by Devon Monk
“Wait,” I said, rubbing at my forehead and trying to track her words, which seemed to tumble together too quickly. “What do I need to do?”
“Read this.” She pointed at the thin screen. “You are galvanized. Important, valued. You will stand in the great arena as the pride of House Gray. Your name and face will be projected across all the breathing world. And since you are the unexpected discovery, there has already been speculation. People are curious. People are placing odds. . . .”
“There are wagers being made? On what?”
“If you’ll be pretty, strong, ancient, young. If you’ll be advanced or a throwback like the First. And, most of all, who made you and why have you been a secret for so long. What is your purpose? Why have you emerged now, of all times? Isn’t that exciting?” She clapped her hands once and laced her fingers together.
“No. It’s not,” I said. “Will all the heads of Houses be there?”
“Yes, of course. Here is your schedule, some history of previous gatherings, a list of things you will be expected to do, a list of mistakes that will cause our House grief and therefore you will be expected not to do, etiquette guidelines, current House loyalties, current House standings, current House projects under negotiation. Tell me you know how to operate chopsticks and walk in high heels.”
“At the same time?”
“If necessary.”
“I’ve never used chopsticks, and I’ve never worn heels.”
She made tiny shakes of her head, then pressed the screen into my hand. “I’ll have your gowns brought by. Eat. There are chopsticks on the tray. Use them. Read as much of this as you can. We will go through walking lessons in an hour. I will test you on your knowledge. You will do brilliantly, I am sure. But you must begin now. We have no time. No time at all.”
She clapped again, then turned and stomped her way out of the room, pausing at the door to give me a conciliatory look. “You will have to put the gun away, however. There are no weapons allowed in the gathering.”
Then she shut the door.
I stood there feeling like I’d just been buffeted by a tiny, demanding whirlwind.
Her visit had done me some good, actually. It had shaken me out of my wallow enough to clear my head.
Time to make a plan. I ate while I thought things through, doing my best with the food sticks. Turned out I wasn’t half bad with them, and by the end of the meal—vegetables and meat over rice and noodles—I had gotten more food in my mouth than on my lap. Good enough.
I wanted to get a message out to House Brown to look out for Grandma, but doing so might bring her harm. There had to be a way to save Grandma, get Quinten away from House Orange, and deal with the gathering.
I just didn’t know how.
Yet.
I pulled out the screen and information Elwa wanted me to learn. I read through schedule and history of past gatherings, looking for when I might have a chance to be unobserved. Because any plan I came up with would need to be handled House Brown’s way: off grid and out of sight.
A curt knock on the door pulled me up out of the information.
Elwa didn’t wait for an invitation; she waltzed right in, a man dressed all in gray following her with an armful of clothing.
“Take it to the bedroom, please,” she said to him. “How was your meal?”
“I practiced with the chopsticks.”
“Good, good. Now let’s get you in your gown and heels so you can practice your walk.”
“Does it matter how I walk?”
“Yes. Every galvanized has been tutored in proper presentation. It is ceremony, Matilda. Pomp and performance. Theater. It won’t take long, but it must be given proper attention. You’ll be fine. Go. Change into whichever dress you wish. I’ll wait here.”
She made shooing motions with her hands, and I walked to the bedroom while the man who had accompanied her walked out.
“All my life going to hell, and I have to walk the right way and look pretty,” I muttered through clenched teeth.
I shucked out of my slacks and T-shirt, then looked at the three dresses laid out on the bed. Strapless or nearly so, cut to show neck, arms, and a good portion of leg. Any one of these would make me feel like I was parading around naked.
“Are you dressed?” Elwa asked. It had been exactly one minute since I’d shut the bedroom door.
“No.” I shrugged into the thick, soft gray bathrobe hanging on the hook by the bed and had just gotten it closed around me when she burst through the door.
“What is the trouble?” She looked at me, then at the dresses, then back at me.
“I’m wondering which order to put them on,” I said.
“Any order. I’d like to see you in all of them.”
“But which one goes on the bottom?”
She did that short head shake again. “I don’t understand.”
“All together, they’re enough material to make a dress. Which layer goes on first?”
“Oh no. No, darling. One dress. One layer.” She reached over and pulled the second dress off the bed, unzipped the side of it, and held it open for me.
It wafted there as if made of spiderwebs.
“You have got to be joking.”
“What is the problem?”
“My arms will be bare. My legs, my neck.”
“Yes, of course. You are galvanized. Every stitch is your strength, your pride. In this gathering, you must be seen, your stitches revealed. Next gathering will be different. But for this, you stand with head high. Unafraid of what you are. Strong for your House. Here. Try this.”
She lifted the dress toward my head and I shrugged out of the bathrobe and into the soft gray material.
I’d expected it to be a disaster, but the dress floated down around my body, not too tight and with a lot more modesty than I’d expected. Both my arms were bare, ribbon straps covering just the crest of my shoulders, and while the back plunged enough that I could feel a breeze, the skirt fell to my feet, allowing the cleverly placed slits to give a glimpse of my leg up to my thigh when I walked.
“Yes,” she said, zipping up the side and steering me by the shoulders over to the full-length mirror. “I think this will do. So pretty.”
It had been years since I’d stood in front of a full mirror. It had been never since I’d worn a dress. So the woman who stared in mild shock back at me from that mirror was a little unfamiliar.
The dress fit perfectly, and the soft gray of it, along with a barrage of cleverly placed jewels, brought out the silver lines of my stitching that crossed beneath my collarbone, curved above my breast, and looped around my arms and wrists and hands.
Elwa pulled back my hair so the stitches down my cheek and neck were revealed. “Beautiful and strong,” she said.
I never much cared how much stitch I was showing out on the farm. After all, it had just been Grandma, Quinten, Neds, and me. But I had always been meticulous to hide my life stitches from anyone else.
Standing there in that dress didn’t make me feel vulnerable or exposed. I felt strong. Like I was getting all gussied up to go hunting for a different sort of feral beast.
“I can do this,” I said. “I can wear this one.”
“Good, good. Now we try on the shoes.”
That turned out to be more of a problem. I was not made to be balancing on stilts, and nothing Elwa did could convince me otherwise.
“I’ll just wear my boots,” I said for the hundredth time.
Elwa frowned. “No.”
“Then I will go barefoot. Listen, I’m letting you put me in frills, I’m letting you pull my hair up and stick pins and nonsense in it, but the high heels are never gonna happen.”
“Boots,” she muttered. “Show me.”
I pulled my boots out from under the edge of the bed, and she took them out of my hand
like she was holding a dead rat. “I will see what can be done.”
“Wait—you can’t take them.”
“We have only a few hours before we leave. And if it must be boots,” she shrugged, “then it will be boots. But better than these.”
She clipped out of the room, and I changed back into my jeans and T-shirt. All this nonsense had shaken loose a small plan. A way to get Quinten out of the city as quickly as possible. A place for him to stay.
I didn’t dare write anything down or scan for information. If Reeves Silver had cameras hidden away in House Orange’s most private rooms, I could only assume he had done the same to House Gray.
Any plan I was going to try would have to be constructed solely in my head.
So I got busy constructing.
A couple hours later, there was a knock at the door.
“Matilda,” Oscar Gray said. “May I have a word with you?”
I hadn’t expected him to visit. I answered the door.
“So good to see you,” he said. “I hope your training wasn’t too strenuous?”
“Training?”
“With the other galvanized.” He had a sparkle in his eyes. He must have known that there wasn’t really any training, and that it was actually just a chance for the galvanized to get together and relax.
“It was fine,” I said. “Educational.”
“Good, good. Can you tell me when you last saw Abraham?”
“Early this afternoon.”
“And what did he say when you were with him?”
“That he had been summoned by Slater Orange. He said you’d know that.”
“I do. Did he say anything else about that meeting?”
“Nothing I remember.”
“And how long did it take you to navigate your way here?”
“I got lost.” I couldn’t mention Reeves Silver. I couldn’t mention the deal and Quinten. I couldn’t mention Grandma or Neds or anything.
But I didn’t have to be completely silent. “Do you have any news on my brother?” I asked, even though it made my stomach cinch into knots.
“Nothing yet,” he said. “I’m sure we’ll know something soon. You’ll need to pack your things. We’ll be leaving in a few minutes.”
“To the gathering?”
“Yes.”
“Where is it being held?”
“Hong Kong,” he said with a smile. “Vibrant city. I think you’ll enjoy it.”
“What about Abraham?”
“I’ll worry about Abraham. You just follow Elwa’s instructions and everything will fall together. The woman’s maddening, but she does run a tight ship. House Gray wouldn’t be the same without her.”
I nodded, my thoughts running too fast. “Do you think Abraham is safe? With Slater Orange?” I couldn’t tell him what Vice had shown me, but I couldn’t just stand here if Abraham might be in danger too. Unless he and Oscar had double-crossed me too.
No. There was no use seeing evil in every shadow. I had to trust someone. Oscar had earned my trust.
“Why would you ask that?” Oscar said.
Abraham had said Oscar was a good man, a moral man. I hoped to hell he was right.
“Robert Twelfth was acting very strangely at the training. There was an . . . altercation.”
“Altercation?”
“He came into my bedroom, waving a gun. He said he thought I was in danger, but . . .” I bit my lip. Shook my head.
“What else, Matilda? Why are you crying?”
I pushed the tear away with the back of my hand and whispered, “I think House Orange might know what happened to my brother.”
“Oscar, darling,” Elwa chirped as she ducked by him and into the room. “Don’t worry an inch. I’ll have Matilda ready to go in just a shake. Your face is splotchy, darling,” she said to me. “No need to get worked up about a little trip overseas.”
“I’m sure that’s it,” I said. “All the excitement.” I sniffed and wiped at my face again, making sure there were no more tears to betray me. “Don’t mind me.”
Elwa had already powered her way across the room and was muttering to herself in the bedroom as she unlatched suitcases and began piling in clothing.
“Well, then,” Oscar said, everything about him seeming calm and upbeat, but sharpened somehow. “I’ll leave you in Elwa’s capable hands.” He reached over and took my hand for just a second, and nodded.
He had heard me. I knew he was going to make sure Abraham was okay. Maybe even find out that Quinten was trapped at House Orange.
It wasn’t much, but it might be enough to tip the scales in our favor.
“I will see you at the gathering, Matilda Case.” He squeezed my hand gently, then walked away.
“What happens if Abraham doesn’t arrive at the gathering in time?” I asked Elwa.
“It would be scandal. Scandal.” She chuckled. “But we would recover. If we made a showing with no galvanized presence, that would be a much harder hit to our House reputation. I am certain Abraham will be there. And even if he is not, you will be. So. Worry not, darling. You may even find the event filled with excitement and delight.”
Delight was pretty much the opposite of what I was feeling, but I put on a smile for the cameras, hefted one of the bags, and then followed Elwa to the car.
30
HOUSE ORANGE
Robert Twelfth woke in a body filled with searing pain. Every breath stabbed and caught, every movement crippled. It was such a strange experience, after all the years of being galvanized, that he had thought it was a dream.
But now he knew it was no dream. He was dying. No longer in his own body. Trapped in the failing body of Slater Orange. Barely strong enough to speak.
Robert was strong enough to know that as long as he was in this body, he was the head of House Orange. And his commands would be obeyed.
So he had commanded Abraham Seventh to be brought before him.
And now, finally, his old friend had arrived, walking into the room where he sat in the austere but expensive bed, breathing his last breaths.
“You summoned me, Slater Orange?” Abraham asked, crossing the room with the confidence that had led men into battle and eventually into peace.
“Bram,” Robert said. “It’s good to see you, my friend.”
Abraham paused midstep. He tipped his head down and gave him a long, considering gaze.
“I do not think we have ever been friends, Your Excellency,” he said evenly.
“Not Slater,” Robert wheezed. “I am not Slater.”
Abraham walked closer and stood beside the bed.
“He’s dying, Bram. This body. I’m dying. He traded, he took . . .” Robert inhaled too quickly, desperate to get all the words out, to let Abraham know what kind of danger he was in.
Every muscle in his body cramped and he coughed weakly, unable to get enough air into his lungs to do anything more.
Abraham waited, his expression unreadable.
The coughing eased, leaving Robert light-headed and exhausted. “Water, please,” he whispered.
Abraham poured water from a crystal decanter by the bedside, and then offered the glass to Robert. He had thoughtfully filled the glass only half-full, so it wouldn’t be too heavy for him to lift, and Robert took a sip, amazed at the smooth, cool edge of the glass against his fevered lips. He closed his eyes to savor the cold wash of water down his throat, as it spread across the inside of his chest like a soothing wing of shade.
“Would you like me to call your medical care?” Abraham asked.
Robert rolled his eyes. He didn’t believe him.
“You aren’t alone,” Robert said. “You’ll survive this because you have family.”
“What?”
“That’s what you said to me. When we met. After the scien
tists had brought me back to life. You came to see me in my private room. No recording devices. Full privacy.”
“And what did you do when I said that?” Abraham asked.
“I wept. And you promised never to tell anyone that I did. You never have.”
“One secret between two men doesn’t prove anything,” he said, narrowing his eyes.
“I covered for you when you went out to get Matilda on that farm,” Robert began slowly. “I warned you about that assassination plot back during the Uprising, which you ignored.”
He paused for breathing again, and tried to work moisture into his mouth. “You warned me not to date that House Green woman, Blythe, which I ignored. I told January not to date you, which she ignored, and one time you told me”—he paused again—“when you were very drunk, that you regretted signing the treaty with the Houses to end the Uprising, because while it stopped the innocent bloodshed and saved House Brown, it sentenced every galvanized—your family—to a life of slavery.”
“Rob,” Abraham breathed. He believed him, and for that Robert was grateful.
“We need to get you out of here,” Abraham said. “Now.”
“This body won’t last much longer.”
“Like hell,” Abraham pulled the coverlet away. His eyes widened at the sight of his wasted, broken, and rotting body.
“We can do something,” Abraham said. “We can save you.”
“No, Bram,” Robert said softly, “we can’t. Whatever disease it is, it’s advanced. Beyond repair.”
Abraham closed his eyes. After a moment, he nodded. He drew the covers up around Robert and sat beside him on the bed. “How did he do this? How did he take your body and brain for his own?”
“A man was there. Unfamiliar equipment. The man was a prisoner.”
“Do you know who the man was?”
“Quinten Case. Matilda’s brother.”
“Do you know where he is? He might know how to reverse this. He might know how to return you to your own body.”
