Princess of Lies and Legends (The Evolved Book 2)

by Veronica Sommers

  "Alik was giving people hulem at the party?"

  "Don't pretend you didn't know."

  "I didn't." I scrunch the bedding in my fist. "Look, Alik is—crazy; and it was Safi's first time at a party like that—I'm sure she just followed his example. But there's a lot more to both of them than tongues and enhancers. And why are you judging them? You've behaved the same way dozens of times."

  "They don't belong here." She won't meet my eyes.

  "Vissa, please, give them a chance tomorrow. Once you spend more time with them, you'll like them, I promise."

  "What time?" she says, still avoiding my gaze.

  I tell her, and she signs off with a noncommittal, "Maybe I'll see you then."

  Gripping fistfuls of the blankets, I shut my eyes and focus on breathing deeply.

  Vissa is shallow. Selfish. I've always known it, and I care about her in spite of it—because she's also loyal in her own way, and funny, and smart, and sarcastic. Her cleverly worded venom, directed mostly at people we envied or people below us, shaped my own approach to the world.

  The smart mouth of mine, that got Rak's attention? Vissa created that. When I felt weakened by my mother's fragility, or my father's strength, or a boy's treachery, she smacked me with words until I toughened up. She taught me that humor and wit could be weapons.

  If Vissa could overcome her prejudices, she and Safi would get along well, I know it. Or perhaps they're too alike, and they would be mortal enemies.

  Flopping back on the bed, staring at the blank white ceiling, I imagine desert sands, and sun, and silence. No waves from prickly friends, no political tripwires to avoid—just pure, stark survival.

  14

  The next morning I wear a comfortable, breathable tank top and form-fitting pants with simple sandals, and I twist my curly black hair into a flyaway knot on top of my head, to keep it out of the way for the game. At the last second I dart into the closet and seize the red case that holds my aeroball boots and protective gear.

  We pick up Safi, Alik, and Rak shortly before mid-morning. Alik swings lightly into the hover-pod, leaning over to kiss my cheek. He smells of liquor and cloves, like the ones our chef uses in spice cake.

  "Last day you'll pick me up here, darling," he says, collapsing onto the seat beside me. "I'm moving to my new place tomorrow."

  "Safi and I are throwing a party to celebrate," Rak says, sitting on my other side and skimming my shoulders with his arm. "After Alik leaves, of course." His scent envelops me, vanilla soap and a latent, spicy smokiness that sends tingles to some very personal places.

  I've always noticed the way boys smell. Despite my Evolved nature, or maybe because of it, that particular sense of mine is completely primal.

  Rak looks at me quizzically. "What?"

  "You smell good," I say, resisting the impulse to bury my face in his chest.

  "So do you," he answers, leaning closer.

  "Oh, Death's Dark," Safi groans, lounging on the seat opposite us. "Spare me the nose-to-nose love chat. Maybe I should stay behind and work on the implant some more."

  "No!" I sit up straight, pulling away from Rak. "You're coming with us, to have fun. And please, Alik, could you be on your best behavior today?"

  "I'm offended," he says. "I'm always on my best behavior around you, Princess."

  "Extra-best then. My friend Vissa doesn't like you— any of you." I glance apologetically at Rak. "And I'd like to change that."

  "We'll be who we are, Zil." Safi's green eyes harden. "We're the people who were tough enough to get you safely here, and if that doesn't work for your soft Ceannan friends, it's their problem. Not ours."

  "I disagree," says Alik. "I have yet to meet someone who didn't like me—someone I haven't stolen from, that is—and it's a matter of professional pride that I charm every person I meet."

  "I don't like you," mumbles Safi.

  In answer, he dives across the gap between the circular seats and slides in beside her, his blue eyes sparkling, and that grin— "Are you sure?"

  And Safi, bold, self-sufficient Safi, actually giggles.

  From the front of the pod, Tram speaks up. "Approaching the University campus entrance, Miss Zilara."

  "Thank you. Take us to the ActivCourt, please. We're meeting everyone there."

  "What about the food?" Alik says. Safi leans forward, and the avarice in her eyes pierces my heart. How many times did she go hungry in Ankerja? And even when she had food, it was nowhere near the quality or quantity that she'll see today. Suddenly the thought of the gross abundance in the University cafeteria sickens me.

  How much food do those hawker stalls and buffets throw away at the end of every day?

  "We'll go to the cafeteria after we play," I say slowly. "And please—don't hate me when you see it."

  "When we see what?" Rak asks.

  "The food. The—horrible, ridiculous excess of it all." Images from Emsalis crowd my brain—Rak's mother and sister, rail-thin, with eyes full of hate. The gaunt woman at the clinic in Saghir. The fidgety clothing shop owner, desperately protecting his outdated wares from our grubby fingers. The pair of bony beggar children in Safi's old tenement building.

  "Zilara." Rak wraps both arms around me. Safi is staring, and Alik's smile is gone.

  I touch my cheeks and find them slick with tears.

  "I'm sorry," I whisper. "I'm so sorry. I won't forget your people. I won't. I promise."

  "We know, Zil," says Safi quietly.

  "I've been distracted with the suppressor thing, but I know it's not as important as the situation in Emsalis. And I will help, somehow. I just have to figure out what to do."

  "Zilara." Rak takes my face in his hands, his calloused thumbs wiping away my tears. "I love your heart in this, but don't carry that burden. You can't fix a war all by yourself."

  "I can try." I stare at him stubbornly.

  "Such an idealist." He smiles a little. "Forget the weight of the world for a while. We could all use some fun."

  "Fun! Yes!" Alik agrees. But though his flashy grin his back, his eyes are sober, and he glances at me as we climb out of the hoverpod. As if he wants to tell me something.

  The next second he looks away, leaping lightly to the ground and striding toward Vissa, who stands with her hands on her hips beside Reya.

  I'm too far away to hear Alik's first words to them—probably something absurd and flattering, because Vissa's stiff posture relaxes and she pushes him playfully with one hand.

  I lead the way into the ActivCourt, a hulking building that stands several stories tall and covers a generous portion of the campus. Ceannans are nothing if not image-conscious, and this place is dedicated to making exercise more fun. Its huge outdoor courtyards hold playing fields and spectator stands, while the indoor sectors boast aeroball courts, skating rinks, holo-arcades with workout games, pools, and three massive rooms dedicated to the latest exercise equipment.

  "Have any of you played aeroball before?" Vissa asks as we weave through hallways, dodging sweaty students.

  Alik lifts his hand. "A few times, when I was a kid."

  "I've seen it played in vids before," says Rak. "Always enjoyed watching it, but I never thought I'd get a chance to try it. There are maybe three courts in Emsalis with the necessary tech, and only the Unity teams play there."

  "I know nothing about it," says Safi.

  "I'll explain it," I tell her, hooking my arm through her elbow. "With those long legs of yours, you'd be a natural. Oh, here we are. See the courts? That's the primary one in the center, and those are the smaller practice courts."

  The main aeroball court is a broad octagon, with an ultra-durable anti-grav surface. High above it, a couple stories beyond ground level, are the eight goal rings, also octagonal, and above them, the rebound board.

  "The basic idea is to get the balls through the goals," I say. "There are three balls, all identical. Each team has Rushers and Interceptors. I'm usually a Rusher because my aim is so good."

 
; "Insanely good," interjects Vissa.

  "Hush," I tell her, and Rak grins. "The rules get complicated, because there are certain zones you can't be in at specific times, and certain jumps or pushes that can't happen in sequence. But we don't have to worry about that part when we're playing for fun. We'll keep it simple. Jump as high as you can, and try to get the ball through one of the goals matching your team color."

  "What's to keep the balls from flying off-court?" Safi asks.

  "Once both teams are in, they put a wave-shield around the court," I say. "It looks shimmery, like water, or clear plastic. You can bounce off it, but it's not as responsive as the floor."

  "Do people get hurt playing this?" Safi's hand hovers over her stomach. Of course she's apprehensive. She just recovered from the wounds she got in our battle with the Vilor.

  "You can get hurt playing anything," I say, because she'll know if I lie. "What you really don't want is for one of your boots to start acting up when you're two stories above the ground. That's what this is for." I point to a machine standing near the court. "Put your anti-grav boots inside for a function check, and it will tell you if they're in good working order and how much charge is left. For really long games, I've had to switch boots a couple of times."

  At the rental counter, everyone but Vissa and I are weighed, measured, and fitted for boots and helmets. Like me, Vissa has her own gear.

  After putting on my gear, I pace back and forth. Then I perch on a nearby stool, jiggling my foot impatiently, until Vissa smacks my knee.

  "Relax, Zil. What's got you so jittery?"

  "I haven't played in a while."

  "So?"

  "I want to do well, that's all."

  She follows my gaze to Rak, who is on one knee fastening his boots. "Oh. I see. You want to show off for the ruffian. Don't worry, Zil—you could score goals in your sleep. And don't think so much about the boy—think about me, because I've been practicing my interception and I plan to give you a challenge this time."

  I laugh. "A challenge? That would be a first."

  "Shut up." She jogs my elbow.

  Rak approaches us, somehow managing an easy stride despite the chunky boots. "I'm ready."

  "Ready to be crushed," says Alik sourly. "You do realize it isn't fair, expecting those who have never played to compete with all of you."

  "That's why I'm on a team with Rak and Safi," I say. "The other team will be you, Vissa, and Reya."

  We spread out over the court, and I speak the command to activate the wave-shield.

  "Power up those boots, everyone." I switch my own boots on. Instantly my feet rise a few inches above the floor and I have to straighten quickly to keep my balance. Rak watches me, mimicking my actions.

  I smile at him. And then I jump, soaring high, high above his head, far up—not high enough to touch the rings, but close enough to put a ball through them. Kicking gently, I stride through the air, and then I pull my knees to my chest and flip over and over. Swiftly I straighten my body, then push with my arms to twirl.

  I'm losing altitude, so I let myself float back down near the platform, hovering over it, legs apart.

  Rak's admiring stare brings blood to my cheeks. The others are leaping off already, soaring around us.

  "Don't kick anyone in the head," I say. "Come on!"

  I jump, and he springs off the platform too, flying up with me. When he reaches the apex of the leap, he loses his balance and flips upside down. The panic on his face sparks hysterical laughter in my stomach, and I have to bite my lips to keep it back.

  "Use your core muscles," I tell him. "Your stomach, your thighs. Keep your legs apart, and never stop moving."

  I catch his hand and pull him upright, spinning slowly in the air. "We're sinking now. To gain altitude we can kick off the side or dive all the way down for another jump."

  "Down," he says.

  "Do you feel sick? That can happen."

  "No." His jaw is tight, his eyes fierce. When we reach the anti-grav platform, he bends his knees and jumps like I showed him. This time, he controls his trajectory better, shooting sideways once he reaches the peak of his ascent. Unfortunately, he slams into Alik, and they slip downward in a tangle of legs and boots.

  I push off from the shield and dive after them. "You two all right?"

  Rak manages to right himself. "Sorry," he says.

  "It's fine," growls Alik.

  After a little more practice, we start a scrimmage. The pace of the game is slower than I'd like—when I played in upper levels, an aeroball game was a maelstrom of soaring bodies, flying legs, and arms stretching to block or seize the ball; and I was the searing wind that streaked through its center, pure instinct and unerring aim.

  I can't give this scrimmage my full power, not with so many new players—so I spend some of my time practicing twirls and loops near the edges of the court, diving in now and then to shoot the ball through a goal. Once I spring off the side of the wave-shield and shoot across the court on my back, snatching the ball from Vissa's palm and saluting her cockily before slamming it upward with a strength that surprises even me. On my way down from that foray, Rak captures me, his arms pinning my back against his chest, our helmets clanking against each other. I'm already warm from the exercise, and his touch sends a flare of heat through me.

  "Let go!" I wriggle against him. "This isn't how the game is played."

  He spins me around in midair. "You told me you were good at this game. You didn't say you were a champion."

  "It just looks like that because I'm playing with amateurs."

  "Not true. You're as good as any of the national players I watched in vids."

  We leap up again, and he catches a ball on the way. He's holding himself straight, shooting like an arrow toward the goals, swerving neatly around Reya, who was trying to block his shot. Alik and Safi are vying over control of another ball, so I intercept Vissa and give Rak the opening he needs.

  My mind captures the image of him in midair, one leg extended and the other bent, his body taut, tense face upturned to the goals, muscles flexing as he hurls the ball.

  The sight of him is so beautiful it hurts.

  The ball soars through the goal, Rak does a victory flip, and the moment is over. Vissa pants behind me. "You three win. I'm done."

  We sink to the platform together, and on the way she says, "You're such a dope."

  "What? Why?"

  "The way you look at him. Like you want to eat him, or be eaten by him. And yes, the double meaning is intentional."

  I shove her, and she spins away, coming to a clumsy landing.

  After switching off our anti-grav boots, we stumble off-court, heated and laughing, and collapse on benches to remove the gear.

  Rak turns to me, eyes glowing, and says, "That was the most fun I've had in my life."

  Emotion chokes me, because I know what his life has been. We sit side by side on the bench in silence, the chatter of the others fading into the background.

  "It's hard to believe we're here. Safe. Doing this." I gesture to the ring. "Do you feel—guilty? Because I do."

  He nods. "Sometimes. Not because I helped you—that was the right thing to do. But I left them—" he breaks off, worrying his scar with his teeth and looking away.

  I run my hand over his back. "Your family kicked you out, Rak."

  "I know."

  "We could send them a wave and see if they respond. You know your mother's wave-code, right?"

  He buries his face in his hands. "I'm not supposed to contact them after the excision."

  "Not at all?"

  "No."

  I take his chin in my fingers and turn his face toward me. "Well, you know how I feel about following rules." A reluctant half-smile curves his lips, letting me know I've won. "Try calling them. And you could even send them money, if you want."

  "They wouldn't accept it from me. And I'd rather not send them your money, Zilara. I need to earn some of my own."

  "What I have i
s yours," I tell him. "All of it." I lean closer to his ear. "And all of me."

  His breathing quickens and he swallows hard. I can't help smiling; I love having that effect on him.

  But before I can kiss that sweet scarred mouth of his, a pair of neatly pressed pants halts in front of me. I look up, and it's Estelle Wingate, coach of the University aeroball team. Over and over she has urged me to join the Uni team, despite my explanations about my father and how he insists that I focus on a political major.

  "It's good to see you back, Zilara," she says. "I said prayers for you."

  I forgot she's religious. "Um... thank you."

  "You're still one of the top players here, even when you're holding back." Coach Wingate smiles down at me. "I wanted to let you know that there's an exhibition match being held here soon. I can put your name in if you want to enter. Scouts from all over Ceanna will be here, as well as some from other countries. I know what you said, about your father not wanting you to play, but you're incredible. I'd love to see you there."

  "I'm not sure I should challenge my father on this," I say. "Things between us have been tense lately."

  "He wouldn't have to know." She lowers her voice. "Not till afterward, anyway."

  "I'll think about it."

  Wingate nods. "I'll wave you the details."

  "I don't have a skull-port anymore," I say. "I'll give you the wave-code for my com, though."

  As the coach walks away, I can feel Rak's eyes on me. "What?" I say.

  "You love this game, don't you? The action, the competition?"

  "Yes."

  "Zilara, so many people have to spend their lives doing what they must do to survive. If you have a choice, you should spend yours doing something you love."

  "But I don't have a choice. Not really. I can't afford to anger my father any more right now."

  "As she said, he doesn't need to know."

  "Rakhi Masdar! Are you suggesting that I deceive my father?" I lean away in mock horror.

  "It's nothing you haven't done before." He squeezes my knee. "And I know that your moral gray area is at least five times larger than mine. Shouldn't be a problem for you."