by EF Joyce
"Mo-om, what the hell are you doing in here?! Get out!" Rozlyn screamed, chucking a round, decorative puff pillow in her direction. It slid with a pathetic whisper across the plush carpet, stopping two feet short of her mother's Julianio heels. Last night's mistake, Ira, groaned in the bed next to her, covering his head with a pillow.
"Are you kidding me with this?" her mother shouted right back, dropping a glossy, fresh-printed issue of Royal Weekly on her lap. The cover photo was an unflattering one of Rozlyn, her bright red hair tied sloppily back as she did two shots at once, complete with the headline "Partier Princess Pukes on Syndicate Member's Wife."
"What-ever who cares what the freaking magazines say," Rozlyn snapped, yanking her designer Xera comforter over her head. Her mother viciously whipped the covers right off of her and Ira.
"MOM I'm not dressed!" she shrieked. Ira was wide awake now and scrambling for the pieces of his clothes that were strewn about the room.
"Get up, now. And get him out of here," her mother snapped, heels clicking against the hard floor, the automatic doors whooshing closed behind her.
Twenty minutes later, Rozlyn pouted on the overstuffed sofa in her parents' sitting room, defiantly clad in sweatpants and hooded shirt, the hood pulled over her tangled red hair, her mother and sister pacing neurotically in front of her.
"Can you people chill?" Rozlyn snapped. "You're making me edged." The noon sun poured in from the transparent ceiling, Rozlyn squinting in agony.
"Holy Old World, Rozlyn," her older sister, Inari, snapped. "I cannot believe you're my sister. Are you insane? Do you even know how bad you make our family look!?" Inari smoothed the nonexistent wrinkles from her Bayshell bamboo fiber blazer, adjusting each 50K gold button with her pink, polished nails. "The rest of us work hard to maintain a certain image, and you just go around tearing it down." Rozlyn picked at the flaking black polish on her nails, glaring at the eggshell colored carpet.
"Screw your image," she snapped, feeling the old, dull pain seep in again. Her mother sighed in annoyance, as if all her actions were meaningless, as if she were just another PR problem.
"Your antics are all over the A-net." Her mother commanded the Luminichi Smart Wall behind her to turn on, and it immediately displayed continuously updating feeds on Rozlyn, the general public posting thousands of comments on how damaged she was. Nothing new there. She rolled her eyes and tuned them out.
"...Twenty-two-years-old and time you started acting like it!" she heard her mom say, her high-pitch voice swimming in and out of Rozlyn's headache.
"Ok, yeah, I'll do whatever you say. I'm out," Rozlyn grumbled, leaving her parents' chambers without waiting to be excused, her mother's Come Back Here Young Lady's! interwoven with her sister's frantic whispers. Like any of it mattered. It wasn't like her cover shots or A-net comments were going to get her family removed from power.
Rozlyn's plush turquoise socks slid against the sun-dappled fake marble flooring of the indoor city, the sun assaulting her from all angles. Her rooms were situated in an outer corner of the domed city, with three out of its four walls and ceiling constructed of the glass substitute that enclosed them all. The clear blue sky bore down on her, as static and flawless as a painted backdrop. Arcadia was perfect, preserved in a transparent bubble that perched hundreds of feet above The Old World on an indestructible moon steel base.
The top level of the city, open to the sky, housed the royal family and the syndicate members, plus a few other choice politicians and military commanders. The Regal Square also had its home on the top floor – an open shopping center accommodating the most elite shops and restaurants. The remainder of the sunlit space, approximately half of its total area, was dedicated to the city's indoor farms. Arcadia's three next lowest levels consisted of apartments, shops and entertainment for the average citizens, and the bottom level, restricted to most, housed the weapons stores, army headquarters and air hanger, complete with two small passenger planes and three large cargo planes, items that Rozlyn knew existed yet had never questioned their purpose until Faifax had told her.
Shuffling into her rooms, she immediately pressed the Sky Cover button, cloaking the room in darkness (so trite to wake me up like that, mom!) and passed out until the early evening hours. An alert from her communicator woke her with a blast of her main song and a pic of Ira on her screen, looking sexy with his chestnut hair and come-hither eyes, but not near as sexy as the other man in her life, the one that really mattered. Their relationship was such a forbidden secret that she had to date other people just to keep a good cover going. Ok, she didn't have to, but it was fun.
"Lo?" she answered, hoping her voice sounded seductive-sleepy and not hung-over cracked.
"Hey, Roz. You up for tonight? Raze says there's gonna be a killer party on Level 3 later."
"Yeah, I'm so in. Swing by at ten?"
"I'm there. See you," click.
Rozlyn enjoyed three-quarters of the next hour relaxing in her sauna-shower, adjusting the spray to various scents and colors with the swipe of her fingertip against the water-proof touch screen that displayed her options. Base rinse with Cedar Blush, main wash with Caramelized Vanilla and a finishing spritz of Rose Lace. All Arcadia's water was recycled and most citizens were closely monitored and restricted when it came to their daily water usage, though royalty suffered no such regulations.
Rozlyn dried with a preheated 2,500 thread count Lesandar towel, and then to her closet for the most laborious part of her night. Gregg Regali black slip on? No, so last season. Syvlia sequined club tunic? Too gaudy. Why did this have to be so hard? A loud knock interrupted her thoughts, followed by her automated bedroom doors sliding open.
"Shit, Rozlyn, put on some clothes!" her brother Kaelor squealed, backing out of the room.
"Well maybe if you didn't just barge in!" she yelled back, furious all over again that her father had given her entire family access to her apartment after the trying-to-sneak-into-the-Old-World incident last year. Sliding into a plain blue dress that showed off her curves and accentuated her eyes, she reopened the door.
"What do you want?" she asked.
"The king requires your presence at the dinner meeting this evening," he reported solemnly, looking serious in his army uniform.
Rozlyn rolled her eyes. "The king? You mean dad?" she laughed. "Sorry, can't make it. I have a prior engagement." She made to shut the door when he snatched her wrist, holding tight.
"Ow, Kaelor, what's your issue?" she whined, futilely attempting to snake out of his grip.
"Our parents are really pissed off, Roz. You're going to have to start coming to things like this, at least for a while. And I don't even know what they'll do if they catch you partying again."
"You gonna make me?" she challenged, finally yanking her arm from his grasp.
"If I have to," he said, gesturing the shiny handgun at his belt. She wanted to laugh in his face, her big brother with his furrowed eyebrows and deluded sense of purpose. Like he'd ever had to use his weapon. Like he had the balls to try.
"Please," she snickered. "You wouldn't even know what to do with that."
"Sure I do, Faifax – I mean Commander Hale - taught me. Now let's go. If we're late dad will kill me."
Rozlyn rolled her eyes at the mention of the Army Commander, who had fought in real battles, who had actually used his weapon, unlike Kaelor. With a sigh, she slipped on a pair of silver heels and followed her brother, her shoes clicking against the fake marble.
What would her parents really do if she didn't listen to them? Nothing, that was what. They were powerless against her. Close her bank? She'd steal. Like any store would stop her. Like any guard would arrest her. Lock her up? Starve her? Like they'd ever risk the bad publicity, since apparently they were oh so worried about that. There was only one piece of her life they could touch, the dangerous thing, The Secret. She would never let them near it; her fire, her lifeline, her love.
"Who has meetings at this time of night anyway?" Rozl
yn complained as they reached a private dining room on Arcadia's highest level.
"It's only 17:00. You might not be aware of this, but it's hard work running Arcadia. While you're out partying, the rest of us are actually doing something," he chastised.
"Whatever," Rozlyn replied as they stepped into the room filled with her parents and sister, Leo Baleth the Royal Advisor, Faifax Hale, the Army Commander, a couple of syndicate members whose names weren't worth remembering, and Adrian, the Royal Sorcerer. He'd always creeped her out a bit with his perfectly bald head, elaborate eyeliner (seriously what kind of grown man wore eyeliner?) and custom made midnight blue silk robes (which were just plain weird). On top of all that, she'd never actually seen him use magic. Was he really as powerful and dangerous as everyone said?
She took her place at the lavish metal table piled high with every kind of delicacy, purposefully sitting at the end of the table, as far away from her father as possible. Her father with his shiny gold crown (which completely clashed with his red hair, by the way). As if it meant something. It didn't.
"Wine, please," she asked the waiter. She could feel the king's eyes burning her with disapproval, but he wasn't about to yell at her across the table. She almost wished he would, just to make the night more interesting.
They ate pheasant with grilled greens and onions, a true delicacy considering most the population had never tasted meat. A paltry amount of Pheasants and hens were kept on hand to please the royals and syndicate members, but Arcadia's indoor farms were primarily used to cultivate green, leafy vegetables, which served the dual purpose of feeding the city and regulating their closed atmosphere.
Rozlyn sipped (maybe quaffed) her 893 Bellasare wine from an original Alfred Goe goblet (made of the rarest metals, pilfered from the ruins of Arzu) while tuning out the dull dialogue of the table (something about a lack of magic users during This Difficult Period) until the lilt of Faifax's voice caught her attention.
She loved admiring him when he wasn't looking; that strong jaw laced with black stubble, those piercing blue eyes so full of cunning. He was only twenty years older than her, and what did years matter anyway? Sophisticated, not aged. That's how she thought of him. She tried to catch his eye without anyone else noticing, throw him a wink, like a game. What would he think of that? she wondered.
Five Goe goblets later, the meeting finally concluded. Rozlyn rose from her seat with perfect poise, five glasses not enough to touch her. Hope fluttering like a thousand butterfly wings, she glanced at him, their signal, crossed fingers behind his back, quick as a mirage. With a devious grin, she slipped from the room before anyone noticed she'd left.
Her family still busy coddling the schmoozing syndicate members, and the rest of Arcadia either partying in the lower levels or sleeping, there was no one around to see her race through the halls like ghost, her heels dangling from her fingertips, her bare feet flying across the cool tiles. Rozlyn hid herself in the alcove outside his apartment doors, waiting until a strong hand clamped over her mouth and an arm around her waist.
She squealed and stiffened until he released her, laughing at her fleeting fear, his smile softening his hard eyes.
"Don't scare me like that!" she admonished as he unlocked the door.
"You deserved it for spacing out. What were you daydreaming about?"
"You," she teased, skipping into his sitting room.
"Sure," said the commander, pulling her into a long kiss. She moaned against him, breathing in his cedar scent, losing herself. Everything was him, and all those moments in between were just the spaces between words; meaningless fragments of time that she tried her best to obliterate.
"I got you a present," he said, drawing away from her and unwrapping a slender glass bottle filled with smoky, white liquid.
"Is that Lumere?" she gasped, her fingertips brushing the frosted glass.
"Prepared by Adrian himself," he said proudly. Rozlyn had only drunk it twice, and both times with him. Part potion, part drug, Lumere gave the user a sense of slowed time, so that every touch, every kiss, every breath lasted hours instead of seconds.
"For our two year anniversary," he said.
Rozlyn laughed. "Our anniversary of what?"
"Our first date!" he said, pouring the drink into two slender, vintage dark metal Romiay flutes.
"You call that a date?" she giggled, recalling the time he'd snuck her into the stadium the night before the biggest Lynthe tournament of the year. It had been their first kiss, their first night together, and the first time in forever that Rozlyn had truly felt alive.
He smiled in response as Rozlyn gulped the sweet liquid, the familiar heat and calm rushing blissfully over her. Meeting Faifax's blue-eyed stare, Rozlyn knew that he saw right through her plastic, party girl exterior. That looking at her, he knew the truth; that she would sooner drown herself in oblivion than spend one moment as a rosy-cheeked puppet in the dollhouse of Arcadia.
Her eyes had been darkened by the abyss; by life's meaninglessness. He knew it and he loved her; he'd saved her.
Chapter 6
I
Drexel woke on his thin mattress, the threadbare blanket tangled between his thin legs, a sheen of sweat on his forehead and dread coiling in his stomach. The other guards rose and dressed in their stained, gray jumpsuits, their blank faces reflecting back none of his own feelings. The stiff, filthy fabric clung to his sticky skin as he pulled on the uniform. Filing out of the dorm room, they ate their bland, algae-based protein packets in the canteen, as if it were just another unimportant day. Maybe the acid rain would fall and they would cancel the whole thing, postpone it a bit longer, just enough for him to get out of it somehow.
"You ready, Drex?" Jax asked, sitting next to him on the metal bench with his own prepackaged breakfast. He shrugged in response. He was not ready. He did not want to do this. "Don't worry, it's easy, man. Not like you're gonna miss, huh?" Jax chuckled, his broken, browned teeth tearing through the cellophane.
He would do it, he had to. He had his orders, even if he didn't always understand them. And if Drexel didn't do it, someone else would, and then they'd sleep on his bed and eat the food that would have been his. He would die on the street with the untouchables, bleeding eyes and sores blossoming across his skin and he would never get his revenge against Arcadia.
But why kill my own people? He mused. Why let them die?
"Brigade 153, rise!" the voice of their commander echoed through the cramped and windowless cement room. Drexel stood, leaving his partially finished chewed protein square on the table, unable to stomach another bite.
"Line up! Move out!" In a line they left the barracks, a squat cement building on the edge of the Yellow Zone, moving in groups of four through the airlock doors. The first set slid open silently and Drexel stepped into the airlock with Jax and two others. He donned his gas mask, the green rubber and glass bug-eyed contraption the only thing standing between him and slow, agonizing death by the toxic air of The Unders. Buzzing filled his ears, then the red light turned green and the outer set of doors opened.
Once outside, he lined up behind the rest of his brigade and they waited for the remainder to file through the doors. Usually Brigade 34 took on this particular duty, but they had been called away to attend to something "more important." The most elite Brigade of all, 34's barracks were only a five minute walk from Arcadia's base and were made up entirely of Arcadian soldiers. They worked on rotation, one week on one week off. 153, the brigade of traitors Drexel had landed himself in, worked closely with 34. Their barracks were even attached with a tunnel, and that was everything.
Jax and the other guys were thrilled; an hour's work for triple ration points, and the rest of the day off. Drexel didn't quite see things the same way. He hated being a guard, pretending to be a guard, whatever he was doing. Guards were Underlings with no sense of unity or loyalty, cowards who tortured their own for a place to sleep and some protein packs. He would never be one of them. Someday soon the Monarch R
ebellion would rise up and take Arcadia, and he would be there with them.
They marched silently through the streets, piles of rubble and debris forming miniature mountains on either side of them, rising up like headstones in the mist – the ever present toxic fog that blanketed the city.
The Unders was nothing more than ruins now; the once tall and glorious skyscrapers had tumbled to pieces, the stone of their walls ground to dust over centuries. Drexel wondered about the city as they shambled along, imagining it in its formal glory. He tried to picture the crumbling structures as they must have been, long ago when The Unders had been Arzu, the greatest city in the world.
The streets would have been wide and smooth, clear of rubble and stench, lined with boxes of flowers and trees, things he'd never seen but only heard of. The buildings would have stood tall and proud, gleaming in the sunlight, the sky shining clearly overheard. He was most curious about the sky, what it looked like before the toxic haze had blotted it out. The stars, sun and moon were words he knew as concepts only. You're such a dreamer, Drex. Haydi had always told him, back when she still spoke. This world has no room for dreams.
Yet the past felt as if it were shimmering ahead of him, just out of reach, teasing him with glimpses into its former glory, each imagining serving only to remind him how harsh his world was and all that it had lost. He sometimes thought to himself that he could reach the past. If only he tried hard enough, he could tear the fabric of reality and bring the splendor of ancient times crashing into now. Visualizing that moment over and over, his impossible promise to the world, was the only way that he could live with himself, and after today he probably wouldn't be able to at all, no matter what his orders were.
They reached the prison in under an hour; the windowless cement square the same design as the barracks. Every structure had been constructed in the same manner after The Fall; one airlock entrance and no windows, in order to keep out the noxious air. The Yellow Zone surrounded the base of Arcadia, that perfect dome paradise, perched high and mighty on its metal pedestal, rising above the lethal mist. How he despised Arcadia; filled to the brim with spoiled, selfish idiots, daily tossing out new technology that an Underling would have to work a year for, absorbed with their petty problems and indifferent to the mass suffering of the world just beneath their feet. He would see them fall, no matter the cost. He would fight them until his very life had been extinguished.