by Alexa Donne
White-hot embarrassment seared through me, the sip of coffee I’d just taken turning bitter on my tongue and my insides seizing as if caught in a vise. I couldn’t bear to think of my actions, even three years later. It was my greatest regret. I coughed to hide my situation.
Carina didn’t notice, anyway. “Valet, valet’s son, whatever. Elliot Wentworth, who we grew up with, back here! Apparently he’s filthy rich now.” Father perked up at that, and I could have thrown myself across the table to strangle him for it. Carina continued heedlessly. “He certainly behaves like a gentleman. Kissed my hand and everything.”
That got my attention. “You spoke with him?” I asked, amazed at how measured I sounded. Inside, the vise grip had seized again, giving way to a swirling in my stomach and palpitations in my chest.
“Of course! He came to the after-party. He told me all about the Saint Petersburg and how he knows the Orlovs. He said he had hoped he might see me again and marveled that he had barely recognized me.” Carina preened, checking her reflection in the silver coffeepot. Indeed, she was dark blond and beautiful, with large, deep brown eyes that had previously overpowered her face but now played perfectly against pouty pink lips and a fuller figure. I shared the figure and the big eyes, mine green to her brown, but only a fraction of the beauty. Father said my seriousness rendered me ordinary, where Carina’s carefree disposition transformed her.
Elliot had said he liked my seriousness, that he found me beautiful, but now . . .
“I’ve just remembered,” I said, pushing back from the table, “I promised Klara I’d meet her this morning. Thank you for breakfast, Carina. I’ll see you later, before the concert.”
Klara, of course, had requested no such meeting, but I hurried to my room regardless, making my face and hair presentable so that I had the excuse to leave. Anything to distract myself from tales of Elliot and Carina, him kissing her hand . . . only her hand, I reassured myself. Like a gentleman, as she said. Still, kissed and Elliot in relation to my sister turned my stomach. I had no right to hold any claim on him, but my heart refused to be rational.
* * *
I decided to take a long walk to decompress and channel my pent-up energy in a more productive direction. Last night’s interruption had rattled me. I wasn’t completely ignorant of the growing problems of the wider fleet—I’d heard whispers about overcrowding and implementation of strict rations on board certain ships. My mother had seen it and argued fruitlessly with my father and her sister to open up our respective ships for families in need. But then she died, and I’d gone back to living in my bubble.
Last night, it had burst. Our family was now precariously closer in circumstances to those people, to desperation and death, than were our wealthy cousins on the Scandinavian. If my aunt ever decided to withdraw her support, we would be destitute.
I made the walk nice and long, so as to distract myself. There was an entire promenade on the top level for that very purpose, but my favorite thing was to make my way through the royal private public quarters, which were as oxymoronic as they sounded. They were a series of ballrooms, libraries, drawing rooms, and other leisure spaces shared among the elite of the ship, “public” in the sense that anyone with bio-lock access to the forward and upper decks could use them, but essentially private for the same reason.
I wended my way through gallery after gallery, into the royal ballroom (half of it cordoned off due to fire damage), through to the library, one of my favorite spaces on board. No one read real books anymore, but the library kept hundreds of them carefully under glass, in addition to the digital stations where the residents could reload their tabs with more things to read. Plus, it was where the Scandinavian housed historical documents, cultural artifacts, and more from Earth’s history. I browsed the exhibits I’d looked at a hundred times.
This was where I’d found the idea for my water-filtration system, a home-improvement project I’d undertaken several years ago to help the Sofi extend precious resources. A thought slithered up my spine unbidden. If other ships were on rations, water rations especially, my system could offer some relief. It could save lives. And the license fees to use it would save my family.
I hated myself for thinking it, profiting off misery. But this presented a real opportunity. Perhaps I could appeal to other ships, get their buy-in first, then use the startup funds to get my patent. All it would take was one ship saying yes. I wouldn’t need to wait out the Valg to get the Orlovs’ rent. I wouldn’t need the Valg at all. The thought of escaping this barbaric marriage ritual filled me with such relief that it overpowered the guilt for just a moment.
I picked up one of the library’s public tab readers and wandered through a maze of glass-encased stacks to an overstuffed chair. I disappeared into the latest Jupiter Morrow mystery for several hours, but then a musical laugh pinged my ears. I rose, creeping through the stacks, following the sound until I spotted the source. Evgenia and Elliot were strolling through. I shot down into a crouch, ducking low behind a display case so they wouldn’t see me.
“This is no laughing matter, Evy,” I heard Elliot’s cutting response to whatever Evgenia had been laughing about. “They might execute her.”
“For a little interruption? They’re overreacting, don’t you think?”
My breath caught in my throat. They were talking about last night.
“You expect them to underreact? Someone crashed their special party and called them on their bullshit. Heads will roll.”
There was a long silence, and for a moment I wondered if they’d somehow snuck off without my hearing. I didn’t dare pop around the display case to check. But then Evgenia spoke, her voice low.
“Are you worried, then?”
Elliot’s response was tight. “I know what I’m doing.”
What by the moon was Elliot up to? He couldn’t be involved with Freiheit, could he? It was awfully convenient that he was outside the ballroom when everything happened, come to think of it. Father said they had hacked the system from the inside.
“Now, what are you going to wear tonight?” Evgenia abruptly changed tone, light and bright once more, and Elliot returned a low response I couldn’t hear. “Elliot Wentworth, I will not allow you to abandon me to those vultures. You are going. We have work to do.”
“They seemed to like you well enough. Hardly vultures,” Elliot said.
“Please,” Evgenia spat. “They’re happy enough to drink and laugh with us, but we both know we’re nothing to them but crude new money. Once they know how Max makes his fortune, they’ll devour us like jackals.”
“First vultures, now jackals . . . next you’ll be telling me they’re wolves.”
“Don’t tease me. You’re the one who wanted to come here. The Valg Season is the perfect opportunity, you said.”
“Maybe I was wrong.”
I imagined Evgenia’s ears steaming, but her next words sounded nothing but amused.
“But what about that girl? Don’t you want to see her?”
My breath quickened, palms going sweaty.
“Leo?” Elliot replied. I leaned precariously forward, trying to get closer. They had paused momentarily. “We said hello last night.”
“Um, yes, I know, I was there,” Evgenia said with a laugh. “Anyway, I didn’t mean her. I was talking about the other one. Carina.”
“Carina?” Elliot parroted back, and my heart froze in my chest. I couldn’t decipher his tone. If only I could see them properly. “She’s so young.”
“She’s sixteen. You’re nineteen. It’s nothing.”
Evgenia was rapidly falling in my esteem.
“Last time I saw her, she was practically a child . . .”
Exactly! I wanted to scream at them.
“Well, now she’s practically a woman. Beautiful. And a bit sweet on you, I think.”
Dammit, I couldn’t hear Elliot’s response—they’d started moving again. All I heard was Evgenia’s tinkling laugh, as if Elliot had said the most hilari
ous thing.
Five
For the second time in two days, I let Carina have her way with me. She poked, prodded, and strapped me into a deep-navy tea dress, my least heinously boring dress, according to her. I walked into one of the Scandinavian’s larger galleries, wearing my fashion like armor. My shield: hair curled into pretty ringlets, eyes lined with kohl, and lips painted a shocking red. Like the previous evening’s party, the concert was being held in the royal private public quarters. The crowd inside the meticulously appointed Andersson Lounge was small, maybe fifty people. They were the most elite of the elite participating in the Valg Season, plus their parents.
My eyes scanned the room, and I feigned calm, despite the way my heart was pounding in my chest. Finally I found Elliot holding court by the canapés. I scolded myself for locking onto him like a heat-seeking missile. He’d been here only twenty-four hours, and I’d lost all sense. My eyes flitted to Evgenia, Max, and Ewan. Yes, I decided, I would be equally interested in the entire rental party, like a good host.
Everyone cut a dashing figure. Max and Ewan had forgone dress whites for dapper suits of deep blue and emerald green. Evgenia sported another stunning vintage dress, a little black French classic.
“Who are you staring at?” Father asked, following my line of vision. “Those outfits are . . . interesting.”
“Those are our renters, Father,” Carina said, ignoring his comment. “Come, you should meet them.” Carina took off with him before I could protest. I forced confidence into my step as I followed them across the room. This was how I would proceed. Bravely, composed. Elliot would not rattle me.
“Max, Ewan, Evgenia,” I said, approaching them, taking the lead. Elliot’s back was turned to us as he talked to some far-flung royal cousin whose name I couldn’t remember. “Allow me to introduce my father. His Royal Highness King Gerhard Kolburg. He is very eager to meet you.”
Eager or not, my father performed the part, graciously accepting their bows and curtsy, a benevolent smile turning his lips. “Oh, please don’t call me King,” he demurred.
“Of course,” Max said as my stomach stirred with worry. “Your Highness, we wouldn’t dream of it.” Father’s smile turned genuine. He loved the HRH distinction. I let out a relieved breath. Max was doing perfectly.
“Let me just say that I hope you are enjoying our modest ship while we enjoy our little vacation on board the Scandinavian.”
“Hardly modest, Your Highness,” Ewan jumped in. “Prinzessin Sofi is the finest ship I’ve been privileged to stay on.”
“Surely nothing compared to the grandeur of this ship,” Father parried.
“She is lovely, to be sure.” Ewan nodded. “But so large. We prefer the intimacy of your Sofi.”
Color me impressed by our renters’ bullshitting talents. Evgenia and I locked eyes, hers reflecting my amusement. She sidled up next to me, opening her mouth to say something, but then Father started calling out.
“Elliot! Elliot Wentworth. Come over here.”
Oh, no. I pasted on a smile just in time for Elliot to join our little circle and stand on Evgenia’s other side. At least I wouldn’t have to look directly at him. We might burn each other to ashes for the power of our glares.
“Good to see you again, Your Highness,” Elliot said. I thought I caught a tightness to his voice, though maybe it was my imagination.
“My boy, what brings you here? And in such a fine suit!” Father cast an askew glance at Max and Ewan in comparison.
“Evgenia invited me,” Elliot answered as Evgenia linked her arm in his. “I hadn’t seen Max and Ewan in ages, and I was keen to see old friends here.” His gaze drifted over to Carina. “And the suit? I have only the one.” He laughed. “I haven’t changed that much.”
“I helped him choose it, of course.” Evgenia picked an imaginary piece of lint off his shoulder, leaning into him.
“Oh, are you two . . . ?” My father asked the question I wouldn’t dare. He knew what we were before and wanted to ensure Elliot was completely off the table.
“Oh, God, no!” Evgenia laughed. “What is it with your family trying to pair me off with every man they see me with? I am very much single, if you know any eligible young women.” She winked. I found her growing on me, even if she was trying to push Elliot toward my sister. But she was bold and bubbly, with a frank sense of humor, and I liked that.
“You might have some trouble finding . . . like-minded individuals in the Valg Season,” my father said. I could have smacked him.
“Not everyone is looking for a wealthy husband to whom to attach herself,” I snapped without thinking. “Plenty of people marry for love, and don’t have trouble finding it.”
Six pairs of eyes cut to me. Elliot’s in particular I could feel crawling over my skin. He must have been thinking I was the biggest hypocrite. I did not have a history of marrying for love.
“Ooh, I like you,” Evgenia cooed.
“Hear, hear!” Max chimed in. “Now, what about you, my dear? I see both you and your sister have on name tags, so you’re in the thick of it. What are you two looking for, then?”
“Not girls.” Carina chirped a nervous laugh. What was with my family embarrassing me tonight? Then I caught her gaze, which was squarely on Elliot. So that clarification of her dating preferences was for his benefit. “I’d like to marry for love, though.” She ducked her head as her cheeks flushed pink. This was awful.
“That makes one Kolburg for love, then.” Elliot tipped his champagne glass in my direction. “And one for ruthless pragmatism.”
“That’s right,” I said, glaring back at him. “I will be flinging myself at every man with a substantial fortune whilst consuming my body weight in alcohol.” Father nodded his approval, while everyone but Evgenia looked at the floor. My new best friend laughed, bless her.
“On that note, we’re going to go hunt down some beverages,” she said, hooking me by the arm and pulling me out of this conversation from hell. Evgenia swiped two glasses of champagne, handing me one. “That was ghastly. But you’re fun.”
“I’m sorry my family is so awful. I don’t know what’s wrong with them.”
“Oh, never mind that. I’m used to people being snobby little shits and yammering on about repopulating the fleet. They have trouble grasping that queer people can have children as well, thank you very much. Or, a radical notion, I know, that some people might not want to have children at all!” She pulled me into an alcove so we could observe the room at greater advantage. “So clue me in to who’s who. And why are there only twenty, thirty young people, tops? The ball was crawling with hotties last night, but I don’t see even a quarter of them here. And why are there so many parents?”
“Welcome to Night Two of the Valg Kickoff, Super-Elite Edition,” I intoned wryly. “The concert is invite-only from the captain. It’s a chance for the parents to scope out the very best matches of the Season and push their hapless children in the direction they would like. It’s the last event the parents get to attend, though.”
“Then how the heck did we get invited? I’m under no delusions as to how people like you—no offense—feel about new money.”
“My cousin thought you were the ‘right kind of people.’” I couldn’t help but do air quotes as I recited back Klara’s words.
“Who is your cousin?”
“Oh, Klara Lind. She’s also the captain’s daughter, so—”
“The knockout blonde with the exquisite dress sense! I’m starting to put the pieces together now. Is everyone here related?”
“Now you know why we need the Valg Season to find partners,” I quipped.
And as if we had spoken her into being, Klara walked through the lounge doors at that very moment, resplendent in a dark-navy tulle dress overlaid with sparkling gold stars.
“I’m going to go chat with her—you want to come?” Evgenia asked.
I opened my mouth, ready to say yes, when I caught my father’s searing gaze. He gestured to my lef
t and widened his eyes for emphasis. “No, that’s okay,” I told Evgenia. “I see a potential wealthy suitor, and if I don’t at least attempt conversation, my father will whine about it all evening.”
“Godspeed.” She patted me on the arm with encouragement before sashaying off in the direction of my cousin.
Now to suffer the shortest conversation possible with Lukas Hagen.
“Lukas, I didn’t think you enjoyed classical music,” I said by way of greeting.
“I don’t. My mom made me come.”
He waved at someone behind my shoulder, and I twisted around to see Baroness Hagen, eyes narrowed in my direction. Her lips turned down into a grimace. Not a fan of me, then. The elevated royal title that would come from a match with me was not enough to override the uncouthness of Father flinging me toward anyone with money, it seemed.
“Well, at least the food is good?” I grabbed a puff pastry from a passing tray, relieved my family wasn’t footing the bill for anything this evening. I planned on stuffing myself.
“Should you be eating that?” Lukas eyed me up and down, lingering on my perfectly proportional hips, thank you very much. It took all my strength not to fling the pastry in his face. But then I’d have lost the buttery, flaky pastry and salty cheese that passed my lips as I bit into it with great relish, just for Lukas’s benefit. As another tray passed, I snatched up a cucumber sandwich and ate it with equal care. Lukas took the hint.
“I’ll see you after the concert, then,” he said, though I doubted very much that that was true. He turned and went to find his seats.
Surprised to find her alone, I spotted the captain off to the side and saw an opportunity.
“Captain Lind?” I tapped Klara’s mom on the shoulder, allowing myself a deep, steadying breath before she turned around. Talking to Captain Lind required nerves of steel.
“Leonie, darling!” she exclaimed, engulfing me in a stiff, perfunctory hug. This was Freja Lind in a nutshell: all superficial charm with an undercurrent of stiff cool. Klara took after her. “You know to call me Aunt Freja, my dear,” she continued. The captain used endearments like weapons.
