General Binney to send my father the files he requested. Then make sure that the guest IDs were delivered for my friends. Prepare for my interview with Berri. Meet my stylist Demi this afternoon at the safe house, so she can prep all of us for the party tonight.

  As I walk out of the building, I stand for a moment on the lawn, right near a white stone statue of my father that reaches nearly two stories high. If I close my eyes and focus on the heat of the sun's rays, I can imagine that I'm back in Emsalis, where everything was as simple as staying alive.

  ***

  "So what do you think?" I ask Demi.

  My stylist circles Rak, who stands in the living room of the safe house looking as excited as a sacrifice about to be slaughtered.

  "He's a rugged specimen, isn't he?" she says, touching his shirt. "Can we take this off? I need to see what I'm working with."

  Rak frowns.

  "Oh, yes, take it off!" urges Alik from his spot on the sofa. He grins when I throw him a rebuking look.

  "Is that your permanent spot now?" I ask. "The light-fingered thief, wanted by the Vilor, is now a couch cushion?"

  "A very handsome couch cushion," he says. "I promise to get off the couch if you'll let me go to the party with you two."

  "Only if you can convince Safi to be your date," I say. "And keep quiet about where you're from while we're at the party. I need all the attention to be on me and Rak. Oh, and no stealing."

  Alik's eyes are shining with something that looks very much like greed. "How about stealing hearts? Is that allowed?"

  I hesitate. Alik and Safi kissed back in Emsalis, but we've been apart since then, and I'm not sure if they're a couple or not. Apparently Alik doesn't think so. "I suppose I can't stop you from taking a few hapless hearts."

  "Rutting right you can't. It's my Evolved ability." He grins, his smile a little too much like Gareth's for my liking. Then he launches himself off the couch and disappears into the back of the house, probably to pester Safi into joining him tonight.

  "Nice work," says Rak.

  "Oh, I know how to clear a room of undesirables," I say.

  "I remember."

  Our eyes lock, and I know he's thinking of the time when I was a hostage of the Fray, when I managed to convince all my guards to leave the room so I could try to escape. He caught me before I could manage it, of course.

  Demi clears her throat. "The shirt? Is it coming off anytime soon? We're on a deadline, yes?"

  "Take your shirt off, Rak," I say. "Please."

  Cheeks flushing, he complies, stripping it off in one fluid motion. His life and training as a Fray rebel has hardened every inch of him, from the muscled curves of his shoulders to his lean waist and well-defined abs. He's looking away from me and down, at the floor, and the bold lines of his neck and collarbones, the sweep of his jaw, are almost more beautiful than I can stand.

  "A lot of scars," says Demi, indicating the pale seams on Rak's elbow and shoulder, and the one at his temple. "It's a shame, that." She points to the lumpy scar running through his lips. "Not much we can do about it, unfortunately."

  Anger rises like a boiling tide in my chest. Why is she fixating on such tiny imperfections? Can't she see how beautiful he is?

  "What about this?" She touches the bridge of his nose, where it's slightly bent. "Have you thought about having it done? Not today, of course, but—"

  "Demi." My voice is cold with rage. For a minute, I sound like my father. "You are a breath away from leaving my service."

  She stops, staring at me.

  "He is perfect," I say. "Exactly as he is."

  "I thought you wanted me to fix him up for you."

  "I want you style his hair and dress him for tonight. Not fix him. There is nothing to fix."

  "No, no. Of course not. I was only—I mean, he's very handsome. Such a dramatic look, a strong physique, quite impressive." She babbles on, her personal drone zooming around Rak and taking measurements. "The, um, the hair though—are you averse to a short cut?" she asks me.

  "Talk to him about it. It's his hair," I say sharply.

  "Of course." Demi stumbles through the question again, this time looking at Rak.

  "Short is fine," he says.

  "I'll wave Ailo and see if he can do the haircut now." Demi hurries out into the kitchen to make the call.

  Rak looks at me, his eyes twinkling and the corner of his mouth curving.

  "What?" I say.

  "Nothing. Just that I wouldn't want to be the one to cross you, your Highness." He bows his dark head to me, and a thrill shoots through my heart.

  "She's the best," I say. "But she can be so stupid about physical perfection. She has tried so many times to get me to have surgery for my face."

  He steps toward me, moving my hair, caressing the sprinkling of scarlet birthmarks along my temple and cheekbone. "Why? This is you."

  "I don't meet the Ceannan standards of perfection for upper-level celebrities," I say. "We're a rich countr
y, but we don't spend our money on resolving hunger and poverty. No, we use our talent and resources to create better, more beautiful versions of ourselves—to perfect our progeny, lengthen our lives. You saw Gareth, the boy who took me to the dinner. His parents actually designed him to look like that, to be perfect."

  Rak shrugs. "They call it perfect, I call it unnatural."

  "I can't believe she doesn't see how stunning you are." With him this close to me, I can't resist reaching out to touch him, right above the healing bolt-burn on his abdomen. Smooth warm skin, with hard muscle beneath it.

  "Maybe you're the one who's blind here," he says softly.

  Demi appears again, and he backs away, breaking the contact between us.

  The rest of the afternoon is a bustle of preparations. Bulky delivery drones drop off a large order of clothing for Rak, Alik, and Safi, who reluctantly agreed to attend the party. Finally the hair artist arrives and whisks Rak away to the bathroom for a haircut and shave.

  I dress in the outfit I brought—shorts that skate to mid-thigh and a spangled, clinging crimson shirt that drapes from jeweled shoulder knots, scooping low across my chest in the front and even lower in the back. Demi gives me a complex hairdo with tiny braids up one side of my head and loose curls on the other. Earrings and bracelets to finish the look, and I'm ready.

  When Rak walks through the doorway into the living area, I bite my lip. I will not swoon. I am not the swooning type. Not ever.

  But holy rutting stars.

  Demi has dressed him in slim dark pants and a red shirt that contrasts beautifully with his skin. Across the front of the shirt, an angled panel of black mesh shows off the lines of his chest and part of his abs. His dark hair is short now, still thick and wavy on top, but tapered at the sides; and his clean shave bares that incredible jaw and those luscious scarred lips of his. Along the edge of each of his eyelids, Demi drew a thick sweep of gold that contrasts with his tanned skin and dark lashes. One forearm is decorated with crisscrossing bands of black leather and a braided strip of red and gold.

  "What do you think?" Demi says as her assistant flutters around Rak. Their eyes eagerly seek my approval.