by Alexa Donne
“Thank you for coming so quickly,” Captain Max said. “Your sister escorted us here from our transport, but you are apparently the keeper of the keys, so to speak.”
I nodded. “I’ll get all your bio scans coded in so you can come and go as you please.”
“Perfect,” Max said. “We’re just waiting for one more person. He slipped away to check out the party.”
“Eager to mingle with the ladies,” Evgenia said with a laugh.
“You judge me too harshly, Evy,” said a voice I recognized immediately. Soft and firm and infuriatingly calm.
He rounded the corner, and my breath caught. I hadn’t imagined him at all. It was the boy whose heart I’d broken and for whom my heart still fluttered.
It was Elliot.
Two
I tried to swallow past the lump in my throat as my heart thudded hard in my chest. Everyone else was oblivious.
“Wentworth!” Max bellowed. “Excellent timing. Now we can get ourselves settled and finally go to bed.”
“But I wanted to go to the party,” Evgenia said with an exaggerated pout.
“It’ll be going a few hours more, at least,” I said, careful to keep my tone even, my eyes locked on anyone except Elliot. I could not betray my panic, nor could I bear to look at him.
“They have champagne,” Elliot said, half-breathless beside me. I risked a quick glance, catching his lopsided grin paired with my favorite dimple. Still the perfect mix of awkward and beautiful. “And vodka.”
“But no whiskey?” Ewan asked. “Heathens.”
Everyone laughed at a joke I did not understand.
“So I can get all of you set up on the bio-scan system now.” I unlocked the door with my own fingerprints and led them through the loading bay to the aft control room. I stayed in front, throwing my shoulders back, affecting confidence, resisting the urge to check my hair.
“Maybe you’re still in the system, El,” Evgenia said as we came to a stop beside the control panel. “You two know each other, right?”
Finally I met Elliot’s eyes. Carefully controlled fire burned behind his glasses. It caught me off-guard, though it shouldn’t have. Of course he hated me now. I stammered out my response. “Uh, yes, of course. I wasn’t sure you remembered me,” I lied poorly, and for no good reason but for being stupidly blindsided by his disdain, yet Elliot did not betray me. He replied tightly.
“Good to see you again, Princess Leonie.”
His words were a dagger jabbed into my rib cage and twisted just so. Princess Leonie. Formal, and the name he knew very well I hated. In return, I gave a small curtsy, playing the princess he wished me to be. I could be formal too.
“Unfortunately your bio scan was erased when you left. But setting up a new one is easy. Here.” I pressed my index finger and thumb to the bio scan, then keyed in a code set, followed by my admin password. “Now you place your fingers on the scanner.” Elliot did so, hovering close. I breathed in the faint scent of smoke and some spice I could not name, a swooping sadness tugging at my insides. He’d left me, and now he even smelled different. This was not my Elliot. “There, all done,” I said.
“Me next!” Evgenia jumped forward. “So you and I can go enjoy the party.” She nudged Elliot’s shoulder and threw him a wink. He smiled, and my insides swirled, champagne threatening its way up my throat.
“Of course,” I ground out, repeating the process for her, though I miscoded my admin password twice. Elliot and Evgenia left, leaving me heartsick yet relieved. I took care of Max and Ewan in short order.
“Thank you, Your Highness,” Max said as I finished him off.
“Oh, please don’t call me that,” I begged as we moved out into the corridor. “I hate titles. Feel free to use pomp and circumstance with my father. He’s a bit . . . old-fashioned. But please call me Leo.”
Max nodded. “Good name, Leo. Like the lion.”
“I’m more like a kitten,” I joked.
“Don’t sell yourself short.” He patted me on the shoulder.
“So are you guys here for the Valg Season?” I made small talk as they walked me to the exit.
Max and Ewan shared a look that was meaningful only to the two of them. “Yes,” Maxim replied with mild hesitance. “Those two are. Ewan and I are here to drum up some new business, I suppose you could say.”
“Oh? What is it that you do?” I asked, forcing a bright nonchalance into my tone. Beneath that, my heart wrenched in my chest. Elliot was here to find a spouse.
“Transports,” Maxim replied. “Elliot insisted we rent somewhere nicer for the Season, but we’ve got our usual vessel docked here. Every so often we’ll jet off for a few days on a job.”
“So that explained the Captain thing. Well, have a good night,” I said. “If you need anything, you can ping me anytime. You’ll find tab consoles in every room.”
“We definitely will,” Ewan said with a broad smile, and then finally I was able to extricate myself. Passing back through the loading bay, I estimated how long I’d have to stay at the party before I could turn in for bed. If I left before one in the morning, my father would whine for days about my lack of effort in securing our fortunes, never mind that I was the only family member coming up with concrete solutions. The four weeks’ rent from the Orlovs would float us for the rest of the year, at least, with just enough left over that I could invest in our long-term solution: a patent for my water-filtration system.
If I could just sell it to another ship, the license fees would solve all our financial problems. I would still have to marry eventually, but I could put it off until the next Season, and as the one with money, I would have my choice of beaus. But filing the patent would require a trip to the Olympus, whose docking fees I could not afford, and then still more fees to file the patent itself.
I reminded myself of the overwhelming practicality of my rental plan as I marched with somber steps toward the exit. Leaving home was never easy.
“We thought we’d wait for you!” a voice chirped as I stepped out into the Scandinavian’s corridor. I yelped, startling off-balance, falling right into him. Elliot. I blinked past my panic, bringing a smiling Evgenia into focus, and quickly righted myself, away from Elliot, who brushed a hand down his shoulder as if I’d burned him.
“Oh, you didn’t have to do that—”
“Nonsense! You’re the closest we have to a friend on board, and this way we can get to know one another!” Evgenia linked arms with me, pulling me into a stroll. “Your dress is exquisite, by the way.”
“Thanks,” I mumbled. “Yours too.”
“Oh, this old thing?” She laughed it off, as if the art deco–inspired number hadn’t cost a fortune. It had to be an Old-Earth antique. The silver beading was worn a bit on the cap sleeves and drop waist, but nothing detracted from the delicate handiwork. It hugged in all the right places, the sea-foam-green chiffon underlayer complementing her similarly hued eyes. “Luckily I’m always a bit overdressed for travel,” she conceded with a laugh. She’d fit right in among the fading royal families of Europe. New money among old. “I did make Elliot here change, though.”
Against my better judgment, I turned to look at him as he followed along behind us, even though I’d already seen what he was wearing. It was standard evening attire, fancier than anything he’d ever owned before, when I knew him. The waistcoat and pants had the look of custom-tailored pieces, and he cut a dashing figure in them. I also noted that his glasses had new, expensive-looking frames. Wealth suited him. Too well.
I turned away to hide the blush of my cheeks. We were in the Scandinavian proper now, away from the dingy docking area. Everything was sleek and white, lights always high enough to capture the details. I didn’t want him to know how flustered I was.
“So what did we miss?” Evgenia asked. “We tried to make it before the opening Valg party but got held up by a very annoying mid-transport visa check.”
“What’s that?” I asked. Elliot’s clipped reply came from
behind.
“The Olympus has taken to stopping free-flying transport ships and demanding their papers. To ensure no one is going where they shouldn’t be. Wouldn’t want the rabble mixing with the well-to-do, and all that.”
“Which is silly.” Evgenia’s tone was bright, but we were still linked by the arms, and I could feel her tense up. “I simply informed them that we were traveling for the Valg, and that I am twenty-four years old and not getting any younger, and of course they understood.”
It was clearly a joke, and accordingly, I managed a small, forced laugh. But the chill coming off Elliot practically set my breath visible in the air before me.
“Well, you’ve not missed much at all.” I tried to recover. “Just a bit of champagne and dancing. Captain Lind always reserves her speeches for a few hours into any party, to capitalize on the most people being there. You’re likely right on time.”
“Are her speeches particularly good, then?”
“She’s rather pedantic and full of herself, actually,” I replied.
“But she gives such great advice,” Elliot cut in again. I didn’t have to look back to see his sneer—it came through in every syllable. He knew my aunt had been one of the main people to talk me out of marrying him.
To my left, I caught Evgenia’s brow furrow in confusion. She could tell Elliot was not happy about something, but it was clear she lacked context. So he hadn’t told her about us. That we’d been engaged to be married—for twelve hours, at least—until I’d broken it off, upon receiving an earful from my aunt, father, and cousin.
“Anyway,” I continued, attempting to brush it off, “tonight is just speeches and a bit of dancing, but things don’t really start for a few days, when the parents leave.”
“Have you done a Valg Season before?” Evgenia asked. “You seem to know a lot about it.”
“Oh, no. I’m only nineteen, so I was too young the last time. I just read a lot about it. I like to be prepared.” The more I knew, the better I could avoid the worst of it.
“So you’re participating?” Elliot appeared beside us, expression carefully neutral. I schooled my features as well.
“Yes. Father insisted,” I said.
“And you listened to him?” Evgenia tittered. “My father has all sorts of ideas about me and whom I should marry, but I simply ignore him.”
“Leo’s not that kind of girl,” Elliot said, his tone cutting like knives. Evgenia barreled on, oblivious.
“This place is incredible.” Her head whipped in every which direction. “Everything is so . . . clean.”
“The Saint Petersburg isn’t like this?” I asked, happy for the change of subject. I hurried a few paces ahead, putting distance between Elliot and myself again.
“It’s far more weathered,” she replied. “And we tend toward a more . . . practical build.” I felt a tug on my arm as she steered us to the left so she could run her fingers over the wall. “All this façade work makes her prettier, but no stronger. What a waste of money and manpower, no? Your people could have built two ships instead of only one.”
“Oh, they weren’t my people,” I said as we continued along. “We’re German.” I felt silly even saying it. National affiliations were pretty meaningless now. We associated ourselves with the ships whence we hailed, regardless of our countries of origin. I’d lived attached to the Scandinavian for more than a decade now.
“Tell me, Evy.” Elliot pulled up level with us, taking her other arm. “Did the Russian oligarchs build a second ship?”
“You know I’m only kidding, El,” she said, dropping any pretense of outrage. “We both know they built extravagant private ships too. It was all the rage. And now that we’re rich, we get to enjoy the spoils!” She broke off into a light skip as we neared the security checkpoint outside the ballroom doors.
“Plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose,” Elliot muttered under his breath.
“When did you learn French?” I asked. He cast me a withering look that hollowed out my stomach like acid and walked ahead. There was no time to dwell on it or pry. We’d reached the two towering security guards, who nodded upon seeing me—I’d attended enough parties to be well-known. All I had to do was tell them Evgenia and Elliot were with me, and they waved us through.
“How did you get through before?” I dared to ask Elliot, who just shrugged, nonchalant.
“Guess I look the part now.”
As soon as he said it, I looked again, just for a second, before scolding myself to stop. Elliot strode with a confidence he’d never had before. In three short years, he’d transformed from the sweet, awkward boy of sixteen to a cool and suave nineteen. Had I changed as drastically? I wore the same silly frocks, felt the same resigned exasperation with my father and sister’s reckless spending. What did he think of me?
Right now? Clearly nothing.
“Let’s mingle,” he said as we entered the ballroom, offering his arm to Evgenia and promptly whisking her away. I stood in the door in a daze. They weren’t even wearing name tags. I would have introduced them to the Valg social liaison, gotten them set up, if they hadn’t been so eager to leave me.
“Was that Elliot Wentworth?” Carina rushed up, cheeks flushed at the hint of scandal, or perhaps it was from dancing. She whipped her head around, craning to see him. “He grew up,” she said in apparent positive assessment. I rolled my eyes at the obtuse comment. Of course he’d grown up, as had she. Three years will do that. “What is he doing here?”
“He came with our new renters.”
A tray of drinks whizzed by, the server pausing just long enough for me to grab two glasses. Carina went for one, but I shook my head at her, downing one glass in a series of gulps, leaving the second for me to nurse.
“Jeez, Leo, weren’t you the one complaining earlier about Father ordering the stuff? Now you’re the lush.”
So she did notice our financial woes, as well as boys.
“I’ve eaten my weight in hors d’oeuvres. I can take it.” I took another sip as a hole opened up in the crowd, giving me a perfect view to Elliot bowing, kissing the gloved hand of Asta Madsen. “Let’s dance.” I changed tack, grabbing Carina by the hand and dragging her along behind me. I finished the champagne along the way, depositing the empty glass on a nearby balustrade.
I felt the bassline in my bones, threw my head back and my hands up, letting the music wash through me. Only an hour ago, I’d been right here, my only care Lukas’s wandering hands and eyes on me, my father winking from the sidelines. Now it was Elliot standing by, his eyes and hands interested in other girls. I refused to look, spinning, jumping, twirling Carina at intervals, sure to keep my back to wherever he and Evgenia were.
Then, suddenly, the music screeched to a stop. I was mid-spin and stumbled gracelessly to a halt, surprised to find a steady hand on my arm, preventing me from face-planting on the floor. I looked up at my savior. Then down. He was shorter than I was—it was the boy from earlier, the one who had asked me to dance, only to be shunted onto my cousin. I checked his name tag again. Daniel from the Empire. Where had he come from? I mumbled a thank-you and turned back to my sister, who looked more than a little put out.
“When will they turn the music back on?” Carina pouted.
Our ears were treated to the muffled tap of someone’s fingers on the microphone instead.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” came the precise, crisp voice of Captain Lind. I sighed and turned toward the stage. On a large screen behind my aunt was the Valg logo—a golden rose emblem intertwined with an elaborate V—which shimmered and pulsed in time to a silent beat. She spotted me immediately and gave me a nod, ruling out any chance I had to duck out and skip what was sure to be a long, bombastic speech about the Valg, and marriage, and family.
She did not disappoint.
“Many years ago, it became clear that in order to keep our population healthy and thriving, we needed a solution for finding . . . suitable partners. The Scandinavian was happy
to host the first of these illustrious matching events, which is how we all got stuck with such a dreary name as the Valg.” She paused for the polite smattering of laughter that she clearly had expected.
“Valg means ‘choice’ in Norwegian and Danish. And, yes, we Swedes did protest, but Val just doesn’t have quite the same ring to it!”
Another pause, more polite laughter.
“Over the next four weeks, you young people will be faced with many options. Everything will culminate in you making the most important decision of your life: who to marry.”
I groaned, seemingly in stereo. I twisted around to find Daniel, still beside me, who apparently agreed with my sentiment.
“I encourage you to cast a wide net and make good choices.” Captain Lind paused once more, but this time no one got the joke. “Anyway,” she recovered smoothly, “thank you so much for being with us, and—”
There was an electric snap, and then the entire ballroom was plunged into darkness. Some people screamed; beside me, my sister drew in a sharp breath and dug her fingers into my arm. The blackness lingered ten seconds, then twenty, and the cascade of confused murmurs crescendoed to worried cries.
“Everyone remain calm! Stay where you are so there is no stampede,” Captain Lind shouted above the din. Her mic wasn’t working.
“The doors are locked!” someone yelled from the ballroom entrance.
“Check the others,” the captain commanded, and after a tense moment, the same report echoed back from the four corners of the room.
Then the large digital screen affixed behind the stage blinked on, casting a pale glow across two hundred faces. A hush fell over the room as we read the words splashed across the screen in big, bold letters:
murderers.
Three
“Leo, what’s happening?” Carina whispered in my ear as my eyes clawed over the word again and again.
Murderers.
It was an accusation. My brain started clicking as I pieced it all together. The screen, the doors—we had been hacked in order for someone to send us a message.
