Seven Crowns (Bellaton Book 1)

by E. V. Everest

  She jumped and dropped the chocolate. She turned, expecting another gift giver to be lurking in the shadows. Instead, Samuel stepped into the poorly lit living room. A window was open, and a gentle breeze teased his long hair.

  “I wouldn’t eat that if I were you,” he said, raising an eyebrow.

  “What? Are you worried I am going to get fat?” she said, picking up another chocolate in defiance. A milk chocolate with a rose drizzled on top in hardened dark chocolate.

  “Quite the contrary,” he said, leaning casually against the wall, as she raised the new chocolate to her lips. “They could be laxatives.”

  Her hand lowered.

  “Or poison.”

  She dropped the chocolate back in the box and wiped her hands on her dark skirt, frowning at him. “You can’t be serious.”

  “Deadly.”

  She bit her lip. “Fine, I’ll throw them out, but I think you’re being paranoid.”

  “Better paranoid than dead.”

  She rolled her eyes at him and pushed the chocolates to the other side of the table. “I don’t suppose you have a problem with the flowers too?” she teased. “Let me guess they’re going to bite—” She stopped in midsentence, thinking of the vines outside. Maybe these flowers could bite. She squinted at them suspiciously. Samuel was starting to rub off on her.

  He stepped closer to look at the arrangement. “Have you ever studied the meaning of flowers?” he asked, a thoughtful hand stroking his smooth chin.

  Ana gave him a withering look.

  “I thought not. The snowlark”—he pointed to several white belled flowers—“symbolize indifference. And these large trumpeting orange ones, I can never remember their name, symbolize hatred. The little yellow bunches there. False riches. And the dark purple ones, well, they’re poisonous. So, basically, be cautious.”

  “So, they called me cheap and told me to watch my back?”

  He shrugged. “More or less.” Samuel joined her on the couch and pulled a paper bag out of his jacket. “These, however, are safe and delicious.”

  Ana opened the bag and found two chocolate-covered croissants.

  “Wow, thanks,” she said through a mouthful. “Where’d you get ’em?”

  “There’s a bakery under my apartment in town. How was your first day?”

  “Okay, I guess.” She told him about the overgrown vines but decided to skip past the Adam part. She didn’t want another lecture. She hurried to the part about Henry DuBois. “So, was that the gift?”

  “Yes, the DuBois line has members who can influence and persuade. It’s how they’ve managed to maintain more government positions off world than any other family in known history. It sounds like Henry got a strong dose. Stay away from him,” he added.

  “Done,” Ana said. “He’s a jerk. He said he wants to mine the Earth.”

  Samuel frowned. “Ana, never forget, not even for one minute, that the families may be strong, polished, even elegant. But each one is filled with rot.” His face grew dark. “And at least one of them is the reason for your family’s fate. Maybe even your mother’s death.”

  13

  Firetongue

  It was Thursday, and Ana had almost made it through her first week at the academy. Madame Bali had still not returned from the capital.

  “Not old enough to be an adviser,” Samuel had grumbled last night. “Well, look who is doing the heavy lifting now.”

  “You got me an infotab. Let’s not throw a parade,” Ana had said. “Plus, you talked to Ms. K. She said Madame Bali was approved. What could be keeping her?”

  Secretly, Ana was beginning to worry. Madame Bali seemed like a punctual person. It was hard to believe she would be an hour late. As of today, she was four days late.

  * * *

  Predictably, Intergalactic Relations & Historical Contexts was not Ana’s best subject. The only good thing about it was that most of the information could be memorized. Unlike Intermediate Mathematics, she didn’t have to really understand any of it. She just needed to cram before the first test.

  She wished the same could be said for Astrophysics with Professor Narrah Jacobs or the inaccurately named Intermediate Mathematics with Professor Archibald Arkwright. It was difficult to fathom the theories behind technology and math that hadn’t even been invented on Earth. She was dreading those tests.

  Professor Roald Rockwell was a short, stocky man with dark skin and a shaved head. He patrolled the front of the classroom, and Ana could almost imagine him on the battlefield, pacing before his platoon and issuing orders.

  His classroom discipline was strict, but Ana found she liked him anyway. He seemed to enjoy teaching and working with students, and he was fairly entertaining, other than the times when he became obsessive over the minutiae of a particular battle. He was known to start creating battle diagrams at the drop of a hat.

  In the middle of a thirty-minute block outlining the style, size, armory, and duty roster of a particular battalion in a skirmish, Ana zoned out.

  She dug in her bag for some gum. To her surprise, she found her old cell phone. She had forgotten about it. What was she going to do, phone home? She chuckled at her own E.T. joke.

  When she looked back up, Professor Rockwell was standing in front of her desk.

  “And what might that be, Ms. Ana?”

  “Um, a cell phone.”

  His forehead creased. “Come again?”

  “They’re very popular on Earth. It’s a communication device. But I wasn’t using it, I just—”

  “A technology?”

  She nodded.

  “Barely,” someone quipped. Most of the class laughed.

  He stuck out his hand. “No unapproved technology allowed. Hand it over.”

  “But I didn’t know!” Ana protested. She had private messages on there and photos too.

  “Ignorance is no defense. As you would know if you had been listening to today’s lesson. Besides, your adviser must have gone over this with you.”

  “My adviser isn’t here. She’s at the capital.”

  “Then she can collect it when she returns. I look forward to a very candid conversation about the importance of security protocol on campus. Now, let’s return to our topic. Please divide into two teams, so we can re-create this moment in history.”

  The rest of the class went by very quickly.

  As Ana exited the room, Shay Noble was waiting. Shay was an interesting girl—reserved but sharp-edged. The best coder in her year. Rumored to be the best hacker too. Her clothes were dark with silver binary code running up her sleeve. She had few enemies and fewer friends. She kept to herself, reserving time with others for transactions.

  Which made it all the more weird when she caught Ana’s eye. “Cool tech,” she said with a nod. “Wanna sell it?”

  “Very funny,” Ana muttered, crossing her arms over her chest.

  “No, seriously.”

  “What would you even do with it?” Ana thought of Samuel. Lift her photos maybe? Read her texts? Trace the numbers?

  “It’s retro. I thought I could smash it and make earrings out of the circuit board. It does have one, right?”

  “Smash it? That cost me a hundred bucks.”

  Shay’s serious demeanor fell, and she snorted. “Man, did they see you coming.”

  “That’s a steal on Earth,” Ana said.

  “No way.”

  Ana nodded.

  “Well, if you get it back and you’re interested, I’m around.”

  “Cool. See you in Astrophysics.”

  * * *

  When Ana woke on Friday, she knew something was different. She could feel it from the moment she slid out of bed. The scent of porridge drifted in the air. Ana followed it to the kitchen that adjoined the living room. The one she had never used.

  Madame Bali was sitting at the bar with a cup of tea and an infotab—a device Ana had become quite familiar with in the last week. It was a tablet on steroids, lightning fast with holographic tec
hnology and an unbelievable digital assistant.

  “Good morning, Anabella,” she greeted. “Such a pleasure to see you again.”

  Ana hurried forward, filled with relief. “Madame Bali! You’re back! Samuel and I were starting to worry.”

  “I must apologize for my delay. That business in the capital held me for far too long. How have you been holding up?”

  Ana yawned and sunk into a chair next to Madame Bali. “Okay, I guess.”

  “Well, have some breakfast and get changed. Your outfit is lying in the spare bedroom next to yours. I’ve transformed it into a bit of a dressing room.”

  Ana prickled. She was sixteen years old. She didn’t need someone picking out her clothes for her. She could dress herself. Besides, she didn’t really like that Madame Bali had been poking through her stuff.

  She sighed and pushed these feelings down. Madame Bali meant well, and Ana was, above all else, relieved to see her.

  In the adjoining bedroom, Ana found a long navy skirt lying on the bed. Floral, she thought. Yuck. A chambray top had been paired with it. A summer outfit.

  “I know how you like denim, so I tried my best to work it in.” Madame Bali said, joining her with an expectant smile.

  Ana forced a smile. She meant well.

  Bali returned to the living area to tidy while Ana showered and changed. She pulled on the long floral skirt and chambray top. She paired it with some espadrille wedges that had been left next to the trunk at the foot of the bed. She looked in the mirror. Not bad.

  Ana made a beeline for the door. She was already running a little behind.

  Bali looked up from the tablet. “Won’t you be having breakfast?”

  “Um, I’ve got a bagel from yesterday.”

  “A bagel?” Bali echoed. She tilted her head to the side in confusion.

  “You know like round bread with a hole in the middle. Not a doughnut,” she clarified.

  “I know what a bagel is. I just don’t understand why you won’t sit for a proper breakfast.”

  “I’m in a hurry. I need to meet my lab partner before class starts.”

  “Ah, yes. A Fleur, Samuel says?”

  Ana nodded, taking a bite of her bagel.

  “What was her name again?”

  “Ophelia.”

  “Yes, that’s right. Small girl, long blond hair?”

  “Why do you ask?” She squinted suspiciously. Was Madame Bali going to begin vetting her friends like Samuel?

  Madame Bali paused. “The young Lady Fleur can wait. Have a seat, Anabella. We need to talk.”

  We need to talk. Four words nobody ever wanted to hear. Ana braced herself.

  “I don’t want you to think I am some unfeeling parliamentarian, but as your adviser, my role is to help you succeed. It’s time for us to set some ground rules.”

  Ana hesitated. “What sort of rules?”

  “Well, it’s imperative you wake at a decent hour. Classes start at 9:15 a.m. You need to be up by 6:00 a.m. to bathe, dress, and have a proper breakfast. We’ll also need to go over morning briefings.”

  A bit of Ana’s bagel lodged in her throat, and she had to hack to get it back up. When she recuperated, she rasped out, “Briefings? At 6:00 a.m.?”

  “Yes. As the heir to the Halt family council seat, you need to be informed. Let’s face it, we’re starting from ground zero. You know nothing of Bellaton or its intricate politics.”

  “I know some stuff,” Ana protested. “Samuel explained—”

  Madame Bali cut her off with a wave of her hand. “Can you tell me the names of the sitting council members?”

  “Well, no.” Ana searched for an excuse.

  “Then that shall be our first lesson.”

  * * *

  Half an hour later, Ana tossed her elegant new saddle bag on the ground next to some old pruning shears. Her duffel hadn’t passed muster with Madame Bali. She took her seat at her workbench next to Ophelia.

  Ophelia looked at her for a long moment. “You look different.”

  Ana let out a low growl. “My adviser is back in town.”

  “Is that a bad thing?”

  “She’s got me on this crazy schedule. She picks out all my clothes for me. And she wants to do twice daily briefings.”

  “Oh,” Ophelia said thoughtfully. “I can see how that would be…problematic. I share my adviser with nine other girls from the Fleur family. She doesn’t pay much attention to me. I’m not as highborn as some of the others.”

  “Believe me, you’re not missing anything.”

  Ophelia’s pink lips spread into a tiny smile. “Your skirt is pretty.”

  “Thanks,” Ana said with a sigh.

  Professor Fleur began to speak. “Welcome, class. Today we will be harvesting carnivorous quick, an invasive species native to Obsidian, although proving quite useful. Because of its predilection for eating flesh, it is an excellent source of protein. Sedation is required for harvesting. The quick can wrap around you, and it does bite.”

  She led the class forward to the adjoining greenhouse, where Ana saw long vines with purple flowers. She recognized them immediately. It was the plant that had been covering the walls of her dormitory when she had arrived.

  A few girls at the Fleur table giggled. One of them pointed at Ana. She shot them a withering look, and they looked away. Ana had a pretty good idea of who had grown the vines and put in the report now. She felt sorry for Ophelia. Were they always this petty? She had to live with them.

  As though reading her mind, Ophelia said, “They’re not so bad when you get to know them. Truly.”

  Ana took out her frustration on the plant, using her old method of slicing and dicing. It wasn’t working very well. While she was cutting, an enterprising tendril of the carnivorous quick curled around her ankles. Ana didn’t notice until Holden came over and clipped an offending tendril away with his shears.

  Ana jumped back, and the vine retracted. “Thanks,” she said.

  Holden tried to hang around and give them a hand, but Professor Fleur swooped in. “Mr. Rockwell, kindly return to your group.”

  Holden walked away, but Ana noticed he kept glancing over. It was really nice of him, but they were doing fine now. Ana wrestled the plant with brute force and clippers, while Ophelia tried to outpace it with the syringe. Sedating the quick preserved its natural flavor.

  In the end, Ophelia’s more quiet method worked best, and she took on the brunt of the work. When they finally completed their work, Ophelia sat back in her seat with sweat dripping down her delicate brow.

  As she touched their spare shears on the desk, she shouted out in pain. “Ow!” she cried.

  A red rash spread up her hand like a trail of fire. It veered out in a network as though following nerves.

  Ana called for the instructor. She came over and inspected Ophelia’s hand. Worry furrowed her brow. “Firetongue,” she said. “Get Ms. Fleur to the med center right away. The medical staff will be able to stop the spread.”

  Holden jumped up. “She doesn’t know where the med center is. I’ll go too.”

  “Very well. It doesn’t seem I can keep you two separated anyway. Whatever you do, do not make contact with her workspace. Grab her bag, Ana. Go!”

  Ana took one last look back. The Fleur girls weren’t laughing now.

  Holden slumped Ophelia’s arm over his shoulder, and Ana took the other. Together, they helped her out of the greenhouse. She whimpered in pain.

  “This isn’t working,” Ana grunted. “She can’t walk.”

  Holden agreed. He lifted her into his arms as if she weighed nothing. Ophelia’s limp form barely slowed him down. They made it back to the main building in record time. They turned down corridor after corridor until finally they arrived at the med center. It reminded Ana of the bright white plastic of the Bumblebee.

  As they burst through the entry, the rash’s tendrils were reaching Ophelia’s shoulder and headed for her neck.

  “It’s firetongue,” A
na practically yelled at the nearest nurse.

  The nurse ran for help.

  Holden lay Ophelia down on the nearest bed while Ana paced.

  Staff came pouring out of the back room, carrying various plants and vials. One began smashing up herbs with a mortar and pestle. Another poured a thick drop of liquid in. Finally, after examining it another moment, they spread it on Ophelia’s arm, following the trail. Wherever the paste made contact with her skin, a wisp of vapor lifted into the air, like rain hitting tar on a hot, summer day.

  The barely conscious Ophelia sighed in relief.

  Holden leaned against the wall. “It’s my fault,” he muttered.

  Ana didn’t notice.

  To Ana, the med center smelled like death—disinfectant, decaying flesh, stale urine, and anesthesia leaving the body. No amount of deodorizing spray could mask its odor; it only added to the morbid cocktail.

  Ana had spent many days in the hospital with her mom, sitting by her bed, holding her hand. Waiting. Ana’s tired eyes red from sleeplessness. When her mom looked at her, she pretended to smile. Pretending was one of the most important parts of treatment. She pretended not to wince as needles went in her mom’s pale skin and bruises began to form. She pretended not to notice how gaunt her mother’s cheeks were becoming or how much her body weight had dropped. She pretended things were going to be okay.

  But they hadn’t been okay.

  Ana was shaking now. It was like she was there, and it was all happening again. The emergency call. The hospital parking lot. The smell of vomit clung to her nostrils. Her most terrible secret.

  No. She wouldn’t think about that day. She wouldn’t. The bitter sludge of guilt pulled her down and threatened to overcome her.

  Holden abandoned his sentry by the doorway and put a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Ana? Are you okay?”

  Ana jerked, remembering where she was. “Sorry. I—” she started. “Sorry.”

  “Hey,” he said softly, “she is going to be alright. The nurse said so.”

  Ana gave him a half smile. The nurses had said her mom would be okay too. Lies. Sweet lies. They were always the cruelest ones in the end.