“The Razed city in Manaro? No w-”
Jan cut Z off, looking almost regretful at what he was going to say. “She’s telling the truth.”
“Jan-” Celine attempted to say, but January repeated himself more firmly.
“She’s telling the truth.”
“How do you know?” Fey asked, and Celine could see curiosity peek out of her front. Now that Fey pointed it out to her, Celine could see it clearly. Just how well she covered up what she perceived to be a weak emotion; but Celine could see Fey’s eyebrow raised a bit too committedly for this to be a random question.
“I helped you; I don’t owe you any answers.” Jan let out a shallow humph, which she believed to be Jan’s response to Z’s sharp stomp on his foot, then corrected himself stiffly, “I have lie-detecting capabilities.”
Z looked like he was going to give Jan another stomp, but Celine subtly shook her head at him. Then she turned to Fey, to fill her in, “Jan, with some amount of concentration, can discern truth from falsehoods.”
Fey looked past Celine at the human lie detector with a trace of admiration. “That’s a selling point.”
“What’s yours?” Jan shot back instantly.
She gave him a mysterious half-smile, before turning back to Jax. “I get that you want to solve what your father had left you. But you have to take this problem out by the root. The Immortales.”
Z let out an awkward chuckle. “What can we do about them? We don’t even know what they are, for heaven’s sake!”
“But we can learn. Those rebellions hate the Immortales, and right now, they think that lies with you,” Fey adamantly stated.
“What do you mean?” Jax asked, his blue eyes curious.
“I think she means,” Celine cut in, slowly understanding what Fey was getting at, “that you’re signing the triennial peace Treaty this year.”
“The September, of this year, to be exact,” Fey added, slowly. “Think about it from their perspective. You’re going to sign a document that lets the Immortales get away with the fact that they left over half of our world in ruins.”
“I can’t just not sign it!” The king almost yelled. Then he paused, and took in a few deep breaths, trying to compose himself. “I know that I’m supposed to listen to my people; that was the second rule in How to be a King. WWIII started because King Nikholas didn’t sign the Treaty; do you think that they would have become better, pent-up on an island for 130 years? I can’t do that to all of NNR just to please some people.”
“What’s the first rule?” Celine, Fey, and Jan all turned to give Z a look, and he put up his hands in surrender. “Didn’t mean to say it out loud.”
Fey rolled her eyes, focusing back on the king. “Anyway, you realize that this decision may result in your life, right? The rebels are out for blood.”
Jax gave Fey a grim, terse smile. “My life is always at stake.” He added with a look at Z, “That’s the first rule.”
“We can still fight them. Without the affrontish part of it. Like, start freeing the strings that are attached to you, without the Immortales knowing,” Fey pushed on.
“Secretly?” Jax asked, though something seemed off about his tone.
“Yes, somewhat. I just think we should try and rebuild the Razed, best we can. Starting with London; we could clean up some rubble, rebuild. We can work on reinstating programs to help the people of NNR. But we can have an almost undercover-op as well. Something that will fight against the rebels and Immortales, but in secret. You can’t deny this problem any longer.”
There was a moment of silence, before Jax heavily sighed. “That’s what I was afraid of. Well, who’s in favour?”
“Me,” Celine piped up, and Fey put in her word of confirmation behind her with a resounding ‘let’s get this started’.
“I’m with my leader,” Z simply said, nodding his head.
January, who was looking down, slowly nodded his head, “It’s about time we got some action.” And when he looked up, Celine as surprised to see that his face didn’t have its usual sullen temperament.
“Great. I was waiting to see how long it would take for you guys to get this put together. A bit later than what I expected, but I guess there was a bit of drama.”
Jax’s easy light words suddenly clicked in Celine’s brain. “Wait, you mean that you put us together to-”
“I’m so sorry, but I have pressing matters to attend to. You guys can discuss whatever may be relevant to your upcoming project. I trust I can leave you all in here alone without killing each other?” Jax asked, looking especially at the duo of Jan and Fey, then quickly retracted his earlier statement. “I’m not going to wait for an answer.” He stood up, which was followed by the immediate rising of the other 4, and he let out an exasperated sigh. “Please don’t do that.”
“Pressing matters?” Fey reminded him.
“Of course. Good day to all of you.” He leaned in a bit, and with a slight fugitive glance around, whispered, “Meet me here at 1.”
“Is it really necessary to whisper?” Z whispered back, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth.
“Dramatic flair, Z,” Jax yelled over his shoulder as he left to his pressing matters.
From city rebuilding to defying the most powerful beings on Earth, Celine just knew that they had their work cut out for them these months.
Fifteen
JAX wasn’t joking about his ‘dramatic flair’. The palace was dead silent and dark when Z started to go downstairs, at 1 AM, just like His Majesty had asked. As foolish as was, Z couldn’t bring himself to press the button for the elevator, and instead took the route of the stairs, which he was doing quite often now, walking alongside Celine.
But now he was walking alone, treading the marble tiles carefully, not sure if Jax made sure to tell the guards that they would be up at this hour. Because if not, well, getting a bullet through the gut trying to listen to the king was not high on Z’s list of preferred ways to die. After managing to make it to the dining hall in one piece, Z realized that he was the last one in the room. With the exception of a certain blue-eyed king.
“You’re late, Z,” Fey dryly stated, feet propped up on the table.
“Nonsense, Downcley. The king’s always on time, so I happen to be early.”
“Where is Kin- Jax, then?” Celine corrected herself, looking anxiously at the door. “God, it’s weird when you realise that he’s the king.”
“Doesn’t act so kingly,” Jan muttered under his breath, too quiet for Celine to hear, but Fey cut him a sharp glance.
Z chose to ignore them both, taking Celine’s bait for banter. “It is. Weird, I mean, that we’re so chummy with the king for NNR.”
“Chummy?” Fey asked, her voice coloured with amusement.
“Yes, Downcley. Chummy. You are in London, so you must pick up on the lingo. Adelaide, huh? How is it?”
“As nice as a Razed can get,” she said, and Z could tell her clipped answer conveyed her hesitation on the topic. “So where are you all from?”
“Take a wild guess,” Jan shot back, his American drawl somehow more pronounced with this rare display of sarcasm.
“Well, I’ll humour you. Z’s a native, his accent says that much. And you two are from the American Republic.”
“Wrong. For me, at least; I can’t speak for Jan,” Everyone’s eyes turned to look at him, to which he only shrugged, then resumed glaring at his hands, neatly folded on the table. “But I’m a native as well,”
“But your accent-” Fey started, not believing Celine.
“Is Northern Confederate. I picked it up from my parents, so I don’t have the usual accent.”
“AR, NC. What’s the difference?”
“There’s a difference,” Celine shot back, her voice teasing but firm all the same.
“Now before we start WWIV, should we get down to business?” Z craned his head to see the king, still in his impeccable shirt and trousers, all hard lines and sharp angles, worn with
a warm smile.
“You’re late,” Celine stated, brushing her golden hair out of her eyes with a frown.
“The king’s never late- Z’s admitted to that much,” Jax stated, a smirk stretching his features out.
“True. Now, why did you call us down at 1 o’ bloody clock in the morning?” Z asked, making a dramatic display of his stretching.
“Oh please, Z. You’re usually awake at this time.”
“If I didn’t know better, I would’ve thought that you were watching me,”
Jax’s voice was lazy and his strides to his chair were long and languid. “Good thing you know better then.”
“Normal people are asleep by now, Jax.” Fey stated. Z moved to open his mouth, but Fey beat him to the chase. “And Z is not a normal person.”
“Hey!” Z protested, shooting a look of mock shock to Fey.
January wasn’t amused, giving them both a dry look. “As cute as this bantering is, can we get down to business?”
Jax cleared his throat gesturing for everyone to follow him. “Of course. I have a little surprise for you all.”
Surprise? Z suppressed a groan; surprises and Jax together spelt trouble. Muttering a quick prayer of ‘no scorpion pits, no scorpion pits, no scorpion pits’, Z pushed himself out of his chair and started to walk behind Jax, falling in line with a silent, sullen Jan. From behind him, he could hear the muffled whispers of Celine and Fey.
“Janu-”
“Don’t Z,” said Jan, his tone cold and gravelly. “It’s 1 AM, and I’m not dealing with small talk right now.”
“Not even with amazing company?” Z offered a grin, hoping that he could relieve some of the visible tension around Jan. Unsurprisingly, the boy just shrugged Z’s attempt off, and walked on, staring straight ahead. “Good talk,” Z muttered under his breath, staring at old royal paintings lining the halls awkwardly.
Soon enough, the paintings faded from familiar to totally unknown, and Z realized that they were going down a different corridor than he had ever been down before. Not that he was one to go palace exploring, of course.
“How come I’ve never seen this hall before?” Z finally asked, the silence cast over them growing to be too uncomfortable.
Jax craned his head and gave Z a half smile, the moonlight filtering in through the windows casting sharp highlights on his face. “This was the former king and queen’s wing of the palace. I prefer to keep out of it.”
Celine pulled up beside Z, her lips pursed as she considered his words. “This surprise must be something for you to bring us here.”
Jax didn’t respond to that, instead stopping in front of the singular door on the right wall, pulling out a set of keys and sliding one in with a metallic thud. “Welcome,” Jax said, swinging the door open, “to your meeting room.”
Z’s jaw dropped as he walked into the room. It wasn’t as vast as the others, but it was enthralling on its own. Occupying the center of the room was a table, encircled by a wide variety of chairs (and a certain swivel chair that Z was eyeing), with pens and files spread across the table surface. A filing cabinet was pressed up in the corner, tucked in beside another door which Z suspected led to another room of some sort. But the single-handedly best part of it all, was the huge floor-to-ceiling window that took up a portion of the back wall. The dark expanse of the sky, stretching out until the horizon, the blues somehow lightening while approaching the line that divided the earth from the heavens above; hell, even the rubble looked beautiful from this rare angle.
“Wow,” Fey whistled behind him, eyes cast up in fixation, and Z stopped to take a look at what was attracting her attention like this.
Even though Z said that the single-handedly best feature of the room was the window, he was sure that the ceiling could tie for the title. Painted over every possible crack on the surface of the ceiling was a mural, depicting the nighttime sky. The stars seemed to glimmer above Z, set in constellations whose names he couldn’t remember. It wasn’t common for the stars to shine out from the thick carpet of haze that was cast over the London skyline, and his uncle had made it a point to take Z out when he was younger on nights that you could, so they could stay there and watch the burning infernos.
Upon seeing the stars again, Z was hit with a tidal wave of memories—bittersweet evenings bundled up in blankets that were needed when the sun had set; the too-sweet lemonade his uncle always made; continuing to watch the stars even after their necks became sore; hazy conversations that seemed to be lifetimes away.
Hazy conversations that were lifetimes away. A smiling woman with crinkled eyes weathered with age and laughter, pressing warm kisses on his temple and telling him stories in a language he understood, but didn’t know. Z tore his eyes away from the mirage of shining stars, focusing on the marble floors with a headache inducing intensity. Exhaling shakily, his hand slid down to his pocket, feeling the familiar weight of his lighter in his pocket.
He was wading in unfriendly territory, deep in dangerous memories that weren’t meant to be uncovered. He took a quick intake of air, regaining composure as quick as humanly possible, before anyone noticed his slip.
“This is beautiful, King Jax,” Celine said, obviously as in shock as everyone else. Even Jan looked on with amazement, eyes glassy with wonder.
“Thank you,” said Jax, eyes filled with melancholy grief. “It was Queen Naomi’s favourite parlour.”
Fey recoiled, looking shocked, but Jax didn’t pay any heed to it. Z understood Fey’s reaction; he, of all people, should know the value and fragility of memories and pasts. “We can’t, Your Majesty. That’s-” Fey started, taking a step back.
“That’s not a problem. This is your room now—all of yours. Think of it as what you can use as the affiliation that the crown has to The Strategists,” he said, his eyes brightening a bit, but Z didn’t miss the fact that the sadness didn’t completely disappear. “Besides,” he added, “it’s been 10 years. I have to get over it sometimes, shouldn’t I?”
“Never,” Z said, a little louder and gruffer than what he had originally planned. All eyes of the room were trained on him, and he suddenly felt small. He could see why Celine was terrified of tight spaces now—the pressure on him right now was suffocating.
Luckily for him, Jax dropped it, and gave the mechanic a small nod. “Alright. This is just my gift, to you all, okay?” He strode over to the door that Z noticed earlier, and pried it open, but not far enough for Z to see anything. “And it would be an insult to the crown if you didn’t take it. Besides, I have another surprise for you.”
Z saw Jan’s eyebrows sky-rocket, and Z could imagine the possible things running through his brain. What the king is spending the money of NNR on, the impropriety of the conversa- no. Z shut that side of his mind, forcing himself to give January a chance. You don’t even know the guy that well; you don’t have a place to judge. Still, even Z found it hard to be friendly with someone who rebuffed the most meager of actions to be civil.
“Voila,” announced Jax, looking proud of himself as he opened the door the entire way through.
“What’s it with you and your affinity to French? You never explained that,” Celine asked.
Fey looked interested, her voice piquing up in curiosity. “French?”
“It’s nothing,” Jax said, smiling lopsidedly, chuckling to himself as if reliving an old memory.
The answer did everything but leave the girls content, who peppered Jax with even more questions. Z would’ve paid more attention to the banter, and edge in some of his own comments, but he was entranced. Forget floor-to-ceiling windows and night sky murals. This- this was awe-inspiring.
He guessed that the others didn’t notice what was in the room, otherwise the king’s oddly adept knowledge of French would not be the conversation at hand. But Z had an ability to spot machinery from a mile away, and this was some tech that he had never had laid his hands on before.
Computers.
After the initial shock and euphoria m
elted away, all he was left with was giddiness and restless energy. Z rubbed his hands together and wore something that he thought closely-resembled a maniacal grin. Wires and bolts was a language that he was fluent in.
Soon enough, he heard a gasp, which he assumed to be the rest finally noticing what laid in front of them. After one last longing glance, Z was able to tear his eyes away to see the reactions of everyone else. Jax was looking prouder of himself than Z had ever seen him, Fey and Celine’s jaws were both ajar, and Jan was—well—slinking off to the side, looking mildly impressed? Disregarding the latter’s reaction, Z smiled brightly at Jax (well, as bright as a smile could get without coffee at 1 AM). “Wow.”
Jax mirrored his expression—the sadness noticeably reduced—his blue eyes glittering with mirth. “Ever worked on one of these before?”
“Yeah; but nothing in as good of a condition like this,” Z said, running a hand over the screen. “These are top-notch preserved computers from the Second Era. You don’t find these just anywhere.”
“You’re right; these were salvaged, but I was wondering if you could somehow make sense of how to work it all. Some parts are missing and I can supply you with them, or whatever you need.”
“You have other computers in the palace, don’t you?” Fey asked.
“Yes, we do. They’re in better condition than these. But I was wondering,” the king said, turning to look at Z, “if you could improve all these and make them the best computers in all of NNR?”
Z ran a hand through his unruly curls, feeling his heartbeat quicken in excitement. “Most definitely. I have lots of theoretical knowledge on these bad boys. Practical is at a bare minimum, but they’re all the same at its core.” He added a small mental hopefully at the end.
If possible, Jax’s grin split one tooth further, and Z could’ve sworn that he had never seen the king of NNR look so boyish. “Great! If you need anything, come to me or Areya. Preferably Areya, she’ll get you what you need much, much, faster. This room is all yours, Z.” He looked sly as he added, “Also, all the parts needed for the truck will be in tomorrow. Areya will get you when it’s ready.”
The Reformation Page 9