I blush crimson. Oh.
There’s so much I don’t understand about the White City.
After that come seamstresses and stylists. They measure, and sketch designs they say will work well on the shape of my body. Bolts of cloth lay on a table, and they wait while I search through and choose the colors. They often advise on what color works the best with my skin tone or hair. When we finished, half a day is gone.
My dinner is shared at the Mersiovskys’ table, though I do not speak during dinner unless spoken to. I am inferior to the Royals, and besides, I fear I’ll somehow reveal myself as a revolutionary. They don’t want to hear me speak. Dmitri, though he is at every meal, rarely speaks to me. I had hoped he might help this transition go smoother.
After the first few days, things fall into a routine. I study with my tutors in the morning with homework in
City of Deception
the afternoon followed by dinner with the Mersiovskys. I go to bed, and the process begins again the next day when Georgianna pulls me from my slumber leaving me tired.
I do not smile unless forced or necessary. I now understand the eternal scowl of Ivan, for if I were trapped in the palace all my life, I would not smile either. At least he has friends, whereas I have a lady-in-waiting and my letters from home. And what use are letters from home if they make me cry in longing?
I feel like a caged bird inside the palace. I often remain alone, and the silence leaves me with my thoughts.
I’ve been handed a future I never wanted. I want the Mersioskys dead, but I never wanted to be their mur- derer. I helped Angelica plan their murder because she was supposed to kill them and I would fulfill my father’s dream that way. I never thought I’d be the one looking down at their bloody bodies, a weapon in hand.
If caught, I die, but if I don’t complete my mission, I destroy our planet’s survival and disappoint my father. I failed him once, and I won’t do that again.
I’m useless in the White City. In the village, I had a job I knew and could do well. Here, the Mersiovskys use me as a trophy, except perhaps Dmitri, and I can do nothing until I kill them.
One day I’ll make my own future and no one will dictate what I do.
s
Alexa Mackintosh “A letter came for you.”
I turn to face the guard. “Petrov?”
He nods as he holds out an envelope. The moment I take the letter he folds his hands in front. “The Royals temporarily assigned me here until a full time guard might be found. Since we know each other, Prince Orion suggested I volunteer for the position for the time being.” My attention falls to the letter. I know it isn’t from home from the floral-scented paper. Ripping the seal, I
read:
You have waited to hear from us. Your mission will not end anytime soon. Plan to kill your targets a few days be- fore the Winter Celebrations. Until then, continue as you are. You are doing alright in the palace, but you must learn to adjust to your new life. Try to enjoy the opportunities afforded to you. We will not see you as a traitor if you em- brace your time in the palace. You must live, or the Royals will wonder why you don’t do more with the chance they afforded you.
Enjoy these quiet months and put your mission in the back of your thoughts.
Do not fear. The guard delivering this message is your contact from now on.
The Leaders
I’m not sure what to think of the leaders’ letter. Could it really be the leaders of the rebellion? Would they dare send a letter?
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I glance up at Petrov. They say to trust him, but I’ve learned to trust few, especially the man who betrayed my best friend.
His uniform glistens and the weapon hanging off his belt is loaded and ready. Perhaps he is far more meticu- lous with his appearance as a soldier than his relationships with women.
And how did he get so close to the prince as a rebel? He accompanied Dmitri to my village. The Mersiovskys must highly trust him.
I know I can’t ask now. We could be overheard in the hall.
“Do you wish to send a reply to the letter?” he asks. “No. How can these letters get in any way? Isn’t all mail
checked?”
“If you ever wish to send a letter to the leaders, you can send a guard to find me. Letters are checked, but these go through many rebel hands. The letters pass through the rebel guards until they leave the palace.”
“It seems like that would make it easy for a Royal spy to intercept that chain of guards loyal to the rebel.”
“Your letters will be safe, Lady Alkaev.”
I hand the letter back to him. “Destroy it, please. If you don’t mind, might you be posted outside my door perma- nently?”
“It’s a step down in position, but if you speak to the Emperor, it can be done.”
“Good. I’ll tell the Royals to have you posted here.”
Alexa Mackintosh
The dinner bell rings. I will anger the Mersiovskys if late. I walk away but stop a few steps away. “And Petrov?”
“Yes, miss?”
“Never speak to Angelica again unless you plan to marry her. Am I clear?”
He chuckles. “Yes, ma’am.”
“It isn’t a joke. If I find you have seen Angelica, I will go to the Royals and tell them of your character. I suspect they will not care for the way you go through women.”
I hurry off before he can reply.
I arrive at the dining room as the Mersiovskys take their seats. I take the empty chair beside a visiting digni- tary, my mind far from food and the people around me.
“Miss Alkaev,” the Emperor says. He gestures to the guest beside me. “This is Zadie, the daughter of one of my close friends. She is part of the Sabel royal family and of- ten spends time here. She’ll be staying with us for the next few months and studying under the same tutors as you.”
The young woman smiles and fingers the string of di- amonds looped around her neck. Her blue gown comple- ments her olive skin and raven hair and clings to her curves.
“I am so happy to know there’s another young woman in the castle. I wasn’t looking forward to the prospect of spending all summer with the princes, even if they are my friends,” she says.
We talk throughout the meal, and I laugh at her sto- ries. She’s so alive and clearly used to being the center of
City of Deception
attention. She reminds me of Angelica, and against my will, I feel her pulling me out of the dread and fear I’ve felt since I arrived.
Perhaps she will be a helpful source for information to feed to the rebels, and perhaps even a temporary friend.
s
After dinner, I intend to ask the Emperor about Pe- trov’s post, but I do not know how to approach him. Even as a temporary First, as I suspect my new title of First will not last when I leave, speaking with the Emperor is a priv- ilege few have.
Before I can decide what to say, Dmitri interrupts. “Might you join me for a walk in the morning? I wish to show you a part of the city you haven’t seen.”
I nod. “But on one condition. I wish to have Petrov Kenswick posted outside my door from now on. I would speak with the Emperor, but the thought terrifies me.”
He smiles. “I thought you might wish for a familiar face. I’ll speak with him. I’ll see you in the morning then?”
I nod.
As abruptly as he asked, he leaves me standing in the dining room.
{ 12 }
Chapter 12
HE NEXT MORNING, I find my breakfast tray on my nightstand and Georgianna sitting by the window sewing a ruffled hem onto one of my new gowns.
Stirring slowly, I wipe my eyes and pull myself against the headboard. “Time?” I mumble.
Georgianna rests her sewing on her knees. “Late.”
Swinging my feet over the edge of the bed, I hurry to grab my robe. “The Royals hate me missing meals unless I request I take my meal up here. Why didn’t you wake me?”
My appearance at
meals maintains the media’s percep- tion of the Mersiovskys’ “charity.”
“Don’t fret. Prince Orion asked I let you sleep so you might meet him for a late breakfast. I made your excuses with the Empress, well one of her ladies, but the explana- tion made it to her ears. I said I was not pleased with your complexion. You needed rest to rid the circles under your
Alexa Mackintosh
eyes, and your skin is breaking out. If you go out, journal- ists will wish to take your photo. It is my job to ensure you look your best, and I follow the princes’ orders. The Em- press is not to know the real reason for you missing break- fast. You should be able to speak with Prince Orion without supervision.”
I sit back down on the edge of the bed. “Thank you.” “When you’re ready, I will help you dress. Prince
Orion wishes you to meet him out in the garden by the constellation fountain. I brought you fruit and tea in case you wish to eat a little before going to breakfast.”
“Again, thank you.”
I see why the Firsts enjoy servants.
s
Georgianna leads me through the labyrinthian gardens until we reach a gilded statue of an orb surrounded by stars and moons. Dmitri stands with his back towards to me, and appears to be glancing at his watch.
With a slight nod, Georgianna takes her leave.
Walking to Dmitri, I shed one of my coats. Georgianna explained that Dmitri and I would meet Zadie and Petrov outside the western gates, and no guards would be accom- panying the four of us, Petrov excluded of course. To slip through the city unnoticed, we must wear Seconds’ clothes. I wore Firsts to get out into the gardens and now shed the outer layer to reveal the Second’s outfit Geor- gianna collected for me.
City of Deception
Dmitri turns when I’m halfway to him. “You’re a few minutes late. I feared you wouldn’t show.”
“I rose late.”
He eyes my dress. “I see Georgianna obeyed my orders.
If you’re ready, we can go.” “I’m ready.”
Three months ago, I would have joined him for the day because he was a friend. Now I go because having a prince as a friend will make me privy to more information than sneaking around the palace.
We slip through a small door in the garden wall under cover of our hats and change of clothes. The waist-high door is concealed behind a large row of bushes.
“Why is a door here?”
“It’s an escape route for my family. It’s kept locked, but I have a key,” Dmitri says.
I step through the door onto the street, spotting Zadie and Petrov not far away. Since it’s morning and we are near the palace, few walk the streets, and only one person pauses to look our way.
I tug on the veil fitted over the front of my face and attached to the wide rim of my felt hat. It’s a common style among all the clothes. It’s harder for Dmitri because his hat doesn’t cover his face. He keeps his face turned down towards the ground.
We are recognizable if anyone looks directly at our faces, but few people pay attention. Most glance our way and see four, young Seconds and think nothing more.
Alexa Mackintosh
Zadie takes my arm as soon as she spots me and begins to chat as we leave the palace behind. She asks many ques- tions and tells stories, and doesn’t stop until we reach the market. She promises, in her bubbly voice, to show me the best stalls and buy me a new hat as a late arrival gift. She’s pushy but kind and friendly as well, something surprising for a First, much less Royal. Most in the palace, Seconds included, will not even glance my way when I pass them in the hall.
Stalls line both sides of the street, and merchants are beginning to set out their wares. Already the air is full of smells from the savory Sacar pastries to the bitter bite of Lat leaves. Zadie and the others move towards the stalls filled with brightly dyed cloth and newly-made knives. I walk to a large stall filled with vats of spices and fresh fruits.
Several customers stand in line in front of me. They aren’t Firsts despite the White City’s population being primarily one class. I guess they are Thirds or Nameless and work as servants in the mansions. Firsts must have servants to shop for them.
Oh, to have that luxury.
I pick up a red melon and turn it over in my hands. I don’t recognize the palm-sized fruit, and a quick whiff makes me cringe. I set the foul-smelling melon back and choose another unfamiliar plant that catches my eye. It reminds me of cotton with its pods and the fluffy, white material inside them. The stem is strong too.
City of Deception
The merchant asks, “Can I help you, my lady?”
I pull myself from my thoughts. “What can this be used for?” I ask holding up the item.
“It can be used for making paper or twine. It can also be cooked, but I warn, it must be cooked properly. It’s called milkweed, and it can cause quite the allergic reac- tion. It can even be poisonous.”
“Poisonous?” That cannot be true. My mother is the best apothecary I know, and she has taught me every- thing. She never mentioned this plant and she can identify hundreds of plants from memory.
“Yes, ma’am, but don’t worry. It is safe if properly han- dled. It comes from the Great Forests,” he answers.
That can’t be true. I grew up in a village beside one of those forests, and I never saw such a thing.
How could a merchant be ignorant of his goods?
I choose a spice that I also don’t know. It’s mild and almost bitter, and the name on the barrel reads, “Ore- gano.”
“And this comes from?”
“The deserts, my lady,” he answers.
The large, green leaves would never survive a day in the desert. The plant would wither and die.
“Is something the matter?” Dmitri moves up beside me. He's careful to bend his head down to keep his face away from the merchant and customers. His eyes darken with concern.
Alexa Mackintosh
The merchant helps his next customer, frustrated I wasted his time.
“The merchant didn’t know where these things come from. Do you know where this spice originates?”
“It may have been genetically created by the scien- tists.”
“He said it grew in the desert, though, so it wouldn’t matter if scientists created it or not. I can tell it needs much water to grow.”
“How do you know it needs water?”
“I just do.” I bite my lip. I can’t say I know because I studied plants to make poison. Besides, to be this green, it would need water.
“Let’s leave the merchant be and go to breakfast, shall we? Zadie and Petrov went ahead, so they won’t be joining us.”
He steers me away from the stall. My suspicions remain at the front of my thoughts, even though I feel a fool for having them in the first place. My mission makes me sus- ceptible to questioning everything and trusting nothing.
s
We arrive outside a run-down restaurant fifteen minutes later. It’s wedged between a post office and graf- fiti-covered opera house. The sign hangs crookedly above the door threatening to fall on anyone who stands under it too long. The gold lettering is faded, and an R is the last visible letter.
City of Deception
I take it in, surprised by Dmitri’s choice. I will feel more comfortable here than any fine restaurant, but I would think he would be out of place.
“Do you wonder why I come here?” he asks.
“I hate to judge, but from a first glance, I wouldn’t im- agine a prince coming here.”
“I come here when I need to get away from the palace. The Emperor and Empress know I come here, so if I dis- appear, they know where to find me. Sometimes I need space. The owner is a friend and makes sure no one knows my identity.”
“Why come here, though? Why not one of the expen- sive places?”
“Because this is where I can come to be someone else.”
His answer puzzles me. Why would a prince want to be someone else?
Dmitri slides i
nto the seat across from me as a man comes to the table.
“It’s been awhile. I thought you must have tired of the food and decided to fill yourself with the palace cuisine,” the man says.
Dmitri leans back in his seat and waves his hand. “The palace food is overrated.”
The man turns and studies me. He doesn’t hesitate to scan me with his eyes. “You brought a pretty guest with you for the first time too. This is a day to celebrate.” Dmitri ignores his comment. “Why don’t you tell us what’s on the menu today?”
Alexa Mackintosh
We order, and the man shuffles off to the kitchen. I wonder why a machine didn’t take our order, as I've heard usual in the White City. Computers are all but outlawed, but other types of machinery are allowed.
Dmitri leans back in his seat, perfectly at ease. He glances out the glass front of the restaurant watching people pass.
With the man gone, the silence is unsettling. I brush a stray piece of hair back into my hat, but it stubbornly slips out again. Fiddling with the veil and unclipping it from my hat, I try to ignore the circumstances. Becoming friends with the Mersiovskys is part of my mission, but it’s hard to stay calm when the enemy sits across the table.
Dmitri clears his throat. “So, what do you think of the palace now?”
I shrug. “I don’t pretend this will last. Why get used to something when it will soon be taken away, and I will go back to my village? At best, your family will find a way for me to stay a First like they promised, but I doubt they will make sure of it. Glittering gowns and fancy dinners don’t fool me. I’m sorry, Dmitri, I don’t mean to speak ill of your family.”
“What if I could promise you you will never have to go back unless you want to?”
“You can promise many things, Dmitri. It is another thing to follow through with the promises.”
City of Deception (The White City Series Book 1) Page 8
