"What did you think?" I ask. Do I want the answer?
Shaking his head, he chuckles. "Some of it was fun."
"You weren't too dreadfully shocked at the debauchery?"
"Zilara, I'm Maraj, not a monk. I was a soldier, remember? I've seen the insides of more bars than you have, I'll wager, and I've witnessed plenty of off-duty drunken revels. Though this one was much bigger and bolder than I imagined."
The door to the pod slides open, revealing Alik, Safi, and Tram. Alik stumbles in with a giggling Safi draped over him. I've never heard her giggle. They collapse on the seat across from us, gasping with laughter.
"Did you see her face?" Safi says. "She didn't even realize—" She mimics a comically shocked expression, and Alik guffaws.
"Clearly you two had fun," I say.
"Oh yes." Alik plants a kiss on Safi's cheek, then he stretches his arms across the back of the seat. Is it my imagination, or is he wearing more rings than he was when we arrived? He meets my eyes, and there's a hint of challenge in his, coupled with a rakish smile. He's wordlessly daring me to question him.
But I won't be the fun-dampening, rule-belaboring, bossy Princess. I refuse to let him cast me in that role.
So I ignore the warning in my heart, and I laugh with them on the way back to the safe house.
***
The instant I arrive home, the house tells me that my father is waiting for me. I say goodbye to Ridley and Tram, and I welcome my night guards, who as usual return my greeting with stiff nods.
My father's bodyguards are stationed outside his office. They are stone-still, eyes forward.
Resisting the urge to poke one of them in the belly, I walk past and enter the office. Tonight it's alive with holo-screens. A few are running newsfeeds and vids; one bears a translucent map of Emsalis, and I peer at it as I pass. The yellow markers at the bottom, in the southern regions, mark the presence of my father's Peace-Keepers. I assume the red and black markers in the north represent the Fray and Vilor factions.
"Zilara." My father's voice draws my attention. He sweeps a holo-screen out of his way, stepping over to seat himself at his desk. "You've had a busy night."
"I went to a party."
"So I hear."
I won't tell him anything until I know what he knows. It's a strategy I learned from him. Information is power, he would tell me. Never let your opponent know how much you know.
Biting the inside of my lip, I wait.
He leans back in the chair, inspecting me with eyes the blended colors of earth and fresh grass. "Your skull-port still isn't working. I tried to wave you earlier."
"Oh, yes. The lab had to remove it," I say. "They have to send it back to the manufacturer, or something? Some kind of special add-on tech was messing everything up." I shrug. "I don't know. I tuned out mid-explanation."
He frowns slightly, his eyes boring into mine.
"Honestly I'm frustrated, you know?" I say, in what I hope is a whiny, normal-teenager voice. "Going this long without it, and having to wait even longer because some tech screwed up? It's really annoying, having to depend on the house and the hoverpod systems to do my waves and get my favorite feeds."
His expression relaxes a little. "If you want me to call over and speed things up, I can."
If he does, he'll find out I'm lying. "I think I complained enough," I say, smirking. "We don't want to scare the poor little lab techs. I'll be fine till next week. I think that's when they expect it to be ready."
"All right then." He leans forward, scooping a glass of water from the desk. "On to other business. Your friends Safi and Alik are now permanent residents of Ceanna," he says. "I signed the papers for them tonight."
"You're letting Alik stay?" I'm genuinely shocked.
"The thief? Yes. He promised to make himself useful."
"You met with him?"
"I spoke to him briefly, yes."
General Binney must have figured out a way to market Alik's particular skill set to the Magnate. I push my curiosity about the arrangement to the side; I have a more pressing concern.
"And Rakhi?"
"The boy gave up his faction and his tribe to help you," says my father. "It's unlikely that he's a spy, though he was a member of the Fray; and his brain scans don't show any subconscious programming. I'll allow him to stay until you're done with him. He has been granted temporary resident status; and upon its expiry in one year, he'll return to Emsalis."
"One year?" I frown. "But—"
"I could send him back now." His tone hardens.
"No, I—thank you." I rise to leave.
"You're clever, Zilara," he says. "The gossip feed, with Berri—that was a shrewd move. Well played, daughter."
A compliment. From Ceanna's consummate manipulator and topmost politician. From my father. Torn between anger and joy, I simply incline my head.
"But I believe I warned you about doing interviews with the feedrunners. Feori put time and effort into making you appear strong and indomitable during the press conference, and you've undermined that image with your flirtatious attitude. So until you learn to do as you're told, your access to the house Global Grid Uplink is suspended, and I'm cutting your allowance by twenty-five percent."
It could be worse.
"Very well," I say, and I walk out of the room.
One year.
I can be with Rak for one year, and then he has to return to Emsalis. Surely within the span of a year, we can figure something else out—soften my father's will, convince him to grant Rak permanent residence.
Why am I letting myself hope? My father, the Magnate of Ceanna, will never allow his only daughter to permanently consort with a man from the foothills of Emsalis—a man with no university education, no society connections, no family, and no career.
Back in my room, I engage private mode and wave Rak on my com. He appears in 3D, his newly short hair tousled atop his head, and though the image of the room behind him is dim, he doesn't look sleepy. "Zilara," he says in a low voice.
"Rakhi." I return his smile. "You're not in bed?"
"Not yet. I hoped you might call."
I tell him my father's words, and he nods, thoughtful. "He doesn't want me around any longer than necessary."
"He's being harsh and close-minded," I say.
"Try to see it from his angle, Zilara."
"I know, and I can. But he doesn't know what we have, what we are to each other."
Sunshine in that smile of his, warm as a desert dawn. "And what are we?"
"You know." I squirm, hating the blush that suffuses my face.
"Tell me." A hint of command in that deep voice, sending a thrill through my core.
But I'm as much a rebel as he is. "You don't give the orders, darling."
He's about to respond when something distracts him. "One second." He rises and disappears.
When he comes back, his expression is grim. "Alik is gone. He sneaked out. I guess he thought Safi and I were asleep. What in Death's Dark is he up to?"
"I'm not sure, but it can't be anything good, right? What do we really know about him? Only what he's told us, and there's a lot he could have left out without actually lying in front of Safi."
Rak bites the scarred part of his lip. "I need to talk to him again."
"Talking to him hasn't worked," I say. "And if we keep it up, he'll just be more careful. He has full rez status now—he can go anywhere he wants. And so can you. I'd like to get you out of the city, away from all the tech and towers. I'm getting the itch for a dose of the wilderness myself."
"Where do you go for wilderness?"
"My uncle's land, usually. He's the one with the farm, and there's a nature preserve nearby. We could have a picnic, just the two of us. And Tram and Ridley, of course." I roll my eyes.
"I like them," Rak says. "It makes me less anxious, knowing they've got your back."
"You're anxious about me? Remember, we're not in Emsalis anymore."
"There's still danger
here. A disgruntled citizen with a gun, an Emsali sympathizer with a bomb, an out-of-control hoverpod—I can't even count the ways you might be hurt." He's chewing his lip again, his eyes avoiding mine, brows furrowed.
"Rak," I say in my gentlest tones. "I'm safe. And you're safe."
He nods.
"Are you all right, after the immersive vid, and the party?" I ask. "You seem tense. Do you need to—talk to someone?"
"I'm fine."
"Because speaking to a psychologist can help with trauma." Maybe not the doctor I visited, but someone more sympathetic.
"The guy General Binney sent over to us was good," Rak says. "Ex-military, so he understood. I talked to him. I have his wave-code if I need help with something."
"Maybe I should have his wave-code, too," I say, though my stubborn soul wrenches at the thought of opening up to a stranger.
"I'll send it over."
We're both tired, but neither of us ends the connection. Instead we sit together, a city apart, talking and talking about all the little things that make us real.
11
Later that night, I have my first nightmare since Emsalis.
Maybe the immersive vid and the fight scenario triggered my brain. Maybe my near-drowning affected me more than I thought. Either way, the dream is bloody and horrifying, and I wake up to the slow increase of my bedroom lights and the house system saying, "Nightmare detected. Wake mode engaged." It blows cool air from the vent near me, and I turn, sweeping my hair aside to let the breeze flow over my sweaty neck.
I'm not sure how the house could tell I was having a bad dream. I know it used to monitor my sleep rhythms via my skull-port, but maybe it can detect changes in my heart rhythm and breathing rate and body temperature, even without the implant. The thought is a little scary.
My skin is crawling from the dream, from the memory of scourgeling feet pricking my arm. More images come thick and fast into my waking mind—a head blasting down a corridor, its decapitated trunk falling in slow motion, spraying blood. Sand in my mouth, the crushing weight of my attacker on my body. A pair of ruined hands, white bone and stringy tendons, leaving a slime of blood across my chest.
I'm breathing faster and faster. I can feel the scream coming, and I bury my head in my pillows to stifle it. Shaking, I climb from the bed and run a hot bath for myself, a bath full of foam that smells like roses and lavender. When the water grows chilly, I heat it again with my own energy until my muscles finally relax and I'm calm.
I will not be weak. I will stay in control. I have to. People are depending on me—Rak, Safi, Alik, the suppressed Evolved of Ceanna, the beaten and bruised people of Emsalis.
Tomorrow I will take Rak outside the city and give him the air he so desperately wants. And then, after that, I will go to work. I'll find out the truth about the suppressors, and I'll drag it out into the light.
All the lies, destroyed. The people like me, the ones who should be gods and legends, revealed.
The next morning I walk into the lobby of the medical office where they almost re-installed my skull-port, and I politely request to take the implant with me.
"That's—we don't normally—" stammers the lab-coated girl.
"My father wanted me to pick it up personally," I tell her.
"But you'd have to get clearance."
"Why?" I say, keeping my eyes wide and innocent. "Isn't it mine?"
"It's a very sensitive piece of technology. We could be liable if anything—"
"I'll be very careful."
She consults her holo-screen briefly. "It says you need a guardian's bio-signature to have access to it."
"Kalepsa, is it?" I say, reading her nametag. "You know my father is a very busy man. I'm not thrilled about telling him he has to take valuable time out of his day to come all the way over here and do a bio-signature. What about a holo-signature? Wouldn't that work? Or I could bio-sign for it."
Inside I'm tense as a viol string. I'm not sure what I'll do if she demands a signature from the Magnate. But I have years of experience leveraging my position to get what I want, and I'm betting she'll bend to my will rather than risk inconveniencing the most powerful man in Ceanna.
Right on cue, she lowers her voice. "I could notch down the security a little, add you as an approved handler. That way you could bio-sign for it. You'll also have to sign a release form assuming all responsibility if the device is damaged while in your care. Will that work?"
"Whatever you need to do," I say, sighing. "I just want to get this errand out of the way." I smile at her.
She smiles back, as if we're sharing a secret. "Going to see someone special?"
"Maybe."
She flicks through files on her holo-screen, tapping a few images. "I saw the special with you and that guy from Emsalis, Rakhi?"
"You did?"
"You two are adorable. Such a great story, too. I mean—" She catches herself. "I'm sure it was terrible to go through it, but—"
"I know what you meant. It's okay." I smile wider. "He makes me happy."
There's a light on her face, reflecting my joy, and she doesn't even know me. This is exactly the reaction I hoped for among the people of Ceanna.
Of course I'm manipulating them, just as my father does. I'm using truth, but portraying it a certain way to achieve my goals. I have to hold the smile on my face as self-loathing strikes my heart, serpent-quick and venomous. I won't be like my father. I won't.
But I have to do this. I have to trick this girl, for the greater good. She'll get into trouble, almost certainly, for letting me take the implant without going through the proper channels. It's clear she doesn't know about suppressor tech, or she wouldn't dare let me have the device at all. In her mind, this implant is just like any other—efficient and harmless. There's no good reason not to allow me, the intended owner, to sign it out.
Minutes later, I'm walking out of the building with my guilty conscience and a glossy white plastic box, much larger than I expected. The device is probably nestled in layers of protective packaging.
When Rak opens the door to the safe house, I hold up the box. "I got my skull-port implant." I walk into the dining area and set it down on the table. Safi uncurls from the couch, her eyes lighting with interest.
The box appears seamless, but the girl gave me a pressure code to open it. When I touch the sleek surface in the spots she indicated, in a specific order, a tiny latch slides into view at the front. Slowly I lift the top, and there, tucked into molded gray foam, is a sealed, sterile pouch containing the skull-port implant. It's tiny, about the size and circumference of half my thumb.
"Can you check it out, disassemble it or whatever?" I ask Safi. "I need to know everything you can tell me about it."
"I'll need tools," she says, touching the implant lightly with her finger.
I toss her my finance card. "Order whatever you need and pay for top priority delivery. It should be here within the hour."
"You're leaving?" she says.
"Rak and I have somewhere to be," I tell her. "And we're already late. Do you mind?"
"Mind? You've just given me permission to open up a piece of top-tier skull-port tech," she says, grinning. "I'm good."
"Right. Come on, Rak!" I practically drag him out of the house and downstairs to the hoverpod. We're accompanied by Tram and Ridley, as usual, but I have plans to ditch my guards later, with the help of my aunt and uncle. I called them earlier and explained my plan. If it works, Rak and I will be having much more than a picnic today.
The lev-train station is crowded, as usual—bodies surging, feet trampling, shoulders shoving. White walls glimmer with holo-ads. Warning lights flash across the platform as each train rushes in, and a robotic voice says, "Please watch your step. Embark and disembark quickly. Do not loiter on the platform. Please watch your step."
"You have to move fast," I tell Rak. "Or you could get trampled, or knocked off the platform, and then you'd fry on the lev-line."
He frowns. "If this
is so dangerous, why do people use it?"
"It's fast."
"What about children, or old people who can't move as fast?"
"Look around," I say. "Not many of them here. They use ground transport or hovercraft. Here's our train. Quick!"
Several people lunge forward with us as the train doors swish open. I push through and jump for it, and Rak follows. Tram and Ridley create clearance on either side of us, making sure we get safely aboard.
We stumble to seats. "Strap yourself in, quickly," I say, and Rak obeys.
A warning tone blares as the train's doors snap shut. A businessman on the platform barely snatches his hand back in time, his face a mask of shock and panic as the train streaks away without him.
The sheer screaming speed of the lev-train presses my back into my seat. A few minutes later, we stop at another station, our bodies jerking against the straps.
"They're working on tech to dampen the sensations that passengers experience," I tell Rak.
"Good idea."
"We won't stop as often once we're out of the city."
After a dozen more stops to let people on and off, the train gathers even more speed and shoots through the last remnants of the city, out into the countryside. Houses, trees, hills, and fields fly past so fast they look like colored smears on the windows.
After two more stops, I nod to Rak. "The next one is ours. Get ready."
Another rush of speed, then a jerk. I'm out of my seat before the doors open, and I spring onto the platform, with Rak and my guards on my heels. The departing gust of the train tangles my hair around my face and ripples my clothing.
And then all is quiet.
Sunlight glows warm on the concrete platform, and a scent of grass and earth wafts on the breeze. Blue sky sweeps overhead, clumps of white clouds floating serenely through it. Around the platform cluster several town buildings—the depot, a hoverpod rental lot, an eatery—and further along the street, rows of shops and houses. But between the walls and rooftops, I glimpse trees with fluttering leaves, and swatches of green grass.
Rak draws a long, leisurely breath.
Tram circles the platform, scanning for threats.
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