by Wren Weston
“She heard the chief’s words before he ejected everyone from court. Your mother is cross that I did not allow her to listen in on private Bullstow business.”
“It can’t be that private if Elizabeth was part of it. Apparently my daughter has served Bullstow for the last few months, rather than her own family.”
“I consulted on Saxony’s behalf,” Lila said. “And don’t call me Elizabeth.”
“Don’t you dare take an attitude with me today. Your name is Elizabeth, a name I gave you. It’s in the BIRD, not that silly nickname your father came up with.”
Her father held up his hands. “Bea—”
“Don’t you start, either.”
The prime minister chewed on his lip. “As you wish. Let’s hear from Lila. What of your sentence?”
“They dropped all charges against me.”
“And Chief Shaw?”
“Dismissed from the militia for poor judgment. According to the disciplinary committee, he should have taken steps years ago to ensure someone like me wasn’t needed to…” Her eyes flitted toward her mother. “To cover the technical deficiencies within his own militia.”
“Quite right,” her mother muttered.
“So no sentence?”
Lila shook her head. “He will remain at Bullstow and be retrained.”
“At the very least, that man should be exiled,” her mother snapped. “Letting you play in Bullstow like it’s your own private candy store. Who else has he let—”
“No one.”
“No one that you know of, Elizabeth. Your decision to assist Bullstow has cast a long shadow over the family. You, more than anyone else, should know the importance of reputation and the consequences of losing it. The Randolphs are known for being moral, upright, and free from much of the scandal that plagues the other families. Only one Randolph was caught up in this mess with Bullstow, and that one person was you. Even though the charges have been dropped, you’ve still damaged our reputation. Our profits will be down. Litigation against us will go up.”
Her mother straightened her silvercoat. “Nevertheless, you may return home, now that this foolishness is over. I set up a meeting with our PR department this afternoon to strategize how we’ll handle the press. Likely, they’ll suggest that you stay out of the public eye until this blows over. Then you will assume the prime role after an appropriate time has passed, just as we agreed last month.”
Lila opened and closed her mouth, not sure where to start. “Have you forgotten that you returned my mark? You aren’t my matron any longer. You can’t issue broad proclamations and expect me to follow them. I’ll decide when I return to the compound.”
“Mark or not, I will always be your matron. Do you honestly believe that I’ll let you waltz back onto the estate after a nice, long vacation and become chief again? That you’ll pick and choose how you’ll serve the family?”
“No. There are—”
“I’ve tried to be patient, Elizabeth. I’ve tried to endure your incessant faffing about, but your antics have harmed the family now. You will return to the compound at once.”
“Have you forgotten—”
“Have I forgotten about your threat to tell the world about Jewel?”
Her father shuffled to the window and turned his back on both of them, once again choosing to stay out of Randolph business.
Lila wished she had the same luxury.
“Go ahead, Elizabeth. Do it. I’m tired of the threats. Senator Dubois will never be elected to the senate again if you do, and he’ll have to answer a host of uncomfortable questions about why he has not been forthright with his brothers about his sterility. He put his name down for election two weeks ago. Most senators would view that as a crime.”
“It’s not a crime.”
“It’s a misrepresentation. I might not know as much as you about Bullstow, but I know it’s more than just frowned upon. All it will take is a rumor in the right ear.”
“I shouldn’t be surprised you’d stoop to that.”
“I also have it within my power to ensure that Pax never becomes the surgeon he longs to be. I’m done playing games.”
“You’ll never be done playing games, Mother,” Lila said. “Threatening to destroy Pax’s happiness? Stealing every credit in my accounts? I hadn’t even been gone a week.”
“I didn’t steal anything. I protected you. If you’d been given a sentence, then Bullstow would have cleared your accounts—”
“To pay for my mark.”
“Yes, and the families would have found out how much money you had to cover it. I took your credits so that they would not drive up your sell price. I was in the process of investing the money and setting up a trust for you.”
“I’ll bet.”
“I spoke to the Massons. I ensured Senator Masson treated you fairly during the trial. I made sure someone favorable would buy you at auction. I shouldn’t have gotten involved at all, but I stuck my neck out to provide for your future, and this is the thanks I get?”
“I provided for my own. We’ll talk about how I might serve the family another day. In the meantime, I expect you to return my money.”
“Or what? You’ll yell at me some more?” the chairwoman muttered, uncrossing her legs. “I can’t believe that you have the audacity to make such demands.”
“You have until the end of the week.”
“I should have stopped trying with you a long time ago. I should have given you up as a lost cause. I’m done chasing you, Elizabeth. If you want to go so badly, if you want to run away from the family and shirk your duty, then fine. Go. But you won’t leave the family in a state of uncertainty. If you go, you can’t have me, my money, or the family any more. If you go now, you’ll go on your own and you’ll face the consequences of that decision. No more playing militia chief. No more playing the favored heir. No more chats with Pax or anyone else in the family. No more nights spent inside the great house. No more dinners with Chef. No more Randolph money. You’ll be on your own. Creditless. Exiled.”
There it was. The ultimatum Lila had known would come from her mother’s lips someday if she didn’t accept the prime role.
The ultimatum she’d been given once before.
Regardless of how anxious she’d been about her future in the cottage by the lake, regardless of how sad she’d been about Tristan, regardless of how bored and lonely and hungry she’d been, it was the first time in her life that she’d felt truly free. No one had made any demands upon her for an entire month. No one had spoken to her at all.
Yes, she’d been lonely. But as practice runs went, it hadn’t been all that bad.
She’d never become one of those heirs who hanged themselves after being exiled.
No, she’d live.
She’d thrive.
Lila leaned over her mother and grasped the back of the couch, boxing in the chairwoman between her arms. Her voice was calm now, quiet, smooth. She wasn’t even angry anymore. She was just tired, like the morning after a long crying jag. “If I don’t leave now, Mother, you’ll just pull my strings again. And you’ll keep doing it every time you don’t get your way. You’ve never wanted a daughter. You only ever wanted a successor.”
“Lila—”
“I’m back to Lila now? You don’t seem to understand. I said goodbye to my militia career a month ago. I believed that I’d never set foot on any Randolph estate again. So, be careful what you wish for the next time you make an ultimatum like this, or you will end up dying alone.”
Her mother swallowed in the quiet. “Pax will—”
“Pax will leave too if you try to keep him from becoming a surgeon. Agreeable or not, he wants it too damn much. He made a promise, a promise he will keep. He will figure out a way to make it happen with or without you. Never try to stop him. You’ll only get hurt.”
Lila stra
ightened and tugged her gray coat around herself more tightly. “As for my dividends? Shove them up your ass for all I care, but you’ll return my hospital and militia salaries. I earned every credit. Don’t make me get the courts involved. They’re getting a fair bit tetchy lately with highborn who hire hackers.”
Lila said goodbye to her father, then padded across the parlor to the door. The floorboards creaked as she withdrew.
The clock in the parlor ticked on quietly in her wake.
Chapter 9
Lila brushed past Dixon’s bench. The grackles sprang into the air, fleeing her predatory mood. The scattered senators around Falcon Home did the same, most bundled in long burgundy coats and scarfs to fight the chill. Only their eyes followed her, a strange and welcome deviation from the norm.
Dixon closed his notepad and stuffed it into his pocket, following along beside her. She said nothing when they reached the truck. She just slid inside when he started the ignition and turned on the heat.
She ignored Dixon when he pointed at her seatbelt.
Ignoring him became a bit harder when he snatched the clasp, pulled it across her chest, and belted her in. The shoulder strap crossed uncomfortably over her chin.
They dropped the charges, right? That’s the rumor. Apparently there will be a press conference this evening.
“Yes.” Lila finally adjusted the seatbelt as he backed out of their parking spot. While he drove through the downtown traffic, she recounted a highly abbreviated version of what had been said in the courtroom, leaving out La Roux and the fact that she’d still be working for Bullstow and the prime minister a little while longer. After all, Dixon might turn the truck around, drive back to Falcon Home, and punch her father in the nose once more.
They slipped onto the highway in silence, threading through the occasional patch of traffic. The exit for Shippers Lane slipped past.
“I’d almost forgotten that we’re not going back to the shop,” Lila said. “I do need to fetch my car, my laptop, and my other bag, though. Thanks for letting me leave them in your room.”
He shrugged.
“I’m not in any hurry to retrieve them, anyway. I have my clothes and toiletries. Just give me a minute to think, okay? I need to figure out where you can drop me.”
Dixon shook his head.
“What? I’m broke, and I don’t have anywhere to go, Dixon. I’m not saying that to worm my way into another night at the shop. I heard Tristan loud and clear last night. He meant what he said, just as much my mother did this morning.”
Dixon drew a few circles in the air. If he’d had a free hand to scribble on his notepad, he would have asked her to explain.
“She wanted me to return to the compound. She said if I refused, I was not to come back at all. Ever. I’m not even sure what I told her, but the general intention was that she could go fuck herself. I suppose that makes me an exile now, just like you.”
Dixon smiled a lopsided grin. She’d never seen the expression cross his face before.
Lila sank into her seat, her mind dwelling on where she might stay. The lack of a destination didn’t seem to bother Dixon—he kept driving down the highway, past the scattered diners, old tire shops, gas stations, corn fields, and the occasional pasture. Barbed wire corralled herds of cows and bored horses. Their tails flicked in the cold air.
“I could go to Max’s place,” Lila said at last. “He’d give me a place to stay until I figured things out.”
Dixon’s jaw dropped. Earlwell? he mouthed.
“Yes, that Max. He’s a good friend. We grew up together. I just need to get my things from the shop. I need the oracle’s transcripts, too. I haven’t finished reading through them.”
Dixon shook his head.
“I didn’t say I’d go inside. Tristan made himself clear. I’ll stay in the truck. You can—”
He shook his head again.
“Tristan can’t complain if I’m not—”
Tristan pointed to himself. Me, he mouthed. Not again.
“You don’t want to go back?”
Dixon turned off the main highway and stopped at a red light. Dry weeds lined the street, brown and dying and patchy, no houses or structures in view. He put the truck in park and scribbled a quick note on his pad. I can’t take it there anymore.
“You don’t even have your things.”
I don’t care. I’m taking a vacation for a few days. A week. A month. Who knows.
“A vacation?”
Dixon scrawled faster and faster upon the page. Last night, Tristan tried to tell me who I can and can’t have in my own home. Fuck him. I might not live with the highborn anymore, but I was born one. I still love and care for some of them deeply. He forgets that when he rails on and on about them. I’m tired of feeling guilty for my birth.
“I know that feeling.”
You and me, we’re the same now. We’re exiles. Let’s run away and start our own damn compound!
Lila laughed, and Dixon grinned his lopsided grin once more.
A dimple appeared on each cheek.
Oh Gods! Dimples! Dixon had dimples?
When had that happened?
Perhaps she’d never seen them before for a reason. He looked happy, and he seemed to give just as many fucks as she did at the moment.
“Well, I don’t have anything better to do. I do need to get the rest of my things at some point, though.”
Dixon put his notepad away, then continued their drive. Gas stations and crumbling houses lined the streets, scattered like flowers in the wind.
At first, Lila wanted to ask where they were headed, but she soon realized that she didn’t care. Not enough to play a guessing game while Dixon drove, unable to scribble an answer until they hit the next light.
For the first time in a month, she felt like everything was going to be okay. She wasn’t going to be executed or tossed into slavery. She owned her mark. She wasn’t under her mother’s thumb. She even had a friend with her, perhaps the only person she really trusted at the moment, the only person who had no ulterior motives lurking in the back of his mind.
All she needed now was her money.
She fiddled with the radio, tuning it to an oldies station she’d found at the cottage, overjoyed to hear the same music she’d listened to as a teen.
Back when music was still good.
Dixon grinned as “Running Down the Street” came on, a punk anthem that had topped the charts fifteen years before. He bobbed his head in time to the beat as Lila yelled out the chorus, chuckling harder with each line. With every song they thumped their heads just a bit harder, screamed out the lyrics just a bit louder, though Dixon had no breath to add to his words.
“Road trip, gas up,” they sang, punching their fists.
Lila stopped chanting as the lines coursed on. “Oh shit, I just figured out what this song is really about.”
Dixon snickered.
“Shut up,” she grumbled, finally paying attention to where they were going. The gas stations and homes had begun crowding together again, and she spied a lake up ahead. “The oracle’s temple? I don’t have any leads yet.”
But Dixon avoided the turnoff, marked by an arrow-shaped sign half a meter across. Someone had recently repainted the oracle’s mark: a pair of wings attached to an all-seeing eye.
He stopped the truck a kilometer up the road, engine sputtering twenty meters from a metal gate with the same design. The stone wall extended in each direction, the top so wide that a grown man could walk upon it. Six stubby watchtowers rose above the wall, with peaked wooden roofs and guards keeping watch. Each purplecoat gripped a rifle.
Lila turned off the radio. “The oracle’s compound. I should have known.”
Dixon drove up to the guardhouse. Over the wall, Lila spied the green roofs and smoking chimneys of a hundred log cabins, their expans
ive windows letting in the midday sun. Unlike a highborn estate, the oracle’s compound lacked a central tower piercing the sky. Instead, a five-story building crafted of log and stone sat in the middle, its roof shallow, its balconies wide and inviting.
The oracle’s administration building. Lila had seen a picture once.
The gatehouse door opened. A purplecoat marched crisply to the truck and knocked on the glass.
Dixon rolled down the window.
“Lila? Dixon?” he asked as he tapped out the truck’s information into his palm. Bursts of static hissed from the radio perched on his shoulder.
“How do you know our names?”
First names.
It annoyed her that he’d referred to her so casually.
Then again, perhaps she didn’t belong to the highborn any longer.
Perhaps she’d have to get used to it.
The purplecoat didn’t seem to notice her irritation. He unfolded a piece of paper from his pocket. Her face had been drawn as though she’d sat for a sketch artist. Lila had been scrawled along the bottom in block letters. “We all know your face and your name. We were told to expect you this afternoon with a man named Dixon.”
He folded up the sketch, returned it to his pocket, then quickly finished taking down her information on his palm. His fingers darted to the radio on his shoulder. “Delilah, grab a cart and take our guests to see Kenna. I’ll send a message on ahead to let her know that you’re coming.”
“Yes, sir,” Lila heard through a cluster of fog and scratches.
The metal gate opened slowly. “Follow the cart to the administration building,” he said. “You can leave your truck parked outside.”
The guard marched away and reentered the gatehouse.
“Did you contact the oracle while I was speaking with my father and let her know we’d be coming?”
Dixon nodded sheepishly.
“Good. It gives me the creeps when she says she saw me in a vision.”
Dixon pulled the truck through the open gate. They followed an electric cart as it wheezed its way toward the main building, barely faster than walking. Purplecoats and the occasional woman dressed in fur and white robes flitted throughout the compound. Most people wore normal clothes, though, clothes Lila might have seen in New Bristol.
