by Wren Weston
Lila drummed her fingers on her knee.
“I steer people toward decisions they’ve already made, chief, toward people they’re already in love with, toward their own fumbling ambition. I trust them to use their own good sense. I help clear away the fog, so they can see their options for what they truly are, and I let them choose among those options without all the fluff getting in the way. I don’t judge their choices, nor do I try to sway them unless their actions will harm another person or themselves. Oracles do have a code of ethics. Who are we to say what’s best for anyone?”
“You tell them their choices have been blessed by the gods.”
“If our choices are predestined, then everything we do is blessed by the gods. People can do great things when they believe the gods are behind them.”
“And terrible.”
“People do terrible things anyway. But you’d be surprised how much hardship a person can tolerate when life falls apart around them, once pain and misfortune befalls them, so long as they believe a higher power is involved.”
“You’re all nothing but liars. Have you no shame at all?”
“You would know a great deal about lying, wouldn’t you? Perhaps you should turn your discomfort inward and evaluate the choices you’ve been making lately.”
Lila’s gaze locked on the oracle, but she found no condemnation in the woman’s hazel eyes. Was she reading her? How else would she know all the things she’d been up to?
She couldn’t, not unless she was tossing out bait.
The fish lurked behind the windows.
“People lie all the time,” the oracle said. “I just put my lies to better use.”
“Do you even believe in the gods?”
“I don’t know. It’s not all lies and psychology and guesswork. When the seizures take hold, I have visions, and they certainly don’t come from me. What I see comes to pass, at least in some form. All I can do is guide what I’ve seen to the best conclusion.”
“So you believe that your visions are true?”
“I know they are. Even so, I wonder about the machine in the basement. Perhaps more so than others who aren’t afflicted with the visions. Should we worship the ones who send me these glimpses of the future? Are there even beings behind them at all? You’d be surprised how many oracles are agnostics and atheists.”
Lila raised a brow. “Is this the part where you tell me to back off and—”
“I’d rather not waste my breath. I daresay you wouldn’t back off even if I bothered. No, I asked you here for a different reason.”
“Ah, and what’s that?”
“I had a vision this morning.”
“Did you now? What happened in this so-called vision?”
“That’s none of your concern. Not yet, anyway.” The oracle pinned Lila with a severe gaze. “A person makes thousands of decisions every day, but only a handful might decide how a vision comes to pass. I don’t mean what shoes you’ll wear on Monday or if you’ll turn right or left at an intersection. I mean decisions on a more primal level: who you’ll choose to align yourself with, how far you’ll go to defend a friend, what you believe, and how far you’ll go to defend those beliefs. It’s obvious that you haven’t made some of these decisions yet, for this particular vision was far murkier than I’ve seen in a long while. I believe it was murkier because of you, chief. Much that surrounds you is a blur. I don’t like it. I don’t feel comfortable with it.”
The oracle studied Lila with the same shrewdness her mother offered those in a business deal. “This conversation will push you to make decisions. It will put you on a path whether you want it to or not. My next vision will be clearer, and you’ll have some honest information about my kind, rather than the crap spread over the net.”
“If I’m not mistaken, your order is responsible for most of that crap.”
“No doubt. We either wrote it or deserve most of it,” she admitted. “Come back and see me sometime, chief. I don’t mind sparing an hour to help you clear your thoughts.”
“What thoughts?”
“Thoughts about watching a man you tranqed die. I’ve seen the news.”
“That wasn’t my fault.”
“No, it wasn’t. Doesn’t mean you’re not picking it apart in your mind, though. I wager that’s not the only thing you’re picking apart. How about handing over your best friend’s mother and brother to Bullstow for execution? That would brew a fair amount of drama and discontent. Perhaps it is for the best.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Not all friendships are destined for a lifetime. I don’t believe that you and Ms. Wilson were meant for it.”
“How do you know?”
“Because there are some things you can’t forgive, nor forget.”
Lila’s gaze strayed to the fish. “You think she won’t forgive me?”
“Who said I was talking about her?”
Lila turned back to the oracle. “What do you mean?”
“I suspect your future with a certain man will last much longer. Dark hair, dark eyes, and a long brown coat? I saw him in my vision too. Your paths cross over and over again, melding into a blur, but there are too many unmade decisions between the pair of you to get a clear glimpse. You’re both intertwined, just as you, chief, are intertwined with the oracles. Unfortunately, I don’t know how yet. But mark my words, you will be important to us, whether for good or for ill. If I’d known sooner, I might have encouraged Chef Ana a great deal more.”
Lila swallowed hard, thinking of her dreams the week before. “What do you mean that I’m intertwined with the oracles?”
“The vagueness is annoying, isn’t it? Try living in it.” The oracle ushered Lila to the stairs. “All I know about the dark-haired man is that he has killed once and will kill again. It wasn’t his fault last time, but next time he’ll mean it. He’ll keep doing it, over and over again. His path isn’t a blur. He’s making choices while you spin your wheels, and I fear he’s making the wrong ones. He’s going to drown in the mire if he’s not careful, and he’ll take you with him.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It’s a warning. I fear you’ll become like him.”
Lila didn’t like the oracle’s pitying tone.
“I won’t tell you more until the visions tell me you are safe and trustworthy. I might question who sends them, but I believe in their validity. You have your family, and I have mine.”
Chapter 9
It was nearly six before Lila pulled into her family’s garage, a curious Chef trailing behind her as they returned to the great house. Chef hadn’t said much on the way home, likely understanding from Lila’s quiet manner that the oracle had given her much to think about. Or perhaps Chef was only happy that Lila hadn’t argued for the closing of the oracles’ compounds on the way home, believing the women to be a drain on the state’s coffers.
It had been Lila’s opinion when she was young and too full of her own budding understanding of the world. Chef’s continued high praise of the oracles had been what changed her mind. Now Lila understood how important they were spiritually to the majority of the country. Symbolism, if not truth, was important.
Perhaps even more important.
Now the oracle had glimpsed her future, had forced her to think about her place in the grand scheme of things, not just as an heir dodging the path she’d been born to run down, but as a woman rushing toward another, a path set by the gods.
But it was all bullshit, wasn’t it? A con to amuse the masses? None of it was real, it was mere entertainment, like horoscopes and crystal balls and Tarot cards. The oracle was a brilliant actress, and she’d been playing her role for a very long time.
She’d been right about one thing, though. There were some things you couldn’t forgive or forget. Lila had thoroughly ruined things with Alex. Maybe it
would have happened anyway, a slow friendship death over years, rather than an incomplete fracture that lingered only because of circumstance. Tristan had told her that a highborn and a slave could never be friends. They were simply on different levels. Even Alex had alluded to it recently.
Lila had been appalled at the idea, but perhaps she didn’t feel the imbalance because she was settled in the higher station. Perhaps you only felt it when you crashed to the bottom or when you were born there.
Alex had certainly fallen. Perhaps the kindest thing Lila could do for her friend was transfer her to a compound closer to Simon and Sturluson’s. Maybe if she really loved Alex, she had to let her move on.
But then why did it feel like throwing Alex away?
When Lila and Chef entered the great house, Chef bustled quickly to the kitchens to check on her soup and salad, while Lila jogged upstairs and plopped down in front of her desktop.
Once again, her search for Reaper’s partner had yielded no results.
Lila cradled her head. She didn’t have time for this now. She didn’t have time to concentrate on a potential blackmailer.
Isabel knocked on the door, and Lila’s head shot up. The servant carried a little clinking tray, which she placed on Lila’s desk. “Chef feared it would be one of those days, madam. Not that you can’t eat downstairs with—”
“No, this is wonderful, Isabel. You and Chef always take such good care of me.” Lila spied quite a large block of fudge next to her soup and salad.
Isabel bowed and scurried from the room.
Between a few mouthfuls here and there, Lila cycled through messages from her spies. None of them had any news about Oskar. Tristan’s didn’t either.
Considering that he had turned more than a few workborn inside the Holguín compound, it surprised her that he hadn’t found anything. She’d anticipated a race, that they’d rib one another over who had found Oskar first.
Both of them coming up dry could only mean one thing. Chairwoman Holguín had done the deal the night before, smuggling Oskar from the compound with no one being the wiser, including the Bullstow representative assigned to his case.
Lila turned toward her desktop. She visited the Pirate’s Cove, a black-market online auction house, and searched their history for mentions of Oskar. It was a stupid, last-ditch effort, but she had no other ideas.
Unsurprisingly, she came up empty. Whoever wanted Oskar must have contacted the Holguíns directly. If she could break into HolNet, she could peek at their servers and copy every message sent and received by every device for the last two weeks, then execute a global search on the data. If that didn’t work, she could read every damn message herself.
Unfortunately, the approach was completely illegal and unethical.
A few years ago, she would have balked at such measures, balked at destroying the privacy of several hundred people. She then recalled Oskar, clutching his blue teddy bear while being led away from Patrick’s car. She recalled him standing on the stage, eyes closed, not caring whether Hans Schulte shot him through the heart. Perhaps wanting it to happen.
Ethics be damned.
Lila stared at the pixels on her screen, thinking of everything she’d need to steal their data. She wouldn’t need physical access to their servers; she’d just need access to the network. They’d never see her if she did it right.
The last time she’d done something like that, the Wilson militia had seen Tristan’s truck. They’d nearly been caught.
Lila choked on her fudge, the chocolate going down the wrong way in her surprise, settling in her windpipe like hands squeezing her neck. She wrapped her napkin around her mouth and coughed, trying to free it, her eyes tearing up as she struggled to breathe.
She had been caught, after all. One of the Wilson militia had put her ruse together, had started the rumor of Lila being involved in their family’s downfall because she had enough sense to believe that Lila Randolph had ripped information from their network.
But even if Bullstow believed her story and chose to investigate it, even if Shaw didn’t stop the investigation outright, the computer techs wouldn’t find anything. She hadn’t taken information. She’d just borrowed their connection for a little investigation of her own, covering her tracks well.
Besides, the Wilson militia no longer had access to their own servers. Most of them didn’t even live in New Bristol any longer. They’d been snatched up quickly by lowborn families and private security firms throughout Saxony.
Lila finally coughed up the fudge and wiped her mouth, gulping half a glass of water to still the burning in her throat.
Her eyes strayed back to her computer. The messages from Reaper’s partner stared back at her. Apathetic. Innocuous.
Perhaps she should call Max to find Oskar. He was better than her at finding things, and she had other matters demanding her attention.
Lila rubbed her eyes and sent Max a message, ignoring the tray of food she’d barely eaten. Hopping out of her chair, she shut down her computer and brushed her hair into a sleek ponytail. She then added more concealer and changed into her formal militia uniform. It was the same as her everyday uniform, only shinier and better tailored. She then pulled on a pair of polished black militia boots and matching white cotton gloves, then added her leather blackcoat and shoved her Colt and her short sword back into their holsters.
Straightening the four silver officer’s stars on her collar, she stared at herself in the mirror. She was ready to go toe to toe with ten chairwomen and primes from the other families.
She was ready to condemn her best friend’s mother and brother to death.
Lila turned away and trundled down the corridor, passing her sister’s door. It should have been Jewel going to the meeting. Unfortunately, her sister had flopped so badly on the High Council that her mother had given up on the idea of Jewel representing the Randolphs. The chairwoman had nearly torn up Lila’s contract in a moment of resolve, forcing her to take over the prime spot. In the end, Lila had agreed to assume the prime’s role at High Council meetings while Jewel spent more time in training.
It had twisted Lila’s stomach to accept. It felt like she’d begun to roll down a hill, gathering moss and snow and weeds that would turn her into something else. But it had been five years, and her mother hadn’t asked more of her.
But she hadn’t asked less, either.
Lila put her ear to Jewel’s door, wondering where she’d gone. Perhaps she’d had a late dinner with Senator Dubois and Gabriel.
Turning away, Lila jogged downstairs and trotted into the kitchen. Chef took off her apron and handed it to Isabel, whose face had gone pale.
It went even paler when a sulking Alex entered seconds later, clad in her best outfit, an old black dress of Lila’s and black tights. Lila had liked the dress because it made her feel anonymous. She’d given it to Alex for the same reason, especially now that her friend wasn’t allowed to wear color anymore. Her life would be an endless collection of black, gray, brown, and white.
Lila spied a golden serpent brooch pinned to Alex’s breast as though her friend still belonged to the Wilsons. It had been the first time she’d been so supportive in a decade.
It must have stung Alex’s pride to wear Lila’s clothes, but it would have stung her even more to show up in her housemaid’s uniform, no matter how fine the clothes might have been. She’d walked among heirs for years, after all, as a prime and an equal, attending the same parties, attending the same schools. All before she’d left her family to go into business for herself, all before her business had fallen apart, all before Lila’s mother had seen an opportunity to strike at a weak family.
All before Lila had finished them off.
“Chief, why don’t I drive Ms. Wilson?” Chef offered, her presence making more sense now. “You were kind enough to indulge me earlier this afternoon. It’s only fair.”
; Lila inclined her head and trudged from the kitchen, leaving a scowling Alex behind. Lila didn’t want to fight, nor did she want to sit in a too-cold or too-quiet car. She didn’t even bother to check for bugs or deactivate the GPS from her roadster this time. Everyone knew where she’d be going.
She parked in her reserved spot in the judges’ parking lot, only a few meters away from the capitol. The domed structure was composed of marble, arrogance, and ambition. The senators and judges who held session in the east wing longed to be in the west, the one devoted to Saxony. Those in the west longed to be called away to Unity.
It seemed that everyone else wanted to move up in the world.
Lila’s boots padded against the marble floor as she entered the building, a muffled sound underneath the chattering of several New Bristol senators. They’d gathered in a hallway, all four taking long looks at her. Perhaps they hoped to speak to her about some piece of legislation waiting for the High Council’s signature, or perhaps they wanted to ask her about the season.
Either way, Lila couldn’t be bothered. She turned to the nearest stairwell and climbed to the next floor, trotting down the empty corridor to dodge them.
She hung a right and jogged downstairs again, ending up by the door to the High Council chamber. Most of New Bristol likely believed the judges met in a far grander room, with stained glass and expensive art and gilded trim, but the High Council hadn’t bothered with such frippery. The small room contained thick drapes and expensive rugs, not bought for beauty but for thickness, all to drown out their voices from curious ears.
The damn rugs didn’t even match.
Lila skirted the long table inside, the only furniture the room contained. Twelve different chairs of varying lavishness sat around it, all matched to each house’s color. Celeste Wilson’s golden chair had been shoved to the back of the room, discarded and waiting to be thrown out.
