Displaced (The Birthright Series Book 1)

by Bridget E. Baker

  Yet.

  I feel terrible for whoever has to clean up after us.

  “Your healing times are improving dramatically,” Edam says.

  They had nowhere to go but up. Even so, he’s right. What used to take concentration happens without thought now. It’s not enough, but I’m getting better.

  “I guess Judica was right—I didn’t know the meaning of pain. Mom almost never wounded me. Since she kept me ensconced in bubble wrap, I never had to practice healing.”

  “You scored a few hits on me, too,” Edam says approvingly.

  “One hit. I sliced your forearm.”

  He shrugs. “Either way, I’m starving after all that work. You must be about to fall over.”

  “Food. I definitely need food.”

  Edam bobs his head. “We’re done. Go ahead and go.”

  After I shower and change, I jog downstairs. A dozen pizza boxes are stacked on Alora’s pristine marble countertop.

  “She figured with all the training you two would be ravenously hungry,” Lark says from the corner of the room. She’s leaning against the swirly, golden marble countertops.

  “She was right.” I flip the top box’s lid up and snag a slice. Before I can take a single bite, Edam walks through the door and practically jumps across the room. His fingers clamp on my wrist and I nearly drop my food.

  In a split second, my hunger takes a turn. Suddenly instead of pizza, I want Edam. I look from his strong fingers upward, to his face. His eyes sparkle at me and my breathing hitches. My heart rate spikes. Even Lark can hear it, I’m sure.

  “Not so fast.” Edam’s hand slides over my wrist and takes my pizza slice. “You need a taster, Your Majesty.”

  I gulp. I need a taste. That’s true.

  “I tested it already,” Lark says.

  Edam startles and looks at Lark as if he didn’t realize she was there. He tosses the piece on the table. It lands with a thump, and he backs away like I’m toxic.

  I can’t keep up with his moods. “Great, good.” I snatch the slice of pepperoni pizza and stuff a bite in my mouth so I can pretend I’m not confused.

  The cheese is so hot it burns the tip of my tongue, just the way I like it. The tomato sauce explodes in my mouth and the edges of the pepperoni are crisp, while the center is chewy. Edam and Lark each grab a box and shift toward opposite ends of the room. The kitchen is utterly quiet, other than the sound of three heartbeats, and the noises from Edam, Lark, and me chewing.

  I don’t pause until I’ve downed two large pizzas. I polish off three slices of a third before I wad up my napkin and toss it into the trash, along with half my fourth slice.

  “Lightweight,” Edam says.

  “I’m not even offended, greasy fingers. Because while you pig out, Lark and I have more videos from Inara to watch.”

  Edam leans over my shoulder so he can see too.

  I try to ignore it, but I hear snatches of Judica’s fight song even more strongly in the first few fights, despite the lack of anything in the videos resembling actual music. Sharp chords, dire and dramatic sounds. I’m trying to figure out what it might mean when Edam interrupts.

  “You see? There.” He points. “She’s holding back here, favoring that side after a major offensive. It’s almost imperceptible, but it’s there. And here.” He watches with me. “Here she’s striking repeatedly, but always from the same arm.”

  “That’s pretty thin,” Lark says. “It’s not even an actual weakness. It’s a preference.”

  “It’s what we have to work with,” Edam grumbles. “She doesn’t have any actual flaws. I trained her.”

  “How would you beat her?” I ask. “Using your knowledge of her preferences?”

  He laughs, but he doesn’t sound amused. “No, I’d beat her because I have no weaknesses or preferences. I’m also faster, stronger, and have greater reach.”

  I don’t think before I act. My foot shoots out and kicks the leg out from under the front of his chair. Edam tumbles forward, face down. He catches himself on his elbows, but his slice of pizza lands face down on Alora’s wood floor with a slap.

  Frederick and Alora race into the ballroom, eyes frantically searching the room for danger. Their faces are priceless.

  “Faster, huh?” I ask.

  Edam’s arm flies out and strikes my chair leg and it shatters, toppling me forward too. I land on his pizza slice and slide toward him, our faces inches apart when I stop.

  “That was a waste of food,” Edam whispers.

  I swallow hard and stand up, the pizza sauce and cheese smeared down the front of my shirt.

  I need to change my clothes, and I need some time to think. Because I’m starting to let Edam affect my decision making, and that’s not smart. I leap to my feet. “Thanks for dinner, Alora.”

  Her eyes widen and she bobs her head. “Of course.”

  “I better go clean up.”

  Edam’s already standing when I turn toward the door. Lark’s watching us from her chair with round eyes and a slightly open mouth.

  “I’ll walk you up,” Edam says.

  “I think I can find my room alone,” I snap.

  Edam follows me out anyway. “What did I do to piss you off?”

  I shake my head. “Nothing. I’m just on edge.”

  He walks next to me until we reach the hall where our rooms branch off on opposite sides.

  “She won’t hesitate,” Edam says.

  I force myself to meet his gaze. “I know she won’t hesitate to slice me in pieces, but I will. And I’m not sure I’d want to be someone who wouldn’t, even if it means I die.”

  “Your empathy is one of the things I admire.” Edam’s voice is low, rough.

  But my empathy will get me killed. Unless I take him up on his offer. Heaven help me, but I want to, and not only because it’s my best chance to win.

  21

  Reading two-thirds of the calculus book to prepare for tomorrow’s test makes my eyes cross. Not literally, but they feel crossed. Whoever thought this was helpful information to have? Math should not need letters.

  When my phone lights up, I use it as an excuse to slam the book shut.

  “Inara,” I answer. “How’s Hawaii?”

  “Breezy, perfect.”

  “And my twin?” I flop back on the bed.

  “Irritable, apparently.” Inara drops to a whisper. “This morning she killed someone during her sparring.”

  “Whoa.” I swallow. “Who?”

  “Nihils.”

  He had kind eyes and a startlingly clear singing voice. He used to write songs in his downtime. “Why? Why would she do that?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine. She didn’t give any reason, and it won’t surprise you that she didn’t even apologize to his mother. I’ve spent all morning calming her down, which is why I only have a minute. I’ve been pondering something and decided to share my thoughts with you.”

  “Okay.” I try, unsuccessfully, to shake the ominous feeling that slithers up my spine.

  “How positive are you that Judica killed Mother?”

  I nearly drop my phone. Not at all what I expected her to ask me. “Uh, pretty sure.”

  “But not one hundred percent?”

  I think back on how often Judica joined us for breakfast. She knew Mom loved eggs, but so did the entire kitchen staff. Judica was one of the few people who knew about the EMP, and she was smart enough to guess what Mom’s reaction might be. Which means Judica was the one who had the most to gain from Mom’s death, or so she thought. I close my eyes and replay the memory again, and again, and again. When Mom died, Judica didn’t even seem upset. She looked more guilty than anything else.

  “Ninety-nine point nine nine nine nine,” I say.

  “Which isn’t one hundred,” she says.

  “You’re really good at math,” I say. “Maybe you should fly out and take my calculus test.”

  “You can’t do it,” Inara says.

  “Do what? Have som
eone else take my test?” I sigh. “I didn’t think so either, but it sure would be nice.”

  “No,” Inara snaps. “You can’t kill her. No matter what magic Edam may work, if you aren’t one thousand percent positive.” She cuts off and clears her throat. “I know you, little Chancy. You won’t be able to do what it takes unless you’re sure.”

  I hate that I’m so transparent. “Well, you and Edam agree on that.”

  “Even if you’ve improved, it won’t be enough. Judica’s gotten better too. Something happened to her when Mother died. She’s. . . savage now, in a way she wasn’t before.”

  I dig my toe into the carpet. She was the most uninhibited fighter I’d ever seen. What must she be like now, to have Inara describe her as more savage than before?

  “Take his offer.”

  I don’t throw the phone across the room. I don’t crumple it in my hand. I don’t growl into the speaker.

  “Chancery? Are you there?”

  “I’m here.”

  “Well, you’ll do what you want, but my advice is that you either abdicate or take the escape hatch he’s offering. And as an added side benefit, you can offload your guilt. You wouldn’t be responsible for what happens to her. He would. Let him shoulder that burden for you.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “Do that. I’ve got one more round of videos I managed to pull. I’ll send them now, but I’ve got to go.”

  I hear a shuffling sound and then Inara’s voice. “Nothing, why?” The call disconnects.

  I wait for almost half an hour, but no videos ever show up. I’m climbing into bed, my eyes drifting closed when I hear a chime. The videos, finally. I should watch them tomorrow, but I can’t help myself. I pull them up immediately.

  I’m supposed to be studying Judica and I do, but sometimes Mom shows up. When she does, I watch the portion of the interaction with her in it over and over and over. It’s scratching an itch and it’s salt in a wound at the same time. It’s sunrise over the waves, and a slap across the face.

  And I can’t stop seeking it out.

  But in the third video, Judica steals my attention back. It’s date stamped from the end of this past January. Edam watches me walk past the arena in the hallway, his eyes following me down the hall. As a trained guard, he probably follows everyone who walks past habitually. But because it’s me he’s watching, Judica strikes him.

  “Not her,” she says. “Look at me. See me.”

  I pause the video, her words ringing in my ears. It was a relatively simple interaction. She runs on the violent side at the best of times, but her words stick with me.

  See me.

  Obviously Edam didn’t see what she wanted, since he dumped her. Based on things he’s said, I’m guessing he never saw the good in her, and neither do I. Did Mom? What did Mom see? And why wasn’t Mom’s love enough? How could Judica spurn what Mom offered and repay her with poison? If Judica hadn’t tried to poison me almost a decade ago, I’d have said she’d never use that method to kill someone.

  How could Judica actually procure what she needed to kill Mom?

  I need answers. I need to know. Not only so that I feel okay killing Judica. Also, because I want to make sure her killer’s not still out there if I do.

  There may have been nothing I could do to stop my mom’s death, and my relationship with Judica has always been fraught, but when Mom died, I lost my sister too. I don’t even know whether I should have.

  Watching these videos, I’m realizing something that scares me. If things had been flipped, I might have turned into Judica. If I’d been the last born, I could have been named the chosen Heir. I could have been the lonely one, the one who endured the painful torture of the Heir’s training. I’ve painted Judica as the villain for years. I blamed my mom for not standing up for me and for never choosing my side, but is life truly that black and white?

  I shake my head to clear it of the churning of speculation. None of this is helping me do what needs to be done.

  But of course, shaking my head doesn’t help, not really. The memory of our ninth birthday resurfaces in all its gritty misery, when I lost my first dog and my relationship with Judica crashed and burned. After she tried poisoning me, Mom finally stepped in and executed formal Heirship documents. She sat us down and told us we needed to be kind to one another. I knew it was for Judica’s benefit, not mine. Surely Judica knew that, too. After all, I hadn’t ever done a thing to her. The following week, Judica jumped me in the hall and struck me over and over, telling me to fight back, to defend myself. I refused to hit her back, or fight with her at all. I was covered with bruises by the time she finally stopped, and I ran to Mom, careful not to heal any of it before she saw. Mom cradled me and sang to me and stroked my hair, signaling that Judica was in the wrong, confirming to me that Judica was a monster.

  But she didn’t do anything to about it, and she took no steps to stop future attacks.

  Only, maybe Mom stopped standing up for me because it made things worse. I always thought Mom backed down and let Judica’s terrible treatment stand to try and make me tougher, but maybe she meant for her indifference to prevent escalation.

  The only time Mom has chosen me over Judica since her attack on our birthday was when I reacted to her ring a few days ago. Mom’s response left Judica angry enough to kill Cookie, another beloved pet.

  But was Judica angry enough to kill our mother?

  When I finally drift off to sleep, I dream of Judica saying, “See me” over and over and over.

  I’m not rested at all when I hear a knock on my door.

  “Come in,” I say.

  I sit up in bed and rub my eyes as Alora steps through the door.

  “You need to leave soon,” she says. “Bernard is standing by, but Edam offered to drive you. Fair warning. He may be offering just to fuss at you for missing your morning training session.”

  I scowl. “No offense, but riding with him won’t look right,” I say. “I can’t show up with the new PE coach.”

  Inara wouldn’t have understood why, but Alora does. “Right, of course. I’ll tell him to go ahead without you.”

  “Thanks.”

  “One more thing,” she says. “Logan didn’t know about you, but as I mentioned, he knows about evians. He called me last night, and I told him who you are. I hope that’s okay. He might be able to step in to help you if anything comes up.”

  I raise one eyebrow. “What might come up that a half-evian could help with, but my guards can’t handle?”

  Alora shrugs. “I didn’t mean physical defense, but he may have insight. He’s had a very different life than you.”

  “I guess.”

  Before I walk away, Alora reaches out and stops me. “I almost forgot. I looked into that boy in your class. Noah Wen. I knew his name sounded familiar.”

  “And?” I ask.

  “He’s not evian, or even half-evian, but he comes from the richest family at Trinity. In fact, I’m not sure why he isn’t being taught by private tutors. His dad has extensive holdings in China, Hong Kong, and Japan. From what I can tell, his family knows Xi Jinping quite well. Tread carefully, but he’s a good contact to have, whether you abdicate and want an evian-free place to go, or whether you don’t and need political contacts.”

  I nod. I don’t like thinking about people in terms of how I might use them, but she’s right. Ironically, now that I know Noah might have value, I have zero desire to talk to him. I stink at faking things, and he’ll know I’m trying to force the conversation. But China’s the last large territory not controlled by the Six. Which means I can’t afford to ignore him entirely.

  After Alora leaves, I change clothes and jog downstairs. Lark’s shoveling scrambled eggs into her mouth. My mom would never shovel eggs. She’d never shovel anything. She was far too refined for that, but she’d be delighted if I were eating eggs with such zeal.

  At that thought, something inside my chest breaks. I collapse to my knees, and a sob rips
from my throat. Memories bombard me from all sides. Mom chiding me to eat a bite of scrambled eggs. Mom wiping my mouth after I’d eaten an eclair. Mom teaching me to swim, patiently holding me up, one arm under my stomach. Mom helping me decide which gown to wear for my birthday party last year.

  Usually perfect evian recall is a blessing, but now I’m drowning in it. Too many moments, too many memories, and they’ve all halted forever, because Mom died. She’ll never teach me, lift me, support me, chide me, tease me, or hug me ever again.

  Lark doesn’t cross the room. She doesn’t put her arm around me. She knows I need to feel my grief, or even wallow. But she shoves the eggs away, and I hear her faintly whispered apology.

  “Why would you apologize for eating breakfast?” I straighten and stand, wiping at the tear streaks on my cheeks.

  Lark shakes her head. “Not eating. Eating this.”

  I think back on my breakfasts since Mom died. They’ve been conspicuously egg free, because Lark and Alora know. They know that I hate them and Mom loved them. My family and friends are tiptoeing around me. I don’t want that.

  But I’m going to get it, at least until I can watch Lark eat without breaking down and dousing the parquet floor with tears. I wonder how Lark’s doing. She lost her mother one day before I did. She’s just like me. Except of course, no one is gunning to kill her because they think she’s already dead. And her sister didn’t murder her mom.

  Because my mom did that.

  What a tangle. I walk stiffly toward the breakfast table, and I know I should ask Lark how she’s doing. But the world is pressing in on me and my heart is raw, so I pull out my phone and watch the rest of the video files while I eat a bowl of fruit and a bagel with turkey and cream cheese. I don’t reach out to my best friend like I should because it feels too hard, too raw, and unbearably big to help another human.

  The first few videos Inara sent were from February, but after that, they skipped back to October and worked toward the present. The main difference between the first videos I watched and the ones I’m watching today is timing. These all happen near the end of last year or the beginning of this one, and Judica’s fighting the same person in every single one this morning: Edam.