Rebel of Scars and Ruin (The Evolved Book 1)

by Veronica Sommers

  I turn to my friends. "Safi, Alik, you have your finance cards. I promise you'll be well taken care of, and as soon as we get all this straightened out, you'll be able to go anywhere you want. I'll make sure of it."

  Safi nods, looking uncomfortable; and I step forward and pull her into a hug. She pats my back awkwardly. "I don't do hugs, Zil."

  "Get used to it." I turn, and there's Alik, holding out his arms, blue eyes twinkling. "Fine." I hug him, and to his credit, his hands don't stray anywhere they shouldn't.

  "See you on the other side, Princess," he says. Then he and Safi step back as I face Rak.

  We're still surrounded by Dern guards, and by General Binney and his unit. There's no privacy. I can't kiss Rak here—someone will see, take a photo, sell it to the chatfeeds and the trash newslines.

  Reaching for his hand, I snatch at details—the flex of his tanned forearm, the leather cuff and timepiece he wears, his slim brown fingers.

  "Rakhi, I—" How do I tell this man what he means to me? That I will ache for him every minute, every hour, every day until I see him again?

  He smiles, his eyes warm and dark. "I'll see you soon, Zilara."

  His fingers are slipping out of mine as I'm caught in a tide of cream-clad guards and swept away from him. My soul is screaming, because if I let him out of my sight I might never see him again, and I couldn't bear that. What if they don't really put him on the air transport? What if it's all a trick to get me to go with them quietly? What if he ends up in jail, or back in Emsalis in the hands of the Fray? What if they do put him on the air transport, but it crashes? Or what if he arrives in Ceanna and then disappears into the teeming cities to find his own path, without me?

  I look back, desperate, but I can only see the polite, placid faces of the guards surrounding me. Rak is gone, and I don't even have a picture, or a memento of him, or anything real to hold onto. I bite my lip fiercely and blink away the tears.

  General Binney's hand closes over my arm, squeezing gently. "I'll keep my word, Miss Remay," he says, his voice so low I can barely hear him. "You'll see him again."

  I draw a shuddering breath. "Thank you."

  "But I wouldn't tell your father about this connection you two have. It could be dangerous for the boy."

  "I know."

  In the air transport I move automatically, buckling safety straps and nodding to assure the hostess that I've heard her instructions for the flight. When Vern was my head of security, before the Fray rebels shot him, he used to move the same way I do now— robotic, automated. I mocked him for it, but now I wonder what else occupied his thoughts while he was tasked with following me around at university. Of course he had a life. Why did I never ask him about it?

  And now he's gone.

  A chill runs over me as the air transport powers up. It lunges forward, then flips, nose pointing skyward, and shoots up, up, up, into the frigid outer reaches of our planet's atmosphere. My back is parallel to the earth, my face turned toward space. No windows in the transport, but I close my eyes and imagine what the stars look like from such a vantage point. Will Rak lose his breakfast on the way up or down? Safi will definitely throw up, and probably Alik, too. My own stomach revolts at the terrible forces pressing against my body—the angry tug of gravity and the fierce propulsion of the transport engines, fighting to tear me in two.

  And then the transport levels out, and I'm sitting upright again.

  Our planet is immense, one of the largest in the system— so big that in the old days, airships used to take days to move halfway across its surface. Now that we can go higher, faster, trips like this can happen in a few hours.

  General Binney sits next to me, and his soldiers have seats further back in the transport. The air hostess bustles around me, her shiny red lips moving rapidly. "Can I get you anything, Miss Remay? Food, drink? You must be hungry, and thirsty."

  "Juice, please, any kind," I say. "And a snack—something crunchy."

  Will they offer Rak food on his flight? What will he choose? I have no idea what his favorite snacks are.

  Stop thinking about him.

  I turn to General Binney and speak to him in a low tone. "Why help me? With my friends, smuggling them into Ceanna?"

  "I prefer not to think of it as smuggling," he says, his beard quirking with his half-smile. "Let's say we're moving assets."

  "Call it what you like. Why do it?"

  "Would you have come with me if I refused?"

  "No," I admit.

  "Well then. Returning without you wasn't an option."

  "You could have stunned me and brought me along anyway."

  "Attacking the Magnate's traumatized daughter and dragging her along like a sack of root vegetables—an excellent strategy." He chuckles. "You're here, unharmed, and reasonably happy. Though I would think someone in your position should be a little more enthusiastic about the return home."

  I touch the wound in the side of my head, behind my ear—the hole where the skull-port was. A nano-patch covers it now, but my father is going to force me to accept a reinstall when I get back.

  "My father hid things from me," I tell the general. "About Emsalis, and about—" I hesitate, unsure if I can trust him.

  His blue eyes survey me calmly from under bushy gray brows. "About?"

  "I'm Evolved," I whisper. "I have an ability. My skull-port included a suppressor to limit my power, so when the Fray removed it, I discovered how much I can really do. And I'm afraid that going back means accepting those limits again."

  "Ah." He pauses, thinking. "Miss Zilara, I think you'll find yourself best served by asking forgiveness rather than permission."

  "Which means?"

  "Don't ask your father about the suppressor. Deal directly with the medical staff; order them to skip the install or make them implant a device of your choosing. You have power of your own, as the Magnate's daughter. Use it."

  I raise my eyebrows. "Does my father know of your insubordinate attitude towards him?"

  The general chuckles. "I'm known for coming up with creative solutions to dangerous problems. That's why I was sent to retrieve you. And I'm old. Experienced, but not essential anymore. An acceptable loss."

  "How ironic," I say. "That's why I was sent on this diplomatic mission in the first place. Not my father, or Emret—me. An acceptable loss."

  He nods. "We understand each other, then."

  "Yes." When I nod back, an alliance is cemented between us.

  After I finish my snack and drink, the air hostess escorts me to a small prep room on the transport, where a medic checks me over briefly before I shower and dress in a crisp sky-blue suit. Not my style at all, but it's the only outfit available, so I grit my teeth and put it on.

  Once I'm dressed, a perky blond woman introduces herself as one of Dern's top stylists. Sitting in a chair at the dressing table, I let her wrestle with my sun-scorched hair and dry skin until she is satisfied with the outcome.

  "There," she says, sighing as if she just finished a hard day's labor. "Take a look at yourself." She turns me to the mirror.

  The girl I was in Emsalis—desert wanderer, fierce fighter, survivor—she's been smoothed away, buried under layers of creamy brown makeup. In her zeal to make me perfect, the stylist nearly concealed my signature facial tattoo, the thorny vine climbing my right temple, punctuated by red birthmarks that look like roses. She tamed my curly dark hair, too; it's a sheet of shimmering waves now.

  I've been polished and prepared. To the eyes of Ceanna's people, I'm no different than the Zilara who left for her goodwill tour two weeks ago.

  Shifting the glossy hair, I touch the small nano-patch covering the wound in my head.

  "Do you like the look?" asks the stylist, her enthusiastic smile wavering.

  I don't. "You've worked a miracle," I say. "I look so—presentable."

  She beams. "You should return to your seat, Miss Remay. We'll be landing soon."

  General Binney doesn't comment when I reclaim my seat,
but his blue eyes twinkle. The air hostess announces our descent; we buckle ourselves in; and as the transport pivots and streaks straight toward the earth, I close my eyes and I convince myself that everything will be all right.

  Within minutes, we've landed in Ceanna. I unbuckle my straps with shaking fingers. Be calm, Zilara. Smooth, regal, untouchable. Nothing can hurt you, no one has to know what you're feeling. I glaze my face with a smile as I walk past the hostess. Through the door of the air transport. Down the chute to the transport center.

  General Binney's hand at my elbow, his soldiers clustering around me.

  Deep breath. There will be vids and voices, blinking and clamoring.

  I refresh my smile and step out of the chute into my world.