Star-Crossed

by Pintip Dunn

  But these are my last moments with Carr before the Betrayal, as I’ve come to think of it. He’ll know. If not now, then as soon as he enters the room and feels the overwhelming temptation. The only food he’s ever tasted is an apple. This challenge revolves around apples. The coincidence is too big.

  We step into the alcove at the end of the corridor, the one with floor-to-ceiling windows. The light from the sunlamps falls across Carr’s cheekbones, and his eyes appear even darker against the lit-up skin.

  “You didn’t wish me good luck.” He glances at the cameras mounted on the ceiling and then at the blinking light at my collar. “You wished all the other candidates luck.”

  There’s nothing I can do about the visual, but council be damned, I reach up and turn off the loop. He eases closer, even though there’s no one around to hear us.

  “I can’t wish you luck because I don’t want you to win,” I whisper.

  “I know.” He touches me with a single finger. My nose, my cheek, my lower lip. “I’ve always appreciated your honesty. You don’t play games. You say what you feel, and you do what you say. I like that.”

  I shiver, my body vibrating with uncertainty and his touch, but I don’t grab his hand. Don’t tell him to stop. “Does this mean you’re not mad?”

  “You’ve never lied to me, so I shouldn’t have doubted you. I’m sorry.” He takes my hand. “But my feelings for you are so big, so unexpected, I don’t know how to trust them. That’s why I jumped to the worst conclusion.”

  My palms break out in sweat, and I pull my hand away. If he only knew. He shouldn’t trust me. I’m much worse than a manipulator now. I’m a traitor.

  His finger drifts under my chin. “You might not be able to say the words. But would you kiss me for luck?”

  Would I?! My pulse skitters away, and I’m not sure I’ll ever catch it again. But a line of candidates stands, not twenty feet from us, and I can’t forget my official capacity, no matter how much my body yearns.

  “You know I can’t. Not in front of the others.” Have I ever regretted any other decision so much? Have I ever been so tempted to grab his hand and run far, far from the colony? Away from the Fittest Trials. Away from this task looming before me.

  “After the challenge, then?” he asks, his eyes as dark as night. “A congratulation or a consolation prize. Or maybe just because you want to.”

  “If you still want me,” I whisper.

  “I will.”

  I’m not so sure. I wouldn’t place any bets on him talking to me, much less kissing me. But maybe I’m wrong. Maybe he won’t discover what I’ve done. The switch is small, from one innocent fruit to another. Even with my concerns about the formula, what could possibly go wrong?

  …

  A lot, apparently.

  Half the candidates drop to their knees as soon as they enter the room. They cram apples into their mouths, much like the Aegis that had to be dragged away. Except they aren’t used to eating. So instead of chewing and swallowing, they choke and spray stuff and gag.

  The neat stacks collapse, and apples roll everywhere, smashing into the floor and slicking the plastic-covered tile with their juice. The bots part through the chaos, wrap their metal arms around the disqualified boys, and carry them out.

  Only two minutes have passed.

  I dig my nails into my palms. Groups of Aegis clump in front of the window, straining to see even as they cover their mouths. I feel like I’m watching my mother burn in the incinerator. There’s nothing worse than seeing someone you love turn into charred, crinkly ash, but I would not—could not—look away.

  I scan the room, trying to make sense of the confusion. Zelo is in the center, exactly where I told him to go. A few apples bounce around his feet, but he’s not moving so he doesn’t trample them. Doesn’t splatter himself with their flesh.

  He closes his eyes, like I instructed, and cups his hands over his ears, blocking his senses. His lips move. If he’s following my orders, then he’s chanting a series of prayers to himself.

  A few of the other candidates follow suit. They must’ve figured out the only way to resist is to find a way out of the room—if not physically then mentally. One of them is Jupiter. Before I can take note of the others, I find Carr.

  No wonder I didn’t see him earlier. He’s curled into a fetal position on the floor, his head tucked into his knees. He’s blocking his senses, too, but not in the best way. He’s too close to the apples, his skin has too much contact with the floor—and the juices flung on it.

  His hands wrap around his knees, and the white of his knuckles contrasts starkly against the red apples. The pulse at his temple throbs, and his jaw is clenched so tightly that the skin stretches taut over his bones. He is the picture of suffering.

  My knees turn to liquid, and I clutch the window frame.

  “What is Carr doing?” a voice says at my shoulder. I’ve only heard her speak once, but I’d recognize the bell-like tone anywhere. Hanoi. “Why doesn’t he take a bite?”

  I turn and practically fall into the arms of my sister’s assistant. “Why didn’t we think of this?” I moan. “He’s not a quitter. Why didn’t we think he might refuse to give in?”

  “He doesn’t even have to take a bite,” Blanca muses, a foot away from us. “He can just walk out of the room and disqualify himself.”

  Obviously, she doesn’t know Carr very well. Obviously, neither do I. Obviously, neither does Astana.

  “I need to talk to him.” The words pour out of me. “Let him know that it’s okay to give in. Okay to lose this challenge. Oh Zeus, why doesn’t he just give in?”

  “No microphones,” Blanca says as Hanoi pats my back soothingly. I realize, then, that my sister was mistaken. She does need her assistant. Hanoi is literally the hand that Blanca doesn’t know how to extend. “You and Master Somjing set the rules, remember? No communication during the challenge. The candidates have to find the strength within themselves.”

  Carr’s face turns bright red, and the pulse at his temple looks like it might explode. More candidates fall. Six minutes pass. Still, Carr remains.

  “Has he passed out?” I hide my eyes in Hanoi’s shoulder.

  “No,” she murmurs in my ear. “See his ankle? It’s moving.”

  I have to look. If I’ve put him in there, the least I can do is look.

  Hanoi’s right. His ankle moves. Not a twitch or a tremor, but in slow, deliberate circles. This small action somehow pushes me over the edge. He’s inside that shell, conscious and suffering. Because of me.

  “I’m sorry,” I moan, even though he can’t hear me. “I’m so sorry.”

  Hanoi is talking to me. She’s saying how no one looks good now, their faces are lined with fatigue, their muscles twitch from being held so still, but I can’t really listen because I’m so miserable.

  “I’m sorry,” I continue mumbling. “I don’t know what got into me. I would change my decision if I could—”

  “Vela, look!”

  The words slam into me like a rock. Carr’s limbs unfurl, and then he’s shaking. Teeth clacking, arms jerking, knees knocking. Uncontrolled muscle spasms rack his entire body.

  “He’s having a seizure.” I stumble out of Hanoi’s embrace and scream into my collar. “Bots! Get Carr Silver out of there now! Take him straight to medical. This is an emergency! I repeat, this is an emergency!”

  Four bots zoom inside, whirring so loudly that Zelo and the other candidates’ eyes pop open. The bots pick up Carr by each shaking limb. Within seconds of my command, they have him out of the room and rolling toward the medical center.

  I sprint after the convoy of bots, begging the stars it’s not a moment too late.

  Chapter

  Twenty-One

  The next few hours pass like a swarm of bees—chaotic and fast, with one minute blending into the next. But once in a while, a moment lifts out of the fray and descends like an individual sting.

  …

  I bury my face in
my hands, nearly hyperventilating. A hand presses on my shoulder. I jerk up. Blanca. My sister and her assistant have followed me to the medical wait lounge, and Hanoi urges her forward, encouraging her to speak to me.

  Vaguely, I remember thinking that Hanoi was the hand that my sister wanted to—but couldn’t—extend. What? My sister, as a sympathetic supporter? What would possess me to believe that? I rest my head on my knees again.

  “I’m sorry,” Blanca whispers finally, “but I don’t know how to do this.” And then she is gone, her assistant giving me a squeeze and following her.

  …

  The next time I raise my head, Zelo is sitting on the edge of a C-trunk. “I was passing by,” he says. “And I saw you in here.”

  “Oh, Zelo.” My voice is as dull as a jelly knife. “Did you win?”

  “Yeah.” He slouches into the curve of the branch, not meeting my eyes. As if he feels guilty that he’s healthy and well, while Carr’s in a medical bed somewhere. “You really like him, don’t you?”

  “Yes. I really do.” The admission rips and tears on its way out of my throat. Because what good does it do to confess now?

  I was trying to save him from death, but that’s not a good enough excuse. He might suffer permanent physical damage. Or maybe, he’ll never speak to me again. Either way, I’m slayed.

  …

  “Someone tampered with the formula, Princess.” Master Somjing maneuvers first one mechanical brace and then the other so he can sit next to me. “I just received word from the lab. The concentration of the fragrance was double what it was supposed to be.”

  I massage my temples. Tampered? I knew the formula was off, but I never suspected foul play. “But why?”

  “Why do you think?” He shoves a stick down the side of his brace and scratches. “Half the candidates disqualified the instant the challenge began. Your front-runner injured and in the medical facility. If someone wanted to disrupt the Trials and make you look bad, I’d say they succeeded. Wouldn’t you?”

  …

  I sleep, but I don’t. Tree-chairs forgotten, stretched on the concrete floor, my body mimicking the position of Carr’s body right before the seizure. Torso curled, fists clenched, even my ankle slowly, but deliberately rotates.

  Hands pull a blanket around me. I creak my eyes open. The sky has turned black, and the mother-daughter moons shine through the window at my father’s back.

  He used to tuck me in like this every night. For years after my mother passed, the King was the last person I saw before I went to sleep. In his way, I think he was trying to reassure me. You may have lost your mother, but I’m not going anywhere.

  “Rest, my eye-apple,” his shadowy figure says. “You’ll need it in the days to come. This is only the beginning.”

  The beginning? What does he mean? We have only one challenge remaining. Shouldn’t he be telling me the task is almost over?

  His words are so strange, and I want to ask him to explain. But sleep is too strong, and it tugs me under. Or maybe I’m not awake at all. Maybe I never opened my eyes, never saw my father standing there, and this is only a dream.

  Or a nightmare. Like the serpent who visits me in the night, its body wrapped around the tree trunk, choking the life out of me and everyone I love.

  …

  My eyes feel gritty in the morning, and my body aches in those places you feel only after a night on the floor. A blanket is wrapped around my mid-section, and a pillow is squashed between my knees.

  Not a dream, then. My father was here last night, bringing me the blanket and pillow. What’s more, a meal cart sits in the corner of the room, with a pitcher of freshly squeezed orange juice and plates of thickly sliced honey toast topped with whipped cream.

  The scent of fried dough and powdered sugar tickles my nose. The King’s favorite snack. The royal cooks prepare honey toast for him once a week, and it is just like him to order a cart for me, so I won’t have to leave the medical facility to go to the Banquet Hall.

  I pick up a fork and begin to eat. Normally, the cubes of bread, at once chewy and crisp, combined with the sweet taste of honey, set off an explosion in my mouth. Today, I barely taste the flavor.

  If my father’s appearance wasn’t a dream, then the rest of the visits weren’t, either. The conversations with Blanca and Zelo. Master Somjing telling me someone tampered with the formula.

  An entire cube of bread slides down my throat. Who would want to discredit the Fittest Trials? Or does someone have a personal vendetta against me? Could the culprit be my sister? Or one of the Fittest family members?

  No. I refuse to believe it. Blanca and I haven’t been close for years, and the families are annoyed at me. All true. But my bonds with each of them go far deeper than these recent disagreements.

  I finish eating and step into the Transfer Room next door to convert my calories into pills. When I emerge, a familiar figure strides down the corridor, the gold tassels on his shoulders gleaming under the fluorescent lights.

  “Dad! I’m here!” I rush after him and then stop short. A bot is leading him toward the patients’ rooms, instead of toward the wait lounge. Toward me. “Are you coming or going?”

  My father ruffles my hair. “I wouldn’t leave without finding you, my eye-apple. I was merely checking on Blanca’s patients and, of course, young Carr.”

  “You know Carr?” We continue walking down the corridor. Bots wheel meal carts identical to mine to each of the recovery rooms. Blanca’s patients must be eating the same thing as me for their daily ration.

  “I’ve been keeping tabs on all your candidates. But you could say I have a special interest in Carr.”

  I frown. Not good. I want Carr mediocre and nondescript. Indistinguishable from the other boys, so when he loses, no one will think to question why. “Why?”

  “He was the top candidate before the last challenge, and he’s my daughter’s best friend’s brother. But if those reasons aren’t good enough… I suppose I care because he once sold me a worm.”

  I raise my eyebrows. “Huh?”

  The King pauses in front of an open door. Inside, a little girl squeals as she digs into her honey toast. “Feed you! Feed you!”

  She’s the same pig-tailed girl who leaped off a stretcher into my arms. The one who was doing so much better after the daily rations began. Brooklyn.

  In spite of the anxiety bandaging my heart into place, the organ manages a single leap. At least one person is happy today. My father and I exchange a smile and continue walking.

  “I met Carr ten years ago, when his mother worked in the royal kitchen,” he says. “I was strolling around Protector’s Pond, wearing my old straw hat. I guess Carr mistook me for a fisherman. I bought his worms because I thought he was enterprising. We became friends and strolled together nearly every night.

  “He never knew he was friends with the King. A month later, his mom left the kitchen, and we lost touch. But I never forgot him.”

  His voice is too complex, too layered with emotion for a simple reminiscence. All of a sudden, I know.

  Things always seemed to work out for Carr in his times of need. Almost as if there was someone in the background smoothing his path. Not his mother, after all. Someone like a guardian angel. Or maybe the King.

  “That was you?” The breath rushes out of my mouth. “The time Carr lost his job at the apple orchards and got a new one the next day? When a cache of pills arrived to settle their debts right as the unit lord was about to evict them?”

  My father nods.

  The words jam in my chest. The people are right. He is a good King. Over the years, I’ve witnessed his generosity dozens, maybe hundreds of times. But I’ve never felt his kindness more keenly than I do at this moment, standing in a corridor, the patients savoring their breakfast all around us.

  “It saddens me, as much as it does you, to learn that Carr is in the candidate pool.” He shouldn’t even be admitting this much. As the King, he must remain completely impartial to the
selection process.

  I’m glad he chose to bend the rules this once. “Thanks for telling me, Dad.”

  “King Adam?” A medic appears beside us, his jacket the same murky gray as the stone walls. He drops into a low bow, touching his forehead to the ground, and taps his chest three times. “I’m told you’ve given up your own meals so these patients can eat. I’d like to express my humble and unworthy gratitude, Your Highness.”

  I stare at my father. One more thing he hasn’t told me. “You have?”

  “As you know, I stopped transferring my nutrition a few years ago, because of my health, even though I still eat real food. A concession for which the council voted, despite my misgivings. But Mistress Barnett worried that the sudden switch to nutrition pills would be a shock to my system, so I assented. Thus, I am the only person in the colony besides the Fittest families who eats without having to make a nutrition transfer.” He helps the medic to his feet. “If they must sacrifice, then so will I. Under Mistress Barnett’s care, I’ve been easing off real food. She made me promise to revert to eating at the first signs of distress, but there’s been no shock yet.” He smiles. “I guess this old body is sturdier than any of us expected.”

  “Dad, that’s amazing.” My mind races. Surely, if the Fittest families knew about the King’s sacrifice, they would follow his example. Surely, this will convince them to give up their own meals permanently. “You’re an inspiration. A model for others to follow.” I can hope, anyway.

  The King waves off my words and addresses the medic. “You have news on Carr Silver?”

  “Yes, sir. He is in stable condition and will make a full recovery.” The medic shoots a glance at me. “However, he will need to be on bed rest for the next two days.”

  “Two days?” I blurt. “But the final challenge is tomorrow.”

  “I’m aware of the timing.” The medic holds up his hands as though to brace himself for attack. “Unfortunately, his recovery doesn’t revolve around the Fittest Trials.”

  My neck sags, my stomach clenches, my heart leaps. I don’t know what to feel. Emotions shoot inside me like a comet trapped inside a box. Joy that Carr will recover. Heartsick that my sabotage was even more successful than I planned. Pure, liquid relief that I did it. I saved him. He cannot possibly win the Fittest Trials now.