Princess of Lies and Legends (The Evolved Book 2)

by Veronica Sommers

  "It's good," I say, because I can't trust my voice with any extra words.

  Safi and Alik enter the room behind Rak, looking equally stylish. Alik wears a blue shirt that matches his eyes perfectly, and Safi wears a dark purple halter dress than shows off her beautiful shoulders and long legs.

  "I feel like a fool," she says, running long fingers through her newly fluffed black hair.

  "No, no, don't touch it!" says Demi, running up to dab at the coiffure. "Leave it exactly as it is."

  Safi glares, looking as if she might spit in Demi's face, so I hurry everyone out to the hoverpod.

  On the way to the party, I explain the mechanics of the Circles at Uni.

  "There are ten Circles, each one with an emphasis," I say. "The most popular are Luxe, Emacity, Riot, and Aureate. Vissa, Reya, and I are part of Sorcell Circle—that's the one most of the Evolved students join."

  "So you're segregated." Alik leans back against the plush seat, his fingers idly grazing the back of Safi's neck.

  "No! I—"

  "Yes. Look, your two closest friends are Evolved. You're in a House that consists mostly of Evolved. You're separating yourself from average humans, whether you realize it or not."

  He's right. "I hadn't thought of it like that."

  "Don't feel bad. People generally tend to align themselves with others who are like them." Alik smiles.

  "Not always," I say, glancing at Rak.

  "Ah, but you two are alike. Deep down, where it counts. And Rak is Evolved, isn't he? That just proves my point."

  "He'll shut up eventually if you ignore him," Safi says, and then she gasps as Alik dives in to kiss her neck. "Stop." She shoves him away, but she's smiling. "Sorry, Zil—you were saying?"

  "We're headed to Riot House," I say. "They have the best and biggest parties. There are three essential rules, though. Don't drink anything you didn't open yourself, don't leave your drink unattended, and don't let anyone stick anything in your skull-port."

  "Thank you, Mother," Alik sneers. "I think we can take care of ourselves."

  "I'm not kidding," I say. "These parties can be just as dangerous as the desert, in their own way, especially after they've been going on for a few hours. People do what they want to any drinks or food or bodies that happen to be lying around. One of my classmates spent a week recovering from a data stick someone put in her head. And I heard of a guy who left his drink for a few minutes before coming back to it; and later that night he woke up in a pile of naked bodies in the campus lev-train tunnel. They almost didn't make it out before the train came through."

  "Babes' blood," says Alik, and for a second I think I've gotten through to him. "Sounds like incredible fun! We should have brought some hulem to share." He exchanges an odd, secretive smile with Safi.

  "Here we mostly use skull-port tech to hallucinate," I say. "But I'm sure someone at the party will have other substances, if you want to waste finances on that kind of thing."

  "Do I detect judgment, Princess?" Alik leans forward, his blue eyes boring into mine.

  "I don't judge your choice of indulgences any more than I judge your thievery," I retort.

  Safi snorts from the curve of the seat where she's lounging with her dress hiked up. Fortunately she's wearing a pair of sparkly black shorts underneath. I stifle a quick pang of envy at the sight of her long, perfectly shaped legs, absolutely flawless. My face may be pretty, but I'm of average height, with average legs. How could Rak even look at me when she's around?

  But he is looking at me, right now, an amused smile quirking his mouth.

  "I've renounced thievery," Alik says, leaning back against the cushions. "I've decided that crime doesn't pay enough."

  "Then how do you plan to make a living here?" Safi asks. Her tone is lazy, but with an undercurrent of real interest.

  "Connections, darling," says Alik. "I plan to make connections. And it all starts tonight, at this party. Make friends with the youngsters, and they'll invite you again. Soon you're meeting their parents, creating a circle of contacts—stick with me and I'll show you how it's done."

  Safi jabs him with the heel of her sparkly boot. "I don't need a pickpocket to teach me how to socialize."

  "No? Then enlighten me, Sky-born—what's your strategy tonight?"

  "To have fun." Her smile is dazzling, and Alik blinks, forgetting how to scoff for a second.

  "Simple, yet elegant. I like it," he says. "Will you teach me?"

  "Won't I get in the way of your conquests and connections?" Safi runs her fingers through her black hair, sticking it up like dark feathers. Demi would be cringing or crying right now, but I like the look.

  "Actually, I think your presence might open doors, rather than close them," Alik says.

  "Partners, then?" Safi holds out her hand to him with a flourish.

  He kisses her knuckles. "Partners."

  "You two are so dramatic," I say. "I've missed this. The four of us."

  "But something's missing," Alik says, frowning. "What could it be? Ah, the imminent threat of violence and death."

  "Don't forget the sand," I add. "And the blistering heat. And the freezing cold nights."

  "The dust, and the hunger." Safi's voice is soft. "The sameness and the hopelessness." She shrugs, as if the careless gesture will offset her serious words.

  And then Rak speaks, low and wistful. "The sunset on the desert. The fresh air of the mountains."

  I lay my hand over his arm. "I promise I'll take you out of the city soon. Tomorrow, if you like."

  "We're coming up to the campus border," says Tram. "They'll ask for your rez IDs. Have them ready."

  Once we're through the checkpoint, it only takes a few more minutes to reach Riot Circle's domain. The Riot House is a modified U-shape—a main building composed of shiny windows and sharp angles, with two wings jutting out from either end. The three-sided square in the middle is party central.

  As our hoverpod hangs over the square, waiting its turn in the drop-off line, I look down into the square. Riot Circle has gone all-out for this one. A massive anti-gravity chamber sits in the center of the plaza, balls of colored foam and half-clad human bodies floating through it. A line of guests stretches along one side of the square, disappearing into the tip of the south wing, where Riot House's immersive theater is located. For ten minutes—or much longer if you own the tech and there's not a line of people waiting—you get to be the star of an action vid, or a romance vid, or any vid you choose. It's an incredibly heady experience, and I can't wait to share it with Rak.

  "There's your pool, Alik," I say, pointing to the blue, glittering expanse below us, near the anti-grav chamber. The water is dotted with floats and bobbing wet heads and bare arms. As we watch, a tangle of half a dozen people shoot down the slide together and crash into the pool, sending up a sparkling wave.

  The hoverpod dips and moves into place at the entrance. As the door slides back, the rush of music hits us full-force—deep, throbbing, and powerful. Tram and Ridley step out first, scanning the area electronically and visually.

  "You're clear," Ridley says after a moment.

  I dart forward eagerly—and then I realize Rak isn't following. He's frozen in his seat, staring out at the lights and color and movement.

  The man who fought off the Vilor at my side, who planted bombs for the rebels under cover of night and calmly endured boltfire during a hovercraft ride, is petrified of a university party.

  "Rak." I hold out my hand to him. "Come on. Just follow me and try to smile. You look like a gorgeous badass. They're going to love you."

  He grips my hand and follows me out of the pod, Alik and Safi at our heels.

  9

  The overwhelm is immediate—drones streaking toward us, shouts and whistles and waves, lights and flashes. There are more feedrunners here than I anticipated, and they've obviously been waiting for me and my mystery date.

  I smile and laugh and blow kisses to them all, and when we're halfway up the walk I pull
Rak toward me and press my mouth to his. His hands capture my hips; and when our lips break apart, he kisses me lightly on the nose, and the crowd roars with glee.

  The three leaders of Riot Circle are waiting to welcome me at the party entrance. Prian, the Housemaster, is a tall boy with purple hair, heavy black eyeliner, and blue lips. He wears a shirt similar to Rak's, except his is half deep purple, half black mesh.

  "Delish outfits," he says, nodding at both of us. "Honored to have you, Zilara, and—?"

  "This is Rakhi," I say. "He's from Emsalis."

  Prian's carefully groomed brows shoot up. "Emsalis, you say? That must be a tale."

  I lean in, like I'm telling him a secret. "Watch Berri's vid tonight and you'll get the whole story."

  "Lovely." He kisses my cheek. "Enjoy yourselves, darlings."

  We pass through the gate, Ridley forging ahead, Rak on the left, and Tram to my right, with Alik and Safi bringing up the rear. Several feedrunners are allowed to follow us in; my presence here is good publicity for Riot Circle, and Prian is clearly taking advantage of my current spike in celebrity.

  I've never seen such extravagance. Tall slides that end in deep pits of edible foam; drones that spin over the crowd, dropping gold dust and colorful glitter; clusters of lev-tech lights that float on their own. Silver tubs filled with crushed ice, in which nest jewel-bright bottles of every drink I've ever tasted, and many that I haven't.

  On tables near the edges of the square stand tiers of frothy cakes, crystalline bowls of creamy whipped fruit, trays of intricately assembled sandwich bites, sticks of rare roasted meat, towers of fresh seafood, and mounds of luscious berries.

  "Permission to forge ahead on our own?" says Alik, his voice pitched low to carry under the pulsing music.

  "Yes, yes!" I say, waving him and Safi into the crowd. "Go, have fun!"

  They disappear into the throng, hand in hand. For a second I worry about Safi. What if Alik forgets her, loses her, leaves her in this press of people? But she's strong—she can take care of herself. If he's careless and harm comes to her, I'll burn him a mark he won't ever forget.

  "Smile," says Rak in my ear.

  I glance around at the hovering drones, the eager eyes of the feedrunners who are trying to look inconspicuous while probably taking notes via skull-port. We'll be the topic of every gossip feed within the hour, and each feedrunner will try to manufacture a unique take on our relationship.

  Better give them something to work with.

  I catch Rak's hand. "First, we dance."

  Located near a sprawling stage, the dance floor is pressure-sensitive, lighting up in swirls of gold and red and orange as the dancers' feet touch it. I've never seen the band that's playing tonight, but they have a strange, otherworldly look about them. Whorls of colorful paint cover their faces, faintly luminous whenever their features are thrown into shadow. One plays a keyboard so lengthy he has to run along it as he plays. Another dances atop drums, feet moving so fast that at times I can barely see them. The others play whistling lyricals with a dozen adjoined pipes, and massive viols with crooked necks and strings that spark when they're touched.

  "The band is called Evolution Unbound," says Vissa's voice at my shoulder. I spin and hug her first, and then Reya.

  "You both look incredible!" I say. "Oh, and this is Rakhi." I draw him forward, close to my side, my pulse fluttering because he's mine and I want them to love him.

  Their mouths gape in unison. Either they're unpleasantly shocked at his appearance, or I'm not the only one who thinks he's gorgeous.

  "A pleasure to know you," says Rak in that deep voice.

  Reya's eyelashes flutter for a second before she says, "You as well."

  "I understand now," says Vissa, eyeing him and then nodding at me. "They got anymore fish like this one in the Emsali sea?"

  "You mean, any other scourgelings like him in the desert?" I say, poking him in the ribs with my elbow. "Trust me, he didn't look like this when I met him."

  "You weren't looking so well yourself, that day," he retorts. "As I recall, there was a little sanitary issue—"

  "Shut up!" I smash my fingers over his mouth, and then replace them briefly with my lips. "Let's dance!"

  "Only if we get a turn with him," says Reya.

  "You might regret that bargain," Rak says. "My people don't dance often."

  "Your people? You must tell us all about them."

  "Later." I pull Rak up onto the dance floor, while my bodyguards prowl the edge, watchful as ever.

  Ceannan dances are like our cuisine, our architecture, and our music—a mingling of styles from countries we admire, with our own twist. Nearly everyone on the floor is doing something different, so we join in easily. Rak is stiff at first, a little clumsy, but after a few minutes he relaxes into the music. As we twist and swerve and spin, I keep us near the edge of the platform so the vid drones can get a good view.

  The song changes, the beat slowing and softening. I place my hands on Rak's shoulders, swerving with the rhythm. As we dance, I kiss him tenderly, as if my lips could tell him everything I feel. His hands clasp my waist, and when we draw apart his eyes are stormy with emotion.

  "I love you," he mouths to me. A crazy, delighted, fluttering thing breaks free in my chest at the words, even as the rational part of my brain applauds him, because the drones will have caught that moment, and the movement of his lips.

  Is it right to draw his heart out of him, to put it on display here with mine, for all of Ceanna to see? I'm doing it to keep him safe, to keep him here, with me. But is it right?

  The pause was almost too long—uncertainty is tightening in his eyes. "I love you too," I say slowly, with meaning.

  The band leader speaks to the crowd, breaking our moment. "We have a special guest tonight to sing for us," she says in a raspy voice. "Everyone welcome Reya Narselle!"

  "What?" I gasp. Reya picks up singing gigs periodically, but she has never done one this big. "Why didn't she tell me?"

  "She wanted to surprise you," Vissa says, gyrating past us in the arms of a slim tattooed boy. "She's been working on a new style."

  When Reya begins to sing, the world changes.

  I've heard her sing before. Her voice usually flows like liquid sunshine, clear and pure. But as she sings with the band, it's completely different—raucous, powerful, soaring to heights she's never reached within my hearing. The music pulses beneath the living crests and eddies of her song, but it isn't buoying her so much as she's carrying it.

  When the last note ebbs, I realize that everyone has stopped dancing. I'm not sure when the band ceased playing, but they're silent too, staring at Reya. The foam slide is empty, and people have their chins and arms propped on the edge of the pool, listening. Clusters of students have roamed out of the movie line just to get closer to Reya's song.

  There is no doubt in my mind now. She's Evolved.

  She steps off the platform and disappears into the crowd, and I turn to Vissa. "Does she still have her skull-port?"

  "Yes."

  If Reya is suppressed, and she can do that in spite of it, what could she do if she were free?

  The music is pumping again, and the party-goers resume their activities. Rak catches my upper arm, helping me balance as a couple of enthusiastic dancers jostle us. "We have to either dance, or get off this platform."

  We jump down together. As we skirt the courtyard, trailed by my guards, I notice that the line to the immersive theater is much shorter, probably because Reya's song distracted the waiting guests. Quickly I drag Rak over to the doorway, where the attendant looks at me with shock and something like reverence.

  "M-Miss Remay," he stammers. "Would you like to go in?"

  "Isn't there a line?" I ask sweetly, innocently.

  He flushes under the force of my smile. "Not for you."

  "Thank you!" We slip into the dim hallway, where another attendant steps over to us.

  "We don't have skull-ports," I tell her. "Is that a
problem?"

  "You can still play, but you won't be able to share your experience on your feed," she says. "We'll use the headsets." She attaches a set of electrodes to our temples and quickly links them to halos that fit snugly around our heads. Then we pull on thin gloves fitted with sensor points.

  "No bodysuits, and we're just running one dual mode scenario tonight," she says. "It's about to start, so you'd better get in. Theater 3."

  My bodyguards remain in the hallway, while Rak and I pass through the doorway she indicates, into the pitch blackness beyond.

  "What are we doing?" he says.

  "It's an immersive vid. You get to feel like the star of the show, play the role of a favorite actor," I say. "Usually you get to choose the vid, but tonight they're limiting the options and the time because there are so many people."

  Suddenly we're not in the empty dark anymore—we're in an old-fashioned city, glimmering with warm streetlamps. Tall buildings rise around us. The nearest shop window glitters with gems, strung on the necks of pale mannequins, and the sidewalk at our feet shines wet from recent rain. Rak stares around, shocked.

  "Just go with it," I hiss. "And be ready."

  We stroll along, and though it feels as if we're moving forward, I know that the floor of the room flows in the opposite direction, triggered by signals from our halos, keeping us from walking into a wall we can't see.

  Faint screams echo along the street, and a vehicle flies upward and smashes down again with a terrible crunching crash that shakes the ground under our feet. Something is coming—something huge.

  Ominous music surges, low and throbbing, ratcheting up my heart rate and spiking my adrenaline. I glance around, looking for anything that might help us fight whatever is approaching. Across the street there's a shop window featuring weapons—handguns, knives, and huge blasters that remind me of Vilor pulse-guns.

  "This way," I tell Rak, and we run across the street to the shop. The thunder of titanic footfalls is closer, heavier, and over the buildings and vehicles we can see a monstrous, hulking shape. People are flowing past us now, shrieking and yelling and praying. Rak smashes the window with his fist, and we shield our eyes as shards scatter around us. I know the razor-edged bits of glass aren't real, but they look absolutely real as they shower to the sidewalk.