by Lyn Forester
A collective sigh of relief fills the room as the media rep nods to someone off stage, then waddles off to the side to make room as a pureblood halion man steps up to the podium. From the clan Troehan, the man’s long, dark green and brown hair wraps around his head in an elaborate crown of braids. His nut-brown skin with hints of mossy swirls contrasts strikingly with the brilliant white of his uniform.
As head of the exclusive halion White Guard, he oversees the rights of pureblood halions the colonies deem acceptable to live abroad, while also protecting the humans and halfbreeds from their superior strength.
His dark brown eyes sweep over the conference room, his broad shoulders squared. He holds himself with confidence, despite the fact his height makes the podium in front of him look like a child’s toy.
When he speaks, it comes out with the low rumble of rocks grating against each other. “The loss of my counterparts over the last week has taken a toll on the Halls of Justice that will not soon heal. But we are not left unprepared.”
His steady gaze stares into the camera. “Even as I speak, Mr. Blue’s second in command is being sworn into his new position as leader of the Blue Guard.”
He pauses to let the statement sink in before he continues, “Over the last decade, he has worked closely with Mr. Blue and is apprised of all of his predecessor’s dealings. Not only that, but he shares similar beliefs and plans to uphold the contracts already set in place. Deep as this loss is, the Peace Keepers will not stumble in our protection of the city.”
Most halions allowed to live outside their colonies are from the lower echelon, lacking what they call talent and unfit for more than remedial labor. But watching this man, there’s no doubt he moves among the halion elite. Power crackles through the holo-screen, his words shaping potential chaos into order.
It sends a frisson of fear through me that I ruthlessly push aside.
“To the citizens on the lower levels, rest easy. Food supplies will continue to be distributed as normal, and we have every confidence that life will resume to normal within a week. The High Councillors along with the Council Elect of each level will not leave the current negotiations until every city level is satisfied.”
His intense gaze sweeps from one side of the screen to the other, as if he can see past the monitors to the people beyond. “We thank you for your trust in the Peace Keepers. We will not let you down.”
With a short bow, he strides from the screen, no doubt on his way back to the Halls of Justice to confer with the new Mr. Blue.
Media representative, Matthew Jones, waddles back to the podium. Sweat glistens on his brow, turning his forehead reflective under the hot lights that aim at the stage. “Thank you for coming today. At this time, we will not be taking any questions. Another conference will be announced once we have had time to investigate the cause behind Mr. Blue’s death.”
Despite the statement, shouted questions flood the conference room, but Matthew Jones waddles away with determination, if not speed. The feed cuts back to the standard news channel, which now runs a recap of the meeting on loop.
The maids rush from the room, chattering quietly to one another, and I motion for Mr. Purnell to come closer. As Tobin assists my grandmother off the couch, I say, “Please put the staff on half-day rotation. Let them go home to be with their families in shifts.”
“I will see that it is done.” He bows low at the waist. “Ms. Lonette is kind.”
“That includes you, Mr. Purnell,” Grandmother adds as she steps up to my side, giving weight to my command. “Make sure to schedule your and your wife’s leave at the same time.”
“Thank you, Matriarch.” This time, his bow of respect nearly folds him in half.
Mrs. Purnell runs the kitchen, and they have a small house at the back of the Lonette property Grandmother gifted to them for their years of service. At some point, they’ll retire. Without children, the Lonette family will see to their care. Very few servants have ever received such recognition. I’ve often wondered what they did to distinguish themselves, but it’s a subject Grandmother does not speak of.
Grandmother’s head turns as she addresses the man who hovers behind her. “Tobin, I find myself desiring solitude.”
“At once, Matriarch.” He steps forward, elbow out, and Grandmother lays her fingertips in the crook of it with more pressure than is strictly appropriate.
Her attention shifts to the sandy-haired young man in the room. “Garrett, will you stay to visit with your grandfather?”
He bows smoothly. “If the matriarch permits.”
She glances at me, her pale hazel eyes sharp. “Granddaughter, you have the house in hand.”
“Yes, Grandmother.” I bow my head, spine straight.
Once the three leave, I find myself alone in the room with Nikola. He steps up behind me, hands light on my shoulders, voice quiet. “I’m sorry we couldn’t make it to the disc-bike shop.”
I wait for the unease that usually comes from his touch, or the disappointment at not getting to hold a disc-bike, but instead, the ice around my emotions leaves me numb. “Perhaps another time.”
My back warms as he moves closer, his breath warm against my bare neck. “I have a recording of Purple Strike’s post-race interview. It didn’t air because of the news interruption. Would you like to come back to my room to watch it?”
So his dossier on me even includes my favorite disc-bike racer? Unsurprising. Nikola probably knows me better than I know myself. But Nikola expects the Caitlyn he knew before he went to school, the emotional Caitlyn I let myself return to with the guys around.
He doesn’t know the me who learned to become a doll two years ago, to only allow myself an emotional outlet at the disc-bike races.
He’ll learn, though.
I step out of his grasp. “Please have tea sent to my room. I will be in my office.”
As I stride from the room, my mind whirls. I have research of my own to do.
A HOUSE AT ODDS
When I reach my room, I find it once more put back to rights. I make a mental note to inform Mr. Purnell of my appreciation of the maids’ ability to be invisible. Not once have I spotted anyone, besides Nikola, on our floor.
With research in mind, I stride into my office. My palm-port, which I abandoned this morning in the folds of my comforter, now sits in the center of my white lacquered desk. I lift the slender device and unlock the screen to reveal Felix’s message still open. My eyes skim over the words.
Cait, your messages are distracting. Please stop. I will see you when we return to school.
I wait for the knife of pain at the rejection, but it doesn’t come. Instead, a different concern wiggles at the back of my mind.
Slowly, I slide into the seat at my desk and flip open the front panel to log in my passcode. The top of the desk lights up, and I swipe along the outer edge to move the screen to the holo-screen that hangs on the wall in front of me.
Pressing my fingertips together, I stare at it in consideration before I carefully insert my palm-port into a narrow slot in the control panel. It tilts downward, the slot not designed for the new prototype we received at APA, and I hold my breath while I wait to see if the computer will function with the newer technology.
The holo-screen flickers to black, then brightens once more. On the right half of the screen, a large image of my palm-port displays. I reach across the desk to tap against the lower left corner of the screen. A list of applications pops up, and I skim through the dates to see if any revealed a modification date since I received the device less than a cycle ago.
Everything dates back to two cycles before I received the device when the manufacturer company installed them. The only new dates come from my student calendar, the call log, and the messages app.
The muscles in my shoulders tense.
On the flight down from Level 13, I installed the GoGo Now! Frown Away game to entertain myself, but I deleted it before we landed. Representatives of House Lonette can’t be seen pa
rticipating in common games, no matter how satisfying it is to blast red frowny faces.
Despite uninstalling the app, it should still show a record of the change on my device. My hands twitch with the need to form fists. Someone messed with my palm-port. I’ve left it unattended any number of times since arriving at the manor, and all of the house staff are spies for either my father or grandmother.
But Father has Nikola to spy on me, so he wouldn’t need to go to any lengths to monitor me himself. No matter how Nikola tries to show his loyalty to me, he is his mother’s son, so his loyalty will always be with her and my father.
My grandmother, however, is aging and has lost the ear of my father, and through him, a voice in the Head Council. Garrett’s convenient arrival at Cafe Brinu this morning takes on new light. Of course, Grandmother would want to monitor my whereabouts and who I interact with. She designed me at the embryonic stage. It gives her a certain assumed ownership of me. I’m like her precious designer beverages, something to be molded to her exact specifications.
On the holo-screen, my palm-port flashes with an incoming call, and Myrrine’s image appears in all her pink haired beauty.
For a brief moment, I consider letting it drop to message. This recent discovery sours my mood, and her bright enthusiasm might be more than I can handle. But whatever else Myrrine might be, she’s no spy. Our different races and station in our cities make her untouchable by my family.
I tap the screen to accept the call, and Myrrine’s still image takes on vibrant life as she grins at me. “Caitlyn! It is good to see you! How are you doing?”
Her happiness bleeds through the speakers, and my shoulders relax. “I’m surviving. How are you?”
Her plump lips purse at my response. “You are unhappy.”
“I’m tired,” I answer with honesty. Living in Lonette Manor sucks the life from me. There’s no place to relax and be myself under the expectations of my family.
Myrrine’s crystalline gaze studies me. “This is not a fatigue of the body.”
I sit straighter in my chair and smile. “Did you call for a reason?”
“Caitlyn.” Her soft, musical voice holds a hint of reproach. “Do not do that for me. Do not force happiness where there is none.”
“I’m sorry, Myrrine, it’s just…” My eyes sting, and I shove the emotions away. I can’t let myself break down. If I start crying now, I may never stop. “It’s not pleasant here.”
“Where is your malnupti?” Her pink eyebrows swoop together, her eyes narrowing. “Why are they not caring for you?”
“They’re not my malnupti.” The words come out flat, and as Myrrine’s eyes widen, I hurry to add, “They haven’t been returning my messages and calls.”
She leans forward until her entire face fills the screen. “That does not sound like them at all.”
“I agree.” I press my fingers against my thighs. “So either our time at the school was a fabrication, or...”
She glances over her shoulder, then looks back at me and whispers, “Something is preventing them from communicating with you.”
I nod in agreement. “Do you think you could reach out to them? To see if they’re okay?”
“I will do my best for you, Caitlyn.” She grabs one of her pink braids and brushes the poof at the end over her cheek. “Communication outside of the colony is sometimes difficult.
“You are my liaison at school and a female.” Her plump, purple lips thin into a grimace. “My family wishes for me to interview potential mates, and for that, I must not be distracted by other men.”
“Seriously?” I straighten in surprise. “How’s that work?”
“Right now, I have been given dossiers.” She huffs quietly. “Eventually, I will have to meet them in person to test if we are compatible.”
“What does that mean?” She’s mentioned the whole compatible thing before, and seemed pleased that she was not compatible with her bodyguard, Bastian.
Her shoulders roll in a shrug. “It is a halion thing. When we meet others of our kind, we just know if they are capable of creating offspring.”
Intrigued, I lean my elbows on the table. “So, it can happen with anyone?”
“In theory, but the breeders gave me a list of acceptable options. Men with talents that align with my family lineage.” While most of Myrrine’s family are some form of mind specialist, Myrrine claimed early on in our meeting that she lacked the skill, which is why they allowed her to attend APA. Tension pinches the corners of her eyes. “I would not be allowed to mate with men who would not benefit our race.”
“Why not just use an incubation facility?” While many people still carry their young, most of the upper class choose not to. I’m surprised halions don’t do the same.
“They have tried, but the offspring are...unacceptable.” She shakes her head, her shoulders slumped. “Would you like to see my top candidates?”
I smile at her lack of enthusiasm. “Sure.”
She touches the side of her screen, and the image of a Riellio man appears. Unlike Bastian, he has a slender frame, with long, white hair twisted into a braid. His opalescent skin holds more pink than usual, and his full bottom lip, the shade of dusky roses, gives him a soft appearance. He wears a flowing robe, almost the same shade as his skin. The overall effect is quite feminine.
“This one is Camille. His family specializes in healing of the mind, and he is ranked top of his classes.” She moves her finger beneath his image, and it slowly spins for a full, three-sixty view. “They have offered to have his body modified to be more appealing.”
I stiffen. “What do you mean modified?”
“They would give him breasts.” Her gaze cuts to mine. “I would not make such a demand, Caitlyn.”
I relax once more. “I’m glad.”
Worry fills her eyes. “He is top of my list because if they are willing to go to that extreme for me they will offer the same to others if I reject him. It is cruel.”
“Maybe he wants it?” I can’t help the suggestion.
“Then, I would not stop him. But it would be his choice and not his family’s.” She nibbles at her lower lip. “But if we are not compatible, I will have no say.”
“When do you have to decide?”
“I must indicate my interest before I return to school. Once that is done, a meeting will be arranged for the Winter-Cycle.” She taps the screen, and a new image appears. “This is Rolen, his family specializes in communications.”
All in all, she shows me ten possible candidates, and with each one, she becomes more dejected. I recall the one time we fell asleep together, and her sexual advance in the morning. Does Myrrine even like men? Is that why some of the families offer to feminize their sons? To make them more appealing?
My stomach rolls at the idea. Humans don’t struggle to reproduce the way halions do, and so have fewer restrictions. When she asks about me, I almost feel bad telling her about my candidates for a secretary.
“I only have three options to choose from right now.” I tap my own screen to pull up the images of Nikola, Garrett, and Erinhale. “I have until I’m twenty to commit, but my father is pushing for Nikola, while my grandmother is backing Garrett.”
She nods wisely. “A house at odds with itself.”
“Usually, I’d be given time to conduct extensive interviews, but I don’t know how I’m supposed to do that while at APA.”
“You will have only one?”
“Yeah, that’s how it’s done.” I stare at the three images. “It’s a lifelong contract, so whoever I choose, it’s permanent.”
I haven’t told Myrrine of my plan to disappear as soon as I turn twenty. While I trust her, the fewer people who know the better. Even with our shared history, I don’t know why Declan felt he could reveal his own plans to me. If I felt vengeful toward him right now for ignoring me, it would be a simple thing to call his house and reveal his secrets. They would send him to a mind specialist to work through his rebellion.
The very idea makes me nauseous, and I hate myself for having such thoughts. That level of pettiness shouldn’t even occur to me, but it’s the entire reason I hold my own secrets so close.
If, for some reason, I can’t escape my family, how am I supposed to trust any of their candidates for secretary? How can I know they will keep my secrets when they owe my family gratitude for their place in this house?
I reach out to clear the images. “I’m tempted to reject all of them.”
Myrrine stills, her crystalline eyes moving past me, and I stiffen, sensing a presence at my back. I hadn’t heard the door open. How long did Nikola listen for?
Through the screen, Myrrine’s gaze meets mine. “Shall we set a time to review our lessons together? I do not wish to fall behind during this unplanned break.”
“You don’t know how to relax, do you?” My laugh comes out hollow as Nikola moves into my periphery and slides a cup of tea onto my desk.
She pouts at me. “It is good to be constantly learning.”
“If you say so. Let me check my schedule.” I glance to my right at Nikola, who stands just out of screenshot. When he doesn’t immediately pull out his palm-port, I raise my eyebrow in question.
He gives himself a little shake before checking my schedule.
After some back and forth with Myrrine’s schedule, we find a time that aligns and sign off.
I settle back in the chair and lift the cup of tea to my lips. Its heat stings my tongue and floods my mouth with minty freshness. Exactly what I needed after the chaos of this morning.
Nikola remains silent and stiff.
With a quiet click, I set the cup down. “Do you wish to comment?”
His voice comes out with a tinge of hurt. “You are free to do as you please, Caitlyn.”
I wait for the guilt to set in, but the emotion stays locked away. “I’m glad we’re in agreement on that.”
