by Julian North
“Ms. Ryan-Hayes and President Hoven are hosting a smaller, more intimate reception at the White House immediately following the public funeral. The attorney general will be there, I am sure. I have been invited. I took the liberty of procuring you an invitation.”
My jaw dropped. “You want to bring me with you to the White House? Why?”
I got a rare smile. “You don’t think I’m brave enough to face that den of vipers alone, do you?”
“I would’ve settled for some of your champagne.”
“It will take some time to clear security. We should pay our respects to the headmaster, then head over. Anise, thank you for hosting Daniela, and for everything else. You have been a friend to us both.” He nodded like a highborn, and she did the same.
Alexander grabbed my hand and led me through the crowd. My head spun. It seemed hard to believe I was on my way to the White House to meet the president. But first Alexander guided me to Headmaster Frost-Bell. He was a tall man with a stretched face topped by a flowing wave of chrome and black hair. His eyes bulged slightly when he spoke.
“Ah, Ms. Machado, so you were able to join us.” His voice was tinged with something I thought was condescension.
I forced my voice to be even. “Thank you for helping me.”
“We are both part of Tuck. We share something that others do not. And we stand by one another.” He said the words as if I should understand a deeper meaning behind them. I didn’t.
“Mr. Foster-Rose-Hart, it is a pleasure to see you.” His tone was overly formal, considering these men were related, according to Alexander. They looked nothing alike. “Will you be attending the president’s reception at the White House?”
“We are headed there now,” Alexander told him.
A look of surprise flashed on the headmaster’s face as Alexander revealed that I would be joining him. “I will look forward to talking to you later, then.” The two highborn exchanged looks and a head nod. I had missed something. Alexander took my hand as we made our way toward the exit. A tickle at the edge of my senses made me turn around just before we left the reception room. Anise’s eyes were fixed on Alexander. She didn’t look happy.
Chapter 11
The new White House was not even two decades old. I’d never seen the old one, or the old capitol, except in pictures, but the current one was ridiculous: a neo-classical façade with a massive circular ivory tower soaring upward behind the truncated mansion. The building towered over the Congressional and Supreme Court buildings, which were faithful reproductions of the originals in Washington. At the complex’s center stood the hypocritically named Freedom Arch, which contained the updated Constitution. The old New York City municipal government buildings and courthouses that had once stood here had been razed to construct these monstrosities. The new structures looked so out of place among the stately towers of downtown Manhattan that they seemed more like the digital animation utilized by netcasts than buildings of actual stone and steel.
I was nervous passing through the security scans—I still had my repulse spray in my pocket, but security was more focused on verifying my identity than conducting weapon sweeps. After having blood drawn with a thumb prick and verified, Alexander and I passed through a single weapon scanner that looked less capable than the model utilized at school. Beyond the security checkpoint was a reception line. I held my breath as we took our place. I remembered the Sunday morning in September when I had been offered a spot at Tuck. I had certainly come a long way to be standing here, but I still couldn’t say if the journey had been a good one.
The dignitaries all knew Alexander. Or maybe they’d been briefed just before we arrived. The head bows were deep and respectful on both sides. Alexander introduced me to Edgar Jason-Leigh, the president’s very overweight chief of staff, followed by a youngish man named George Hardy-Laughton with the title of special envoy, then President Hoven himself.
The President of the United States was an inch shorter than me even in his platform shoes. His black suit hung off his slender frame; his skin was blotched with age. But his eyes were alert and interested. He offered his hand to Alexander, something he hadn’t done for any of the other guests I’d seen pass ahead of us.
“It is a pleasure to see you again, Alexander. It has been many years,” the president said. “My condolences about your sister’s death.”
If Alexander was intimidated by meeting the president, he didn’t show it. “Thank you, Mr. President. She is at peace. And it has been three years since we last met. I wish we were speaking under happier circumstances.”
“Let it not be three years till our next conversation, then.”
Alexander nodded his understanding.
The president knows he needs support. The game never stops.
President Hoven greeted me with a polite head bow, which I did my best to return, feeling guilty as I did it. Did this man care about the fighting going on in BC and elsewhere? Was he any less my enemy because he wasn’t highborn? He gave me a politician’s smile, and I allowed myself to be ushered along to greet President Ryan-Hayes’s widow. Mateo would call me the greatest sellout in the history of Bronx City for saying nothing to the president when I stood in front of him. Perhaps he would’ve been right to so name me. But I had to play the game too. Making a scene wasn’t going to help Alexander, and it wasn’t going to help the people in BC.
Clad in immaculate black, Verity Ryan-Hayes greeted us with barely concealed disdain. Her head barely moved for Alexander, and it didn’t budge for me. Her eyes oozed contempt behind her spider’s veil. She wanted us to leave quickly, and we obliged. I breathed a sigh of relief as we left the reception line. Ahead was a pair of gold-trimmed doors minded by a pair of tuxedo-clad attendants. I thought we were done with uncomfortable, formal greetings. I was wrong.
As we crossed the threshold, we met Virginia Timber-Night. She kept a vigil at the entrance, her son Arik at her side, his eyes tinged a malevolent red. Virginia had positioned herself in such a way that it was impossible to enter the ballroom without either greeting her or giving a grievous insult.
She was an intimidating presence. I’d seen Virginia on the net, but the images didn’t capture the width of her shoulders or the blazing intensity of her ebony eyes. Arik was like an ominous apparition beside her, a chilling reflection of her soul. Alexander brushed against my arm, the gesture deliberate enough to be encouraging. He wore the face of a knight going into battle. I did my best to mimic his courage.
“Alexander, it is so wonderful to see you in the flesh. And looking so …healthy.” Her voice mocked him.
“I know I can depend on my relatives to be conscious of my welfare.”
The left corner of Virginia’s mouth curled into her face like a wilted rose. “You are quick on the track. And elsewhere too, I hear. Yes, just quick enough.” Arik flashed a hyena’s grin at his mother’s words.
My blood went cold. She knew about the assassination attempt. She was taunting him. Why?
Alexander didn’t flinch. “The worst thing you can do in a conditioned track meet is get overconfident. There is always the unexpected.”
The lady’s gaze pivoted to me. “And you brought this one along.” Her eyes swept through me like winter’s breath. “Arik mentioned you. Yes. Alexander’s father liked his… friends too. Although he at least had the good sense not to bring them outside with him.”
My hands formed into fists. Cold turned to heat. In BC, I’d have laid her flat.
“This isn’t a Z-pop club party, my dear.” Virginia sounded amused. “And he’s not worth your loyalty, I assure you. The Foster-Rose-Hart men appear rather gallant, I’ll grant you. But the apple is poisoned, and there are no true princes.” Virginia showed me teeth that might as well have been fangs. “You do know what an apple is, don’t you? They have pictures in Bronx City, I suppose.”
Fury boiled into my eyes. The cold essence of my will flowed. I wanted to attack. With my mind or my fists, I wasn’t sure which. I did
n’t care—I just wanted to hurt her. But a whisper in my head warned me to be wary. That is what she wants.
“Where I come from, we don’t kiss frogs—we eat them.”
Virginia Timber-Night laughed. It was a condescending amusement, devoid of any warmth. She inclined her head toward me. “Ah, that’s it, my dear. I do appreciate spark. There is something to be said for getting somewhere through struggle. That’s been forgotten. We need more fighters among us. We highborn have become far too civilized.”
“Not all of us,” Arik sneered, looking past my shoulder.
Jalen Aris-Putch glided up beside me. He matched Arik’s height but had less than half his width. Still, there was no hint of intimidation in Jalen. Quite the opposite. Alexander was a stone, but Jalen was a falcon. His eyes lingered on Arik.
“I hope I am not interrupting,” Jalen said, offering greetings and head nods all around. To me, he said, “It is good to see you again.” He said nothing to Alexander, but their gazes passed over each other like two icebergs floating past each other in the night. I remembered Nythan’s story about the bad blood.
Virginia Timber-Night didn’t miss the exchange. “Let the sins of the fathers not be forgotten.” She stepped closer to Alexander. Her voice was a snake’s hiss I had to strain to hear. “I understand. Some grievances can never be put right; some wrongs can never be forgiven—only avenged. As I intend to do.”
Virginia pulled back from Alexander and stared at Jalen. He was a rock before a storm. I remembered the promise he had made over his mother’s bloody body: someone will answer for this.
“You’re in my way, Jalen Aris-Putch,” Virginia said, letting the words hang before adding, “There are people coming in who wish to speak with me.”
Jalen continued to stare at her for an uncomfortable moment. Arik raised a thick arm, as if to push Jalen from his mother’s path, but as Arik moved forward Jalen slid out of the way with the same lightning quickness he’d displayed on the track, leaving the larger man off-balance. Arik stumbled forward awkwardly, his eyes pulsing hate.
“Goodbye, Virginia,” Jalen said. He didn’t acknowledge Arik. I felt the heat of his fury at being ignored. Virginia left us, bestowing a chilling smile in my direction as she departed. Arik took several steps to follow, then stopped and turned. His eyes locked on me, and he flashed a reptilian smile. Then he glanced at Alexander and snorted.
“All that you have shall be mine.” The whispered words were lost in the din of the crowd, but I read them from his lips clearly enough. Alexander had as well. I felt his impeccable control lessen, his body tense beside me.
Jalen cleared his throat, edging away from the verbal melee. Alexander tore his attention from Arik’s backside and followed, as did I. Other guests filled the gap between us, a wall of humanity separating dueling enemies.
Jalen and Alexander faced each other. I could read little in Jalen’s face, but there was no mistaking Alexander’s wariness. Jalen’s mouth twitched into a frown, but he said nothing. He turned away from Alexander toward me.
“Daniela, you continue to surprise me. I would not have expected to find you here.”
My chin came up. “You mean among my betters?”
“In the arena of politics.”
“I like to surprise people.”
Jalen nodded, as if he understood. “Yes, I’ve studied your races. It’s your style to come from behind. People underestimate you because of where you’re from. What is it that you are trying to win here, though?”
“I’m not trying to win. This isn’t a game. I’m trying to protect the people I care about.”
The edge of his brow arched upward, skeptical. “How is your friend, Kortilla, then?”
“I wish I knew,” I replied, showing more emotion than I should have. “Thank you for what you did for her. She is my blood.”
His lips spread into something that was almost a smile. “It is I who was repaying a debt. Although I admit I rather enjoyed it. She is a surprisingly charming young woman.”
It was a contemptuous compliment. Even the most stuck-up highborn weren’t immune to Kortilla’s charm, it seemed, even if they would’ve preferred it otherwise. I tried to move my jaw normally, despite the tension. “I hope I get the chance to tell her about your concern.”
Jalen shifted his attention back to Alexander. “Perhaps we can help each other prepare for Nationals. There is a great deal of water in that race. Some friendly conditioning and other training might help.”
Alexander stared at Jalen, his eyes widening ever so slightly. A vein pulsed on Alexander’s neck. I’d been on the opposite side of that gaze: Alexander was weighing the words carefully, intensely. I was missing something. Finally, he answered, “I’d welcome your assistance.”
Jalen didn’t smile, but his eyes said that he was pleased. “Let us race to a new dawn tomorrow, then. And let us remember the late president’s wife. The best to you both.”
He bowed as he withdrew. The look on Jalen’s face reminded me of a falcon satisfied with its hunt.
Chapter 12
Alexander introduced me to other men and women of consequence, all highborn, each rich, privileged, and disdainful of me. None of them mentioned Alexander’s father, although they all must have known him. Only a few spoke of Kristolan. In this place, the dead were quickly forgotten. Perhaps that was for the best.
Dozens more introductions followed by the recital of the names of more mutual acquaintances left my mind numb. The rich seemed rather monotonous in their interests and behavior. Real estate, children’s schools, and money seemed the only three topics of mutual interest. And all of it was a cover for the true game of politics going on here. I was out of my depth.
Rudolph Banks, a diminutive man of advancing years, jolted me out of my stupor. In the flesh, he appeared very different from the man who had helped lay the late president to rest. His teeth were as yellow as someone from the BC, a few dozen gray wisps of hair clung desperately to his scalp, and his hands trembled slightly as he held his drink. If this was Hoven’s other powerful supporter, things were indeed grim for the president.
“It was my pleasure to carry the casket. We go way back—Arthus and me—back to the founding of the party. Was just six of us squeezed into a booth in some neighborhood dive bar in Atlanta in those days, till we found some big allies. But that’s where it all started—don’t let them tell you differently.” He pointed his glass at me as he spoke. “Glad I didn’t drop the casket. Although Arthus might’ve liked to come out and take a look at all the fancy folks who came out for him. Big change, yes, ma’am.”
Rudolph spoke with the drawling accent of the South. He hadn’t bothered with voice retraining. He seemed too old to be highborn. Also, he was the only person I heard mention the late president as a man rather than a piece of a grand game.
“Did you know President Hoven back then as well?” I asked.
“President Hoven?” Rudolph chuckled. “Vander-the-Sander we used to call him back in the beginning. He did some small-time carpentry work to make ends meet. Nowadays folks are too proud to use their hands to get work done. Too busy with practicing bows and getting their hair tinted. We’re about the only people in this room who aren’t ashamed of a little honest work, eh, Ms. Machado?” He winked at me. Alexander blanched, but I smiled. Rudolph wasn’t ashamed to be a nope. He thought I was one as well. He must’ve done his homework.
The old man stepped closer, bending toward my ear. “It wasn’t always like this, young lady. When we started out, it was supposed to be about merit. The country was stagnating, you see, stuck and going nowhere, with a million voices shouting over the net and no one listening to each other. We needed to let one single voice ring through, and we needed people to listen. We wanted to let the cream rise to the top—for the good of the country. That was back when regular folk had cream.” He chuckled again; this time, it wasn’t as warm. “Arthus wanted to give people like you a chance. He was righteous, back then. But you can only te
ll how righteous a man is after he’s achieved his goals. Arthus thought he needed power to bring about change. Instead, it was the power that changed him. Power’s like shit for a hog; the beast loves rolling in it, and even when he stops, it still makes him stink.”
I laughed. Alexander shifted uneasily, his words stiff. “I’m sure the late president appreciated your support.”
Rudolph pulled back and took a swig of the amber liquid in his hand. “Your boyfriend is concerned. He thinks I shouldn’t be speakin’ my mind in the open like this. He knows all the rules, follows them. And why shouldn’t he? Those rules were established by people like him, people like his father, and they benefit him. But I’m an old man. I’ve lived ninety years, some good, some bad. Done lots I’m proud of, plenty I’m not. But I stopped keepin’ my mouth shut a long time ago.” He pointed at his chest. “I’m for Hoven, and I don’t care who knows it. I’m for him because he’s the best man left. Not that he’s perfect. But what’s coming is worse. I’ve known Virginia from the beginning too; ambitious then, ambitious now. She’s been biding her time since Arthus beat her in the election—their alliance was always a temporary one. Between Alexander’s father jilting her, and Ryan-Hayes using her as an attack dog without any real authority, her anger has had years to stew. I’m more afraid of her having power than I am of dyin’.”
Alexander’s eyes flickered over to Virginia and her son, both a comfortable distance away. Rudolph noticed. “She can’t hear us—this is Hoven territory. But you’re right to be wary, young man. She has her hand in a lot of pots. Her allies in Congress have already introduced a bill to permit chipping of convicts on the US mainland. Didn’t even wait till the body was cold. Wants your company for her son. Wants to control everything, it seems—even trying to muscle in to my resource extraction business.”
I held in a gasp at the mention of chipping. But Alexander seemed concerned about something else he’d said.