Princess of Lies and Legends (The Evolved Book 2)

by Veronica Sommers

  "Thanks for that. Now come on, I want to show you the blast room."

  The blast room takes away the sweat-stink of play for students who don't have time to shower before going on their way after a workout. We put on goggles and walk through the sliding glass doors—and the next second a cold storm of air jets from vents around the room, evaporating the sweat, tearing at my clothing, making my cheeks and lips wobble with its force. The violent air is scented and leaves us all smelling like citrus—which is better than the acrid tang of body odor.

  When we exit the blast room, Safi doubles over laughing, tears coursing from the corners of her eyes. "That was hilarious to watch! Your faces were like jelly, and your clothes—your—your hair, Zilara—" She erupts into laughter again.

  "I know what it does." I touch my hair. Sure enough, most of it has escaped the hair tie and is sticking out in a black cloud of curls around my head. I redo the knot while Vissa finger-combs her blue waves.

  "I'm not going to lunch like this," she protests, still fussing with her hair as we exit the ActivCourt into the sunshine.

  "You look gorgeous, love," says Alik. "In Emsalis we prefer the look of the natural woman."

  How does he make those words sound so complimentary and so dirty at the same time?

  Vissa doesn't blush, but she mumbles, "I suppose I can wait to fix it." And then her gaze intensifies, drawn by something in the distance.

  "What, Vissa?"

  "Gareth alert."

  I squint across the plaza. Students dart and saunter back and forth, but none of them look like Gareth.

  "Vissa's Evolved ability is far sight," I explain to the others. "V, I still can't see him."

  "He's headed this way. Want to avoid him?"

  I tighten my fist around the strap of my gear bag. "No, I need to have this conversation. Why don't you all go ahead to the cafeteria, and I'll catch up?"

  Vissa urges the others in the direction of the eatery; but Rak hesitates. "Do you want me to stay?"

  "I can handle him," I say. "Go ahead."

  "I'd rather let him know that I have your back."

  "I'm fine."

  He turns and walks away, slowly, head bent. Oh, for stars' sake.

  "Rakhi," I call after him. "Stay."

  He's back at my side in an instant, threading his fingers through mine. We wait, side by side, as Gareth's lithe figure approaches, his hair blindingly white in the glare of the midday sun.

  How did he know we were here? I seem to be asking that question a lot lately, and the obvious answer is— "He's tracking me."

  Rak's hand tightens around mine. "It makes sense. But how?"

  I shrug. "My hoverpod, maybe? He could have put a tracker chip on it when we were together."

  "Don't tell him that you know about it," Rak says quietly—Gareth is nearly within earshot. "We might need to mislead him sometime."

  Gareth tosses back his shock of hair with long fingers. "Zil. A pleasure to see you."

  "Wish I could say the same. What are you doing here?"

  "Meeting friends at the arcade." He looks us up and down. "Been exercising?"

  "Aeroball."

  "How was it?" He's looking at Rak now.

  "Fun," Rak replies.

  Gareth's eyes narrow. "Indeed? I never played."

  "Because you don't like to sweat," I interject.

  "Why sweat when your metabolism is genetically designed to keep you in perfect shape?" He gestures to himself. "You remember perfection, Zilara?"

  My stomach clenches. "Perfection is overrated."

  "So it would seem. And it seems that your word is overrated as well. Didn't you promise to speak to your father about my position as Junior Attaché for the Council?"

  "I never promised you anything. And in case you hadn't noticed, you can't blackmail me anymore. My father knows about Rak—about all my friends."

  "Yes, he does know about that." Gareth's inflection implies that there is more to be known, secrets I'm still keeping from my father. Which is absolutely true, but how could he know? Maybe he only suspects, and he's trying to trick me into revealing something.

  "I'm not playing your games," I tell him. "Have fun with your friends."

  "And you with yours." He surveys Rak again, one side of his mouth curling derisively. Then he strides past us, through the doors of the ActivCourt.

  Rak and I walk in the direction the others went, toward the cafeteria. I look up at him, curious about the odd expression on his face. "What is it?"

  "You were with him?" He quirks an eyebrow. "I don't get it."

  "He has his charms," I say, sighing. "He made me feel like a queen at first. Beautiful gifts, amazing outings—and you have to admit he's gorgeous. Plus he had other talents—" I flinch at the flood of illicit memories that sicken me now. "Looking back, I can see that he always kept me at a distance, never really let me in—but at the time, I just felt lucky that someone as beautiful, intelligent, and rich as him wanted to be with me."

  The muscles along Rak's jaw flex. "What happened to end it?"

  "I overheard him talking to one of his friends. Boasting about how he was going to be my consort, and more. He said, 'Zilara will be one of the Magnate's nominees for his successor, and the skies above know how bad she would be at that job. She has aeroballs for brains. I'll guide her through the election, and then I'll be Magnate in all but name.' That's what he said."

  "He underestimated you," Rak says. "He's a fool." His grip on my hand tightens so ferociously that I gasp. He lets go immediately. "Sorry." His pace slows. "Maybe I should go back. I think I need to hit him."

  "No. Why?"

  "Because he hurt you. And because he—" Fury and jealousy twists his face. "I can't stand thinking of him touching you."

  "I can barely stand it myself. But hitting him isn't going to help. Come on." I tug him forward. "Let's eat, and forget about him. He's a slug. No, he's a scourgeling."

  During the short walk to the cafeteria, we come up with a whole range of foul names for Gareth. But when the dining hall doors slide open, every thought of him slips from my mind—and Rak's too, judging by his stunned expression.

  The cafeteria sprawls before us, a cavernous room of creamy tiled floors, arching aqua pillars, and holo-banners streaming colorful and translucent over our heads. Scores of brightly painted tables fill the central space, encircled by gleaming white chairs; and all around the room, filling nearly every blank stretch of wall, are shiny metal counters lined with steaming warmers. As each warmer is emptied of its contents, it glides back along its track and another heaping dish moves in to fill its place.

  Rak follows me to the start of the line, where I scan my finance card for us both and hand him a tray. "You slide your tray along here," I say. "And then push the button for what you want, and the bots serve it up. That way germs are minimized, and everyone gets equal portions."

  He nods, but his eyes never leave the mounds of food. As we walk down the line, I see it all as if for the first time. Spicy vegetable wraps stacked in pyramidal piles. Fat dumplings sitting in butter. Slabs of fish with herbs, stewed meat in savory sauce, chunks of roasted poultry on sticks. Heaps of fragrant rice and chunks of seasoned potatoes. Bowls of fresh fruit of every color, ripe and juicy. Fried dough dusted with sugar, and tubs of sweet ice and creamy pudding.

  It goes on and on, until I can hardly stand it. I've only chosen three things, and I glance back at Rak. His tray is heaped with food, and he looks a little dazed. "Are we done?"

  "Yes." My eyes fall on Vissa, standing and waving to us from a distant table. "This way."

  Safi is staring at her food, wearing a vacant, disbelieving expression much like Rak's; but Alik is devouring his meal with relish, somehow managing to look rakish and charming even while cramming chicken into his mouth with his fingers.

  "Your friends act as if they've never seen food before," Vissa says.

  "I have never seen this much food in all my life," says Safi, quietly.

 
"The cafeteria is huge," Reya says cheerily. "Bigger than our school eatery in upper-levels. I was impressed too, when I first came to Uni."

  "Where Safi lived, in Ankerja, the people have very little," I say softly. "Food is scarce and expensive in places like that—in the desert, and in the border towns of Emsalis."

  Silence drapes the table, carrying the uncomfortable weight of my words.

  "Babes' blood, Princess," says Alik. "You know how to spoil a good meal. Why don't we postpone the guilt and bad memories until after the fantastic food has landed in our bellies?"

  Safi straightens, picking up her fork. "Agreed."

  They touch the tines of their forks in a kind of salute, and dive in.

  Something achingly tight uncoils in me, and with its release my appetite returns. But in my soul is an ice-cold core of truth, that one goal of my life will be to see less hunger in the world.

  15

  For the next week, I wait.

  I wait for Alik's mysterious contact to deliver the building plans for the Amzen building. I wait for him to tell us exactly what he's up to, and where he's spending all his time and getting his money.

  I wait for Rak and Safi to find their respective new homes. Rak doesn't ask me to help him choose his new place, and I'm trying to be respectful of that. I have to let him be himself. This is his first time living alone, free, able to make all his own choices. But if he chooses some hovel in the slums on the outskirts—ugh.

  While I wait, I practice with some of the aeroballers at Uni, in case I decide to do the tournament. Whenever I'm home, I avoid my father as much as possible, so he doesn't have a chance to ask about the status of my skull-port. The avoiding part isn't too hard; he's busy, getting ready for some big world leaders' conference. Emret will be going with him—Emret, whom Alik jokingly dubs "the Chosen One." Emret, who hasn't waved me since I returned from Emsalis. He dropped me one message line, but that was it.

  When a Magnate turns sixty, he nominates three potential successors, and the people vote for their favorite. At least, that's how it works in theory. My father was nominated by my grandfather, and my grandfather was nominated by his mother. The line of succession remains unbroken for three generations, and everyone expects Emret to be the next Magnate.

  Right after I graduated, I was on the way to being one of those three nominees. I was enrolled at Caliston University, in a political field of study. I was dating a Councilwoman's son. And then the breakup happened, and I stopped trying to hide how miserable I was in my choice of study path.

  As if that weren't enough, there was the kidnapping bit. I'm fairly sure my political future burned to ash in the Emsali desert—not that I wanted to be Magnate anyway. I certainly didn't want to be a placeholder nominee, forced to run a hopeless campaign against my brother, the Chosen One.

  I have other concerns now, concerns about Safi and Alik, and Rak; about the suppressors; and about the situation in Emsalis. The newsfeeds continue to spew the same drivel I remember from before my trip. Emsalis is secure in the hands of the Peace-Keepers. The rebels are under control. The humanitarian situation is improving.

  It's a steaming pile of jacanal dung.

  I'm watching another newsfeed, shaking my head and occasionally my fist at the doe-eyed reporter on my holoscreen—when a wave comes in from Rak. Grateful for the diversion, I accept it.

  "Big news," he says. "I have a job. And rooms."

  "Really? Where?" I had no idea he was job-hunting as well as house-hunting.

  "The job is down in the production district; I'll be taking inventory and loading goods for transport. The rooms are not far away, so I can walk to work if I need to."

  He's taking care of himself, of everything. Pride mingles with fear in my heart. What if he decides he doesn't need me, or want me?

  "That's so great," I answer.

  He can't stop grinning. "I'm excited. I need to go work out or spar or something. Want to come over here?"

  "It's late—why don't you spar with Alik?"

  Rak's smile drops. "About Alik—he's avoiding me and Safi. We call, but he doesn't answer. We go to his place in the evening, and he's not there."

  "Maybe he has a job now."

  "Not one he told us about. And you know what that probably means."

  "The thief can't keep his fingers out of pockets?"

  He nods. "What do you want to do about it?"

  I purse my lips. "We need to find out for sure where he's going and what he's doing. And we can't ask him, because the man is a master of avoidance. He'll change the subject. No, we need to follow him and spy on him."

  "Can't you use his skull-port to track him?"

  "I could." With Ridley or Tram's help, I could do it. "But I don't want to invade his privacy like that. It's one thing to tail him in person; it's another to use his embedded tech against him. I won't do it."

  Rak raises his eyebrows. "A line you won't cross. Interesting." There's a teasing tilt to his mouth.

  "Don't get me started on all the lines you won't cross."

  He glances down, and I know we're both thinking of the cave behind the waterfall, and all the things we could have done there.

  "I've had three sessions with the psychologist this week," he says.

  "Oh?" I try not to sound too eager, too curious.

  "It helped. He gave me some coping tools, like you said, for when the memories get bad. But Zilara, that doesn't change the rules of my religion."

  "I know."

  Silence follows, in which I shift in my seat and desperately try to think about something besides sleeping with the gorgeous broad-shouldered rebel in front of me.

  "Tell me about your new place," I say, to break the tension.

  "I've got a bedroom, a bathroom, and most of a kitchen. It's what I need, and it's mine."

  I smile at the pride in his voice. "Tell me more about the job."

  We talk, and I forget where I am and what time it is, until a gigantic yawn splits my face.

  "You need sleep, Zilara." Rak smothers a yawn of his own.

  I sigh, resigned. "I wish you were here right now."

  "I'm sorry I've been so busy this week."

  "Don't be sorry," I tell him. "I want you to have a life."

  "Why don't you come to my new rooms tomorrow, right before dark, and we'll go over to Alik's and follow him if he goes anywhere?"

  "Mm, a romantic, dangerous outing. Lovely."

  He laughs, rich and deep, and I can't help laughing with him.

  "This actually works," I say. "You and me. Even without all the danger, and the running, and the sleeping together in the desert."

  "You're surprised?"

  "I didn't know how much of it was real. I thought it was real, but—"

  He leans closer to the vid lens. "When you asked me to leave Emsalis with you, I wasn't sure. I didn't think it would work, but I said yes anyway. And then, once we were in the air, I knew, with every bit of myself, that I was doing the right thing. Being with you—it's the most important thing to me now."

  The enormity of his confession sinks into my soul. The responsibility of being that person for him is immense. And yet I think in this moment, my heart could spurn gravity and take flight like a Sky-Born.

  ***

  The next day, I arrange for the dismissal of both my night guards. It's too bad they're losing their jobs—but with glowing references from me, they should be able to find good work quickly.

  My father might object to their dismissal, but he left early this morning for the conference, so he won't notice for a while. Before Emsalis, I never had night guards at home anyway—only one at Uni. With all the security features of the house, the night guards are overkill—unless my father intended them as a deterrent for me, more than any potential kidnappers or assassins.

  With the night guards out of the way, all I have to do is convince Tram and Ridley to leave early so I can play spy with Rak.

  I start the process around noon, complaining of a headac
he after aeroball practice. I spend the afternoon pretending to rest in my room.

  Then, just as the sun is setting, I set my room in private mode and use my com to summon a rental hoverbike with dual seats—less noticeable than a pod, more maneuverable, and hopefully not trackable by my stalker ex. I dress in tight, dark clothing, and then I wrap myself in a plush robe, holding my boots from Emsalis under the robe, against my chest.

  Yawning, I waddle out of my room in slippers. Ridley and Tram rise from their benches in the hallway.

  "Relax," I say. "I'm not feeling well, so I'm going to bed early. But I'm getting a snack first. You two can go for the night; I won't be going out again."

  I have snacks in my room, and a service chute through which I can have specific items from the coolbox shunted up to me. But hopefully my guards won't think past my excuse, not until I've made my escape.

  "Are you sure?" Ridley checks her timepiece.

  "Yes, go ahead. You can bill for an extra three hours; I'll sign off on it if anyone asks."

  "Thanks," says Tram, picking up his pack. "It's my son's birthday. Glad to have the extra time."

  He precedes me down the stairs, and Ridley follows. I can feel her gaze on the back of my neck. She suspects, I'm almost sure she does. Since I ditched them at the farm, she has been extra vigilant.

  She has to believe me. My plan depends on it.

  Every muscle of my body wants to run, but I force myself to shuffle down the steps, toward the kitchen.

  Ridley and Tram converse casually, their voices receding until the front door cuts off the sound altogether.

  Our chef is in the kitchen, preparing the evening meal. I pop my head in. "I'm going to bed early," I say. "Not feeling great. Can you tell my mother?"

  "Of course, Miss Zilara. Can I make you anything?"

  "No, thank you."

  He turns back to the counter, and I slip down the hall to the back door. Hopefully he'll tell my mother I went to bed and she won't bother to check the house exit logs. If she does check my room status on the house system, she'll see it set to private mode. She won't be able to tell that I'm not in there, unless she uses the master account override; and I doubt she'll go to that trouble.