Veracity (The Seven Cities Book 1)

by Lindsey Stell

  At my confused look she begins to explain the process to me. Most of it sounds okay, some of it sounds questionable, and a few parts sound down right uncomfortable. I ask her if those parts are necessary and she assures me that they are.

  "I have a few questions first if you don't mind.," she says, holding out her arm, revealing the scanner against her wrist.

  "I don't mind." I say, reaching my arm out and grasping hers.

  "Are you ready?"

  I nod back at her, nervous.

  "What is your name?"

  "Katherine Winters."

  "Your age?"

  "18"

  "What do you know of your past?"

  "I woke up in a tent with a man. He says we were in love and alluded to a relationship. He wiped my memory, but seemed very upset we had to go our separate ways."

  "Did he tell you anything?"

  "Just to head north and find a safe house."

  How many times am I going to be asked this?

  "Did he say if you were involved in an intimate relationship?"

  "He didn't say. I woke up mostly undressed, but I don't remember ever being intimate with him."

  "I see. Well, no use delaying the unpleasantness; let's get on with the physical part of the exam. That will answer those questions as well."

  The exam is awful, but worth it, I suppose, if it can tell me whether anything happened that I should know about. Would it change things if it had?

  "Well, I've got good news," she says smiling.

  "I didn't . . . "

  "You didn't."

  "Thank you," I tell her. "I am relieved to hear it."

  "I am sure the General will be as well!" she laughs, heading out the door.

  10 – Outsider

  Weston escorts me to my suite, explaining in great length how it was designed by my fiancé, down to the smallest detail, especially for me. In short, it is a better representation of who I was, than I ever could be.

  Walking into the suite is like walking into one of my vivid dreams, an elaborate reminder of what I've lost. The suite's double doors open to a quaint sitting room filled with bowls of fruit and flowers from the garden. Gorgeous mahogany love-seats are strewn about the room, and two of the walls are lined with floor-to-ceiling bookcases. The shelves are filled with ancient volumes, delicate knick-knacks, and parlor games.

  The walls not occupied with bookcases are adorned with paintings of ballet dancers and flowering gardens, creating an environment that is elegantly feminine. Never in my wildest dreams, could I have imagined a room as plush and extravagant as this one.

  My lady's maid, Maggie, is waiting for me as I enter the room. A short, plump woman with a wide friendly smile, she wraps me in a giant bear hug as soon as Weston walks away. My heart squeezes with delightful familiarity at the unexpected show of affection. She is a stranger to me, but her arms bring back feelings of contentment and safety. We are both a little misty eyed by the time she pulls away.

  "That's not the proper way for a lady's maid to act, love, so don't let any other maid treat you such. I shouldn't have, but it was just so good to see you."

  "You know me from before?"

  "Yes, love, I know you," she says drying her eyes. "I've been with you since you were a little girl. Spent more time with you than your own Ma, I dare say, bless her heart."

  "I am pleased to meet you," I say, feeling slightly awkward with meeting yet another person who knows me better than I do.

  "The General warned me that you've forgotten, but it still breaks my heart to see you standing there lost as a puppy. If your poor mother could see you . . .", she trails off, wiping her eyes.

  "I'm sorry to upset you so," I say. "I've heard my mother was a lovely person."

  "That she was dear," Maggie says, sniffing. "Now, enough of the mushy stuff, let me show you around."

  "I would appreciate that very much," I say. "I am ready to have a place that feels like my own."

  "Of course you do," she says, patting my hand. "For starters, this is the sitting room. When someone comes to visit you, they stay here. No one is to go into the rooms beyond. After you marry, your husband can come and go as he pleases, but he will use a door in your bedchamber, which will remain locked until the wedding. You will spend a lot of time in this room, so we have stocked it with all the things that you enjoy. You have never stayed in these suites before, so while it may have been decorated with the old you in mind, this is entirely your space. No other version of you, so to speak, has been here. Take comfort in that, dear, because this will be your sanctuary."

  Maggie opens a second set of heavy double doors revealing an elegant bedroom. The outer wall is a solid window, save for a balcony door. The glass is covered by heavy drapes that are tied back, filling the room with sunlight. An oversize canopy bed with gauzy curtains made of fine, green fabric dominates the center of the room. A desk is tucked into a nearby corner, and a small, two-chair dining table fills another. Matching ornate armchairs sit near a fireplace that occupies the wall across from the bed.

  "That door by the bed stays locked until you marry," Maggie says sternly. "Your husband-to-be will have a suite attached yours then. He lives across the Big House for now. The door on the right of the fireplace leads to your bath and dressing room. The door on your left leads to the maid's quarters. Never go in there, it isn't proper for a Lady to enter our rooms. I assure you it is comfortable and we want for nothing. If you should need us, there is a rope near your bed. Pull it and, we will be out right away. "

  Maggie ushers me through the door to the bathing room. Nearly as large as the bedroom, the bath has a sunken tub, beautiful vanity, and shelves full of lotions and soaps. I stare into the small room containing the toilet, and I remember how excited I felt to find a working facility in the library. It feels so long ago, years instead of days. The sheer extravagance of the Big House compared to the outside world is astounding. It's no wonder no one wants to leave the city.

  "It's a pretty standard toilet," a crisp voice laughs behind me, "though I can personally attest that it is clean as a whistle."

  Embarrassed, I turn to find a young maid grinning at me. She is a tiny thing, both in height and weight, and has the blondest hair I have ever seen. It is almost pure white, and her blue eyes remind me of the lake in Ruth's village.

  "My name is Sadie," she says. "I've been waiting hours for you to get here. We need to hurry up and get you ready before you miss dinner."

  "I'm sorry," I say with a frown. "I didn't mean to keep you."

  "Don't worry about it," she grins, helping me undress down to my shift, "Waiting is a big part of my job. I'm just excited to finally be able to do something useful!"

  I am gently pushed into a soft armchair near the bathroom's petite fireplace. As she runs a bath, Sadie babbles on about this and that, gossip and stories of every kind, rambling as she pours sweet smelling oils into the tub. When beckoned, I slip out of my shift and sink down into the warm water.

  After lathering up with rich shampoo, I lean back as Sadie pours a pitcher of water over my head. Surprisingly, having someone help me bathe does not bother me. Maybe I am more accustomed to this lifestyle than I thought.

  While I soak in the fragrant bath, Sadie trims, buffs, and manicures my nails before holding up a towel for me. I step out of the tub, drying off quickly and don a soft robe. Leading me back to the chair near the fire, she runs a comb through small handfuls of my hair, drying it with the heat from the flames. It takes nearly fifteen minutes for my hair to dry and Sadie chatters like a little bird the entire time.

  While she pins my hair in an elaborate design at the vanity, Sadie talks about her cousin who is graduating the school this year. The poor thing is so worried about being unmatched, like Sadie that she can't sleep at night.

  "I didn't realize being matched was so competitive," I say. "That you could want to be married, but not be able to."

  "It's very competitive," she says. "If you aren't matched, you end up i
n a service profession. The higher professions like doctors or lady's maids can still marry, but its usually to an older man who has lost his wife. The lower professions have no chance at all. That's why we work so hard to get picked by the boys."

  "I thought people didn't have a say in who they married."

  "Oh they don't really," she says offhand, "but the boys get to pick their first choice. More often than not, the ancestry is good so it gets approved. If they think the match isn't good, or if they are too closely related, they'll check the girls who weren't picked for a match. Girls of course get no say in the matter."

  "That's so unfair."

  "Maybe, but it works," she smiles. "Say what you will about Veracity and its ways, but the system works."

  As she talks she picks up pin after pin, using them to shape and arrange my hair. The sheer number of pins she uses is questionable, but I have to admit that the result is beautiful. Sadie hands me a bottle of sweet smelling lotion, and I work it into my skin feeling very spoiled and luxurious. A sheer gloss of rose color is swept over my lips and I am escorted to the dressing room.

  The room is so packed with gowns and jewelry, that all I can do is turn in circles trying to take it all in. Sadie laughs when she sees my reaction, but gives me the time I need to explore the room.

  The rows of green gowns all look identical to me, but she seems to see vast differences as she moves down the row, rejecting dress after dress. Finally, she pulls out a dark green gown, much like all the others, and holds it by my feet. I step into the gown and she pulls it up, clasping it at my shoulder with a delicate, rose pin.

  "Your mother gave you that," she says sadly, before moving on.

  Pulling out a thin, gold chain, Sadie wraps it low on my hips leaving the top of the gown loose and draping. She slides a pair of gold colored slippers on my feet and a simple gold necklace around my neck. Standing in front the mirror, I look like a different person, elegant but understated.

  My transformation complete, I return to the sitting room to find a young man waiting for me. This must be Travis.

  Beautiful, with striking blue eyes like his father and a mass of golden curls, he is tall, though not nearly as tall as Grayson or the General. Where their bodies are strong and muscular, Travis is lean and refined. He smiles broadly when I walk in, moving quickly to bow and take my hand. As handsome as he is, I am disappointed to feel none of the instant attraction I felt with Grayson. Why did I have to be interested in the wrong brother?

  What I feel when Travis takes my hand is a comfortable familiarity, a sense of belonging and an echo of family. Much like I felt with Maggie. Although I don't feel anything romantic for him, it isn't hard to imagine a world where we had been close.

  "It is strange for me to introduce myself to you," he says with a wide, friendly grin. "But I'm Travis."

  "It's nice to meet you Travis. I understand you are my fiancé."

  "Technically yes, but we don't have to rush into anything. I know you need time to adjust to the idea, but for the sake of politics and tradition, you are considered my fiancé. My father will make the formal announcement within the week."

  "Thank you for being so understanding," I say. "The idea of having my future decided for me is definitely something I need to wrap my head around."

  "I completely understand," he says. "For now, though, I am afraid we have an even more pressing matter that can't be delayed."

  "Which is?" I ask nervously.

  "Meeting the rest of my family."

  Travis leads me to the garishly opulent dining hall. When we step in, I am at a loss, barely able to do more than gawk at the extravagance. Candlelight shimmers on crystal stemware, silver forks lie in perfect rows next to delicate china, and music floats softly from an adjoining room. Scanning the area from the open door, my anxiety pools in the pit of my stomach. Travis' hand presses softly on the small of my back, gently pushing me into the room. Giving him a grateful look over my shoulder, I let him steer me to the table.

  The General and Grayson, both striking in their green formal uniforms, are the only ones in the room and their conversation stops dead as we enter. Standing, the General takes my hand and leads me to the empty chair to his right. Travis takes the seat next to mine, creating a welcome buffer between me and Grayson, who is slumped down in his chair with an expression that can only be described as pouting.

  "I see you two are hitting it off," the General says.

  "She only met me five minutes ago father," Travis laughs. "It takes at least ten to know me well enough to dislike me."

  "I doubt I could dislike you," I say, feeling awkward.

  "Who could?" Grayson says sourly. "With all those shiny, white teeth and golden curls? The only way anyone could even see the real you is if you happen to be standing in the shade."

  "What on earth does that mean?" the General asks, annoyed.

  "He means that my good looks are as blinding as the glare from our sacred wall," Travis says, grinning wide to flash his father a pearly smile.

  "What a skill to have," the General grunts. "Maybe you shouldn't go get that haircut I've ordered after all. I wouldn't want to interfere with your glare."

  Travis' undoubtedly witty retort is interrupted as two women walk into the room. A statuesque brunette takes a seat next to Grayson while an immensely pregnant redhead waddles to our end of the table.

  "Sorry we are late," the redhead says dismissively, as she lowers her rounded body into the chair across from mine. "But I imagine you men are accustomed to waiting on beautiful women."

  "Maybe if you could dress yourselves, it wouldn't take as long," the General quips. "Katherine, I would like to introduce you to my wife, Amber, and the pretty girl sitting next to Grayson is my daughter, Laura."

  "It's nice to meet you both," I say.

  "You almost look presentable," Amber says to me sweetly. "I expected you to be half wild by now, living beyond the wall as long as you have."

  "Thank you . . . I suppose."

  "In fact," she says, her voice dripping in feigned concern, "I was sure you would be far too tired to even join us this evening. It must be exhausting to try and re-acclimate to the civilized world."

  "Not at all," I say, trying to hold a smile. "I have two of the sweetest maids helping me readjust."

  "Two?" she shoots a glance at the General. "That seems excessive. Most ladies manage with just one."

  "Now Amber my dear," the General says, patting her tiny hand. "No need to feel put out. Katherine's maids came with her from Axiom. It's customary there for General's daughters to have more than one maid."

  "And I assume a General's daughter is worth more than a General's wife?"

  "Actually," he says, staring her down. "A General's daughter is worth significantly more than a General's wife, especially considering that the wife is in fact a second wife and the daughter of a merchant."

  Amber sits back stunned, her shock slowly morphing into anger, which she focuses on me with a razor like gaze. I keep my eyes lowered to my plate, reluctant to meet it.

  The rest of dinner is overshadowed by Amber's sour attitude, Grayson's sullen silence, and my general awkwardness. Both Travis and Laura do their best to draw us into conversation, but their attempts are futile. The General is content to ignore us all as he eats; choosing instead to read a stack of papers Weston has brought him.

  I try to stay involved in the conversation, but I find myself spending most of my time examining the people around me. Doing my best to be sly in my scrutiny, my eyes make their way around the table. First is the General of course, with his stoic and sturdy good looks. He makes a show of flipping through his papers, but I catch him peering over the top from time to time, casting concerned looks at his brooding son. It is clear that Grayson's bad mood is affecting his father, regardless of how hard the General is trying to hide it.

  Next comes Amber with her girlish face and bright red hair. Unlike the rest of us, she has left her hair unbound, free to cascade how it wil
l in a mixture of soft curls and ringlets. Amber looks about my age, and would be exceedingly pretty if she didn't frown so often. Her big belly doesn't sit well on her tiny frame, causing her to adjust and readjust her position in the hard dining chair. Every so often, she stretches with a groan, rubbing her lower back in an effort to relieve her discomfort.

  Next, my eyes travel further down the table to Laura, who seems to have inherited the very best of her family. She is tall and regal like her father and Grayson, but lovely like Travis. Simply stunning in her sage gown, her long, brown hair is pulled up in a mass of curls. Laura is mostly as sweet as she looks, but has a mean sense of humor. Delighting in the awkwardness around her, she uses her velvety voice to taunt and rile both Amber and Grayson. Her interest strays to me as well, spending a great deal of time asking me questions, finding it amusing that I have no answers.

  Throughout the meal, Grayson stays slumped down in his chair, his dusky eyes catching mine more than either one of us would have liked. The change in him still baffles me; what did the General say to him to invoke such a transformation? Grayson makes a show of eating, pushing his food around without ever raising the fork to his lips. His wine glass, however, sees plenty of attention, draining over and over, always quickly refilled by a dutiful server.

  Sitting next to Grayson, Travis looks like an angel. He radiates from the inside and is truly beautiful to see. I watch my future husband as he talks to Laura, his face so perfectly aligned, he doesn't even seem real. My physical indifference to him is strange, even more so when you take into consideration the bond I felt with the man in the forest, and the undeniable attraction I feel for Grayson. Travis is everything a girl could ever want in a fiance, but I still wish it were Grayson that I was engaged to; despite his foul mood and apparent drunkenness.

  I break my gaze from Travis and nearly jump out of my skin when I see the General's mother standing behind Amber, staring me down. Her ancient face is curled into a grimace, the paper-thin skin stretched much further than I would have thought possible. Amber catches my gaze and follows it behind her, letting out a little scream as she sees the old woman.