Pen stops squirming and she has her eyes on her betrothed. His chest rises and drops. His breaths disturb the lace of the princess’s collar just so.
“You,” the princess says. “Patrolman’s daughter.” She pats the small bit of space beside her on the closet floor. “Let’s have a chat, shall we?”
I let go of Pen. “Don’t be stupid,” I whisper, and kiss her cheek. She’s growling.
“Bring the lantern,” the princess says. “It gets dark in here.”
As soon as I’m beside her, she reaches forward and pulls the closet door shut.
She releases Thomas, letting him spill backward into a pile of once neatly folded clothes. I notice that she keeps hold of the knife.
“Don’t blame him for what Pen and I did,” I say. “He didn’t know anything about all of this.”
“Didn’t he?” she says. “He knew where to find you. I followed him all the way to the flower shop.”
I don’t know how Thomas knew to go to the flower shop, unless he’d somehow seen me leaving it with Judas, or had been nearby when Pen and I had been kidnapped.
“I wasn’t planning to hurt him,” she says. “I just needed some kind of backup plan in case you tried to toss me out. And he did seem to already be heading this way.”
“How did you sneak into the bird without anyone catching you?” I say.
“I had to hide in the dark for a long time. But then, before you started moving, everyone stepped out into the dirt to”—she clears her throat—“use the water room behind this thing. I presume there isn’t one on board.” She smirks, clearly impressed with herself. “Anyway, the door was left open. My brother and I have been sneaking out of the tower since we were toddlers, practically.”
“I suppose you can’t be the child of the king without being brilliant,” I say, trying to keep the conversation going. It seems to keep her from doing anything rash.
“No, my brother is stupid quite most of the time,” she says, not without fondness.
“‘Is’?” I ask. Not “was.”
She looks at the darkness beyond the lantern, crestfallen. “He’s breathing, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Will he live?” I ask.
“Never mind that,” she says, and attempts to pat down her frizzed hair. “He isn’t here, and we are, aren’t we? And I need your help. Call me daft, but I like you. You were at least honest with me about this thing existing.”
I wonder if she remembers that she kidnapped me, and that her father is the reason Lex and I no longer have our parents. They should be on this bird, not her.
I swallow my anger. For Thomas. For Pen. For sanity’s sake.
“As you can understand, I don’t feel very safe here,” the princess says. “Especially with that Hensley boy. If he’d murder his betrothed, I can imagine what he’d do to me.”
Judas did not murder Daphne. I’m so tired of hearing the accusation that I could scream. But it isn’t the worst thing for Princess Celeste to fear him.
“And you want me to protect you,” I say.
“I don’t require your protection,” she says. “I require your sensibility. When your beastly friend raised that stone to my brother, you tried to stop her. You saw that it was a bad idea. You don’t act irrationally even if you’re angry, do you?”
It was my irrational need to leave the bird that got me kidnapped in the first place, but I don’t say that. “I have been called a diplomat.”
She sighs. “Being the king’s daughter doesn’t mean much now that we’re no longer on Internment,” she says. “But I will kill this boy if anyone tries to harm me. He’ll wake up soon, but that won’t stop me. And don’t let anyone get ideas about leaving me on the ground, either. I’m to return safely to the sky, or, believe me, my father will make you wish you hadn’t returned. I’ve left him a note explaining where I’ve gone.”
She doesn’t know that this is a one-way trip. Not even the king will be able to retrieve her. It would give me too much pleasure to tell her. But this would be unwise; she’s scared, scorned, likely hasn’t slept, and she’s holding a knife. And the fact that she snuck onto this bird tells me that she must have a compelling reason. Something worth risking as much as she has, leaving her home and surrounding herself with people who might cause her harm.
“I know Pen, and she won’t care how sensible I am. Not if I’m defending a girl holding her betrothed hostage. You have to let Thomas go. If you do that, I’m confident I can keep her from strangling you.”
“And the Hensley boy?”
“I’d just avoid him if I were you,” I say. “He’s not a fan of your family’s.”
The princess stares at me for a few seconds. “And you?” she says.
“I’m not a fan of your family’s, either,” I say. “All you know about me, for sure, is that when Pen attacked your brother, I tried to stop her. It may not be a lot to go by, but there it is.”
She considers this.
Then, without saying anything, she grabs Thomas under the shoulders and hoists the dead weight of him into my lap.
It is a peace offering. She nods.
I kick at the door, and I hear the sound of listening ears backing away. “You can let us out now,” I say.
Pen dabs at Thomas’s face with a wet cloth. She presses it to either side of his neck, under his chin.
It’s just the three of us in the bunk room. The others are trying to make themselves useful in the Nucleus. Judas is keeping watch over Princess Celeste away from the others; with all the grace of her lineage, she allowed herself to be searched. She allowed me to remove my knife from her hand, and the tranquilizer darts from her belt and from the rims of her stockings, while Judas and Basil awkwardly averted their eyes.
“He seems unharmed,” I offer now by way of comfort.
Pen undoes the top buttons of his shirt, and she peels back the collar until she can see the bruise on the side of his neck. “It’s one of her stupid tranquilizers. He can probably hear everything we’re saying right now,” Pen says. “Thomas, you idiot.” She kisses his parted lips. “Why did you follow me?”
I can’t rid the smile from my face before she notices.
“What?”
“It’s just that I’ve never seen you act so fond of him before,” I say.
“Of course not,” she says. “He’s repulsive.” She brushes away some drool at the corner of his mouth with her thumb. “But he belongs to me.”
They’re still betrothed. Willingly, it would seem. Maybe the ground won’t change us at all.
I stand.
“Where are you going?” Pen says.
“To find Basil.”
I hurry down the hall, up the ladder, and nearly bump into Basil in the doorway to the Nucleus. He’s carrying the pieces that fell from the ceiling as we broke free of the city. “Careful,” he says. “You could cut yourself.”
I stand on the tips of my toes and bring my face close to his. “No I won’t,” I say. “Because you’re here. You wouldn’t let anything happen to me.”
I kiss him. The back of his neck is warm when I touch it.
He stoops to set the debris on the floor, and then he’s touching the sides of my face, his hands as soft as air. His eyes have changed, gone hazy the way they do when our bodies are close. I like that I’m the only one that does this to him; I’m the only one who gets to see him this way. “Never,” he murmurs.
He gathers me up and I’m weightless before he sets me on the railing that overlooks the next level. He’s the only thing keeping me from falling back, out of the reach of daylight. I’m not afraid of falling. I don’t fear the sky beyond the train tracks like I did before. I can go anywhere just so long as it’s with him.
He has one arm around my back, while his other hand bunches my skirt up to my hips.
Say it, that voice is telling me again. Say that you love him. But what I say is, “I’ve never seen you like this.”
All I want to do is kiss him under these
windows that are full of sky.
His mouth tastes the same as it did that afternoon when he told me he would follow me to the edge. We’re both still wearing our uniforms, which have been laundered and made to smell of soapberries, but there’s a familiarity to them.
“I don’t care if it’s in the sky or on the ground,” he says against my neck. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”
“Even without the decision makers?” I say, drawing back.
“Especially then,” he says. “It wouldn’t have mattered whether or not we were paired up. It’s always been you, Morgan.”
I push forward so that my nose and forehead are against his, and I’m smiling so wide it hurts. “You’d choose an irrational like me?” I say. “Without being forced.”
He kisses me. “Yes.”
“A girl who’s terrible with math—”
“Yes.”
“A shameless daydreamer—”
“Yes.”
“Who’s brought you nothing but trouble?”
“Yes.” He holds my chin in his hand. “Yes. Daydream all you like.”
Over us, the sky goes dark. At first I wonder how evening could have come so quickly, but then I realize it’s the clouds that have gotten dark, not the sky. Though they don’t make a sound, it’s as though they’re growling at us.
Basil notices it too. I hop down from the railing and we both stare up at this strange new sky.
31
We are taught that curiosity is a thing to be feared. But our first trains came from curious minds. As did medicine, and clocks, and first kisses.
—“Intangible Gods,” Daphne Leander, Year Ten
GET YOUR FINGERS OFF MY WINDOWS, kid,” the professor says. Amy doesn’t even hear him. She’s too busy gaping at the flecks of white that are whirling around us.
“What is this?” she gasps.
“I think they’re ice shavings,” I say. “Lex, you told me about this happening when clouds release water and it freezes.”
He raises his head toward the windows as though he’ll be able to look. I immediately regret what I’ve said; it’s got to be killing him that he can’t see any of what’s happening.
“It shouldn’t hurt us,” he says. “Not unless it’s coming down fast.”
“They’re like lightbugs,” Amy says. “Daphne and I used to catch them in jars.”
“Where are you going?” Basil says when I let go of his hand.
“Pen has to see this,” I say.
“Take the lantern, then,” he says.
It’s hard to believe the rest of the bird is dark while this fantastic thing is happening in the Nucleus.
When I find Pen in Amy’s bunk room, she’s speaking to Thomas in a low voice. His eyes are open, but murky. “Don’t worry,” Pen tells him, raising her voice when she hears me approach. “You’re free of that crazy princess now. We’ll kill her later, no matter if Morgan thinks she can stop us.”
“I’m on your side, you know,” I say.
“I still haven’t forgiven you for not letting me punch her.”
Thomas draws a sharp breath and then hoarsely says, “Not a good idea.”
“See?” I say. “He agrees with me.”
“No he doesn’t,” Pen says. “He’s been speaking nonsense for the last several minutes.”
“I only told you I love you,” Thomas says.
“Shush. How did you end up in the hands of that lunatic princess anyway?”
Weakly, he raises his arm, reaches into his shirt pocket, and retrieves a scrap of lace. Pen looks at her dress and realizes it’s the piece that’s missing from her collar. “She told me that she had you prisoner,” he says. “She said she would kill you if I didn’t follow her.”
“We should just leave her somewhere to fend for herself when we land,” Pen says. “I hope the people on the ground are savages with an appetite for blondes.” She looks over her shoulder at me. “Did you want something?”
“Remember that frozen dust I told you about?” I say. “We’re flying in it.”
She turns her attention back to Thomas. Her fingers are trembling when she smoothes his blanket. Delirious though he may be, he notices and grabs her hand.
“Pen? Don’t you want to see it?” I say.
“No,” she says softly.
“But it’s unlike anything—”
She closes the door on me.
I know that it isn’t these icy white swirls that have Pen so scared. It’s the idea of leaving Internment and surviving it. It’s the idea that our god doesn’t care whether or not we return, and that the history book may be wrong.
Amy says the ice shavings are like lightbugs, but they remind me of the funerals I’ve attended. Of the dusted bodies released onto the wind. In the dusting process, all the bad of a person’s soul is burned away, so that only the goodness will carry on to the afterlife. It’s a cleansing.
“It’s like we’re flying through the tributary,” I say, leaning back against Basil’s chest.
“They’re flurries,” Lex says, annoyed. “Don’t turn something scientific into a cathartic experience.”
“Be nice,” Alice tells him.
I don’t offer a response. Lex is entitled to his bitterness for having to miss this sight. I wouldn’t know how anyone could describe it in a way he’d appreciate.
“I think I’ve found a landing spot,” the professor says. “Where’s Judas? Need him to help me with the wheels.” There are so many pieces to this bird, and they serve so many different purposes, that it makes my head spin. Once it’s on the ground in broad daylight, I want to inspect it. I hope they have image recorders on the ground so that I can take images.
“He’s watching the princess,” Amy says, adding a flourish to the word “princess.” “She can’t be left alone, apparently.”
“I’ll get him,” Basil says, before I can volunteer.
“I’ll go with you,” I say.
“Me too!” Amy chirps.
Judas is keeping the princess in one of the bunk rooms. We find him standing in the doorway with his arms crossed, as the princess re-braids her hair.
“We’re landing,” I tell Judas. “The professor needs you. Something about wheels?”
The princess stands, her face alight. “Landing?” she gasps. “As in, on the ground?”
“Watch her,” Judas says as he leaves the bunk room. “She’ll try to seduce you.”
“We’ll try to resist,” I say.
Princess Celeste wrings her hands. “So we’re near the ground, then?” she asks. She blinks several times when she notices Amy staring at her. “Hello,” she says. She cheerily shows a row of white teeth, and her eyes squint pleasantly when she smiles, the way she smiles in every image and at every ceremony her father hosts. She would have no way of knowing that this girl before her is the famous murdered girl’s sister. Maybe she doesn’t even know her father’s role in Daphne’s death.
“I heard you collect deer antlers,” Amy says.
“Not only the antlers,” Princess Celeste says. “The whole heads sometimes, if my father lets me. Most of the body gets sent to the food and bone factories, to make jewelry like the necklace you’re wearing there.”
Amy touches the bone-carved star hanging from her neck. I’ve never noticed it before.
“Living things make the greatest art,” the princess says.
“Dead things, you mean,” Amy says, hoisting the star up in her palm. “This is dead.”
“Once living, then,” the princess says.
From somewhere on the bird, Judas calls, “Brace yourselves!” And it’s not a moment too soon, because a jolt has us all going sideways. Basil grabs on to my waist, and I grab Amy, fearing she’ll go into another of her fits. The princess backs herself into a corner and presses her hands on either wall. I could swear she looks excited.
The turbulence persists for another minute or so, and there’s an instant of reprieve before the floor shakes beneath us, lik
e we’ve crashed into the ground and now we’re skidding.
“Pen!” I call. “Are you guys okay?”
“Lovely!”
This is it. The moment when we reach the ground, or die trying. My nerves are jumbled and I’m starting to feel nauseous. I’ve already endured more in one day than the whole of Internment’s population would deem possible. Generations of rebels have plotted for this. Several have died in failed attempts. It’s foolish of me to think that I’d be among the ones to finally achieve it.
But fantastic things are possible. I’ve learned that.
When the bird goes still at last, Amy stumbles into the hallway, drops to her knees, and gags like she’s going to be sick.
I kneel beside her.
“My body hates this endeavor,” she says, coughing.
“At least it wasn’t another fit,” I say. “You won’t miss any of the fun.”
She smiles wearily at me.
The bird hitches, and Amy claws at the floor and closes her eyes.
I think she’s whispering to the god in the sky.
32
This was to be an essay on the history of my city. But how can I tell the story of a city in the clouds without questioning what’s above the clouds, and what’s beneath them? All my life I have felt caught between two worlds. Here’s what I know for sure: Internment is only a piece of what’s out there. I know all its sections by heart, and I’ve memorized the times at which the train will speed by my bedroom window. It isn’t enough. I want to know more.
—“Intangible Gods,” Daphne Leander, Year Ten
PEN AND THOMAS ARE THE ONLY ONES missing from the Nucleus.
We all stand at the windows, trying to reconcile what’s before us. A ground covered with white dust. White dust that falls from the clouds. Beyond that, more water than I’ve ever seen in one place. It’s nothing like our modest lakes. The waves are like roars. The water stretches on toward the sky, making a hazy, unreachable seam.
Basil stands behind me with an arm across my collarbone, as though to protect me from danger lurking in this gray-and-white place. Pen asked if they had color on the ground, and I assured her they did, but suddenly I’m not so sure. There’s no blue even in the sky.
Perfect Ruin (Internment Chronicles, Book 1) Page 26
