Once

by Anna Carey

Page 13

  “You left us,” I said, unable to hide the anger in my voice. “She was alone, she died alone in that house, and you could have helped her. I was waiting for someone to save us. ”

  He covered my hand with his own, but I pulled away. “I would’ve, Genevieve—”

  “That’s not my name,” I snapped. I clutched the picture to my chest. “You can’t just call me that. ”

  He stood and walked to the window, his back to me. Outside, the land beyond the wall was black, not one light visible for miles. “I didn’t even know you existed until I read her letters. ” He sighed. “How could you be angry with me for that? They had to put soldiers at my door to prevent people from attacking me. I was one of the few government officials in Sacramento who survived. The people were convinced I had some magical cure, that I could save their families. As soon as the outbreak ended, as soon as I had the resources, I sent soldiers. I was setting up a new, temporary capital, and trying to assemble the survivors. I sent them to her house to find you both. You were already gone. ”

  “Was she there?” I asked, my hands folded over the photo. I remembered her standing in the doorway, blowing me a kiss. She had looked so fragile, her bones jutting out beneath her skin. Still, it didn’t stop me from imagining that things could’ve been different. That maybe—against all logic—she could’ve survived.

  “They found her remains,” he said. He turned and came toward me. “That’s when I started searching for you, in the orphanages at first, and then, when the Schools were assembled, I looked at the rosters there. But there was no girl named Genevieve at any of them—you must’ve started going by Eve already. It wasn’t until they sent back the graduation photos and I saw your picture that I knew you were alive. You look so much like her. ”

  “I’m supposed to believe all of this based on this one picture?” I held it up.

  “There are tests,” he said calmly.

  “How am I supposed to trust anything you say? My friends are in those Schools still. They’re all there because of you. ”

  He walked around the table, letting out a deep breath. “I don’t expect you to understand it yet. You couldn’t possibly. ”

  I let out a tiny laugh. “What’s to understand? There doesn’t seem to be anything complicated about what you’re doing. They’re all there, against their will, because of you. You’re the one who started the labor camps and the Schools. ” I shook my head, trying not to notice the way our noses both slanted to the left, or how we shared the same heavy-lidded eyes. I hated his thinning hair, the subtle cleft in his chin, the deep creases at the corners of his mouth. I couldn’t believe I was related to this man—that we shared history or blood.

  His skin glistened with sweat. He covered his face but I watched him, refusing to look away. Finally he turned and pressed a button on the wall. “Beatrice, please come now,” he said, his voice low. He brushed a piece of lint off the front of his suit jacket. “You’ve had a trying day, to say the least. You must be tired. Your maid will see you to your room. ”

  The door opened. A short, middle-aged woman came in, clad in a red skirt and jacket, the New American crest on the lapel. Her face was lined with deep wrinkles. She smiled when she saw me and curtsied, a “Your Royal Highness” escaping her lips.

  The King put his hand lightly on my arm. “Get a good night’s rest. I’ll see you tomorrow. ”

  I started walking to the door, but he grabbed my hand and brought me into a hug, squeezing me close. When he pulled back his expression was soft, his eyes fixed on mine. He wanted me to believe him, that much was clear, but I steeled myself against it. I thought only of Arden’s bound ankles, her body writhing as she tried to free herself.

  I was relieved when he finally dropped my hand. “Please show Princess Genevieve to her suite and help her out of those clothes. ”

  The woman looked at my tattered pants, the blood on my arm, the bits of dried leaves tangled in my hair. She smiled sweetly as he disappeared down the hall, his shoes snapping against the shiny wood floor. I stood frozen, my heart loud in my chest, until the room was silent, all traces of him gone.

  twelve

  “AND THIS IS WHERE YOU’LL HAVE YOUR AFTERNOON TEA,” Beatrice said, gesturing at the massive atrium. Three walls were all windows, and the glass ceiling exposed the starless sky. We had passed the formal dining room, the sitting area, the locked guest suites, and the maid’s kitchen. It had all gone by in a blur. He is your father, I repeated to myself, as if I were a stranger delivering the news. The King is your father.

  No matter how many times I turned over the thought, it seemed impossible. I felt the hardwood floors beneath my feet. I smelled the sickeningly sweet cider boiling on the stove down the hall. I saw the sterile white walls, the polished wooden doors, heard the clack clack clack of Beatrice’s low heels. But I still couldn’t believe that I was here, in the King’s Palace, so far away from School, Califia, and the wild. So far from Arden, Pip, and Caleb.

  Beatrice walked two steps ahead of me, telling me about the indoor pool, rattling off the thread count of the sheets. She went on about the fresh meats and vegetables that were delivered to the Palace daily, the King’s personal chef, and something called air conditioning. I didn’t listen. Everywhere I looked I saw a locked door with a keypad beside it.

  “All the doors need a code to open?” I asked.

  Beatrice glanced at me over her shoulder. “Only some. Your safety is obviously very important, so the King has asked that I not share the code. You can call me on the intercom if you need anything, and I’ll take you wherever you need to go. ”

  “Right,” I muttered. “My safety. ”

  “You must be relieved to be here,” Beatrice went on. “I wanted to say how sorry I was about all you’ve been through. ” I watched as she punched in the code to the suite, trying to catch as many numbers as I could. She pushed open the door, exposing a wide bed, chandelier, and a serving cart with a covered silver platter. The faint smell of roast chicken filled the room. “I’ve heard what happened in the wild—how that Stray took you, how he murdered those soldiers right in front of you. ”

  “A Stray?” I asked. The photograph of my mother trembled in my hands.

  “The boy,” she said, lowering her voice as she led me into the bathroom. “The boy who kidnapped you. I guess it isn’t public yet, but the Palace workers have all heard. You must be so grateful to Sergeant Stark for bringing you back here, inside the walls. Everyone’s talking about his upcoming promotion. ”

  My stomach felt hollow. Stark’s words in the elevator returned, his promise that he would never let me forget what happened that day. He must’ve known how I felt about Caleb. He had seen how concerned I was on that ride in the Jeep, could hear the panic in my voice as I begged him to stitch up Caleb’s leg. It all became sickeningly clear: As the King’s daughter, I could never be executed in the City. But Caleb could.

  “You have it wrong. Caleb didn’t kill anyone. I wouldn’t have survived if it wasn’t for him. ” I tried to look her in the face, but she turned away. She stood in front of the sink and twisted on the faucet, waiting until the water was hot and steaming.