by J D Morganne
“Help me with something,” Naomi said, leading him into the busy kitchen. The head chef barked for the servers to hurry with breakfast. They rushed past Jaxon with full trays perched on their shoulders.
King Dasher had spent years renovating the kitchen to please Naomi. He’d isolated a quarter of it—her own quiet section where she could come up with as many terrible concoctions as possible. Jaxon was always sad for her. She would never achieve her dream of becoming a chef. Not in Obedience. She had dreams of feeding the lesser privileged, but only royals had access to fresh food.
“Freya, privacy.” The double doors tinted, blocking sight and sound.
Naomi dropped her shoulders, seemed to float for a few seconds. “Doesn’t that feel nice?”
Jaxon noted round monitors and blinking red lights in every corner. There was no such thing as privacy. And he didn’t want to be caught not searching for the prince.
He peeked around the kitchen, took note of a heap of butter stacked on top of, at least, a pound of sugar in a bowl. The countertop spanned each wall and not a single space was empty. Boxes of powders, sugars and other ingredients Jaxon had never heard of created cities and homes. Gooey concoctions plugged his nose with putrid, sweet and garlicy mixtures. “What’re you doing in here?” It should’ve been illegal for her to waste all this food.
“I’m making a veggie burrito.”
“A-what-o?”
She turned her back to the mind-boggling mess and spread her hand before a rainbow of sliced tomatoes, carrots and avocados on a cutting board. Looked and smelled nothing like the gloppy food Jaxon had slurped earlier. “I wanted something edible. The cooks keep bringing up bland food.”
Smirking, he nodded. “Sure.”
“I can cook.”
“I didn’t say anything this time. Where does all this stuff come from?”
“Miller.” President Lizabet Miller was the democratic leader of Midpointe in Wealth, and Naomi threw her name around like she was an old schoolteacher. “Most of it gets imported from Love and Wealth, I guess. Have you seen my dad?”
Jaxon tensed. There was a suppressed eagerness in her tone that scared him. King Dasher didn’t like to make his presence known. “No.” He wouldn’t tell her what he had just witnessed, Farah killing a child Neco’s age.
Naomi grabbed a tomato slice, sprinkled in olive oil, and stuffed it in her mouth. Farah’s cruelty had desensitized Neco, but Naomi was the empathetic one. She went back to chopping, muttering to herself.
Jaxon wanted to continue searching for Kenner. “You said you needed my help?”
“Grab that chicken from the cooler, please.”
He stepped around her, careful not to let their shoulders brush. “You’re putting chicken in a veggie burrito?” He went to the refrigerator, pulled it open, and grabbed the chicken breast, wiggling his nose at the peppery cherry sauce. It could only be the work of Naomi. “I hear Wealth has the best chefs. Have you been?”
She grunted. “I can cook.”
Laughing, Jaxon put his hands up in defeat.
“Taste one of these then.”
“But you didn’t cook that, Chef von Faux. What’ll it prove?”
“Taste it.” She snatched up an avocado and shoved it toward Jaxon’s mouth.
He nudged his head back and shut his lips tight. She knew he wasn’t allowed. If Farah even suspected he’d eaten food from the palace kitchens she would do the same thing to him she had done to the girl.
Naomi shrugged and ate the slice herself. “Don’t know what you’re missing.” She chomped.
It was clear to Jaxon that she was using cooking as an excuse for something else. “What’s wrong?” he said.
Naomi ran the back of her hand over her forehead. “My dad’s meeting with the Emergence Council.” The Emergence Council always held grand meetings, where every Door leader sat around a table and decided the fate of the voiceless. If they were meeting with Dasher, Jaxon only imagined what that meant. “The Doors are open.”
Everyone could see that. The ground had quaked last night. Scaisheps had suffused the sky with red and amber lights. He’d watched those flying boats from his window as a child. They weren’t fascinating now that he knew what they stood for. Something menacing. If the leaders of those Doors had left the comfort of their segregated havens, something was wrong. “What’re they doing here?”
“Her Majesty finally convinced my father to do something about The Forbidden Door.”
“What do you mean do something?” Jaxon said, his face lighting in curiosity.
“He wants to bring in Aerials to close The Forbidden Door.”
Jaxon stilled. Aerials manipulated air in the way Crimson soldiers did fire. Because they were the only people who could open and close the Doors, they had formed agreements and treaties. And now, they were working with Dasher to close The Forbidden Door. “Well... why?”
Naomi shrugged. “I didn’t get that far. You think it’s a threat?”
“How would it be? It’s empty.” A wild guess. Not even Dasher knew if that was true.
Naomi shrugged. “My dad was pretty stirred when I saw him. The council’s in agreement. They’re closing it.”
Jaxon couldn’t say he felt anything about the decision. He didn’t know what it meant. The other Doors were already closed.
There was a long and awkward silence between them before Jaxon realized they couldn’t talk too long. He wished their friendship was as simple as seeing and talking to each other whenever they wanted. Farah had made herself clear when she told Jaxon not to get too close to Naomi. “Did you need help with anything else?”
“Sure you won’t try one?” She held a sliced tomato out for him. When he didn’t budge to take it, she dangled it under his nose.
Jaxon lifted his hand, considering, then deciding against it. He didn’t need that on his record. “No. Thank you, though.”
“Then, fine. I don’t need anything else.”
“Princess.” He bowed and turned to leave.
“Oh wait.”
Sighing, Jaxon paused. “What do you want?”
Naomi laughed. “Am I keeping you from something?”
“Yes! I work here.” Jaxon was serious again when he remembered his point of venturing to parts of the palace he never would. “And I was looking for Kenner.”
“Oh yeah.” Naomi set aside the knife. “I’ll help you.”
“No.” Jaxon expected her to argue, but she picked up her knife and chopped her peppers. Red and orange juices rolled from the cutting board and formed a sticky puddle on the countertop. Naomi’s fingers stumbled over them as she tried to dice them smaller. “You are…” She grunted, mumbled something to herself. Shaking her head, she looked at him. “Isn’t it exhausting being so stiff all the time?”
“I don’t follow.”
“Is it too much to ask you to loosen up?” She sliced down hard on a pepper, but the cutting board shifted, and the blade caught her finger. The tiny slit gushed blood, like she had snipped off the tip of her finger itself. Naomi clasped her hand over it, soft whimpers breaking through her teeth. “Owow, gross, gross, gross.”
Jaxon rushed to her aid, snatching a towel from a rack on the other side of the kitchen and hurried it back to her. His first instinct was to wrap her finger in it, but he held it for her to take instead. She snatched it.
“Thanks.” She spat out the words angrier than was necessary.
“You okay? Let me see it.”
Naomi sighed. Her shoulders dropped as she began to relax. Her eyebrows lost the angry arch and her lips released their tight pull. Her face was soft again when she moved the towel away. Her finger had already soaked a circle of blood into the fabric.
“It’s not that bad,” Jaxon confirmed.
“Eew, that’s ugly.”
“You won’t need healing tape.”
“Oh, Farah wouldn’t have it any other way. We wouldn’t want blemishes that would make Her Majesty look bad.”
“Is it better?”
Naomi leapt up and pressed her hot lips against his. Jaxon had no time to connect the pieces, before his body shuddered and heat rushed into his face. He jumped away, eyes wide, fear percolating in his chest.
“What’re you doing?”
Naomi stood, biting her fingernails, hopping from one foot to the other, looking as if Jaxon had stomped all over her peppers. He noticed the smile hiding behind her hands and felt nothing but betrayal.
“Why would you—why would you do that?”
There were cameras everywhere. Whatever Crimsons would see, they already had. Sirens wailed in his head when he heard the patter of their boots on the floor. Then, four soldiers broke into Naomi’s small kitchen, their fingers lifted to snap, held over stun batons. “On your knees!”
“This isn’t necessary.” Naomi went to stand between them.
“Don’t.” Jaxon warned her, dropping to his knees. Resisting was futile. He could take out two at least, but the others would scorch him to ash before he could get clear. He put his hands behind his back.
“Soldier AI access now restricted,” Aicis said into his ear. “Use of fire manipulation suppressed.”
“This is insane. Tell your queen”—
“Naomi, that’s enough.”
One soldier ordered celecomb inhibitor cuffs around his wrists through his AI. They spritzed and formed solid iron, pushing his hands together. “Third Officer Fletcher, you are under arrest. Stand,” the soldier said.
“I need to talk to King Dasher,” Jaxon said.
“You’re under arrest, CO3. You don’t give demands anymore. Move.”
“This is ridiculous.” Naomi chased them through the larger kitchen, where everyone had stopped their duties to stare. “You saw for yourselves! I know you were watching. I kissed him.”
“Naomi,” Jaxon shouted, shocked by his own rage. He glared at her. Why was she being so stupid? “Shut up. Shut your mouth.” Because Farah wasn’t her mother. Because she was evil. Because if Farah could convince the king, she would have Naomi’s head, too.
Naomi went still and silent as a pole, but tears streamed over her cheeks. “The king—the ki—my father will hear about this.”
One of the soldiers laughed and poked Jaxon with his baton to make him walk. “He already has.”
5
The king’s voice contained echoes that struck fear into the mightiest men. Now, he sat silent on his throne. Inquiring witnesses filled the open space around him. Even their glares demanded the truth. Farah and Dasher punished many people in that room. Jaxon winced, recalling the thirty lashes he’d received after an argument with a bunkmate. Healing tape hadn’t left a single scar, but Jaxon still felt the sizzling flames on his back.
This isn’t happening, Jaxon thought. He couldn’t wrap his head around it. Or Naomi’s squishy lips, or Farah looking down on him with those viper eyes, or the grains of rice that were cutting into his now swollen, bleeding knees.
Grand pillars stretched from the floor, holding the circular room together. Shafts of golden candelabras, long as his arms, mounted the walls. Jaxon had once marveled at the elaborate painting of a war, sprawled over the entirety of the ceiling—black flames lit even children on fire while deadly smoke scorched the sky. He had never seen war. His nineteen years alive had taught him that Obedient people were peaceful people. Well, he was. It seemed others hadn’t adopted the same ideologies.
This would be okay. They—whoever they were—had to have run back the video and seen Naomi kiss him. Dasher would drop the charges against him, and Naomi would get a slap on the hand, like she had said. This was all a huge misunderstanding.
But the book, Jaxon recalled. Crimsons had found him with Naomi’s fairytales, which was an offense harsher than a kiss. Jaxon’s head thrummed with a pounding need to explain himself. He needed to talk to Dasher.
Seven soldiers had guarded him through the night and now formed a tight semi-circle around him. Farah lifted her slender arm above her like a flag, hushing the noise. For a full five seconds, she held her hand in the air, no doubt glaring at him from behind her veil. Jaxon wished he had something to fidget with, something to take the edge off.
“CO3 Fletcher. My favorite.” She had been queen well over ten years, longer than Jaxon had been a soldier, and she acted the part. “Stand.”
Though, agonizing, Jaxon obeyed. He wriggled his wrists in the uncomfortable inhibitor cuffs. He found Naomi beside her father, her head ducked low, her hands behind her back. He wished she didn’t have to be there. They had been many things over the years: secret-keepers, fiction-readers and best friends. It hadn’t registered to him that she had felt more than that. And even if it had, he didn’t see why he should care. None of that mattered. He tore his eyes away from her and caught Farah’s hateful glare.
“You stand before us for your crimes against the princess and still you show defiance?”
Crimes? No, he hadn’t committed a crime. A misunderstanding.
“You may not look at her.”
Jaxon widened his eyes. Farah’s shouting had made his position clear. “Permission to”—
“Hold your tongue.” Farah stood. Oranges and reds danced beneath her skin like lights being cast from a colorful window mural. “We have guards on surveillance that witnessed you kiss her.”
“What?” That didn’t make sense. Why would anyone say that when it wasn’t true?
Naomi stamped her foot, grasping everyone’s attention. “I already told you, I kissed”—
“Qui-et.” Farah’s head shot in Naomi’s direction and Jaxon thought, if they could see her face, her eyes would steal their souls. She faced him again. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”
Well, which is it? Jaxon thought. Did she want him to defend himself or not? “I didn’t—they’re confused.” And so was he. Lying was against the law. Princess Naomi had asked for help with that stupid chicken and cut her finger. Naomi’s hands were in front of her. Even though she’d balled her injured one into the other, he could see healing tape had patched her up good as new. But the cameras would show them everything.
“But I didn’t… touch her…” His words trailed away from him. He realized it didn’t matter what he said. They wouldn’t even listen to Naomi and she was a princess. How could he expect them to listen to him? Reality struck a hot rod on his pride. Overwhelming heat clogged his chest, made him feel like he was choking on ash. He coughed and gasped for clearer air. “Access my memory and I could show you.”
“That won’t be necessary. You’re a soldier, CO3. I’ve no doubt you know our commandments well.”
Of course he did, but she already knew that.
“I’ve no doubt you know that physical contact, especially of a royal, is a great offense, often punishable by death.”
He knew the rules. “My Queen…”
“Yes or no, CO3?”
“Yes, but I”—
“And that lying is another offense?”
Why wouldn’t she let him speak? He knew the law. He couldn’t grapple this. He replayed it in his head and considered it again and again. He tried to find a reason why they should execute him, but there wasn’t one. He hadn’t touched Naomi. “I don’t… understand.” But his voice wasn’t loud enough for anyone to hear.
“Then it’s done.” Farah’s mosaic glow was gone. “CO3, you are guilty of Voluntary Disobedience, thus sentenced to death by incinerator.”
The sentence knocked Jaxon’s breath out of his lungs, like she’d punched him in the gut. Was that it? Was it that simple? Could she take away his life
like that? “But… I didn’t do anything...”
“Dad,” Naomi pleaded.
Farah waved her hand at the soldiers behind Jaxon. “Take him.”
The shock kept Jaxon frozen. A Crimson on his right used an electric baton to push him toward the door. Each shock reminded him he was an idiot to think Her Majesty would spare him from her wrath. He had seen her kill a child over a broken necklace.
It took until he was near the exit to find his voice. “Why’re you lying?”
She knew she was lying. She knew all her puppets were, too. She knew it was a sin. More bent laws. And if Jaxon was going to die anyway, he would tell the truth. She was a liar. She was everything Naomi said she was.
“Dad,” Naomi said.
King Dasher stood and raised his hand to silence the crowd, which had erupted in chatter. Heavy garments and jewels made his belly appear rounder. A glass crown covered his full head of graying hair. “Not death,” he said. “No, not death. Not for you.” As he stepped from his raised pedestal, down the steps, ten feet away from Jaxon, his crown grew horns. “For touching my daughter?”
Jaxon peered into Dasher’s unforgiving, void eyes. Over the years, Dasher had been more of a father than Jaxon’s own. He’d taken care of his needs. He’d given him an opportunity to be more. Now, he looked at him like he was a stranger.
King Dasher’s fingers rose in a swift motion, and hot flames shot from the candelabras and spiraled toward Jaxon. Before he could put his hands up to defend himself—not like he could if he wanted—they slammed into his side, searing through his jacket and shirt.
A sound between a scream and groan escaped him. He hit the floor before he could catch his breath.
“Jax,” Naomi screamed.
Jaxon didn’t know what to react to first—the seared flesh sticking to his nostril hairs or Naomi’s desperate cries. He rolled onto his unharmed side, blinking, urging himself to wake up. Wake up. He was in a nightmare. King Dasher was going to kill him right there, in the middle of the floor, in front of everyone. As he tried to catch his breath and react to the burn eating away at his flesh, he caught Crimsons backing Naomi from the room with those painful batons.
