by Audrey Grey
His message is clear. The game is over. Delphine may appear to have won, but anyone with an observant eye will see otherwise.
There is an awkward pause as Delphine weighs her options. Roman lays his hand on his waistband, just beneath his morning coat, where his short sword hangs. An eager, expectant smile carves into his thick jaw. One tiny gesture from Delphine and he’ll gladly unleash hell. Some of the other Chosen shift uncomfortably on their feet. All eyes are on the Emperor as they await his reaction.
So there are cracks in the court. I scan the others to see who might be allied with Caspian but come up short. It’s obvious from this small interaction that the Emperor admires Delphine maybe more than he does his own son. Again I wonder what this means for Delphine and Caspian’s betrothal. My small pittance of experience in these sorts of matters tells me the look Delphine is giving Caspian isn’t borne of arduous affection.
Finally the Emperor frowns and nods to Caspian, as if declaring him the victor, and then his hologram unceremoniously disappears.
“Whatever,” Delphine spits through pursed lips. “I’m doing the worms a favor by prepping them for the trials, but if they’re ungrateful”—her eyes meet mine—“I have better things to do with my time.”
Yeah, like plotting how best to murder me.
All of the tension my muscles have been carrying dissipates, and I sink into my bones. Thankful murmuring from the finalists fills the hall. I stand, dizzy with relief and hunger and alcohol and spent adrenaline. Part of me still assumes it’s a trick, but I’m so desperate to leave I don’t really care.
Before we go, there is a brief rundown of our itinerary. Back to the apartments to change. The Culling at sunset, where we eat a fancy dinner while the final uploads are counted. I just need to stay in the top half of the finalists. The thought is not comforting. It’s impossible to tell where I am on the list. And I haven’t felt a single upload since leaving the apartments. Probably because most of the prospective Sleepers are worried at the rate I’m going, I won’t last very long.
Not that I disagree.
Pushing through the crowd, most of the finalists and Chosen steer clear of me. I wonder if I’m now a pariah, like Rhydian. It certainly doesn’t help that Delphine’s murderous gaze follows me as I leave.
I must really be tired because I don’t feel the Centurions behind me until it’s too late. With one latched on each arm, they easily pinch me from the crowd. As soon as I put up resistance, they simply lift me an inch off the tile floor so I’m suspended. Now that I’m over my surprise, I could put up a real fight, and I’m fairly confident I could best my two new Neanderthals friends. But they have an endless supply of cretins more than happy to hurt me, while I have only one body. So I relax and wait to see where they take me.
We arrive inside a low-lit antechamber. Other than a few odd pieces of furniture and a cold hearth, it’s bare. I’m hardly out of the oafs’ clutches before a shadow slips in behind me. The knife inside the shadow’s hand glints softly under the dull light. Except the shadow isn’t here for me, I discover, as it maneuvers protectively between me and the guards.
Riser grins. “These two idiots giving you trouble, my lady?”
We both startle as another shadow rises from the corner. To my surprise it’s Caspian. “Sir, reveal yourself at once!”
Riser chokes down a laugh. “Is he for real?”
Caspian’s short sword whispers from its sheath on his waist, soft light spilling down the blade’s length. “Is this real enough for you, Bronze?”
Riser’s smile transforms into a dangerous smirk.
Oh, Fienian hell. I know that look.
“Wait!” I insert myself between Riser’s wrath and Caspian’s sword. “Lord Riser Thornbrook, meet Prince Caspian Laevus.” They appraise each other carefully. After a few anxious heartbeats, Caspian’s sword scrapes back into its sheath.
Riser, on the other hand, doesn’t look ready to make nice. He throws an ill-tempered glance at me, the artery beneath his jaw throbbing. “I thought they were going to hurt you—”
“I brought her here to save her life,” Caspian growls through perfect, clenched teeth.
Riser stiffens beside me. “Oh. Because from where I stood back in the other room, you seemed bent on the opposite.”
Caspian emits an exasperated sigh. “Does this Bronze have to be here?”
“This Bronze isn’t leaving without her.” Riser’s voice holds a dark, murderous undertone that makes me shiver. “But you’re welcome to try and make me.”
The last of my patience withers away. “Okay, both of you, shove off.” I turn to Riser. “I think I’ve made it pretty clear I don’t want your protection, Lord Thornbrook, but—”
“Oh you’ve been crystal clear on that, Lady March,” Riser interrupts. “But I don’t take orders from you.”
“Give me the word, my lady,” Caspian says, his voice coated in arrogance, “and I will have this interloper removed from the Island.”
I turn on him. “What did you expect, forcibly detaining me?”
Caspian’s mouth purses as if he has tasted something sour. I’m guessing people don’t usually address him this way. Swallowing, he clears his throat. “My apologies, Lady March, if I startled you.” To punctuate his apology, he presses my hand to his lips. “Truly.”
My cheeks tingle in embarrassment, and I retrieve my hand. Yes, idiot, you just spoke to Royalty like that. “Apology accepted . . . my Liege.”
Riser chuckles under his breath.
Caspian shoots Riser a look that could fell kingdoms. “My method may have been unseemly, but I have to use the utmost caution. If someone were to see us together, they might infer I am helping you, and that would be against the rules.”
“And are you?” I ask. “Helping me?”
“I am advising you. You are treading dangerous waters, Lady March. I have no insight into why you did what you did—and it was unquestionably brave—but if you want to survive this competition, you’ll need more than bravery.”
“For instance?”
“Common sense, for starters.” He shakes his head, his lips curling into an amused smile. “Only a fool would prick a lion’s tail and not expect it to bite.”
“Countess Delphine?”
“Yes, the Countess Delphine. Avoid her at all costs. Swallow your pride, duck your pretty head and be invisible—basically the opposite of what you did back there.”
“Isn’t she your fiancée?” I stupidly point out, thrown off by the word pretty and something about my head.
He flattens me with a look. Obviously my manners for court are rather lacking. “Lady March, I think everyone in the entire civilized world knows the answer to that question by now. Stating the obvious is wasting time.”
He glances impatiently at Riser and then back to me, as if there’s more he wants to say, but then he brushes his lips over my hand again and moves to take his leave. Instead of leaning back to allow Caspian room, Riser stays put, forcing Caspian to angle his shoulder like a battering ram to get by.
“Wow,” I say once Caspian is gone, “Flame will be disappointed when she realizes the manners portion of your reconstruction was a complete and utter failure.”
Riser shakes his head. “He doesn’t deserve my respect.”
“He is your half-brother, remember?”
Something cold presses into my hand. Holding it up to the torch flame, I see it’s Brinley’s golden phoenix, intricate and beautifully made, with two tiny glittering emeralds for eyes and a body embellished with tiny diamonds. A drop of blood smears its wings.
Riser closes my fingers around it. “No, he’s not.”
“He could make a strong ally.”
“Ally?” He laughs skeptically. “With one of the Chosen? No, not just any Chosen. Emperor Laevus’s son and the future Emperor. Brilliant plan, Lady March.”
“He can’t help what he is, Riser—”
“Funny, but you never afforded me those same excuses.�
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“But . . . you were . . .”
“A monster?” he finishes in a soft voice that tugs at my heart. “And you think he’s not? He didn’t have to put that apple in your mouth, Everly. Didn’t have to let them kill Brinley. But he did.”
“I didn’t make up the rules, remember?” My voice sounds harsh, even to me. “It’s what you said about the pit. The only difference now is that I’m willing to fight, to do what it takes to survive. Are you?”
My breath catches as Riser closes the little bit of space between us. “Oh I’m willing to do a lot of things. But those things are ugly and dark and violent.” He’s close, too close. “Once you’ve crossed over my side of the line, Everly, you don’t walk away, so make sure that’s a price you’re willing to pay.”
I startle as his fingers hook under my elbow, glide down to my palm, and lift. The back of my hand tingles beneath his lips. His eyes roll up to meet mine. He grins, his breath warming my knuckles. “See, Lady Everly March. Manners.”
I know I’m in trouble. It has been seven hours since I felt the last upload. Four hours being tortured by Delphine, only to incur more torture from Flame.
“Stand still!” Flame hisses.
“I am,” I whine.
Such has been our conversation for the last thirty minutes. Flame’s comb, more weapon than styling tool, gnashes through my scalp, ripping and stabbing, and my teeth grind with pain.
Finally I glance in the vanity mirror. Better than I expected. So much so, for a brief moment, I think it’s someone else. My skin, pale and creamy. My eyes more green than brown and ringed by long, fluttery charcoal lashes. Whirling from the outer crease of my left eye down my cheek is a peacock feather made of sparkling jewels. The softest hint of crimson shimmers my lips. But it’s my hair—twisted and braided and fishtailed into an elaborate work of art—that takes my breath away. A jeweled peacock hairpin holds it all in place.
My hands smooth down my sleeveless velvet emerald green gown. It arrived at my door an hour ago, compliments of Merida, with a note simply stating: All Yours. Caped with a delicate ruby-rimmed hood and trimmed at the waist with two bands of multicolor jewels and Gold beads to match the peacock feathers, it’s skirting the lines of Royalist-acceptable apparel, and way above my Color. But the best part is, although it masquerades as a dress, with loose plumes of fabric, it’s really a jumpsuit.
“It’s a bit . . .” I struggle for the right word.
“Flashy?” Flame says, but I can tell from the quirk in the side of her lips the dress is growing on her. She tweaks my hairpin. “No room in this flimsy fabric for a dirk, so this will work in a pinch.”
I smile. “Any other hidden weapons I should be aware of?”
“No, but you can always strip your pantyhose and cord them around the neck—”
“Joking, Flame.” I stand, appraising myself one more time. “But thanks for your concern. Gives me the warm fuzzies.”
Flame frowns. “I’m concerned about the mission, not your person.”
I slip my feet into the two-tone, Oxford-Style lizard boots that came with the gown. “So no hug then?”
I swear a smile almost cracks through her sour grimace. Almost.
A knock on the door announces my attendant. So soon? There’s no possible way I could have enough uploads to even come close to where I need to be. Perhaps I should have followed the plan. Admittedly, I am attracted to Riser. And even if his lurking psychopath is in there, somewhere, surely I can pretend for one night that he’s the striking, well-mannered courtier he’s impersonating? It’s probably too late now, anyway, but I decide to try.
What else do I have to lose?
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“Be good,” I say to Flame on my way out. I’m not sure what her plans are, but they undoubtedly are anything but. On impulse, I grab Brinley’s gold phoenix and pin it to the bodice of my dress.
Flame grabs my wrist. “Be careful with that.”
“Why?” I say, impatient to leave. “It’s just a silly trinket.”
“If by silly trinket you mean the secret symbol worn by Fienian Sympathizers, then yeah, you’re right.”
“Really?”
Flashing a rare smile, Flame reaches over and pinches her fingertips on either side of the wings. There’s a clicking noise and a golden scorpion appears, wrapped around the phoenix, the single diamond on its tail barb flashing ominously.
“Poison.” Flame’s voice shivers in awe. “Pinch the wings twice in succession and that beautiful creature becomes a highly-effective weapon.”
I carefully eye the brooch as Flame pinches the wings and the deadly scorpion slithers back into its hiding place. “Should I take it off?”
“I said be careful, Princess. Not a ninny.”
I don’t recognize Riser at the end of the hall until I am practically on top of him. The amused look he gives me states that he knew I was there long before. His eyes flick over me once but remain veiled. He bows, an indifferent nod really, and allows a guarded half-smile. “My lady.”
After a quick curtsy, I hook my arm inside his and smile until my lips feel as if they will stick to my teeth. “Shall we, Lord Thornbrook?”
“It would be my pleasure.” Through his confident tone I detect a hint of puzzlement. It is, after all, the nicest I have ever been to him. A small pang of regret hits me. It’s made worse by the protective way he tucks my arm into his warm chest.
Stupid reconstructed emotions.
Riser picks up the game. “You look . . . ?” His piercing, mismatched eyes travel down my body. They take their time. Lighting fires wherever they linger. Finally they rest on my lips. “I don’t know . . . What’s the word?”
Mouth parted, I suck in a ragged breath and fight off the strange falling-feeling in my belly. “Beautiful?”
He scratches his chin, his eyes still drinking me in. “No. That’s not it. Wait . . . I have it now.” His face breaks into a wolfish smile. “Decent. Lady March, you look rather decent.”
Fienian bum! “Decent?” But he’s already halfway down the hall, his shoulders shaking with laughter. I catch up at the top of the stairs and restrain myself from kicking him to his death. Instead, I hook his arm again so he can’t escape. I need to do something. Something that will garner at least a few uploads and wipe the smirk from his jaw.
Feeling completely desperate, I lift onto my toes. My hands rest on his warm, solid chest. I lean into him, and air hisses through his teeth as my lower lip brushes his earlobe.
He stiffens. I have never done anything like this before, and my heart beats wildly against my sternum. I fight the reconstructed pleasure I get from his familiar salty, earthen smell. “Maybe you should take another look, then.”
The boulder lodged in my throat free-falls to my stomach as Riser shoves me away. “Don’t,” he says, his voice raspy, detached. “Not if it isn’t real.”
I chew my cheek, smarting at the rejection. “Real? Riser, I don’t even know what that is anymore.”
“I do.”
I sigh. “C’mon, it’s a game. Isn’t it?”
“A game?” The muscles in his jaw knot as he looks away.
“Yes, Riser.” Hesitantly my fingers slip down his knuckles and into his hand. “One that will keep us both alive.”
There’s a long pause. Finally his fingers curl around mine. “I want to know about the key. What does it unlock? Why does Nicolai want it so badly?”
“Suddenly you have a price?”
He smiles softly. “Did you think I was cheap?”
Not in the slightest. I try to pull my hand away, but his grip tightens. If I wasn’t desperate for uploads, I would drive my knee into his crotch and enjoy every bit of it. But I am desperate. Enough to grit my teeth, swallow my pride, and say, “Fine. I’ll tell you everything you want to know after the Culling.”
“Now.” His voice is final. “You will tell me now.”
Outside, the air is magical. Pink and orange skies paint the l
ake, a cool breeze carrying the scents of crimson glories and plumeria. Ornate ivory carriages, wreathed in yellow tea roses and pulled by snowy-white horses, wait to take finalists to the Culling. Horses whinny impatiently and stamp their feet. Pandora is a peach-pit just above the mountain’s peak.
Riser drops my hand as soon as the door closes to the carriage.
“It’s safe to talk?” I ask, meaning the encryption.
“Cage assured me it was safe from our side,” Riser says, “but they are still having problems communicating.” He sits across from me, one long leg slung casually over the other. All confidence and poise. But I notice the way his hand—the one he used to escort me—clenches by his side.
I peer out the open window to my left. Tall, slender beechwoods line our path. The smells of stagnant water and sweaty horse mingle into a sort of intoxicating cologne. Through the gaps in the trees, I see we will soon be crossing the Palladian Bridge. Memories of my father recounting his many strolls over the expansive stone bridge, feeding the swans with my mother, pricks my brain like a thousand hungry fish nibbling the water’s surface.
Riser is waiting.
I can’t do this.
Pry myself open.
Spill my secrets.
Make myself vulnerable.
But I have no choice.
“I was nine-years-old,” I say, still staring out the window. “I don’t remember much—my father erased most of my memory of that day—but I do remember how I felt afterward.” I toy with the beading of my embroidered belt. “He told me Max and I had been ill, that’s why we couldn’t remember much, but I knew it was something more.” I turn to face Riser. He is leaning forward, elbows propped on his knees. “I could feel it, what he put inside me. It changed me, somehow, and I knew it was important, this thing. I found out later it was a key.”
“And Max?” Riser asks. “What does he harbor?”
“The map.”
Riser settles back slowly. I can see his mind racing to put it together. “A map to find it, and a key to unlock it.” His expression has softened, and I realize he actually feels sorry for me. From the outside it looks cruel, a father implanting his own children with something that will put them in danger. “What is it, Everly? What was your father trying to hide?”
