Tracked

by Jenny Martin

  There is nothing beyond this. I want to close my fists around the moment. When I draw another kiss from his lips, he groans softly. I know we’ve reached a threshold. From here, there’s no turning back.

  I don’t care anymore. Outside these doors, we are both watched. Our lives are controlled. We may never get this chance again.

  When I reach for Cash’s belt, my knuckles brush the bare skin below his navel. He shudders as I unfasten the buckle, but he stops me. “I . . . We . . . Not like this . . .”

  He’s so lost—his voice husky and filled with want. I know it takes all his strength to fight me off, and I can’t figure out why he won’t give in. When I reach for his belt again, he pulls my wrists away, rolling us onto our sides.

  “You’ve been through so much tonight and I want you to be sure,” he says. “This is real for me, Phee.”

  “Cash, I am sure,” I lie.

  “It feels like I’m taking advantage. You just lost Bear and—”

  Bear. The sound of his name rushes through me like the wind on the dunes, bringing the sting back to my lids. I wonder how it’s possible to be this hollowed out and still hurt. The feeling lingers and presses, a knife’s-edge pain I need to escape. “I just . . .” I falter. “What if tomorrow—”

  Cash silences me with the deepest kiss. When he pulls back, I glance away. If I look in those black-flame eyes again, I know I won’t be able to stop myself from tearing through his defenses. Is he right? Am I out of my head, too shaken to think straight?

  Maybe I don’t want to be rational. Tonight, maybe I just want to lose my mind.

  I’m about to pull him closer and wear him down, when my eyes focus on the opposite wall. There’s an oil painting of a lady in emerald. The lavish train of her gown trails behind her. Her eyes aren’t yet haunted, and her cheeks are still apple-bright with happiness. She is young and beautiful, and I am so angry now, so angry, I want to tear this portrait from the wall and rip it to shreds.

  I bolt upright and reach for the vase of white poppies on the bedside table. I can’t stop myself. I hurl it against the painting. I lean over Cash, shielding him from the shatter of delicate crystal, but he reacts just as quickly. He pulls me away from the edge of the bed.

  “Phee, what happened?” he asks. “What is it?”

  I curl into him. “That’s my mother. I hate her. What she’s become. I hate what Benroyal’s done to me.”

  “I know.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me, Cash? Why did you keep that from me?”

  He holds me, kissing my temples and caressing my hair until I’m quiet and still, my teary rage melted. “I wanted to tell you. But James begged me to wait. He was certain you’d run off and confront Benroyal and get yourself killed, and I couldn’t let him hurt you anymore.”

  “I don’t think I can do this. I can’t race for him. I won’t just smile and pretend I don’t know.”

  Cash sits up, resting on his elbow. “But what if that was the one thing you could do to stop him?”

  “Benroyal pulled my bid.”

  “I have to find a way to get to Cyan-Bisera. My country needs me, Phee, and your circuit transport could be our ticket out. No more contracts. We could be free.”

  “Cash, if you turn on Benroyal, you’re as good as dead.”

  “I can’t stay here and watch Bisera suffer while I cower in his shadow.”

  “But if you go back home, your brother will hunt you down and—”

  “I’m no safer here,” he interrupts. “Every day, Benroyal gets a little closer to the truth. One way or another, he’ll find out I’ve already betrayed him. And I can’t turn my back on my home, Phee. My people are either rounded up to work in the mines or left starving, while my brother taxes them to death. You think I’d just stand by and watch my planet wither away, stripped and exploited, until there’s nothing left to fight for? I’ve waited long enough. I have to go back. Come with me.”

  “What about my family?”

  There’s more urgency in his voice now than ever before. “Bring them. Take your family and get them out. James can’t protect them here.”

  Cash tugs me closer. I want to believe. I want the chance to answer this longing for something more. My whole life, I’ve done nothing but thrash and rage, racing hard, but getting nowhere. I had no thoughts beyond myself. No faith in a greater cause. There was only survival. Now am I even capable of imagining a different world, a future in which I have another choice? How can I risk everything—my life, my family, home—for a dream that still feels so impossible?

  Castra is all I have. It’s all I’ve ever known.

  “I can’t lose you,” Cash whispers. “Promise I won’t have to.”

  I close my eyes, but I don’t have an answer.

  I wake up tangled around Cash. He’s still deep asleep, sprawled underneath the coverlet of our bed in the Emerald Suite. I climb out of it as quietly as I can.

  In the morning light, my improvised party threads feel all wrong. Right now, I’d kill for some casual clothes.

  I steal Cash’s black shirt and wrap it around me, but for shoes, I’ve only got the high heels. Barefoot, I’m careful on the way out of the room. I avoid the shattered vase, the withered white petals and broken shards. I creep through the hall and drift down three flights of stairs.

  The house is hushed yet alive. Uniformed servants carry away the evidence of the gala. They scrub stone floors and sweep up all the half-empty glasses. Last night’s guests—either they are all asleep or James has already chased them away.

  A maid passes by with an armful of wine-stained tablecloths. “Excuse me,” I say to her. “I’m looking for James.”

  “Mr. Anderssen takes his breakfast in the sunroom.”

  She’s gone before I can ask her where that is. The sunroom must face the mountains, so I head for the opposite end of the place, hoping I’ll run into it.

  I’m just about to give up when I stumble into an alcove that’s really a stairwell. Turns out there’s another floor below the main level, built into the sloping back end of the property. I find James sitting at a giant flex table. The outside wall is one long seamless panel of glass. Early- morning light fills the space and transforms the Sand Ridge Mountains into molten summits of fire and gold. I can’t call it breathtaking or spectacular; those words just aren’t good enough.

  “Morning, Phee,” James says.

  He doesn’t match the view. I’ve never seen him with a hair out of place before, yet now his dark mop is a wild mess. He’s still wearing last night’s clothes, a wrinkled shirt and black pants. As I move closer, I see his gray eyes are bloodshot and underscored by dark circles.

  “What happened to you?” I sit beside him.

  Propping his elbows on the table, James cradles his head. “It’s been a long night.”

  The flex glass is covered with screens and scattered papers. Maps, photographs, and documents bleed into each other, covering every inch of the tabletop. “I can see that. What is it?” I ask. “Benroyal?”

  He laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “It’s always Benroyal.”

  “What did he want last night? Did he—”

  “Benroyal came to me because he’s unhappy with the attacks and the growing unrest in Capitoline. There’ve been too many labor riots, more hijacked transports, more bombings near the Gap, and of course, he has no idea that—”

  “You’re responsible,” I finish.

  He nods. “We’ve been busy. Grace launders the money, funnels it to the rebels, while Cash and I focus on intelligence leaks. We pass along everything we can to Cash’s allies—to Castran protesters and Biseran loyalists and sometimes, even the Cyanese.”

  “Wait. You’re in league with the Cyanese?”

  “No. Forget everything you think you know. They are not the enemy. Cyan’s been secretly arming Biseran rebels
for years, almost since the end of the Thirty Years’ War. Where do you think all my money goes?”

  “So you’re telling me decades of bad blood between Cyan and Bisera, and all is forgiven? The Cyanese are actually helping Cash’s people?”

  He shakes his head. “Never trust the feeds, Phee. That brand of history is a lie. Men like Benroyal have always been the real force behind the conflict. The war was nothing more than a distraction—the division made it all too easy for King Charlie to march his soldiers in to ‘protect’ the Gap. Can you imagine Cyan and Bisera as allies, two independent nations defending their own planet from the kind of corporations who’d like to mine their world to extinction?”

  “How inconvenient.”

  “Exactly. Benroyal and his kind have always worked to keep the Cyanese and the Biseran at each other’s throats. But he’s gone too far.”

  “What did he say last night? Does he know what you and Cash have been doing?”

  “No. He doesn’t know we’re involved. At least not yet. I’ve covered our tracks well enough for now. Benroyal came to me because he wants me to deal with the rebels and ferret out traitors. He’s testing my loyalty. He wants me to take care of it.”

  I saw what happened to Toby Abasi. “So basically, this is your worst nightmare.”

  “We’ve always been careful, but somehow Benroyal’s gotten a list of Cash’s closest allies.” He points to the rogue’s gallery of faces displayed on the flex glass. I recognize several of the head shots, the men and women I saw in the back room of the south side chophouse.

  James swipes the pictures, enlarging them. “These are the men and women who’ve engineered every lab raid and miner’s rescue. If they’re rounded up and interrogated . . .”

  He doesn’t have to finish his sentence. I know what Benroyal will do with them. And what he’ll do to Cash. “And Cash’s older brother—”

  “Prince Dakesh is no better. Given the chance, he’d like nothing better than to slit Cash’s throat. The only thing stopping him is their mother’s bargain. After the king’s assassination, Queen Napoor agreed Cash would stay out of the way, living under Benroyal’s protection. In return, Dak took control, which is what Benroyal wanted all along. Cash’s brother is only too happy to turn a blind eye to what’s going on in the Gap. As long as Benroyal keeps giving him a cut. Three percent of the drug trade. That’s how cheaply he’s bought.”

  My empty stomach roils. Am I so different? My price was even less. All it took was the chance to drive a fancy car. I slump back into my chair.

  “We need your help,” James says. “I didn’t want to pull you in. I thought I could manage this without putting you at risk, but time is running out. It won’t be long before Benroyal links the names on that list to Cash and finds out what you know. But Cash has friends on his planet who can protect you both. The Biseran rally is our only chance.”

  “What do you expect me to do?”

  “I expect you to survive. To save Cash, and escape a lifetime in the Spire. Benroyal assumes you’ll keep winning, but you can cripple him. You can throw that race and hit him hard enough to hurt.”

  Outside the window, the sun rises over the Sand Ridge Mountains. The light burns through me. “But where would I go?” I ask. “Where would I live?”

  “There are a hundred places to hide on Cyan-Bisera and thousands of allies to shelter you. The Cyanese Mountains. The Pearl Strand. Raupang. Manjor. You’ll be safe there until things shake out here on Castra and Cash takes his father’s throne.”

  “I’d be at the mercy of rebels I’ve never even met.”

  “You won’t be at anyone’s mercy. Not anymore. You’ll live as you wish, free to take control of your inheritance and use it as you please. The future of Locus should be in your hands, not Benroyal’s. I want you to think about that, Phee.”

  I’ve done nothing but think about it since last night, but I don’t answer. I stare at the screens on James’s table. Two maps overlap, one of Castra and one of Cyan-Bisera. Castra’s little more than sea foam and sand, but as I look, I feel the pang. It’s a faded world he’s asking me to give up, but it’s the only one I’ve ever known.

  I glance at the deeper hues on Cyan-Bisera. Rich green and cobalt overshadow Castra’s moon-bright shores. The glimmer of dawn touches the glass, and I stare into the shine until my eyes lose focus and the vision blurs. Two planets, superimposed, Benroyal’s lion painted under each compass rose.

  James touches my shoulder. “If Benroyal hunts down the contacts on that list, Cash will die. He’ll be executed for treason.”

  I lean over the table, holding my head in my hands. “Tell me what I have to do.”

  Breakfast in the sunroom is quiet. Cash is still asleep, and all I can do is pick at my food as the sun climbs behind the flex glass wall. James has a full plate of castraberry tarts, but even he’s only sipping coffee. He’s on his third cup when the wall blinks, alerting him to an incoming transmission. When he accepts the link-up, the wall frosts into a giant screen, and Cooper Winfield appears.

  Coop’s smile is a mile wide. “Good morning, Miss Vanguard.”

  The familiar nervousness kicks in. I nod.

  “Morning, Coop,” James says. “This feed’s secure. Phee and I are ready to talk business.”

  I nod once more. It’s the press conference all over again. I can’t seem to get my mouth to work around Winfield.

  Coop looks at me. “James had a tempting proposition for me, but he wasn’t sure if you’d be on board.”

  I hesitate. “On board with . . .”

  Coop grins all the wider. “Sticking it to King Charlie, of course.”

  I nod a third time. Because right now, apparently, I’m pretty much incapable of doing anything else.

  “Phee,” James says. “What we’d like to talk about—”

  Coop raises a hand and cuts in. “James here has half convinced me to finally incorporate, put my whole operation on the line against three percent of Locus stock. A big bet. Me against you in the Biseran rally. I win, Benroyal loses, James buys back the wagered shares from me at ten times the price, through Ms. Yamada, of course, and you walk away free and clear. Free and clear and far away, to hear James tell it. Winfield Mechanical survives to fight another day, and King Charlie takes a fall. I reckon that’s about right?”

  James nods. “That’s right.”

  “Is that how you see it, Miss Vanguard? I hear you gave up your bid. You gonna be able to convince Benroyal to put you back in?”

  I clear my throat, finally mustering the nerve to speak. “Yes, sir. I can. I will.”

  “That’s all well and good, but what you’re asking . . . it’s a mighty big risk. How can I be sure this deal won’t backfire on me? There’ll be a dozen other rigs in that race, and I can’t afford to just hand my company over.”

  “It’s a straight-up wager. You against Phee. Whoever finishes first. Who actually places first and wins out is irrelevant. We’ve discussed this before. I’ll sign a guarantee against your losses. I’m offering to pay you outright, the full value of your entire company, should something fall through. And that’s not going to happen, Coop. Phee will not cross that finish line.”

  “All right,” Coop answers. “Let’s talk, then.”

  James nods. “Here’s the deal, Coop. This is going to take more than a little finesse, and even then, I’m not sure Benroyal will go for it at all. It’s a gamble, and the key is to make it seem like he’s—”

  “Driving the whole thing,” Coop interrupts. “He’s got to feel he’s on top of things, all the time, during negotiations. I understand.”

  “Exactly.” James takes a sip of coffee, then puts the cup aside. “So here’s what I’m thinking. When your broker offers the bet, have him ask for ten percent of Benroyal Corp.”

  “Ten percent?” Coop actually snorts. “That’s outrageous, and yo
u don’t even want his stock to begin with. Benroyal’ll take a look at that offer and laugh.”

  “It is outrageous. That’s the point. Right from the start, he’ll think you’re only interested in buying into his company. And the ten percent is just to throw him off. He knows Winfield Mechanical isn’t worth more than four percent of Benroyal shares, no offense, but your offer will smell like blood in the water. He’ll think Winfield Mechanical is desperate for credits.”

  Coop laughs. “I am desperate for credits. I can barely hold on to the company as it is. Why do you think I’m even considering this?”

  “All the better.” James takes off his frames and rubs at bloodshot eyes. “Desperate men make stupid deals. Let him think he’s got the upper hand. If he senses he does, it’ll make the bet irresistible. Of course, after you offer the ten percent, they’ll refuse, and they’ll probably offer something equally ridiculous, say, a half percent of Benroyal Corp. And that’s when you ask for Locus. Tell him if you can’t have the Benroyal shares you want, you won’t settle for less than six percent of Locus.”

  “He won’t give me that, either,” Coop says. “James, you know he won’t.”

  “He won’t,” James answers matter-of-factly. “He probably won’t give you more than one percent. But try your luck, and ask for four.”

  “And if he doesn’t go for it?” Coop asks.

  “No deal if he won’t bet at least three percent. And I need that three percent, Coop. I’ve got to have more shares than Benroyal.”

  “I understand,” Coop says.

  Listening to them talk stocks is like watching two dune-shadowed jackals ready to pounce. Only this time, I’m afraid for them—Benroyal is no unsuspecting prey. He’s the one used to tearing his enemies apart, and I’m no match for him when it comes to shares and percentages. Outside my rig, I might as well be helpless. “What’s my part in this?” I ask.

  “The best part,” James says. “After you get in that race, all you have to do is die.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE