Poison

by Lan Chan

  A butler shows us to our seats on either side of this little monster, me on the left, Gage on the right, and begins to bring out platter upon platter of unusual delicacies. When he’s done serving, the butler takes a step behind our host and stays there with his arms behind his back.

  “Eat,” Harlan says as though it’s just another casual dinner. Gage blinks twice slowly. I have no idea what it means, but then he inclines his head towards the fork I’m rolling between my fingers. Stabbing Harlan would be suicide, but it doesn’t mean I can’t think about it.

  “You region lot are so peculiar,” Harlan remarks. I wonder if he’s so stupid that he’s oblivious to our discontent or if he’s so arrogant he doesn’t care. “You’d think after two months of sanctions you’d jump at the sight of food.”

  I don’t trust myself to speak so I just scratch my nose absently, trying not to stare so blatantly at his jugular.

  “We’re so used to subsisting on nothing that even the smell of this food is overwhelming,” Gage says. “Though I can hardly eat for amazement at how wonderfully beautiful you are.”

  He’s reverted back to the boy I thought I grew up knowing. That arrogant lilt is back in his voice, and so is the persistent smirk. In that moment, I’m so proud of him it almost hurts.

  Harlan catches the grin I share with Gage, and the Seeder’s expression becomes cold.

  “Shame,” Harlan says. He picks up his spoon, blows a breath on the metal, and then dries it with his napkin. “I had hoped to feel the same way about you, Gage Casseldon, but you’ve turned out to be so uninspiring. Jordan! Escort him to Alexis. Tell him he can have the boy. He’s useless to me.”

  Gage casts me an alarmed glance as he’s forcibly removed. I want to tell him it’ll be all right and that he’s not being put to death because Alexis is the Arts Centre’s head chef, but I don’t have a chance and he’s gone.

  “And then there were two.”

  I turn to peer at this man-child properly for the first time in six years. His face is all elegant lines, without a hint of the stubble that most of the Farmers his age have to fight to keep in check. How much surgery has he undergone to stave off puberty? How much more surgery does he think he’s going to have performed on me? Suddenly, I have no more energy to keep up this pretence of civility.

  “What do you want, Harlan?” I say.

  “Now, now, pet,” he says. I cringe at his use of that name for me. I half hope for Aiden to detach from the hanging baskets and smack him across the jaw, but of course he doesn’t. “All in good time.” He grins and a sliver of ice runs down my spine.

  “Why don’t you tell me about your little sojourn in the woods?”

  I’m going to punch him.

  “There’s not that much to tell,” I manage to spit out through my clenched teeth. “I left the Landing to come to the Citadel. Now I’m here.”

  This elicits a weak half laugh that makes my skin crawl in new ways. “Oh, you still have such a bleak view of things, I see. Always playing things down. Did you know no one from any region has ever gone on walkabout and made it to the Citadel?’’

  “No, I didn’t know,” I say.

  “You’re a rarity, pet, and we’ll have many uses for you.” His hand comes to rest on my bunched-up fist, and the clamminess of his skin is like a damp cloud that hinders my breathing.

  “You’re not much to look at now, but maybe higher cheekbones. I like you as a blonde. It goes much better with your Wind Dancer colours!”

  All sense leaves me at the contemplation of his intent. That he plans to continue altering me against my will. Suddenly, I’m dizzy and I can feel the bile rising up my throat. I plead sickness, and to my astonishment, Harlan seems genuinely concerned. He orders Aiden to take me back to my room.

  Just as I stand to leave, he takes hold of my hand.

  “Welcome back, pet,” Harlan says. “Let’s hope everyone is as happy to see you as I am.” Then he steps through the door behind him and disappears.

  Twenty-One

  Aiden escorts me back to my room in silence. For a second it looks like he’s about to say something, but then he must think better of it and simply closes the door loudly. I almost wish he did say something so I could go off at him, but there would be no use. It’s clear where his allegiance lies.

  In spite of my scepticism, I test the doorknob and confirm I’m locked in. Then I race to Gage’s room on the off chance he’s in there, but it’s empty. Even his messy bed has been made as though he’s never stepped foot in there.

  I start pacing, but soon that gets old, and despite the weeks of being cooped up in a hospital bed, fatigue washes over me. I can’t bring myself to set foot in that freak show room of mine so I pull one of the armchairs onto the balcony, wrap myself up in a thick blanket, and fall asleep watching the glittering lights bouncing off the dome of the Forgotten Garden.

  I sleep fitfully, shuddering between dreams of running through the forest with Sully and dancing in the Landing streets with Leura.

  Gloria finds me at noon the next day. The sound of her heels clicking on the tiles wakes me, but I pretend I’m still asleep. I don’t want to face this day even though it’s the sole purpose of my trip to the Citadel.

  The clicks are dampened by carpet and then start up again on the sandstone floor of the balcony. I wait until she’s almost upon me and then jump up suddenly. She gasps and catches onto the metal railing.

  “You surprised me,” I say as innocently as I can.

  “Don’t ever do that again!” she shouts. I notice the way she keeps her eyes averted from the view below. “The Council would have a fit knowing you slept out here. You could have fallen over the edge.” I highly doubt that considering the railing comes up to my chin, but it’s obvious her fear of heights is making her unreasonable.

  She grabs me by the shoulder and pushes me inside, where she’s set the bathroom up as a makeshift medical room.

  “Why don’t you just take me back to the hospital?” I ask.

  “You’re confined to this room until the hearing.”

  She makes me sit at the basin, and with an instrument that looks like a comb with lasers where the teeth should be, she goes through every inch of my scalp, checking for who knows what. “You’ve been scratching,” she says.

  “My head is rejecting the implant,” I say. “I’ve been feeling really sick. You’d better remove the graft.” She’s standing behind me, but in the mirror, I see her grin.

  “Don’t worry, I’ve never had a patient die from transplant rejection.” Then out of nowhere she asks, “How was Henry when you left the Landing?” I’m so busy trying to register that she knows Papa that I don’t answer. It’s only after the silence becomes too long that she nudges me.

  “Huh?”

  “Henry, how is he?”

  Why is she asking? Were they friends? Colleagues? Was she the one who poisoned him? She certainly has the skill set to do so.

  “He’s fine,” I lie. “Well, he’s as fine as he can be considering the sanctions. We had more food stored than most in the Landing.”

  She nods and concentrates on the laser for the minute. I watch her closely for some sign of guilt. She blinks rapidly, but when she looks up and sees me watching, she doesn’t shy away. Don’t they say liars can’t look their accuser in the eye? Can I apply that to well-trained Seeders? I can’t stand this world of stolen glances and weighted gestures. I wish someone would just punch me already.

  “All done. The good news is you’re not going to die. The bad news is you’ve aggravated the graft.”

  Aiden’s voice pipes up from the doorway. “Can I suggest some of this cream?” He holds up the Micah’s Rose balm.

  “What is it?” Gloria asks. She starts packing up her utensils into their fibreglass cases.

  “I was hoping she would tell me,” Aiden says.

  Fat chance.

  “You’re here early,” Gloria says. She picks up the cases and starts out the door.

 
; “There’s been a schedule change. The Council wants to see her now.” Gloria throws me a look that I can only interpret as disconcertedness, and then she nods at Aiden and leaves the penthouse.

  Aiden turns to me, and I don’t bother getting out of the chair and only look at him through the reflection in the mirror. “Last chance to explain to me what this is,” he says.

  “I don’t know what you want me to say,” I spit. “I’ve already told you I don’t know what that is. I found it when I looted a dead body in the forest. I haven’t even had a chance to open the tub.” I don’t know where I picked up the knack for lying. Probably from Cora. It’s easy to pretend I’m telling the truth if I mix in a healthy dose of indignation. “Why don’t you have your goons inject me with truth serum if you don’t believe me?”

  He blinks as though he doesn’t get my inference to the time we found some truth serum amongst Gideon’s possessions and used it on each other. The Seeders are notorious for having used truth serum in their interrogations leading up to the Rebellion, but most of the information they obtained was false anyway.

  “This isn’t a joke, Rory!” he shouts. He takes a few steps forward and drags the chair around so I’m facing him. I stay firmly planted in the seat. No way will I let him intimidate me.

  “Aurora,” I say slowly and deliberately, pronouncing every syllable. “Only my friends call me Rory.”

  His lips curl in derision. “Which friends would those be? The Farmer boy you babbled about while you were half conscious and I carried you to the helicopter? Look where your friendship has gotten him.”

  I sense he’s trying to exploit my weak spot, but I can’t help the knot in my stomach that forms when I think about what the Seeders could be making Gage do.

  “I don’t have time for this,” Aiden says. “Neither do you. The car is waiting downstairs. Your stubbornness isn’t going to give you an advantage here, Aurora. The only way to survive is to give the Council what they want. You need to talk.”

  This time it’s my turn to snort. “I suppose you’d like me to take a leaf out of your book? You were always superb at talking, weren’t you? Remember when you talked me into jumping that gorge because you said there was a net at the bottom and there wasn’t?”

  “You survived,” he says.

  “Only because I saved myself! Let’s not forget the promise you made to protect me when the Rebellion began. What happened to that? They murdered my mother and you left me. So excuse me if I don’t jump to take your advice this time. I don’t make a habit of making friends with Seeders.”

  I storm out of the bathroom and into my bedroom, slamming the door shut. I give myself a minute to rage. To pick up as many poodle, horse and elephant cushions as I can and whip them across the room. How dare he lecture me? I doesn’t matter that Gideon is missing. It doesn’t take six years to reach out to someone. Who does he think he is?

  I busy myself looking for something to wear. Dresses, all dresses. I can’t abide wearing a feathered dress to a hearing that will decide the fate of my region. So instead, I raid the drawer of accessories and choose an opaque pair of black tights. I layer on two flesh-toned dress slips and drape a sequined green bolero on top of that. I look like a very confused ballerina, but it’ll have to do. Finally, I twist my hair into a loose bun and tuck it into a snowy white beret.

  I don’t need Aiden to shake his head at me as he leads me to the car to know I’m dripping disobedience. But I want to face the Council as myself, and this is as close to the real Rory as I’m going to get. There’s not just one car waiting, but half a dozen black sedans, their windows tinted so dark I can’t see inside. Aiden opens the passenger door for me, and I slip inside and scoot as far against the seat as possible. For a second, I allow myself to hope he’ll take one of the other cars, but then the leather seat undulates as his form settles into it.

  I pretend to be distracted by something outside, and he doesn’t attempt to engage me again. Soon the rhythm of the streets rolling by soothes my anger, and my thoughts turn to what I’m going to say to the Council. How will I convince them to lift the sanctions on the Landing? I’ll never admit it out loud, but Aiden might be right. I have nothing to bargain with. I have no information the Seeders need and no secrets to trade. Nothing except Micah’s Rose, and if the Seeders find out how I’ve made the serum, I’ll have violated Covenant 1.1—No person shall seek to save, cross, or reproduce in any way the property of the Citadel upon punishment of death.

  By the time my motorcade rolls to a stop outside the service entrance to the Council’s headquarters, I’ve worried myself into a state. Aiden opens the passenger door and steps out. He holds out his hand for me, but I ignore him and get out on my own. Six years ago, I used to think his protective gestures were sweet. Now I see them for what they truly are, minute ways to undermine my confidence in my ability to survive on my own. Just like how I doubted myself the first six months after my mother was killed. When I would call him on his Citadel number late at night when my loneliness and abandonment felt its worst.

  Upon alighting the car, Aiden and I are immediately flanked by guards. They pour out of the cars like ants. No words are exchanged, but everyone moves in sync until there are four guards each in front and behind us and two on either side. We proceed in silence and I try to match the bland expression Aiden has plastered onto his face.

  The guards march us to a bare concrete basement. We stop at a set of elevators where the first guards take a lift up, then the next four guards with Aiden and me, and then the final guards behind us. It’s amusing that they treat me like some high-calibre criminal when there’s not a thing I can do against a pair of guards, let alone twelve of them.

  A set of mahogany doors is pushed and suddenly we’re in a courtroom. It’s smaller than the one we have in the Landing and disused, going by the outdated furniture. This kind of plush leather was removed from our courtrooms two years ago. That’s how Portia got the maids’ dining table for cheap after Sully chewed through the old table’s legs. The chandelier, though solid and ornate, is dusty with disuse.

  With the guards blocking my view on all sides, the only thing I can see is the polished wooden gallery that rises above the rest of the room. It juts out high over everything else, and seven chairs are set up along its length. One for the Warden of each region and the central chair, a throne really, for the Chief Warden.

  Only four guards enter with us—the rest must be taking sentry outside. As I’m ushered towards the front of the room, guards peel off in pairs to take seats in the two pews for witnesses. One moment I’m surrounded by guards, and the next I’m being pushed into the prisoner docks in the centre of the room.

  Suddenly, I can’t remember what I’m supposed to say, and I sink into the dock’s padded seat. There’s a loud knock at the door adjacent to the balcony, and the clerk commands that we all stand.

  The Wardens enter in single file. The sound of feet pounding on timber steps parallels the thumping of my heartbeat. I know them all at least by name. Their faces blend together in a procession of uniform beauty, each one draped in a cloak in the representative colour of their region. Once at their seats, they remain standing until the last Seeder, the Chief Warden, reaches her chair. A wave of nausea assails me when I see the vacant chair on the Chief Warden’s left. The one that used to be occupied by Gideon.

  “Be seated,” Sheila Dempsey says in that detached Citadel drawl of hers. “Not you, Aurora.”

  I pause from bending and straighten myself again. Calm, Rory. Calm down. I picture myself on the stage, about to launch myself from the trapeze onto the vertical ribbon. Unbidden, my body sinks back into a routine I’d long thought forgotten. All distractions shift in my focus until there’s nothing in sight but my goal.

  Stay alive and lift the sanctions.

  I shake my limbs and pivot on the balls of my feet, re-shifting my attention on the person who can help me reach my goal. In person Chief Warden Dempsey is much more haggard than the way she
looks on television. It marks a huge contrast with the appearance of her subordinates. Plus it makes no sense. Why would the Chief Warden decide to forgo the surgery that is the hallmark of Seeder society? She wears a crooked, uncomfortable smile as she regards me, and it strikes me that she may be trying to relate to us region dwellers through abstaining from altering her appearance. A chill runs down my spine.

  “Miss Gray. I trust you know the reason you’re here today,” Sheila says. She looks me up and down, no doubt taking in my attempt to downplay the cosmetic enhancements.

  “Yes, ma’am,” I say, assuming she’s referring to what’s happened in the Landing.

  “Very well. Guards, bring him in.”

  The entire courtroom, including me, swivels to get a peek at the prisoner as two guards drag him in. At first I think she might be talking about Gage, but this poor soul is emaciated and can barely stand on his own two feet. As the guards haul the prisoner past me his head turns ever so slightly, and my stomach lodges in my throat because the prisoner is Connor. Worse still, one of the guards holding him is Vargas. I know Vargas recognises me because he tips his head sideways in silent mocking.

  “I don’t understand,” I say. This time I don’t have to pretend to be dumb.

  Sheila levels me with a shrewd gaze. “This man was found delirious and trying to pass the Lake checkpoint. The guards there captured him and said he was spouting some nonsense about a seed bank and whispering the name Evelyn Gray.”

  “Evelyn!” Connor shouts. He pitches a fit and the guards have to subdue him. He goes limp again, but I can still see his lips move silently as spittle collects and dribbles down his chin.

  “I don’t know what he’s talking about,” I say. Panic makes my voice squeaky. It suddenly occurs to me this hearing is less about what I need and more about what the Seeders want. Of course.