by Wren Weston
“Toys and computer games, mostly. They also have their vineyards, but that’s more of a hobby for Chairwoman Masson than a business.”
“Well, I’m not sure I see the use of having another senator either. They don’t have to outvote the damn environmentalists every time they want to add a new well or an oil rig along the Costa Sur. It would be a big risk for little in return.”
“Judging from how much he wants to marry my sister, a political career has never been all that important to him. If it was, I’d expect him to draw things out with Jewel for a while longer. He could have wormed his way into another year or two at High House, but he’s about to throw it all away. From what I can tell, no one seems that bothered by it.”
“No one except you.”
“Because it’s weird. If the Masson family knew he was infertile or that such a malady ran in his line, they could have pushed him toward another career at Bullstow. He could have gone into law, social services, education, the militia. He could have been happy doing something else.”
“Yeah, but there’s much less canoodling with highborn women.”
“Commander, Senator Dubois is very pretty. He could do plenty of that year round in another occupation. If he wanted to marry, he could have done so. Men are allowed to leave government service for that. Bullstow is far too conservative to ever get in the way. He’s beautiful enough to have found a wife among the highborn, and he could have had his pick among the lowborn elite. Even if he couldn’t have children, someone, somewhere, wouldn’t have minded.”
“Perhaps he wanted better. Perhaps he wanted the Randolphs,” Sutton suggested. But the blackcoat offered a quick shake of her head immediately after. “I can’t even suggest that in good conscience. I’ve been around the man for years now. I see no deception in him.”
“Neither do I, and I looked hard. Do you think there is something weird about the whole thing?”
“It does seem a little odd.” She nodded. “I’ve learned to look deeper when I come upon things that don’t quite add up. It’s a consequence of being a security officer, and it’s what makes you a good one. If you think something weird is going on, you might be right.”
“Might be?”
“It could also be that you don’t want this new future of yours.”
Lila looked away from her mentor, not able to refute her.
“Investigate if you need to. Satisfy your curiosity, but don’t obsess, and be prepared to accept what you find.”
Chapter 8
Lila surveyed the city from atop Wolf Tower, a cold burst of wind catching her blackcoat. It mussed her hair and shoved her away from the roof’s edge. She flexed her thighs and stood her ground, listening for any noise below. She heard nothing but the cawing of grackles in the maples. The people in the compound below moved to and fro like ants while the sun dipped below the horizon. The sky burned in orange and pink. Darkness would follow soon.
“You have not done as I asked.”
Lila spun around, hand on her tranq.
A woman stalked forward, ignoring Lila’s weapon. Her long blonde hair shifted in the wind, and her blue eyes traveled over the lawns. She wore leather armor, somewhat faded from the sun and the battlefield, just beginning to crack and show its age. Fur-lined boots covered her feet and calves, the toes marked with flecks of blood. A leather cord drooped at her neck with the weight of two large pearls. The bow and sword that peeked over her shoulder had both seen battle, just like the ancient oracle who wore them.
“What did you ask?”
“We spoke only a few hours ago, yet you do not remember. I suppose the healer made you forget.”
“The healer?” Lila frowned, barely remembering her CUT procedure. “It’s called anesthesia.”
“It’s called an annoyance.”
“Did you just make a joke?”
The woman turned, nary a smile line on her face. “Lila of New Bristol, you have become problematic.”
“How so?”
“You do not listen. You bring me to look at scenery instead of battlefields.”
“What battlefields?”
“You know exactly what battlefield I speak of. You finally take up arms against our enemies, then you turn away from your victory. You should be celebrating. You should be drinking and feasting and recounting the story with those who stood at your side. A tale spinner should have written a—”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I do not care. You killed for the glory of the gods. You protected future oracles. You won a great victory.”
“I killed eight human beings.”
“You killed eight enemies of the gods, and that is only the beginning. More will die. You will be a part of it, yet your stomach turns at the thought.” She leaned into Lila’s face. Her breath smelled of honey. “I could take you there again.”
Lila stepped away.
“But that would not help you, would it? You’d run from the sight like you run from your thoughts. You would have preferred it if those men had taken the oracle daughters.”
“No, I wouldn’t.”
“You would rather have spent this time tracking the kidnappers back to their homeland?”
“No.”
“You would rather have brought back three small corpses?”
“Four.”
“Four, and yet you still you turn away. If you cannot cheer your victory, then at least put it behind you.”
“Just like that?”
“Yes. Stop wasting your time on remorse. There is no time for it.”
“Fuck you.”
The woman reached for her sword. Her hand lingered on the hilt, but she did not draw. “Sileas’ daughters have much work ahead of them. They neglected you for too long.”
“Sileas’ daughters? You mean the oracles?”
“At least you know the old names,” the woman said, dropping her hand at last. She rolled her shoulders and sighed. “The world has become soft and deaf over the centuries.”
“We’ve become civilized.”
“At some point, civilized people must rise up, their words spent, and pick up a weapon. Otherwise, they won’t have a civilization left to defend. That is what you did, Lila of New Bristol. You rose up. You did what must be done. Now you must continue on your path.”
“I am continuing on my path.”
“How so? You make merry with your lover. You hold on to this place,” she said, her chin jerking to the compound. “You cling to what you must abandon.”
“I’ll never abandon my family.”
“You sacrifice yourself, not because you think it is right, but because you think you deserve it. Punishment? Compensation? Do not twist the old ways and the words of the gods. You are the victor, Lila of New Bristol. You are the punishment.”
“I was born to—”
“That life is forfeit,” the woman insisted. “None of this matters. The oracle in your village summons you. Attend her, or I will return. I won’t speak so politely next time.”
“Why should—”
A knock sounded on Lila’s bedroom door.
She flinched, startling at the noise. Her breath hitched as her sore belly protested the sudden movement.
Sinking into her covers, she ignored the next knock, her mind spiraling to the day before. She hadn’t spent too long in the gym or gotten into a fight. Her future had changed. Rubio had reversed her CUT. Bullstow would hold the Closing Ceremony the next evening before the ball. She would attend and stand among the heirs. She’d take a senator. She’d accept the prime role soon after.
She’d have a child, an heir for the family.
It didn’t matter how many odd dreams her mind produced.
Nothing would change her duty and her new future.
The knock came again.
Alex did not w
ait any longer to be invited. She wordlessly flipped on half the lights in the room rather than firing every cannon at once. Lila hid her face underneath the covers, but the sound of casters rolling on the hardwood floor garnered her attention, as did the smell of food. She poked an eyeball from under her blankets.
“Wake up, lazy bones,” her old friend whispered over the clattering of silver trays and china. “Surgery or not, it wouldn’t do for the new Randolph prime to wallow in bed all day.”
“Jewel’s been doing it wrong, then.” Lila inclined her head toward the cart, sniffing eggs, bacon, pancakes, and maple syrup. In a little bowl, she spied blackberries. “How’d you find out?”
“I have my ways.”
Lila raised a brow.
“I guessed,” Alex admitted.
“What’s with the pancakes?”
“Chef,” Alex said, setting the breakfast on a tray so Lila could eat in bed. Given the amount of food, Chef apparently believed that Lila was already eating for two, or perhaps ten. “After the chairwoman asked her to cook all your favorite foods yesterday, Chef naturally assumed that you’d need it today as well. She’s still in the dark about the consequences of your meeting. As far as I can tell, everyone is. The family is talking, though. The chairwoman summoned you back from vacation early, and everyone knows it.”
“Great.” Lila winced as she sat up, holding her stomach.
“Perhaps you should lie down.”
“Not when there are pancakes on the line. Chef will take them away and send up oatmeal. I hate oatmeal. I’m just sore, and there’s nothing wrong with my appetite.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive. I just sat up too fast.”
The slave nodded, and her fingers lingered on a second plate. “I thought you might want to have breakfast with an old friend, given everything that’s happened. Am I an old friend?” She waited uncertainly next to the dinner cart, her ankles bending like an awkward child. She wouldn’t meet Lila’s eyes.
“Of course you are. You’ll always be.”
Alex gave a little smile and put her plate next to Lila’s, both barely fitting on the shared tray. She picked up a pitcher of orange juice. It clinked against their glasses as she poured. “I didn’t know if it would be too forward given my position, especially with my behavior a few weeks ago. Chef said I shouldn’t ask.”
A month ago, Alex wouldn’t have cared what Chef thought. Then again, a month ago Alex hadn’t smacked her around in front of the High Council of Judges. Lila hadn’t yet put her friend’s mother and little brother in a holding cell, either.
They’d both done things they regretted.
“We’ve had breakfast many times.”
“You’ve never been prime while I’ve been a slave.” Alex sat down across from her, her movement slow enough to barely disturb the bed.
The mattress barely wobbled. Orange juice sloshed in their cups.
“Things will be different when it’s official. I won’t be having breakfast with Chief Randolph. I’ll be having breakfast with President Randolph. Truth be told, I think everyone has always assumed I was a snitch, and that it couldn’t be helped since we’d been friends for so long. Things will be different now.”
“Is that what you think?”
“Yes. I could never have imagined sharing a meal with a slave when I was prime. It just isn’t done. You know that. Stop pretending we’re both something we’re not.”
“I’m not—”
“You don’t know what it’s like among the workborn when the highborn aren’t around. They get jealous and gossip about the strangest things. Others are the sweetest and kindest of souls. Chef, for one. If you pout around her long enough, she might make pancakes all week.”
“She almost does that now,” Lila said, trying to stifle a yawn.
She failed in her attempt.
“If I had known you’d be this tired, I would have let you sleep.”
“What time is it?”
“Six, just as you asked. You slept for ten hours, Lila, but I’m not sure it was enough.” She placed a few utensils before Lila so that she could sort out her breakfast. “What did your doctor say?”
“Nothing about staying in bed.”
“Maybe you should anyway. You just had surgery.”
“A CUT reversal is not surgery.”
“Is too.”
“Barely. And ten hours is plenty of rest.” Lila dumped several pancakes onto her plate. Yesterday’s nausea had disappeared, and now that she had food in front of her, she was ravenous. She hadn’t eaten much the day before, and planned to make up for it. “I have work.”
“What work? You have no job right now.”
Lila’s fork paused over her eggs. “Why don’t you twist that knife a little harder?”
“I just meant—”
“I know what you meant, but I have a great deal to do before I leave the security office.”
“You’ll take a nap later if you need it?” Alex hinted, pushing the maple syrup toward her.
“I don’t need a nap. I’m not a toddler.”
Alex wrinkled her nose. “You’re fussy enough for one.”
“Yeah, well, you look like one.”
“You smell like one.”
“You sound like one.”
Her friend clucked her tongue. “You eat like one.”
Lila frowned at her breakfast. She’d once again poured maple syrup over everything.
“It’s good. You should try it sometime.” She snatched up the syrup and poised the spout over Alex’s eggs.
“Don’t you dare!”
Lila grinned evilly but put down the syrup.
“So how are you really doing with all this prime business?”
Lila forked a bite of pancake and chewed thoughtfully before answering. She didn’t want to think about it, just like she didn’t want to think about the warehouse, just like she didn’t want to think about the stupid dream she’d had the night before.
Apparently, some deep, dark part of her felt pride in what she’d done. It also wanted her to visit the New Bristol oracle, probably so she could whine about her stupid feelings and move on like nothing had happened.
That part of her was a murdering sociopath.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“So you’ll stick your head under the pillows until Saturday morning?”
“Something like that.”
“At least someone will be in your bed with you when you wake up. Maybe you’ll be biting that pillow instead of hiding under it.”
Lila dropped her fork.
“Oh, you should be so lucky! I could give you the name of a senator or two who will give you a good time. Just give me the word. They’ll fuck you so well that you won’t care if you’re prime or not. You won’t even remember your name for days.”
Lila had to admit, the offer tempted her—at least until she thought of Tristan, naked and sweaty atop her, his eyes and mouth set on Tristanville. “Maybe later.”
Alex nodded. “Are you going to the execution?”
Lila choked on her pancake.
“I’m sorry. I have to ask.”
“No, I’m not going.”
Alex put down her fork. “I need you to go, and I need you to take me. I can’t go unless my masters give me permission, and your mother has denied it. I need you to change her mind. I need you to come with me. I couldn’t go alone even if I didn’t need anyone’s permission. I can’t watch it without…”
Lila wiped her hands on her napkin, partly to stall, mostly because she had no idea how to answer. The last thing she wanted to do was attend the execution. She’d seen enough death lately, especially death that she had caused. Watching Patrick and Celeste Wilson hang would only add to her dreams.
Two more bodies woul
d appear in the warehouse.
And what of Alex? She’d never get it out of her mind either.
“I don’t think you should go.”
Alex’s face fell. “Don’t do this to me. I know what I want, and I want to go. I have to go. You owe me this much. You know you do.”
Lila couldn’t dispute her words. She did owe her friend, but what was the best way to be a friend? Should she keep Alex from witnessing the executions because it was for the best? Or should she go with her and let her make a mistake?
Watching the executions would haunt Alex.
“Please, Lila. It’s my decision.”
“As you wish,” Lila said at last.
After a few moments of awkwardness, the pair resumed their earlier good humor. They enjoyed a pleasant breakfast, both chuckling as they rehashed childhood memories. For a while, it felt as though they had become shadows of those girls again, promising they’d strike out on paths that their mothers had not laid out for them, blind to the knowledge that life is a product of choices that do not belong solely to oneself.
Memories soon gave way to the present, and by seven o’clock, Lila had finished her meal. While Alex cleared the dishes and carried them away, Lila briefly thought of hitting the obstacle course for her morning workout, then realized the stupidity of that idea.
Her belly was still sore. It might be days before she could go for a jog.
Even if she was well enough to work out, she no longer belonged in the security office anyway. The entire building stood as her gravestone. Perhaps she’d run along the estate’s gravel paths from now on, or perhaps she’d use the executive gym in Wolf Tower like her mother and sister.
Lila groaned at the thought. Now that she was prime, she’d never be able to get away from the chairwoman. She’d see her every single day of every single week of every single year for the rest of her life.
She nearly crawled back into bed and hid under her blankets. No one would fault her for it. She could always say that she needed time to recover after her surgery.
The bed did look so very cozy.
Instead of succumbing to temptation, she trudged to her desk and plopped down in her chair, peeking at her palm with long sigh. Tristan had called at least a dozen times during the night. She nearly typed out his name, but stopped after her eyes strayed to the window. It was still a bit early. She’d let him sleep and call him later. After all, she still had no idea what to tell him, much less how to tell him. She had no desire to start the day with a fight, especially one that would end in a breakup.