by Audrey Grey
A short, unremarkable woman wearing dingy gray scrubs pushes a squeaky cart into the room, escorted by the Centurions’ wary gaze. A Silver phoenix flashes below her jaw to indicate her station.
After the Everlasting War, the first Emperor separated the empire into Colors. Those on the losing side of the Everlasting War received Bronze Colors. The few not working in the factories were shipped north to Gold estates to work as servants. Silvers have it better: cushy state jobs, decent hours, and a livable amount of vouchers.
Scalpels, syringes, an assortment of needles, and a clear test tube clank against the Silver’s cart as she steers it into the corner. Her wide-eyed gaze bounces off the others. I’m guessing this is the first time she has encountered a high-ranking Gold.
“Dear, I am Archduchess Victoria Crowder,” the woman in charge says, her voice deep and soft and commanding all at the same time. Her face is slick and tight, like the bloated flesh of a corpse.
I swallow the unsettling feeling wriggling up my chest and lift the pen an inch. “I don’t care who you are; tell your Dandies to stop fondling their weapons, and we can talk.”
The corners of her lips flicker, the way a cat’s whiskers might twitch at a trapped mouse. She crosses to the window, arms folded behind her back. “How long has it been?”
“I’m . . . I’m sorry?” It’s harder than I remember, conversation. At least one with a human being.
“The sky. The outside. How long since you have seen it?”
I lower my pen a bit. “You went to all that trouble to get me here to ask me that?”
“Trouble?” Behind her glasses I can feel her eyes assessing the bloodstain on my side. “Indeed?”
I clear my throat. “A boy died. And the girl you promised a trip upstairs, she’s probably dead too.”
“My, my. That is grievous.” Her words are coated with smug indifference. “Did you kill them?”
“Does it matter?”
“Not particularly.” From the window reflection I catch her lips stretch into a yawn. “Pandora is about to kill millions. The untimely deaths of a few Bronzes are hardly significant.”
“How . . .” I clear my throat and try again. “How soon?” Inside the earth, days became weeks became entire years. Staring into darkness. Listening to the rats cannibalize each other. Dreaming about the taste of food, the smell of food, the feel of it sliding over my tongue and between my teeth. Morning became evening and each day a lifetime.
And then my last match burned away and night became eternal.
“Two weeks, five days until D-Day,” she says in her bored voice. Very carefully she removes her smoky glasses and slips them into her breast pocket, as if whatever is beyond that window deserves clear viewing. “Exactly 552 hours.”
Deliverance Day. The day the Golds and all their servants watch from their space station in the stars as Pandora wreaks havoc on our planet and those remaining.
Deliverance from fear. From death. From us.
Deliverance. The word makes me want to vomit.
She turns to me.
I jerk my pen up. “Close enough.”
Victoria gives a small, disappointed sigh. “For Emperor’s sake, dear, put that thing down.” She nods at the Centurions. “You’re making those two trigger-happy mongoloids twitchy.”
A lie: those two have been twitchy from birth. “Water,” I demand. “Food. Bread. Whatever you have.”
“Deal.”
I know it’s another lie, but I’m too desperate to care. Sensing my weakness, the Archduchess plucks the pen from my grasp. “Good girl.” Her voice oozes control. I shudder as her cruel gaze lazily floats from my forehead to my feet and back up to my face.
Then I notice the wavering image in the corner, and any hope I have for food dies. The Emperor’s hologram studies me, his eyes shiny, mouth twisted into a grin. A jagged gold crown inlaid with phoenix-shaped rubies sits atop his head. Even though I know it’s a hologram—the pencil-sized Interceptor on the floor confirms this—the details of him are so real I imagine that if he moved, the black fur hem of his robe would scrape the dust from the tile.
“Pathetic creature, isn’t she?” the Emperor remarks.
“Yes, my Emperor,” the Archduchess agrees in a reverent tone. “If only her traitorous father could see the worm she is now.”
My lips part an inch, and a startled breath escapes. I have hidden from the Emperor for so long that I had convinced myself he would never find me. Now that he has, it’s hard to control my fear of him.
He runs a finger over his lips. “Hmm, it is unfortunate that Graystone died before we could properly draw and quarter him. That kind of death would have sent a louder message to the worms.”
“But how wise you were,” the Archduchess says, “to mount his head on a pike over the wall, afterward.”
“Yes.” The Emperor rakes his sharp gaze over me. “You are sure this is his daughter?”
“We’ll know soon enough.” The Archduchess twines a tangled orange strand of my hair between her long fingers and tugs, turning my head and exposing my neck. “She removed the Chosen brand. Smart girl. If they knew that she had been Chosen, they would have ripped her limb from limb years ago.” She releases my head. “Lucky for us, she’s still relatively intact.”
The Chosen brand, given to me at birth—along with five thousand other Gold children—is a phoenix, similar to the others. But instead of a color, an orange flame shivered over my flesh. Getting it at birth wasn’t painful, so I’m told, but taking it off with the jagged lip of a glass bottle hurt like hell.
My mouth is bone-dry, and I have to force the words out. “You have the wrong person.”
It’s true. The naïve little girl named after the star from my mother’s favorite constellation shriveled up and died somewhere in the dark of the tunnels.
Victoria cuts her eyes at the Silver girl. “That dreary little thing there is going to collect your blood. Care to amend your statement?”
I roll up the tattered sleeves of my uniform and expose my dirty arm. “Meat, and I will willingly give it to you. Or bread . . . Whatever you have. I’ll take anything.” I hate my weakness, my hunger. “Please.”
“Shut up, filthy maggot, and listen. They call you Digger Girl because you hide in the tunnels. The girl who disappeared, they say. The girl who somehow survives against all odds.” Victoria’s strange pupils enlarge with excitement. “The girl who can manipulate the sensors.”
I shake my head, but it’s a futile gesture. The evidence of my lie is in this very room. Hiding. Hopefully for my sake and his, well enough not to be found.
“You see, Maia, Emperor Laevus has tasked me with finding you and your brother, and for seven years, seven godforsaken years, I have scoured every rotting Diamond City, every filthy maggot prison for you.” Her lips twist into a jagged sneer as she whispers near my ear. “Because of you, the Emperor and his sniveling court are up there now, enjoying what is rightfully mine, while I languish here with you worms.”
“I’m sorry that you wasted—”
Her finger presses hard against my lips. “Shh, maggot. You are just like the other maggots. Blind, greedy, ungrateful. Do you know they are rioting now? Emperor Laevus offered them a chance at life”—her voice grows hateful—“but they want more. It’s always more with you worms. Begging for this, whining for that. Dull maggot faces imploring us to save them, save their worm-brained children. More! More! More!”
She stops suddenly, blinking as she struggles to slip her mask of composure back on. “Maia, I am going to restrain you, carefully peel off your flesh like the skin of an orange, part your tendons and muscles from the bone, and sift through you, every part of you. Your bones will be snapped, your marrow collected, your organs plucked out and examined, all while you are conscious.” Red capillaries tangle across her cheeks as her excitement grows. “I can’t kill you, because if I do, the thing inside you, the thing your father stole from us, it may die too. But that doesn’t mean I
won’t find it.”
She gathers the Silver girl with a wave, and I think I might faint, especially when the needle slips into my forearm. Even though every part of me is screaming, I watch calmly as the syringe gorges on my blood.
“Where is your brother, Maia?” the Archduchess whispers.
I have been staring out the window to avoid her gaze, but now I look straight at the Emperor. “I’ll die before you ever find him.”
For a fraction of a second, something dark spoils his expression. I have the feeling of looking at a still lake and seeing something black and slimy scuttle just below the surface.
The Archduchess slaps my cheek, forcing me to look at her. “How dare you speak to the Emperor that way, maggot!”
Tears of pain spring to my eyes. “Please, I’m not—”
“You have one minute to admit you are Maia and tell me where the key and your brother are.” An alarm sounds outside. Victoria glances at the golden timepiece hanging from her jacket pocket and then nods at the window. “Go peek while you think over the offer.”
This time I don’t press my face against the glass. Something is wrong. A chill runs through me as I watch the filmy black curtain shroud the land. “She’s already here.”
“Pandora eclipses the sun from late afternoon to near sundown. They are calling the dark hours Shadow Fall.”
Pandora’s shadow. From here, she is about the size of a large grape, which explains why I missed her earlier. Dark brown, pitted black in certain spots, she has completely blotted out the sun.
I was four when my father first told me. I can still picture his slim fingers—fingers made for figuring complex mathematical equations and flitting over piano keys—as they steadied the telescope’s eyepiece so I could peer into it.
Inside that small circle of glass, Pandora looked different, perhaps beautiful. But that’s because she was so far off. A chunk of rock millions of miles away.
Now, she’s here. And she’s not beautiful anymore.
Somewhere up there, I know, far away from the asteroid and our doomed planet, is the space station Hyperion. That’s where the Emperor must be communicating from right now, alongside his court of Golds and his precious Chosen.
I cover Pandora with my thumb, as if somehow that can stop her. “Have the Shadow Trials started yet?”
The Emperor chuckles, and for some reason the sound makes my skin crawl. “She is an insolent thing, isn’t she?”
The Archduchess lifts her gloved hand to strike me again, but the Emperor shakes his head. “In a few minutes, you may have all the fun you’d like with her. But for now, let the worm witness our coming destruction.”
I peer again into the darkness. It’s like a murky pond, where you can just make out the bottom if you look hard enough. “Why do they clear the yard?”
I fight the urge to slap a hand over my mouth as the question hangs dangerously in the air. Smart, Graystone. Keep asking questions and maybe they’ll kill you now instead of dragging it out.
“Because in the shadow murk,” Victoria says, “you worms do horrible things to each other.” She glances at her timepiece, and a hideous smile stretches her face. “Minute’s up.”
Before I can move, the two Centurions pin me, one on each arm, against the wall. The hard edge of a frame gouges into my left shoulder. I smell the sharp tang of the polish used on their weapons and the subtle talc of their wigs.
Victoria’s immaculate left glove rustles as she slips it off. With her ungloved hand, she removes a long hatpin adorned with the Emperor’s golden phoenix from her hat. Her thin, hooked nose nearly touches mine.
But there’s something off about her eyes. Strange white marks pock her pale-gray irises, her pupils jagged and torn. “Where did he hide it, maggot?”
My heart hammers inside my chest. “What?”
“The key. Is it here?” She taps my nose with the sharp end of the hatpin. “Here?” The needle pricks my lips. “I know you hold the key and your brother holds the map. What I don’t know is where.”
“You’re crazy,” I say, flinching as she scrapes the hatpin along my jawbone and cheek until it hovers over my right eye. And she could be. Crazy. With her feverish stare, her gaping smile, the subtle tic of her left cheek.
But we both know what she says is true. My father hid something in my brother and me. I’m not exactly sure what—they killed him before I could find out—but whatever it is, the Emperor must want it badly enough to send the Archduchess scouring the country for it.
“My guess is here.” The needle jabs at my eyelashes, making me blink. “With the eyes you must be delicate. Use pliers and they may burst. The same for a scalpel. But an ordinary soup spoon pops them out in seconds and leaves them perfectly intact.”
The Emperor’s face is flushed, his breathing shallow and rapid. He enjoys watching her hurt me. When she releases me, a dissatisfied grunt escapes his lips.
“Take her.” The Archduchess waves to the Centurions. “Careful, idiots, she’s crawling with vermin.”
“Victoria,” the Emperor says, “take care of our problem; I know you won’t let me down again, whatever it takes.”
Beaming, the Archduchess bows. “I’m your loyal servant until the end, my Emperor.”
The two Centurions heft me easily toward the door. I manage to kick one in the thigh, but I might as well be punting a tree trunk. In response he flips me into a headlock, my windpipe sandwiched between his forearm and bicep, and squeezes.
Black dots circle my vision; my eyes feel as if they’ll burst out of my sockets.
Won’t the Archduchess be happy about that? I think, a bit madly.
The room begins to spin, but one face stays in focus. Victoria appraises me with a demented smile. Her right hand crosses over her heart. “All Hail the Emperor, little worm.”
Absurdly, I feel myself smile. In the chaos, Bramble has managed to sneak out. I watch him scuttle down the hall, growing smaller inside the tiny dot of vision I have left.
Run. That’s it, B. Run!
I somehow manage to snatch this one small comfort, drawing it in and savoring it like the breath my body pleads for as the dark closes in.
Safe. He’s safe . . .
Chapter Four
I am curled in a ball on a cold, hard floor. A massive headache bear hugs my brain, my side stiff and throbbing. I’m hoping the injury is only a flesh wound but can’t be sure unless I look. Given my recent luck, it’s probably best I don’t.
The scent of old urine mixed with the coppery smell of blood tickles my throat. Mine or the previous occupant’s, it’s impossible to say.
How long was I out? I wonder, just as a rodent the size of a large cat zips across the small triangle of light streaming in and begins to lap at a dark puddle on the floor. My blood.
In the pit, the only things worse than the darkness are the creatures that hide inside it. I kick at the rat.
It hisses, gnashes the air with finger-length incisors, and brazenly continues its red feast.
See, Maia, even the rats aren’t afraid of you.
My vision begins to swirl. I lean over my knees, blinking away oily mist. A deep ache bores up my side. Looking down, I discover the upper half of my uniform is soaked. Not a flesh wound.
I am bleeding out.
My wobbly thoughts echo off memories. Fleeing with Max the night they killed my father. Max’s tiny, pitiful cries as we huddled together in the escape elevator concealed inside my father’s lab. The cold nights and brutal days hiding in the streets so the Centurions wouldn’t find us. Starving.
I want to laugh. I want to cry. Perhaps it is a mercy to die this way. I will go to sleep. Sleep . . .
The sound of the rat’s claws scraping the stone as it flees brings me back. Something is wrong. Just outside my cell, keys jangle softly. The door lock releases with a sharp click and an inrush of fresh air.
The test results. They already know.
It’s a different screw this time. In fact, he’s t
he same screw that led me to the pit my first day here, although I can’t tell if he recognizes me through his dead twitcher gaze, the half-stare all tar-heads eventually get from the nanos mucking through their brain. Next comes the twitching as the nanos invade his nervous system.
I kick out at him and nearly collapse with the effort. Ignoring my pathetic struggle, the screw manacles my hands in front of my waist, clipping the long chain that holds the shackles to his belt.
We don’t say a word to each other as he drags me down the narrow hallway separating the cells.
I feel helpless, defeated. Just like old times.
I’m more than a little surprised when he leads me through a door to the outside. I gaze up at the stars. It’s nighttime and a big pearly moon guides our path. The cool wind pierces my tattered clothing and nestles in my bones.
I must keep pausing because the screw keeps yanking my chain. The blood loss is starting to get to me. My vision spins every time I take a step, and my legs feel cold and heavy.
I try to wiggle my toes, but nothing happens. Not good, Graystone.
Soon it’s as if my brain has turned the volume down. I can’t hear our footsteps, can hardly hear the keys jangle as the screw unlocks the two unmanned gates we pass. I peer through heavy eyelids at the concrete buildings ahead, rumored to be for the rare, wealthy Bronze. I fight the growing urge to lay down right here on the grass and sleep.
The screw yanks on my shackles. “Move it, Pit Leech!”
I stumble toward the enclosure leaking smoke from its chimney. “Where”—my gaze skips across the weathered wooden door in front of us—“are we?”
“Shut up.” The screw fumbles with my restraints.
My arms spring free and I flex my sore wrists as he gives two quick raps on the door, opens it with a key, and then pushes me inside the dark room. The door slams shut behind me.
