The Kingdom

by Jess Rothenberg

  “She did?”

  “She would’ve been so excited that I work here,” he muses. “Like, out of her mind excited.”

  “Do you have a picture?” I ask. “I’m sure I will remember her if you show me.”

  Owen hesitates.

  That was too much, my program whispers. You pushed too far.

  “Never mind,” I correct myself. “I didn’t mean to—”

  “No, no. That’s all right.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone, the sight of which sends a slight jolt of fear pulsing through me after what happened with Eve in the woods. Owen scrolls through his photo log, then holds out the phone for me to see. “This is Sara.”

  I feel a tug in my chest the moment I see her. In a flash, my program scans her facial algorithm and compares it to my data log—hundreds of thousands of children over more than a dozen years. In the time it takes a human to exhale, I have located a perfect match.

  I hit SELECT.

  Just like that, in high-res, holographic detail, a beautiful child dances to life before my eyes. Sara at age four, in a daisy-print dress, her smile as bright as the sun.

  Ana, look! I wore my favorite dress just for you!

  Sara at age seven, with two missing front teeth and a pair of unicorn sunglasses.

  Ana! Guess how much money the Tooth Fairy left me!

  Sara at age nine, with a book in her hand and purple shoes on her feet.

  Ana! Have you ever read Anne of Green Gables?

  And finally, Sara at age ten—her last visit. Hair shorter, legs longer, and hand in hand with a shy-looking boy of sixteen. A boy with the same dark hair. The same tall frame. The same beautiful eyes.

  I’ve met him before, I realize with a start. But that doesn’t make sense.

  This is my big brother, Owen. He’s the best brother in the whole wide world.

  I blink twice and the image disappears, but I am left with feelings of uncertainty and confusion. How could I have forgotten his face? My facial recognition software is linked to the Kingdom’s directory database—thoroughly and routinely updated.

  It does not make errors.

  “She was so beautiful,” I tell him. “Thank you for sharing her with me.”

  Owen’s eyes fill with a light I’ve never seen. “Did you see her? Did you just watch some kind of … memory?”

  I nod.

  “So she was just right here?” His voice wavers. “How does that work?”

  “Do you want to see? I can show you.”

  Owen looks nervous for a few seconds, but then he nods.

  “Look into my eyes,” I tell him, switching my visual output so that they project the memories out, instead of in. For several minutes, Owen sits like a statue, eyes glued to mine. He can see her. Laughing. Dancing. Smiling. Alive. When it’s over—when my lenses have reset—I focus back and notice his face is streaked with tears.

  “Are you all right? I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

  “No, it’s okay.” He laughs, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. “It’s just … not to be cheesy or whatever … but I guess Fantasists really do know how to make dreams come true.”

  Our eyes meet.

  Boom!

  We both look up just as the sky explodes with neon light, drenching the Kingdom in a blanket of falling stars. The evening fireworks show has begun. Owen’s hand finds mine in the dark, triggering tiny sparks of icy hot along my skin. I think of the lagoon again, and the dream I had, and how those unexpected ideas had come to me: Owen kissing me. Our lips meeting. A sigh. His hand closes around mine. The sensation of his touch is so thrilling, so electrifying, I am certain my motor will fly out of my chest.

  But then I remember.

  The Investors’ farewell party.

  “Oh no!” I jump to my feet, turning swiftly toward the palace. I can already see my sisters, gathered without me in the roof garden high above Magic Land. I am late.

  “I have to go,” I tell Owen. “I’m going to be in trouble.”

  “Wait.” Owen stands up. “You shouldn’t go.”

  I frown. How does he know about the party?

  “I don’t have a choice.”

  “You always have a choice, Ana. They just don’t want you to think you do.”

  “They?” I search his eyes. “Who is they?”

  He doesn’t answer. “At least let me walk you there,” he says, noting a group of guards just over by the carousel. “It won’t be safe around here until they find Eve.”

  My mind floods with confusion. And then—with anger.

  “How do you know that?” I demand. “How do you know Eve is missing?”

  “From the Supervisors. There was a park-wide security update for all staff.” He shakes his head. “I can’t believe she stole a horse.”

  I freeze.

  Stole?

  “What are you talking about?” I whisper. “Daddy didn’t say anything about that.”

  In the glow of the fireworks, Owen’s hair looks almost electric blue. “They got it all on a security feed, Ana. Eve stole a horse from Heart Land and took off after the rodeo.” He shakes his head grimly. “Before…”

  His tone sends an itch burning up my throat. “Before what?”

  Owen looks up. “Before she cut the tracking chip out of her arm.”

  41

  THE TALE OF THE GOLDEN WREATH

  A FABLE FROM MOTHER’S COLLECTION

  There once was a girl who coveted, more than anything, a golden wreath to wear upon her head. Such a crown would take a genius—and a touch of magic—to construct, but she knew that possessing it would make her the most beautiful and the most beloved of all the girls in the land.

  For many years, she wove tiaras made of flowers, all the while dreaming of a golden wreath to adorn her brow, and one cold winter day, her wish came true. As she was roaming the woods in search of something green—any twig or leaf she might tuck into her wreath—she saw a majestic bear.

  Standing in a clearing, its fur shone like moonlight against the new-fallen snow. And upon its grand and beastly head sat a golden crown, fashioned in the shape of blossoms too beautiful to put into human words, almost too beautiful for human eyes to behold.

  As she approached the bear, boldly meeting its gaze, the bear bowed, and then spoke. The bear promised her that she might have the wreath, as a gift, if only she’d trust him, and follow him deeper into the woods. All she must do is make sure her heart was full of purity and gratitude.

  And he had one rule: never to light a fire, not even a single candle. The bear could not abide flames.

  The girl readily agreed, and as the bear knelt down into the snow, she climbed upon his soft white back, allowing him to lead her into the forest. With delight, she discovered that the bear had built a gorgeous palace, full of many wonders, as beautiful and otherworldly as the wreath.

  For many years, they dwelled together happily in the palace, the bear and the girl, and she wore the golden wreath, and basked in knowing she was the best girl in all the land. But one night, as the stars formed a tapestry out of the darkness, the girl’s curiosity got the better of her. She lit a candle, and wandered about the palace in search of the bear—in search of answers and secrets.

  She did not find the bear, but a prince asleep in his chambers, more handsome and strong than any man she had ever seen. But as she gazed at him, wax from her candle melted and spilled upon his brow, and the man awoke. Before her eyes, he transformed back into the bear.

  Dear reader, this tale does not end in beauty.

  The bear went into a ravenous, beastly rage, destroying everything in the castle. For what the girl had not known was that the bear was a prince who had been cursed into his current form, and had the girl only been more patient—had she not given in to her terrible curiosity and simply waited one more day—the curse would have been lifted, and all that belonged to the bear-prince would have been hers.

  Instead, because of her disobedience, he’d become trapped in hi
s animal form forever.

  When the bear finished destroying the palace, it turned on the girl. She realized the kindness in the bear’s eyes had been extinguished, like the candle, and in the darkness, she felt the animal wrath of his claws as he tore her apart.

  42

  TRIAL TRANSCRIPT

  MR. HAYES: Mr. Windham, why would a Fantasist disable their own tracking chip?

  MR. WINDHAM: Well … it would seem Eve didn’t want to be found.

  MR. HAYES: And how did your team find her?

  MR. WINDHAM: We didn’t. Ana did.

  43

  KINGDOM CORP. SURVEILLANCE FOOTAGE TAPE 2

  [Court views brief digital clip taken on July 28 from Security Camera 541S6, positioned midway through the woods between the private entrance to Paleo Land and the Fantasist dormitory, on the afternoon of Fantasist 1’s sudden disappearance.]

 

  12:58: A figure—Fantasist 1, Eve—enters the scene on horseback, Hybrid EFC821.

  12:59: Eve dismounts and digs a small hole near a tree.

  1:03: Eve removes an object from her bag—Exhibit 7, a medical-grade scalpel—then turns away from the camera.

  1:35: Eve appears to bury something, view obstructed.

  1:58: Eve stands clutching her right wrist; a dark stain is now visible on her right sleeve. Eve removes EFC821’s bridle, releasing him into the woods. Then she tosses the scalpel on the ground and walks out of the shot.

  44

  THE JULY OF THE SWIFT FOX

  FOURTEEN MONTHS BEFORE THE TRIAL

  My gown trips me as I run—I stumble hard and scrape my knees on the cobblestone—but I do not care.

  I will not stop searching until I have found her.

  I will not lose another sister.

  “Did you check the Fairy Tale Boutique?” I demand. “Did you check the gown racks, like I said? That used to be her favorite hiding place during hide-and-seek.”

  “Ana.” Owen is out of breath, cheeks flushed red. “I’m not sure we’re going to—”

  “We have to keep looking,” I tell him. “We have to.”

  “I don’t know.” He shakes his head. “We’ve looked in a lot of places. Maybe we should just let the guards do their jobs, you know? They’ll find her. I’m sure they will.”

  That’s what I’m afraid of, I want to tell him. What will happen when they do?

  I collapse on a wrought iron bench, trying to clear my mind, one line of code at a time.

  Think, Ana, think. Where would she go? What would she do?

  “Eve likes the colors green and lavender,” I say hurriedly. “She likes to read.”

  “Okay.” Owen shakes his head. “So do you think she went to Story Land?”

  I hit my fists against my sides. “If she went there, we would have known by now,” I snap.

  “All right, all right.” Owen holds up his hands. “Let’s try to stay calm, okay?”

  I grit my teeth. There’s no time to stay calm. But I know he’s right. I close my eyes until I can steady my breathing.

  “I’m sorry,” I tell Owen. “I just keep thinking of Nia. I’ll never forgive myself if—”

  “We got this, okay? We just have to think. Like, what’s her favorite fairy tale? Maybe if we know that, we can figure out where she’d try to hide.”

  Her favorite story.

  “Anna Karenina,” I blurt.

  Owen looks surprised. “By Leo Tolstoy?”

  “No.” I cross my arms. “The other Tolstoy.”

  Owen cracks a smile. “Okay, so Anna Karenina. Let me think.” He grimaces. “I’m, uh, a little rusty on my Russian literature. But it’s got … soldiers, right?”

  My eyes dart around at the guards.

  Soldiers in every direction.

  “And horses?” Owen adds uncertainly.

  Horses.

  “I just don’t understand,” I mutter. Stealing a gown is one thing. But a horse? “What was Eve thinking? She knows she can’t leave the park.”

  Owen goes quiet a minute. “Well, technically she can.”

  His voice gives me a tiny spark of hope. “What do you mean?”

  “Oh my god!” he gasps. “Ana, look over there!”

  “What in the—” I whirl around, half expecting to see Mother standing behind me. But the moment I turn around, I feel Owen’s hand graze the nape of my neck.

  Turning off my cameras.

  “Sorry about that,” Owen says a little sheepishly.

  “You could’ve asked me first,” I mutter, rubbing my shoulder. “I think I have whiplash.”

  “There is a way out,” Owen says, ignoring my grumbling. “But it’s not the way you think. Maybe Eve took out her chip because she was trying to say goodbye.”

  My brow furrows. Owen doesn’t know what he is talking about.

  “That’s impossible,” I tell him. “Eve loves it here. She’s been here longer than any of us.”

  Suddenly, Owen looks scared to tell me something. “Ana? That day at the lagoon, when Nia tried to drown the little girl … I didn’t tell you this before, but she gave me something. A bracelet. She asked me to hold on to it, said she wanted you to have it.”

  My eyes widen.

  Nia wanted me to have her charm bracelet? As a gift?

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask.

  “I meant to, but after the whole incident went down, I realized I had lost it.” He sighs and shakes his head. “I think it was a hint. Maybe even a cry for help. I just didn’t see it that way at the time. I should have reported it, but I didn’t.”

  All at once, I feel an enormous weight lift from my shoulders.

  Relief.

  Finally, I know for certain Owen was never lying, never keeping any secrets from me. He never knew anything about Nia. The bracelet hadn’t been any kind of clue.

  Slowly, I reach into the pocket of my dress. “You didn’t lose it.” I open my hand, revealing three tiny charms—a seashell, a dolphin, and a starfish—each glinting gold in the light of the moon.

  “I can’t believe it,” Owen whispers. “Where did you find it?”

  “It was in your jacket.” I hold the bracelet out between us. “The jacket you gave to me that night at the lagoon.”

  Then he says, “It should be yours. Nia wanted you to have it.”

  I put it back in my pocket, grateful to keep this last token of my sister. Nia is gone, I remind myself. Nothing will undo that now.

  But Eve—Eve is still here. And she needs my help.

  “What do we do about Eve?”

  “If Eve were going to try to hurt herself,” he replies carefully, “if she were going to try to shut herself down, how would she do it?”

  “Shut down herself?” I gawk at him. “Why would she do such a thing?”

  Owen’s eyes meet mine.

  This time, I know the word in his head without him having to say it.

  Escape.

  I think of the rumors about the Investors. How Fantasists never seem to remember what happens when they come for visits. I think of Kaia’s distant answers to all my questions about what really happened last night. Eve was there with her. What happened to Eve? What did Eve remember?

  In my periphery, carving through the sky toward Magic Land, I catch a glimpse of a sleek silver train pulling into the Palace Station, directly below the rooftop of the Investors’ garden party. I swiftly download Anna Karenina from the network—it has been some time since I’ve read it—and scan the most stirring passages. A ballroom. A handsome count. A train, barreling down the tracks. And a young woman—her hair swept into an elegant updo, her eyes desperate, directionless—throwing herself into its fatal path.

  Another firework shoots high into the sky. A massive flower bomb, a chrysanthemum, with petals made of fire. Just like that, I think I know the answer to Owen’s question.

  “The monorail,” I gasp.

  Before Owen can utter a response, I am tearing away from the fountain, running as fast as
I can toward the rooftop garden.

  I have to warn the Supervisors. I have to get help. My motor pounds in my chest, my crème satin sash trails behind me. Where are you, Eve? I want to scream. Please don’t let me be too late.

  There are more than a dozen stations in all of the Kingdom. Even if I’m right, how will we ever find which one in time?

  No, I must be wrong. She wouldn’t do this. And if she wanted to, she could have done it sooner—why wait? Either I am wrong, or I am too late, or—

  But then I see her.

  A flicker of movement from the Spanish-tiled roof—the one closest to the rooftop garden.

  Of course.

  A figure leaning dangerously close to the edge. She is waiting for the finale, I realize as the fireworks pick up speed. I look up at the palace. In between the sonic booms, I can hear the sounds of music playing, of voices laughing. I see the glow of paper lanterns and evening lights twinkling from the rooftop garden. I freeze. She wants the Supervisors—and all the VIPs—to see what she is about to do.

  “Eve!” I call out, startling several families waiting on the platform.

  We do not raise our voices.

  I dart past them, not caring whether they are frightened of me.

  We always aim to please.

  “Come down! I see you!”

  She ducks into the shadows. In the distance, a train is approaching. The sound sends a jolt of fear up my spine, a sensation that momentarily locks me in place. I fight through the feeling and race to the trellis on the station’s far side, climbing through the ivy until I’ve reached the roof.

  “Eve! Please! Don’t do this!” I grip the handrails tightly as I inch toward her, dropping a shoe in the process and watching it fall nearly thirty feet down to the quiet tracks below.

  Boom!

  Above us, the sky is on fire. Hundreds of missiles rocket into the air at once, momentarily turning the Kingdom a dazzling shade of gold that stretches on for miles. Past Magic Land. Past Winter Land. Even beyond the borders of the cast parking lot.