“Just like a man.”
A sleepy smile pulled on his lips. “Yep. Catch you later. Thanks, mate.”
Fillion stowed his Cranium and fell back onto his pillow. The wheat hulls clicked and rustled in his ears and his eyes popped open as he groaned. The pillow would take some getting used to. But not this night. Sleep claimed him within a nanosecond.
“Fillion,” a male voice whispered. Warm air pulsed near his ear, followed by a firm shake. “Fillion.”
“Koroshiteyaru mae ni hotto ite!”
“You need to wake up,” the man said again. “This morn is the Last Ceremony. It is time to rise and prepare for the processional.”
Fillion squinted and lifted his head. “What?” With a groan he fell back onto the pillow and sighed when the sound of wheat hulls rushed in his ears. “Hanarete ikanakereba, umarete kita toki o koukai suru zo!” He had been dreaming in Japanese. Reality was a bit soupy at the moment.
A pressure on his shoulder made his skin flinch. Then his body shook again. Irritation took over and he grabbed his pillow and swung at the person leaning over him, hitting whoever three times in a row. The man in silhouette chuckled and Fillion turned toward the sound. Sleep’s haze slowly came into focus until he recognized Leaf, framed in a soft yellow light. Curious, he looked over his shoulder and squinted at a lit lantern on his nightstand. The feather-filled quilt was heavenly in the unreasonably cold air, though; so Fillion pulled it over his head and buried his face into his arms. Sleep’s oblivion returned by next breath.
But like a stubborn bastard, the Son of Earth grabbed him by the feet and dragged him out of bed. Fillion flopped onto the wood floor to the sound of Leaf’s laughter. The sharp cold made Fillion’s body curl into a ball and his skin shiver into goosebumps.
Leaf was going to suffer, he decided. Fillion’s sleep-deprived nerves didn’t appreciate Leaf’s cheeriness. That last thought made him inwardly snicker. The Son of Earth had spent the night having far more fun than Fillion had. Not a stubborn bastard—a lucky bastard. Encryption algorithms were the only company Fillion enjoyed during the night hours. Well, and Mack.
He flashed a look of challenge, grabbed a nearby shoe, and chucked it at Leaf. The young noble jumped out of the way with a yelp and laughed when the shoe hit the wall. Ego amped up, Fillion marched over and shoved Leaf hard, followed by a back sweep behind Leaf’s legs. Leaf landed with a solid thud, and satisfaction spread like wildfire through Fillion. Leaf groaned and stretched out his arms in surrender.
Fillion turned to walk back toward the bed to retrieve his tunic. Leaf said, “Pride cometh before a fall,” grabbed Fillion’s ankle again and yanked. Fillion crashed next to him on the ground and broke the fall with his hands. Pain seared his knuckles and he hissed as he sucked in a breath. Now he was pissed.
“Feeling frisky still?” Fillion asked with a wicked grin. In smooth movements, he rolled over and jumped on top of Leaf and pinned him down. He whispered in the sexiest voice he could muster. “You have such beautiful eyes, Leaf.” He inched toward Leaf’s face like he was going to kiss him.
Leaf began speaking rapidly in French, pushed him off, and came to a quick stand, staring at Fillion in horror.
“Oh god,” Fillion began, “your face—” But he stopped when he couldn’t talk through the laughter. After a minute, he sighed. “Damn that was good.” Laughter rolled out of him again when Leaf placed his hands on hips and glared.
Gaining control of himself, Fillion stood and stretched, running a hand through his short hair. So the medieval hippie didn’t appreciate this kind of humor. Surprise, surprise. Leaf’s eyes wandered over Fillion’s tattoos in the dim candlelight. The noble said nothing, though the questions were written on his face. Sometimes the self-control Leaf exhibited was admirable—like yesterday—and sometimes it was annoying—like now.
“Stop checking me out.” Fillion pulled the tunic over his head with a faint smirk. “You’re making me blush.” He wrapped the leather belt around his waist and his fingers ached as he knotted it off in the front. The silence grew awkward and uncomfortable, so Fillion filled it with more talk. “Your belt is badass. Did you make it?” OK, that was lame. His lack of small-talk skills was his eternal shame.
“It was my father’s.”
Their eyes met, and Fillion drew his eyebrows together. Not only was he socially awkward, but an insensitive ass, too. “Sorry.” It was all he could manage.
“He died seven days ago today.”
The lump in Fillion’s chest liquefied and rolled in nauseating circles inside his stomach. Every insult of being the son of a killer stabbed his conscience, but he pushed aside the familiar fears. Leaf needed details to protect his family and to help find answers. And now was a perfect moment. It didn’t matter if Leaf liked him or not. That was never the point. Nor was it even a reasonable expectation.
Fillion cleared his dry throat. “The Death Card belongs to my dad.”
“Pardon?” Leaf’s sturdy demeanor deflated and he stared wide-eyed. “Hanley wished for my father’s death?”
Everything inside of Fillion wanted to say his dad killed Joel Watson. But a small, nibbling voice said it wasn’t true. The more he thought over the situation, the more convinced he became that Joel’s death and the death certs issued for the Watson siblings were two unrelated events but with the same goal in mind.
“The clues point strongly in that direction, but I can’t map it right in my mind. The information just doesn’t add up.” Fillion looked away. “There’s more.”
He continued to describe in detail the trial to Leaf, who sunk onto the bed, rested his elbows on his knees, and hid his head in his hands as he listened. In hushed tones, Fillion also explained that Leaf was removed, by name, from the Legacy as he was presumed dead. And Fillion’s attempt to corner Hanley into legally reinstating Leaf by name had failed. He elaborated on the Dungeon Master and why he played the role to protect them from others at New Eden Enterprises and, by extension, the media. After a short pause, he revealed the origins of the Death Card and Hanley’s implication that it was used by one of The Elements. Fillion also admitted the crime he had committed, the trial, the conviction, and his dad’s bright idea for an exchange so Fillion’s sudden presence looked natural. Followed by an explanation of how Hanley wanted Fillion to use his hacker handle, Corlan Jayne—also the name of his great-grandfather—to hide Fillion’s real identity from the community.
He wasn’t sure how much Leaf absorbed. There were no physical cues. It was if Leaf had gone into hibernation mode. Nevertheless, Fillion continued and shared about Joel and Della’s conversation through Messenger Pigeon. Fillion stumbled over words every so often as he disclosed each moment on the recording. The sound of his mom’s voice asking Joel to kiss his children for her echoed in his mind, and his stomach formed painful knots.
The confessional purge ended. About the only thing Fillion didn’t share was the inheritance he would get on his twentieth birthday. That and the personal details of how he was persecuted during The Watson Trial, and the nervous breakdown that followed. Leaf maintained the head-in-hands position. Seconds turned to minutes and the silence stretched to an unbearable tension.
Unable to take it, Fillion voiced, “You have every reason to hate me and my family. I came into the dome knowing it would happen. Now or later, makes no difference.”
Leaf raised his head and whispered, “I do not hate you.”
Fillion sat beside Leaf and closed his eyes, blocking out the pained expression on Leaf’s face. There was nothing to say. The honesty won brownie points at the moment. But eventually thoughts would fester into resentment, and resentment would putrefy into contempt. The pattern was predictable and constant. Anything his dad touched died in some way. Physical, intellectual, or emotional—it made no difference.
“Thank you,” Leaf whispered.
Fillion whipped his head in Leaf’s direction. “I hate things that are fake, including me. Don’t placate me out of s
ome sick and twisted idea of honor. Or because you know who I am.” Fillion pushed off his bed and leaned against the wall, tucked his thumbs into his belt, and raised his shoulders.
“You are rather sure of my feelings,” Leaf said.
Instead of replying, Fillion shoved off of the wall and searched for his shoes. The injustice was overwhelming, and all Leaf could do was thank him and show consideration for his feelings? What the hell? The man before him had lost nearly everything and was about to lose his home and way of life in a few years too. And all because narcissistic needs meant more to Hanley than the humans who empowered him. God, he wanted to punch a wall or kick something.
Leaf, on the other hand, stared at the lantern with perfect stillness. It was an image of control and meditation that forced Fillion to stop his agitated movements and thoughts. The dark circles under Leaf’s eyes became more pronounced as light from the small flame flitted across his face.
Why wasn’t Leaf angry? Fillion would be pissed if the roles were reversed. Hell, Fillion was pissed now. He wanted Leaf to yell at him, to throw the first punch, to blame him for all the pain—not to try to reassure him. There was no hope, and Fate didn’t care about fairness or justice. But he would go down fighting, and he hoped Leaf would too. He needed to smoke. Stat.
The tinder box sat on his nightstand next to Leaf’s lantern. Fillion grabbed three joints and placed all but one in the leather pouch that hung from his belt. These were the last of them. He’d need to figure out where the Herbalist was to get more. Fillion lit up a joint and took a long drag while using Leaf’s flame to light his own lantern. A warm glow filled his room and he watched the shadows flicker on the wall as he exhaled.
They walked in silence through The Orchard toward the forest in the dark morning air. Time ticked away in blurry seconds as Fillion puffed on his joint. He could sleep while walking, he was so damn tired. He was about to ask Leaf how to tell time in New Eden, when the medieval hippie stopped mid-stride and faced Fillion with narrowed eyes.
“I wish to disrupt the game further.”
Fillion looked around the forest and then whispered, “Peachy. I’ll help you.”
“In doing so you shall dishonor and deceive your family.”
“Don’t worry about my family. I can’t dishonor something that’s not honorable. My dad doesn’t really give a shit about me, just what I’ll do for him. Plus, my sudden presence here already disrupts the game, right?”
“I am most sorry for your pain,” Leaf said as he bowed respectfully.
“How can you say that? This isn’t about me.”
“Yes, My Lord, it is.”
“Now you’re freaking me out.” Fillion took a step back and morphed into an aloof posture. He took a drag on his joint and blew the smoke away from Leaf. “Are you mental?”
“You are Hanley’s son and have sacrificed much for my family.” Leaf stared at him with intensity, opened his mouth and then shut it and looked away. After a few seconds, he cleared his throat and continued. “You possess a higher nobility status than I and hold more authority than any individual within New Eden. Are you not a prince?”
Fillion whispered harshly, “Are you not a king?”
“No, My Lord.” A sad smile appeared on Leaf’s face. “Not anymore.”
“Says who? Hanley was certainly willing to let you believe it, so why not? The hell with him.”
“And what happens, pray tell, if he appoints another Aether in my stead?”
“With what Scroll? How would a newly appointed Aether communicate with him? His hands are tied until Project Phase Two. Until then, let’s raise Cain.”
“You make an excellent point, My Lord.”
“Oh god, stop it.” The anger finally burst and Fillion pinned Leaf with a hard stare. “Yeah, I’m a prince. A corporate prince. My dad’s the Green Movement monarch of eco-business and holds several nations in the palm of his hand. It’s disgusting. They depend on him for their papayas in the tundra—and for the bank accounts big enough to let them rot in the fridge. The world has a love-hate relationship with Hanley and, as a result, a love-hate relationship with me.” He walked up to Leaf and grit his teeth. “I’ll inherit that kingdom on my twentieth birthday. All of this—” he waved his arms “—will be mine.”
Leaf’s eyes widened. “I see.”
“No, you don’t. I won’t get to keep my position a secret. The entire world will sit around and judge me every day. And this community—the very one that gave me the best of what they had and knelt before me last night—will know that I’m an impostor who played them. Do you get it? I’m just like my dad. So forgive me if I’m not gracious toward your ‘acts of kindness’ or your effort to honor me. I’m trash. Your sister was right and nailed it from the very beginning. I’ll help you, but don’t turn this into something it’s not. You’ll hate me one day. Trust me.”
Hurt burned in Leaf’s eyes as he regarded Fillion in silence—as usual—for an infuriating amount of time before finally speaking. “Willow is drawn to you. She declared early yesterday morn that she shared a connection with you that defied understanding or propriety.”
“What?” Fillion felt the air leave him as vulnerability replaced offense with lightning speed. Just her name amplified every unworthy feeling inside of him. “Why are you telling me this?”
“She argued that you were wounded inside and was rather insistent that you were more than you appeared. When she bestowed upon you her heart, I hated you. That was the only time I have ever felt contempt toward another. You toyed with her affection while she grieved and, still, she chose to lay down her reputation to honor you.
“She wept.” Leaf took a step closer and his voice became more impassioned as his anger finally surfaced. “When the portal blackened, she wept for you and feared she would never see you again. She genuinely feared for your life. Do you know how many tears she has known this week? I tried to speak reason to her, but she would not listen. Rather, she defended your right to feel loved and to know you were important. Never did I believe we would ever see the Dungeon Master again, and so I ceased to argue.”
Warmth flushed through Fillion’s body and his heart pounded in response. She saw through his games? She saw him? He couldn’t look at Leaf and lowered his head.
“I am happy to be wrong,” Leaf said.
“And just like that I’m OK?” Fillion rolled his eyes. “Seriously?” He took a step closer and pushed Leaf’s shoulder with his hand. “You think I’m decent because I told you everything, but I’m not.”
“Yesterday, My Lord, you shared that your feelings for her were real.”
Fillion whispered, “They are.”
“You do not wish to convince me that you are worthy of the heart you were given?”
“I’m not worthy.”
He looked up and met Leaf’s eyes as he brushed past and tramped down the path with quick steps. He had no idea where they were heading originally, and at this moment, he didn’t really care either. An image flashed in his mind of Willow gifting her heart, and the unfamiliar feeling of acceptance seduced him for a brief moment. God, what was he thinking?
She’ll never be yours.
“You did not let me finish,” Leaf called after him. Fillion halted his steps and raised a single eyebrow, easing into an arrogant, detached posture. “I wish for you to share everything with Willow,” Leaf said. “She deserves to know the truth and choose her own path of happiness.”
“A path of happiness?” Fillion let out a humorless chuckle. “God, you really are mental.”
“You do her a discredit.”
“Hell no.”
“Fillion, she deserves to know about everything.”
“Tell her yourself. But not about me.”
“I thought you hated things that were fake?”
“This coming from the guy who said it was best if Willow didn’t know the man she gave her heart to just walked into the biodome. Good one. I should listen to you more often.”
> “My apologies, you are right.”
“What? No hand to shake?”
Fillion walked away a short distance and kicked the dirt path. He drew on his joint and focused on his mission. It was safer. The hell with Leaf. Thoughts computed one after another. The word “revolution” continued to play on repeat in his mind. He didn’t want to introduce technology to the second gen. The scientists, who would short-term colonize the dome, could do that. So, what was he missing?
His dad’s words—that a Gamemaster ponders the hidden, not the obvious—floated around in his brain’s stratosphere in a looped cycle. Technology was obvious. What was hidden? The word “hidden” kick-started an idea and he slowly turned his head toward Leaf with a wicked grin.
“You want to disrupt the game? Go public.”
“Now who has lost his wits?” Leaf looked over his shoulder and around the darkened forest, then whispered with urgency. “To disclose the position of Aether is a high offense, one punishable by banishment per The Code.”
Fillion’s smile got wider. “Then let’s change the rules.”
“How, My Lord? Do you propose we commission a new legal document?”
“Possibly. I’m a hacker. Breaking and rewriting code is what I do.” Fillion blew out a thin stream of smoke. “New Code or not, let’s reprogram the community.”
“I am not familiar with the term ‘hacker,’ but I generally understand what you suggest. How do we legally break The Code?”
“Give me a sec.”
Fillion looked around the forest as he brainstormed the path of least resistance, his first step before each hack. Any rules that could be broken and difficult to report? Hidden rules and back doors, Fillion thought to himself as ideas raced by his mind’s filter. What was hidden? What wasn’t being said but assumed? Like trading worlds before Project Phase Two. The Elements knew something was wrong, but the community didn’t. The person he exchanged places with had to be over the age of sixteen, but not over the age of twenty. Weird. Why was that?
He turned to Leaf. “Does the second gen ever sign The Code? Say, when they turn sixteen?”
Elements (The Biodome Chronicles series Book 2) Page 7
