by Anna Jarzab
“What does that have to do with Grant?” I demanded.
“He touched me,” Thomas said. “Well, technically, he punched me. Right here.” He tapped a spot on his jaw.
“Why would he punch you?”
“You know about Juliana, but try to imagine what it might be like to see her face to face.” Thomas took a deep breath. “It’s a … well, it’s weird. I was shocked at how much he looked like me, even though that’s what I was expecting. He must’ve thought he was losing his mind. I guess he just reacted. As soon our skin made contact, he was thrown through the tandem.”
“Are you telling me that Grant is in Aurora? Is he here? In the Citadel?”
“No,” Thomas said, avoiding my eyes. “That was the plan, initially. I was going to send him through the tandem, and a team of KES agents in the Tattered City were supposed to retrieve him. They were going to hold him at a safe house until I brought you here, and then they were going to take him home.”
“But that didn’t happen,” I guessed.
“Libertas got to him first,” Thomas admitted. I covered my face with my hands and groaned. “They think it’s me they’ve got in custody. The General’s expecting a ransom request any day now, and when it comes, he’ll pay it, and send Grant home.”
“You know,” I snapped, “in the battle of KES versus Libertas, you guys are totally losing. They’ve kidnapped Juliana, they’ve kidnapped Grant, and they almost kidnapped me. What is wrong with you people that you can’t even do your jobs?”
Thomas opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out. Finally he said, “You’re right.” He sounded stunned. “You’re absolutely right.”
“Thomas?” I narrowed my eyes at him, trying to figure out what was going on in his mind, but I couldn’t decipher his expression at all. I waved a hand in front of his face. “Are you in there?”
He nodded, blinking as if he’d just broken out of a trance. “We should go. You can’t be late for dinner, the queen will kill us all.”
“Not if Libertas gets there first,” I muttered.
Eighteen
The Castle’s formal dining room was large and bright, with a long oak table that spanned its length. It was covered with candles that flickered in the slight breeze coasting in through the open windows. Crystal goblets threw rainbows of light across the place settings, each of which had more utensils than it seemed possible to use. Nathaniel Whitehall, the president of the Congress, sat near me, and he’d spent nearly the entire time telling stories from when he and the king, friends since childhood, had been young.
“And so I said to your father, if you can’t ride a horse properly, how the hell are you going to manage a kingdom?” Whitehall burst into a fit of red-faced laughter, and our entire end of the table followed suit, some more sincerely than others. The queen’s gaze darted to the head chair, which had been left empty in tribute to the king. I pretended to find Whitehall’s anecdote amusing, more for my sake than his. The General was keeping an incredibly close eye.
The air in the dining room was clotted with tension, and not just between the General and me. The queen laughed along with Whitehall’s jokes the same as everyone else, but I could see hatred blazing in her ice-blue eyes, and remembered what Thomas had told me—that Whitehall had been under consideration for the regency the queen now held, and he almost won it right out from under her, with considerable support from Juliana. Now, watching us get on so well together, she was visibly tense, as if she expected us to launch a campaign to overthrow her right there over the fish course.
For the first time since I entered Aurora, I was truly alone among the natives. Domestic staffers came in and out to serve and clean up after each course, but the KES agents—of which Thomas was one of many—were outside the room, presumably guarding the entrances. There were even a few agents on the balcony outside; I could see them out there in their black suits, pacing back and forth on high alert for any disturbances.
I hadn’t realized how much I depended on Thomas—if not for help and advice, then just as a familiar face in unfamiliar surroundings. I would’ve been so much more relaxed if he’d been there, watching from a distant corner while I played my part, rooting for me to succeed. I knew now why the General had trusted him with assisting me; it wasn’t just that he was a respected and talented KES agent, despite his age. It was that he had both the steely-eyed composure of a soldier and the ability to speak to me like I was a real person. Maybe that was why he and Juliana had become friends. I was experiencing firsthand how people acted around her. She was simultaneously above and below them; too high born to be treated like a normal teenage girl, but too young to be taken seriously as a political force in her own right. Thomas must’ve been a breath of fresh air, someone she could both rely on to protect her and also confide in. Again, I wondered how deep their connection had been, and, surprisingly, found myself hoping that friendship was as far as it had gone between them.
Of all the dinner guests, Whitehall was the only person who behaved like Juliana was a regular person. Thomas had told me earlier that Whitehall was Juliana’s godfather, which explained both his easy familiarity with her and the way she’d supported him when the regency was under dispute. He treated her like a beloved niece, and I did my best to act accordingly, even going so far as to call him Whit, which was apparently Juliana’s nickname for him.
“You remember how bad a rider Al was, don’t you, General?” Whitehall shoveled a few stalks of asparagus into his mouth and smiled amiably over at the General as he chewed. The General’s eyes widened just a fraction; he took a sip of wine, swallowed, and paused before responding.
You couldn’t have found two more different men than Whitehall and the General if you scoured the entire planet. Whitehall was a large man, loud and jovial and friendly. The General was smaller in height and in girth; he was lean and fastidious about his appearance, with a habit of speaking in a low voice so that you had to bend forward to hear him. Whitehall, the General, and the king had known each other since they were young, which made it all the more strange that Whitehall called the General by his title and not his name—something he didn’t do for the king.
“His Majesty was a fine rider from an early age,” the General said, his voice taut and dark with disapproval. “I’m surprised that you’re being so cavalier with your stories about our friend, Whitehall. Can’t you see how it’s upsetting Her Majesty?”
I glanced over at the queen; sure enough, her eyes were brimming with tears. Whitehall hung his head, duly shamed, and apologized to the queen for his mistake.
“It’s all right, Whitehall,” she said, lifting her chin imperiously. “But perhaps we should talk about happier things. Like, for instance, Juliana’s upcoming nuptials.”
I tensed as all eyes turned toward me. “What about them?”
“Prince Callum arrives tomorrow,” the queen reminded me. “Surely you must be thrilled, darling.” I had to restrain myself from visibly cringing at the bitter way she uttered the word “darling” and somehow managed to dredge up a smile.
“Oh yes.” The General’s eyes were on me, and all I could bring myself to say was, “I’m terribly thrilled.”
The queen laughed. “So shy! I was all nerves before my wedding. But there’s nothing to worry about, my dear.”
“I’m not worried,” I countered. “I hear great things about Prince Callum. I’m sure we’ll be happy together.”
“We’ve missed you here, Juli,” Whitehall told me, mercifully changing the subject. “I heard you were off relaxing at St. Lawrence. What in the world were you doing there for two weeks? I’m hardly at my country house three days before I’m restless and yearning for the city.”
“I like the country,” I said. “It’s peaceful. And I only have to change clothes once a day.”
That got a huge laugh from the table; the fact that Juliana was often photographed in multiple outfits on the same day was a well-worn joke in the tabloids. Yet another gem of wisdom
from Thomas, whose knowledge of Juliana’s day-to-day was coming in handy even more than I would ever have expected.
“Fair point to you,” Whitehall said, tipping his glass in my direction. Just then, a phalanx of servers bustled in carrying covered silver trays in their white-gloved hands. “What’s this, then? Dessert?” He addressed the question to me with a dramatic wink.
“What …” A server placed a tray in front of me and lifted the lid. “Oh no.”
“I was in the European Federation last week,” Whitehall explained, while I stared at what was on my plate. “And our ambassador in Paris—you’ve met Richter Barnard, haven’t you, Juli?” I nodded, not sure she had but certain nobody would question me about it. “Anyway, he ordered this for us both, and I liked it so much I twisted the chef’s arm for the recipe to give to the Castle kitchen. I thought you might enjoy it. I know how much you love chocolate.”
I swallowed hard. I was looking at what was probably the most delicious chocolate mousse cake ever invented, but I was never going to taste it. I hadn’t had chocolate since I was three years old, when a birthday cupcake brought on a brain-splitting migraine and full-body hives. I’d been tested and sure enough—I was allergic to cacao, the main ingredient in chocolate. And now, here it was, sitting on my plate, as everyone waited for me to take a bite.
I took a deep breath and beamed at Whitehall, who seemed very proud of himself. “Thank you so much, Whit. It looks amazing, but I promised Her Majesty that I’d watch what I ate. I have to fit into my wedding dress!” My smile was so wide and tight, I thought my face might split in half. The General looked at me suspiciously over the rim of his wineglass, and the queen rolled her eyes.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Juliana, I think you can manage a couple of bites,” she said. “After all, Whitehall went to all this trouble to do something nice for you. Skip lunch tomorrow instead.”
“Yes, Your Highness,” the General said. “A small taste won’t kill you.”
I picked up my fork. It didn’t look like I had a choice; everyone at the table was waiting for me to start eating my dessert so they could dig into theirs. I’d have to eat at least a little bit, to appease them. But I wasn’t sure a small taste wouldn’t kill me, as the General so succinctly put it.
I plunged my fork into the soft, spongy cake and lifted it to my mouth. I barely tasted it; I was too worried about what was going to happen next that I wasn’t even able to enjoy eating chocolate for the first time in over a decade. When I’d gotten it down, I turned to Whitehall with a grateful smile. “That is the best dessert I’ve ever had. They’d better take it away from me now before I eat the whole thing!”
Whitehall laughed. “Oh, just eat it, for God’s sake, girl. You’ve only got one life, you know.”
Well, I thought ruefully. I guess that depends on who you are.
The rest of the guests turned to their own desserts, and soon the air was full of rapturous exclamations over the cake. Whitehall grinned like a self-satisfied child as even the queen thanked him for thinking to ask the French chef for his delicious recipe and bringing it to the Castle. Only the General withheld his opinion, leaving everyone to wonder what he thought as he slowly and deliberately picked at his dessert.
Eventually, though, people got tired of praising the cake and moved on to other topics. Whitehall, desperate for the General’s attention, asked him about how his sons were doing.
Sons? I thought in surprise. It had never occurred to me that the General might have children—and, in that case, a wife, or at least an ex-wife. An ex-wife seemed like a more reasonable assumption. Either way, the thought of him breeding turned my stomach. What must it be like to have the General as a father? He didn’t seem like the type of person who would even want children, or enjoy raising them. I listened closer to their conversation, my interest piqued. To my relief, I wasn’t feeling any differently than I had before I’d eaten the cake. Maybe I’d outgrown the allergy. And not a minute too soon, it seemed.
“They’re fine,” the General said. He was speaking to Whitehall, but he was staring straight at me. “Lucas just got back from visiting his mother.”
“Is Alice still living at the Montauk house?” Whitehall asked.
The General shrugged. He seemed irritated that Whitehall was pressing him about his family life. “She likes it better by the water. Alice has never been one for cities.”
“She must miss both your boys, though,” Whitehall continued, either oblivious to the General’s displeasure, or in defiance of it. I mentally pocketed this piece of information—so the General had two sons. How interesting.
Suddenly, a shock of pain rolled across my temples.
“I’m sure she does,” the queen piped up. Her voice was far away, like the sound of ocean waves inside a seashell. “It must be so difficult, having your children gone and not knowing what could happen to them. Especially in your line of work.”
The General nodded. “I suppose she does miss them, but they visit regularly. Well, Lucas does, at any rate.”
“Just Lucas?” Whitehall asked. “Thomas doesn’t go to see her?”
A sudden crash drew all the attention in the room to me. My wineglass lay shattered on the floor in dozens of glinting pieces. The room was silent but for the sound of my labored breathing. I couldn’t get enough air. Everything seemed to be closing in on me, faces pressing into my eyeballs. Blood roared in my ears and my skin was growing hotter by the second, as if someone had doused me in kerosene and then lit a match.
“Juli!” Whitehall reached out to steady me. I was listing to one side, in great danger of toppling off my chair. Whitehall’s skin had the pallor of a bar of soap. “What’s wrong?”
I touched my neck; I could feel hives rising beneath my fingertips. My head hurt so badly, I thought it was going to explode. I rubbed my temples, hoping to coax the pain out but failing miserably.
“I think she’s having an allergic reaction. Someone call a doctor!” Whitehall shouted. He put his arm around my shoulders. I was shaking, my teeth chattering. “Close those doors! She’s cold!”
The General stared at me, unmoving, his expression blank. The only indication that he might have been upset by what was happening was a slight tightness in his jaw. He didn’t resemble Thomas at all, but the way they looked when they were trying to hide an upswell of emotion was something they shared. I hadn’t noticed before, but now it was all I could see. Thomas was the General’s son.
How could I have been so blind? It made so much sense. It explained why Thomas was in the position he was, so young and yet so uniquely placed in the agency. Nepotism had played its part well. And what about Thomas’s brother, this other boy, Lucas? Was he in the KES, too? How old was he? And what was his reward for being the General’s spawn?
But the question that kept rising to the top, the one I needed an answer to above all others, was: why did Thomas tell me his parents were dead? Clearly that was a lie, and an awful one, because it had made me believe, for a few short but important seconds, that he and I might have something in common. I was so stupid. He’d only been trying to manipulate me, the way he had from the very first moment that we came into contact, and I’d fallen for it, just like I’d fallen for it back on Earth.
Hands grasped me by the shoulders and shook me to get my attention. I opened my eyes. Thomas was crouched in front of my chair, which someone had yanked away from the table with me still on it, to give me room and make way for help. I tried to wrench away from him, but I could only manage a weak shudder.
“What happened?” he whispered.
I looked over at the dessert, which was still sitting, mostly uneaten, on the plate. “I told you I was allergic to chocolate,” I whispered back.
He nodded, his expression grave. “Don’t worry. The doctor’s on his way.”
Thomas helped lay me down on a settee in the reception area that adjoined the dining room. The other guests had been shuffled off, and only the queen, the General, and Whitehall r
emained behind to oversee my care. The queen sat stiff as a poker in a straight-backed chair near the settee, her mouth set in a grim line. Whitehall paced back and forth. It wasn’t until the General barked, “Sit down, Whitehall!” from his place near the door, that Whitehall finally gathered himself and flopped into a nearby armchair.
A wave of panic swept through me and I began to cry. I tried to staunch the tears with the backs of my hands, but I couldn’t. I wanted my mother so badly. The first time I had a reaction, she took me home from the doctor’s and put me to bed, then crawled in with me and curled her body around mine, holding me through the night. I missed her so much it was like a black hole had opened up inside of me, consuming everything in its path. I want to go home, I thought desperately, and the tears came faster, spilling down my cheeks. Thomas gazed at me with eyes full of concern, and I almost lost it. The only thing that stopped me was the stark reality of my circumstances and fear of the General’s wrath.
The door to the reception room slid open and a man walked in. I turned to look at him. He was short and grizzled, with a shock of thinning silver hair and a thick white mustache that curled over his lip like a fat caterpillar. He held a black doctor’s bag in his hand and wore a pair of thick gold-rimmed spectacles that made his eyes seem overlarge and surprised.
“Who are you?” the queen demanded. “Where’s Dr. Rowland?”
“Dr. Rowland is off duty tonight,” the General said, before the man could speak. “Dr. Moss is one of our KES physicians.”
“Your Majesty.” Dr. Moss bowed low before the queen, then turned his attention to me. “Your Highness, I’m sorry to see you in this distressing state. Would you mind if I gave you a cursory examination?”
I looked at Thomas, who nodded. “Yes, of course.”
“Wonderful. Excuse me, Agent, would you mind moving aside?” Thomas did as he was asked, disappearing from my field of vision.
