by Lyn Forester
“Yes, we would.” She waves away the comment with one blue-veined hand. “The High Houses are stagnant, and as long as we keep following the path our ancestors set for us, Lonette House will always be First House, not because we deserve it, but by the simple blessing that our ancestor captained the ship that stranded our people here.”
Our legendary ancestor, hailed as a hero by every human for the simple fact that he survived the crash. The holo-image of him leading our people out of the toxic forest, a halion child in his arms, features first place in every history book. Strong, with a determined expression, he represents every leader’s ideal and is the image Lonette has bred their children in for generations, finally perfecting it in my father.
Completely my opposite in every way. Steeling my spine, I force out the question that’s plagued me since I hit puberty and realized I wouldn’t match the rest of my ancestors.
“You made me small.” The words come out as a quiet accusation. “You designed me to be weak. Why?”
She turns from the plants to study me with equal consideration, a specimen to be evaluated for quality. At last, she states, “I designed you to be different. That does not make you weak.”
My hands shake with the need to form fists, and I tuck them close my legs. “How am I supposed to be taken seriously when everyone looks right past me?”
“You force them to pay attention.” Her voice holds a note of reprimand, as if this should already be obvious.
But nothing about the way Father raised me taught me to draw focus. “Then why wasn’t I sent to school with everyone else? Why keep me sequestered?”
She huffs quietly. “You were hardly locked up. Or are the holo-vids of Sparks the racer all a fabrication?”
Surprise shoots through me that she knows of my past transgressions as a lower level disc-bike racer. “I needed something that wasn’t...” I glance around at the solarium, and then to the archway beyond. “I needed more than these walls.”
She tilts her head. “And if you’d been sent to school with the others, to learn the same as everyone else, do you think you would have done the same?”
“I—” My brow furrows in confusion. Racing was a way to escape. Would I have needed it so much if I’d been sent to boarding school like the other children of the elite? “I don’t know.”
“There’s a chance you would have.” She folds her hands behind her back. “There’s a higher chance you would have learned to be an insipid twit like the other girls, then grown to be a viper.”
“So you kept me from school to let me learn my own path?”
“It was an argument between your father and me. The most heated we’ve ever had.” She smiles, a thin curl of lips that hold the hint of poison. “But as the Patriarch before me laid out your father’s path, so I laid out yours.”
“But why this?” I motion to myself from head to foot, then tug on my vibrant red hair, the one trait unquestionably Lonette. “Why make me feel so out of place in my own house?”
“You were an inquisitive child. You grew into a reserved young woman. I feared, for a time, that my gamble failed. That, despite my efforts, your father snuffed the spirit from you.” She motions for us to continue our walk. “There is a flower that grows in the Rothven colony they call Mortium. It grows over the course of twenty years and blooms only once before it dies. It is lovely, even in its dormant state.”
She stops in front of a small planter, dwarfed by the larger baskets on either side. Instead of dirt, small rocks fill the clay pot and surround the delicate, purple plant that grows inside. Its pointed, lacy leaves hang over the sides, draping like the finest halion cloth. A single stem rises from the center with a tightly furled bud at the tip the size of my fingernail.
“This is a Mortium?” I glance up and wait for her nod. “Why do you have it hidden here?”
“It grows best in shade.” Grandmother caresses one of the thick, waxy leaves of the plant beside it. “It is a mountain plant that grows in caves.”
Her hand moves to the small pot, skimming the edge without touching the plant. “There are two types of Mortium. The white flower has a healing ability beyond what can be explained by science. The orange flower is a deadly poison if handled without care. There’s no way to know which type is growing until the flower blooms.”
She touches the air next to the bud. “A remarkable plant, so small, but with the ability to change our world. Unfortunately, it can’t be forced to grow. Not even by the famous Troehan botanists.” She turns to me. “Do you understand?”
Eyes on the plant, I shake my head. “No.”
She sighs heavily. “You are not usually this obtuse.”
I dig my nails into my thighs. “You don’t usually speak in heavy metaphor.”
“If I designed you to look exactly like every member of our family that came before us, it stands to reason you would have easily fallen into the same path as the rest of us.” She touches the waxy leaves of the more common plants once more. “You would be strong, confident, and the same as everyone else. Your path would be simple, but ultimately unremarkable.” She stares out over her solarium. “Just as my time will be and your father’s. We maintain the status quo.” Her gaze cuts to me. “But wouldn’t you like to be more than that?”
This entire conversation makes me question my grandmother’s mental health. “So you designed me to be small and gave me home tutors so that I could be different?”
She prods at the pebbles that surround the Mortium. “I gave you something to struggle against in the hope you would break the mold and become better than us.”
My eyes close for a long moment. “Wasn’t there an easier way to teach me?”
“Having it easy makes people boring.” She turns and strides back toward the central patio. “Perhaps you think me cruel, and perhaps I risked too much in my hopes of a different future. We shall see when the time comes for you to bloom. Will you be the death of this house, or our savior?”
WHO NEEDS CAKE?
“It’s always so wonderful to visit the solarium,” Garrett comments as we walk back into the main part of the house. “Nowhere else on Leton has such whimsy.”
“Whimsy?” His words jar me from the turmoil instilled by Grandmother’s words. “I’ve never found it particularly whimsical.”
He glances down at me. “Have you visited the growing fields on the rims?”
“Once, but it was a long time ago.”
Father drove me out to the rim on Level 10 once to view a field of interest to him. I don’t recall much beyond uniform lines of growing beds, stacked one on top of the other, with small lifts that ran up the metal scaffolds for the employees to tend to the harvest. It was loud and bright from the growing lights. I hovered behind Father the entire time, too intimidated to wander from his side.
“They’re very structured for the most proficient output.” He turns to walk sideways, his hands gesturing with excitement. “Which they need to be in order to produce enough food to feed Leton as well as trade with the other cities and the halion colonies. Our efforts, combined with the Troehan clan’s knack for sustaining plant growth, is truly a marvel.” He shifts to walk backward, gaze on the archway behind me. “But your grandmother’s garden isn’t intended to feed thousands of people, so she lets things happen organically, just to see what happens. It gives the place an air of...”
“Invitation.” I smile. “Restfulness. An urge to let worries ease away and to relax.”
“Exactly.” When he nods, his sandy hair falls across his forehead, and he pushes it back carelessly. “Growing up here must have been wonderful.”
My smile fades away. Grandmother hadn’t let me into the solarium often as a child, too afraid I would damage her precious plants. When she lifted the ban after I turned fifteen, the habit of avoiding the room had already curbed my curiosity.
Garrett’s brown eyes soften. “Or perhaps not. My apologies.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry for.” I wave away his
concern. “I grew up in a house of privilege.”
“My mother talks, sometimes, about what it was like to be raised here.”
Surprise shoots through me, but I keep it from showing on my face. I should have remembered that Garrett’s mother would have lived in Leton House, raised alongside my father much the same way Nikola and I were raised together, in the hope of a match. It must have been horrible for her when she was forced out after Father chose Nadine instead.
Garrett nudges his elbow against my arm. “Don’t look so guilty. I love our house. So does my mother. The matriarch was generous in relocating my family.” He gazes around at the color shifting corridor, holograms that transition from grass to slate, and walls that fade from sunny yellow back to demur white. “And there is something to be said about a house that doesn’t shift at a whim.” His eyes twinkle with amusement when they meet mine. “Do you ever find yourself lost because you don’t recognize the hall you’re in?”
A laugh escapes. “I used to. Now, I don’t pay much attention to the display, just the shape of the structure. That never changes.”
His chuckle joins me, warm and deep with appreciation, and I find myself relaxing next to him. He’s easy to be around with none of the heavy expectation that surrounds Nikola. He jokes and seems to say what’s on his mind without considering his words from every angle first.
As we exit into the foyer, the intimate closeness of the hall gives way to burnt orange pillars and a soaring ceiling. In an instant, we become small in the vastness of Lonette Manor.
Mr. Purnell waits at the tall, double doors, his spine ramrod straight with his hands clasped behind his back. He stares straight ahead to give us the illusion of privacy.
Garrett slows to a stop next to the curved staircase. “Caitlyn, before you make a decision, I’d like a chance to get to know you better. I feel that we have the potential for friendship, if given the time.”
Hesitant, I study him. The same thought occurred to me, but do I really need another friend, another person who I speak half-truths to, too afraid to fully commit who I really am? But Garrett has less to lose than Nikola. If I refuse his contract in the end, it leaves him in the same place he is now. Does that make him safer? Or does that give him the potential for more deviousness? Can he really be satisfied with where his family ended up, with Lonette House back within reach?
I struggle to push those thoughts aside and listen to what my gut says, but the thoughts continue to circle and cloud my judgment.
As if sensing my indecision, he reaches out to touch my arm lightly. “Let me act as your secretary for Mr. Blue’s reception tomorrow night.”
My circling thoughts come to a sudden stop. “What?”
His brows furrow. “Didn’t you receive the message? It came in an hour ago.”
I reach for my pocket and find it empty. My hand drops back to my side. “No, my palm-port is being serviced.”
“Ah.” He withdraws his own device from inside his vest and flicks it on. “Tomorrow night, at 2000 in the Level 12 Concilitorium, the Halls of Justice will be hosting a reception to welcome the new Mr. Blue to office. All city officials are invited.”
My heart begins to pound with excitement. That means Declan, Felix, and Connor will be there, too. A fine tremor runs through my body. I need to see them, all of them.
“May I have the honor of acting as your secretary, Caitlyn?” Garrett asks as he tucks his palm-port away.
“Yes, that’s fine.” Shaky, I spring into motion, steering Garrett to the door. “It was lovely to see you today. I will be in contact.”
Grinning, he bows quickly as the double doors swing open to allow him to leave. “Until tomorrow, then.”
“Yes, tomorrow.” I barely wait for the doors to close before I rush for my room.
Nikola waits for me in the small sitting area of my bedroom. He sits on one of the small sofas, dressed casually in a cream-colored knit sweater almost the same tone as his skin. The wide boatneck frames the sharp jut of his collarbones, and the sleeves pushed up to his elbows reveal strong forearms. I’ve never seen him so casual, and it disarms me as the door swishes closed at my back.
He stands as I enter, straightening the line of his khakis. His disheveled black hair touches the tips of his ears and strain shows at the corners of his lips.
“Caitlyn.” He nods with none of the formality he usually displays. Striding around the small coffee table, he pulls my palm-port from his pocket and holds it out. “I repaired the problem with your device. It should function properly from now on.”
“Thank you.” When I take the slender device back, it feels fragile in my hands, the transparent case making it almost invisible until I switch it on. I pull up the message app.
Caitlyn: Rush.
I keep my eyes fixed on Nikola as I wait for a response. The palm-port lights up in my hands.
Connor: Sparks, glad you’re back.
Relief sweeps through me, and a silly smile spreads across my face.
Caitlyn: You miss me?
In response, his face appears on my screen with an incoming call.
I glance at Nikola. “I’d like a moment.”
“I’ll be next door when you need me.” He strides to the front door instead of the one in my bedroom and exits.
As soon as the door swishes closed once more, I press the accept button. Connor’s face takes on motion as he grins at me. “Sparks, good to see you.”
“Shut up, bro, you just saw her.” Felix shoves his twin out of the way, his green eyes serious for once. “You okay, Sprinkles? I wanted to rescue you myself, but bro said I’d give myself away.”
“Yeah, I’m good.” I settle on the warm couch, curling my legs up to rest the palm-port on my knees. “How have you guys been? I haven’t seen you at any meetings so far.”
“We’ve been at so many of them, Sprinkles.” Felix’s eyes widen with distress. “Why do they care so much about health management?”
“Because the alternative is letting people die, idiot.” Connor’s face appears next to his brother’s. “What meetings have you been at?”
“Mostly food resources.”
Felix brightens. “Did they give you samples?”
I smile at his enthusiasm. “Yeah, most of them were catered.”
“Any dessert?” He smacks his lips. “Tell me there was cake.”
I laugh. “Fruits and vegetables only.”
“No, Sprinkles.” His face becomes serious. “Tell me there was cake.”
“Fine, there was cake. A whole mountain of it.”
“What flavor?”
“Strawberries and cream.”
Felix moans. “Tell me more.”
Connor laughs. “Stop it, you two.”
“Bro’s no fun,” Felix whispers.
“I don’t think he shares your excitement about cake,” I whisper back.
Felix nods solemnly. “Bro’s broken in the head.”
“You’re broken in the head.” Connor studies me. “You’re really okay?”
“I’m ready to go back to APA.” I wince at the admission. “I never thought I’d say that.”
“Being home is definitely more stifling,” Connor agrees.
“It’s torture.” Felix’s lips form a pout. “Carla isn’t even here to make it fun.”
My eyebrows rise. “Did your cook change while you were gone?”
“She’s on vacation.” Felix looks at his brother, his strong face in profile. “Who sends their cook on vacation?”
Connor sighs. “Our parents were visiting the Rothven resort when everything happened. They let most of the staff go home to their families while they are gone. They went straight from there to the negotiations. There’s no need to call everyone back when it’s just us.”
“But the prep chef can’t bake anything.” Felix covers his mouth. “So many protein cubes. It’s not healthy.”
“It’s nothing but healthy,” Connor points out.
Their bickering f
ills my chest with warmth. This is still the same. Nothing’s actually changed, despite our separation.
Felix turns back to face the camera. “I miss you, Sprinkles. You’re so sweet. I don’t need cake when I have you.”
Heat floods my cheeks. “I already gave you my lotion.”
“I tried wearing it, but it’s not the same.” He lifts his hand, sniffs the back of it, then holds it out to Connor. “Bro, tell her it’s not the same.”
He pushes his brother’s hand away. “It’s not the same.”
“See?” Felix leans closer to the screen. “I want to hug you, Sprinkles. I want to kiss you. I want to—”
“That’s enough.” Connor’s hand covers Felix’s mouth, and his brother shoots him a glare from the corner of his eye, which Connor ignores. “Sparks, are you going to be at Mr. Blue’s function?”
“Yeah, I need to make sure I have appropriate attire.” I have no idea what I should wear to something like this, but I’m sure Nikola does. “Have you spoken with Declan yet? Will he be there?”
Muffled anger comes from Felix, and Connor drops his hand as he says, “No, we haven’t been able to contact him since we got home.”
“The witch took his palm-port,” Felix snaps.
“Who’s the witch?” I remember him saying that before.
He moves away from the screen, his arms folded. “You’ll meet her at the function.”
A quiet ding comes through from their side, and Connor’s gaze shifts up to check a message. He frowns then focuses back on me. “I’m sorry, Sparks. We have to go.”
“No problem.” My fingers tighten around the palm-port. “I’ll see you both tomorrow night?”
“Yeah, we’ll see you then.” Connor glances at his angry brother, and his voice lowers. “Remember what I said today.” His hand covers his heart, and my chest tightens.
“Yeah.” I press my finger to the screen as if it will allow me to feel the thrum of connection we share.
“What are you guys doing?” Felix rushes back, curiosity overcoming his annoyance.
