by Jenny Martin
“I can explain, Phee,” he says. “Just calm down and hear me out.”
“I’ll calm down when you call off your dogs.”
James dismisses the guards. As soon as they exit, I lunge at him, but Cash intervenes again. This time he doesn’t reach for me, only stands in my way. “Listen. It’s okay. I’m here. I’m on your side.”
It’s his calm that reaches me. My fingertips curl against the smooth lapel of his coat, and when I look down, I realize—all this struggle, and he carried my shoes. I’d like to disappear in his protective shadow, but he can’t help me right now. I need to face this myself.
“Cash, would you excuse us for a moment?” James asks calmly. “I need a word with my niece.”
When Cash looks at me, all I can manage is a shaky half nod. He steps into the hall and closes the door. James paces the floor, saying nothing.
“Tell me what happened to my mother,” I spit.
“I’m sorry.”
“I don’t want your apology. I want the truth.”
Finally, his eyes flash just as hot. “You don’t want the truth. You want a fairy tale. You want me to tell you everything? This one doesn’t end well.”
“My parents—”
He cuts me off. “Once there was a heartless, selfish girl who had everything and nothing. She promised to marry a wicked king, but someone else came along and opened her eyes, if only for a season. She fell in love with a reckless boy from Earth and followed him along the circuit.” He mocks, and I can’t look at him. Not when his eyes are this brutal storm of shame and despair. “When she found out she was having his child, the boy begged her to stay and keep their daughter. But the wicked king lured the girl back with all the traps that once held her, money and dresses and a palace filled with black sap. And she became his wife, broken and lost, the queen of everything and nothing.”
The tears slide down my face. “You’re a monster. That’s my mother.”
“My sister, Joanna, is an addict. And Benroyal is the monster.” The storm breaks and he sinks, as if he’s carried the truth for so long, it’s worn him down to the bones. “Your parents never had a chance.”
“Benroyal—”
“He was never going to let her go.”
“You’re lying.”
He shakes his head. “By the stars, I wish I was.”
“My whole life, and I never . . . How could you hide this?”
“My sister’s always been unruly, and my family was used to cleaning up after scandal. Her pregnancy, the relationship with your father, it was gossip and rumor, just another secret to manage. Joanna’s on vacation. Up the coast. Nine months of excuses and then you didn’t exist and neither did Tommy.”
“She gave me up? To my father?”
He nods. “As for Benroyal, all he had to do was bide his time. Wait for her to come crawling back, hungry for the black sap he’d always given her before. He’d been supplying her with his own product for years, since she was nineteen and at his side at every party. When Tommy came along, again and again, he tried to get her to quit for good. He pleaded, but that was never going to happen. So he took you, the best part of her, the only thing he could.”
I press the heels of my hands into my eyes, as if I could somehow erase this. A new headache begins to rage behind my temples.
“The circuit pulled your dad back to the track,” James continues. “And King Charlie got what he wanted—my sister and her fortune. For a while, that was enough. Until Tommy’s winning streak lasted too long. Every race, Benroyal came out the loser. Your father might as well have worn a target on his back.”
The dots connect like points on a route. “He murdered my father.”
James nods.
“How long have you known? About his black sap empire? About my mother and my father and everything else? How long have you known and done nothing?”
“I am doing something. Listen to me, Phee, I’m—”
I throw up a hand to shut him up, but a sickening flush creeps over me. I cross the room and sag against the edge of James’s desk. The tears keep coming and coming, and I’m too far gone to stop them now.
“I’m sorry,” James says. “I didn’t know about the hit on your dad until it was too late and Tommy was already dead. I did the only thing I could. I took you and made sure you’d be safe.”
“You lied to me, James. All these years and you never . . .” The dry-heave gnaw in my gut radiates and expands, pulsing through me like an infection. I want to scream, to hurt someone, to make him feel just as terrible and used. “I hate you.”
“I know.”
I bury my head in my hands, digging my nails into my forehead much harder than I should. There’s a vase on James’s desk, inches from my right hip. It’s all I can do not to lash out and throw it across the room.
“I want to talk to her. Right now.” I move to bolt again. “And Benroyal is going to answer for all he’s done.”
When I shove James out the way, he grabs my wrists. I try to pry myself loose, but he’d sooner bruise himself than let me go. “If you cause a scene, if he finds out you know the truth, you know he’ll have you arrested. He’ll order your throat slit without thinking twice. But not before he’s murdered everyone you care about. Bear, his parents. I’m not letting you back in that ballroom, not when a thousand times over I’ve vowed to keep you safe from Benroyal.”
“Then I guess it’s fair to say you failed. Arresting me for street racing and offering me his contract hasn’t exactly kept him away.”
His hands drop. “Phee, listen to me. I’ve told you, that wasn’t my doing. The second Benroyal heard Tommy Van Zant’s girl was actually winning on the streets, the snare was set. The ambush, the arrest, the hospital, it was all a game to put his mark on your shoulder so he could control you and keep you close. You keep finishing first, he wins. You die on the track, then all the better. Either way, he gets what he wants.”
Of course. His world, his game. I should have known all along.
I think of that night, and the morning after when I woke up at CG North instead of in the south side hellhole of Mercer St. Hospital. Even then, I wondered. Just not enough to get anywhere near the brutal truth: that Benroyal put me there to have his own people patch up his newest prize, his precious little driver. His stepdaughter, no less. The thought brings another dry heave.
“Why go to all the trouble, James? I’m nothing to him. Nothing. Another obstacle, just like my father.”
James takes off his glasses. “You are far from nothing. You are my sister’s only child. My own blood. The sole heir to the second-largest fortune on three planets.”
I blink and let that sink in. No. I can’t be a Sixer. I can’t hear this.
He grips my shoulders. “You need to process this. If something happens to us, when Joanna and I are gone, the estate, our shares, Locus Informatics, every Anderssen holding, Benroyal gets nothing. It all goes to you.”
As I pull away, the shock bullets through me, leaving me more uncertain than I’ve ever been. Every word out of James’s mouth robs something from me, breaking me down into someone else, a girl I don’t want to know. “Benroyal’s whole scheme was just to—”
James finishes my thought. “Keep you driving in circles, advancing his cause, winning for him while he manipulates your mother and spends your inheritance.”
I swallow. I shouldn’t be standing here. “Why didn’t he just kill me?”
“Benroyal’s no fool. It was a brilliant move to pick you up. Think about it, Phee. Yesterday’s race was just a taste. Imagine the prestige and power that victory alone bought him. You’re the perfect weapon, the upstart, the hard-luck renegade poised to win hearts and score stocks.”
“And what does that say about you, James? You just stood by and watched.”
“I protected you.”
“R
ight. Did you whisk me away to your summer home? Pay a team of nannies to care for me and raise me as your own? No, you just threw me away.”
“I did what I had to do, to keep you safe.”
I stab a forefinger into his chest. “Bull-sap. You talk about Benroyal and all that he’s done, but you’re just another Sixer, no better than anyone in that ballroom. You’re my uncle and you never even tried to help me, not when I was abandoned, not when I was given to the state.”
“If I’d have kept you,” he says, “Benroyal would’ve gone after you until you were dead or locked away like your mother. This was the price I paid to keep you alive, Phee. He let you go, he let me put you into the system and I thought it’d be enough, that as long as you didn’t know your mother, he’d leave you alone.”
“How could you possibly think he’d keep his word?”
“I . . . thought putting you outside Sixer society would make you invisible somehow, insignificant enough to escape his notice. I sealed your records. I couldn’t erase your memory of your father, but I wiped every clue, every trace of gossip off the flex networks and the feeds until your mother’s true identity was less than a rumor, forgotten by even the nursemaids who cared for you in that orphanage.”
“But you were never there for me.”
James is done listening to my accusations. “I watched and I waited. I checked the Larssens’ background the day you met Bear and he begged to take you home. I made sure their request to adopt you was fast-tracked and approved.”
“Hal and Mary knew?”
He shakes his head. “They knew about Tommy. There was no getting around that. Not with a little brown-eyed girl still calling her daddy’s name. But no one could know about my sister, not even you. Don’t blame the Larssens. They were the one true thing in your life, and I’m glad they were the ones to take you in.”
“Go to hell.”
“You can curse me. Hate me. Whatever suits you. I accept that. But know that I did it all to give you a chance at a life of your own, far from Benroyal’s reach.”
“Trouble is, James, no one’s out of his reach.” I walk toward the door. “We both know that well enough.”
“Phee, wait,” James says.
“Don’t worry, I won’t betray you and get us all killed. I won’t say a word. I just can’t listen to you anymore.”
I open the door, only to find Cash waiting outside.
He steps back in, closing it behind us. “Don’t go out there like this. Please.”
“You don’t understand, Cash. I’ve lost everything. I never knew my mother, and now here she is. I was only five years old when my dad—”
“He murdered my father too.”
I stop. Cash’s pain is my own. Benroyal killed them both, and kept us both alive to use us. I feel the blood rushing to my temples; its pulse turns my grief into something angry and sharp.
I turn back and look at James. “I can’t afford to trust another Sixer.”
“I’ve spent years plotting against Benroyal,” he snaps. “Thrown every resource I have into stopping him. You think the insurgents in the Gap are really ‘terrorists’? Please. I’m the one funding the rebels, feeding them every bit of intel we can get our hands on, so they can burn down his labs and push him out of the Gap. I’m the one trying to help Cash’s cause and get him back home. Go ahead and call me a selfish Sixer,” James says. “But I’m not waiting around for the day Benroyal’s crest replaces the stars on every Castran flag.”
For the first time, I take a breath before mouthing off. I stand very still, letting the angry rattle and whir of my brain wind down into a quieter hum. I’m strangely in control by the time I finally speak again. “You should’ve told me from the start. We could’ve exposed him.”
“No. You saw what happened to Abasi. Grace told me you got to him. Right now it’s too dangerous on Castra for you and anyone else who knows. You go public here and you’re dead before a single feed breaks the story. But we can outsmart him.”
“How?”
“If Benroyal believes in you,” James answers. “If you convince him to put you back in the Biseran mountain rally. If we get him to bet on you and put enough Locus shares on the line, we can take him. Losing my company will weaken him. It’ll take the courts and the flex networks out of his control.”
“But we have to get off this planet. I have to get back home,” Cash pleads. “You can throw the mountain rally. We can both escape Benroyal, once and for all.”
“I’ll set it all up,” James says. “I’ll help you.”
“What? Leave Castra for good?” I gape at him. “You think I’d leave my world behind—my whole family—just so you can win a bet and get your precious company back?”
“It’s not like that,” Cash says. “It’s not about money. This is about taking a stand. My people are crying out for revolution, and Castra’s on the brink of civil war. But there doesn’t have to be bloodshed, Phee. This is our chance. We can take Benroyal down without firing a single shot.”
There’s a knock at the door. The sharp rap is loud enough to startle us all. James talks fast. “Go to the third floor, and wait for me in the Emerald Suite. The house is secure, but I don’t want anyone getting suspicious.”
“What about Benroyal’s security detail?” Cash asks.
James turns on me. “Tell no one about any of this. Take a bottle of champagne. Pretend you’re sneaking off together or something, so they won’t ask any questions. I’ll handle Auguste. You both should stay the night anyway. Tomorrow, we can talk more freely.”
After we nod, James touches his hand to his heart and looks at Cash. “Bidram arras noc,” he says.
I don’t understand the words, but before I can say anything else, there’s another knock. James crosses the room and opens the door. It’s Hank.
“Mr. Anderssen? Mr. Benroyal would like to see you on the terrace. Alone.”
After James follows Hank and clears out of the office, we wait a few minutes, just long enough to pull ourselves together. I lean against the desk and Cash kneels at my feet. Tenderly, like a storyfeed prince, he slips my heels back onto my feet and fastens the tiny buckles.
“What did he say to you before he left?” I ask. “Bidram . . . what was that?”
“It’s Biseran. Very old, a half-forgotten greeting.” Cash stands up, his hand brushing against my leg. A warm shiver rolls through me as fingers graze bare skin.
“Bidram arras noc. It translates as ‘May life be full,’ but the words mean so much more. It’s a signal used by the old palace guard. To say it means ‘I am your friend,’ ‘I am on your side’ . . . ‘I stand with you.’”
I concentrate on the comforting shape of the words as Cash takes my hand and leads us into the hallway. The party is in full swing now. Twice as many Sixers have arrived in the last hour. As we push through them, Cash and I put on our game faces, false smiles and laughing eyes. With each step, I scan the crowd to search for my mother’s face, but she’s not here. Right now, it’s all I can do not to break away and look for her. Despite everything, I need to see her again.
Here and there, Cash nods at a familiar face, another driver or a member of our team, but he keeps us on the periphery of the stone-walled ballroom. We pass a well-stocked bar and he grabs a bottle of champagne. His other arm slips around my waist and we move through the crowd.
On the third floor, we bump into a security guard from the Spire, the one who drove us here. “Can I assist you? The party is downstairs.”
Cash shakes his head. “She’s had a little too much to drink. I’m just babysitting.”
“Let me take over, then.” The guard makes a move, trying to pry me away and shoulder my weight. “I’ll find Mr. Chevalier. We’ll make sure she gets home safely.”
When I flinch and back away, he reaches for his earpiece. The motion rockets my pulse into the panic zo
ne. I pretend I’m drunk, having the time of my life. I laugh too loud and tug on his arm. “We just need some time alone. You don’t need to call anyone. Cash can take care of me, okay?”
He stares at us.
“It’s fine,” Cash says. “Ask James. He knows we’re up here.”
When Cash invokes my uncle’s name, the guard straightens up. “Yes, Your Highness. Have a nice evening.”
He turns to leave, but glances back one last time, just as Cash opens the doors to the Emerald Suite. He must have caught a split second of fear in my eyes. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
I do the only thing I can think of. I wrap my arms around Cash and pull him against me. In the threshold, I kiss him so hard, it hurts.
When the guard finally turns away, I slam the doors behind us.
CHAPTER THIRTY
The Emerald Suite is nothing like the rest of the house. Panels of green silk cover the walls. The space is filled with dark wood furniture, antiques that are elegantly carved and arranged just so. In the center of the room, a four-poster bed is draped in a luxe, gilt-edged fabric, in shades of emerald velvet and satin.
The guard is gone, the doors are shut. We’re alone. Even though I don’t have to pretend anymore, I don’t want to stop.
And neither does Cash.
He crashes into me and we fall against the doors. I’m rattled, shaken. Adrenaline still bullets through my veins, but Cash’s touch—his hands, his lips—makes my body forget everything else.
I push back, pulling off his jacket. The bottle of champagne drops from his hand and thumps, rolling on the carpet. While he claws at the knot of his tie, I fumble with the buttons of his shirt, tearing at the fabric, this flimsy barrier between us. Finally, he’s untangled, his ruined clothes tossed aside.
I keep advancing, driving him to the bed. As we tumble onto the green, I roll over and pull him on top of me. My senses are heightened, drunk with input, but I still can’t get enough. The salty taste of his throat. The sweet smell of his dark, tangled hair. The crush of his body against mine.
