by Tania Hutley
My brain is the only part of me that isn’t working. I can’t think straight. How could Sentin possibly have escaped that room? The fire is burning so fiercely, I can’t imagine anyone making it out. But the alternative is impossible. Somehow, he must have escaped the flames.
Once on the sidewalk outside the building, I gulp in lungfuls of fresh air.
“Please excuse me, Prince Otho, but where is the imperator?” A legionnaire asks the question once and then again, as workers pour out of the burning building.
The prince’s face is still mottled red, and his eyes are glassy. He stares at the ground, shaking his head, ignoring the legionnaire’s questioning. He must be in shock. Either that, or his ears are ringing worse than mine, and he can’t hear anything.
“I think they’re dead,” I tell the legionnaire. “The imperator and his legates were in the room that exploded.”
The legionnaire stares at me with wide, horrified eyes. “Dead?” he repeats. “The imperator is dead?”
Around us, everyone starts murmuring, repeating the news. The sound quickly swells.
“What happened?” demands the legionnaire. “What caused the explosion?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know. The room just went up in flames.”
“A bomb? A booby trap?”
“I don’t know.”
The prince slowly lifts his head to stare at me. “You must have known what would happen.” His eyes narrow. “It was a trap. You and Sentin planned it.”
“No, I swear, I had no idea. I’m as shocked as you are.” The words sound breathless. My lungs are laboring because I can’t quite catch my breath, and my hands are shaking. Nothing seems real. If I could untangle my thoughts, maybe I could figure out what just happened.
“Why should I believe you?” he demands.
“If I’d thought Sentin was planning to kill himself—” My voice breaks. Sentin’s dead. He’s really dead. I can’t deny it any longer.
Which means the President’s Skin is mine forever.
Wait. What am I thinking? I must be a terrible person to let a thought like that cross my mind now. Sentin’s barely dead, and he was young and brilliant, and had his whole life ahead of him. More than that, he was my friend.
What kind of monster am I that my sorrow is tinged with relief?
“His promise to wake the knights was a lie,” spits the prince. “It was just a trap.”
I force my swirling emotions down so I can answer. “I didn’t know what Sentin was doing, or why he was talking about the knights waking up. I thought maybe he’d developed a new technology.”
“But you suspected he was lying?”
I squeeze my hands into fists to stop them trembling. “I wasn’t sure. And if he was lying, I had no idea why.”
“He wanted them all to get close, so they’d all be killed.” The prince’s mouth twists. “Our legionnaires searched you. How did Sentin get an explosive?”
“They didn’t search us. Sentin assured them we had no weapons, and they accepted his word. So did I. You think I would have let him blow himself up if I had any clue that’s what he was planning?”
A heavy weight presses against my chest, squeezing the air from my lungs. As impossible as it is to believe, Sentin’s really gone.
Now I understand why he made me promise to negotiate a peace treaty. He knew he wouldn’t be around to do it himself. But how can I possibly ask for peace after the imperator’s murder?
“You killed my father,” snaps the prince. “I should have you executed.”
My head lifts at his harsh tone, and a flare of grief and anger ignites in my chest, strengthening my voice. “You could do that. But haven’t we had enough killing?”
He lets out a furious sound. “You’re the ones who waged war on us.”
“Yes, and we were wrong to do that. Let’s not make it worse.”
“That’s your argument for why I shouldn’t have you shot?”
“It’s my argument for why we need to negotiate a peace treaty. Together, we can stop any more senseless violence. Deiterra and Triton will both be better off.”
For a moment, I dare to hope the prince might agree. He seems a reasonable man, far more reasonable than his father. Then his lips press together, and he lifts one hand to his eyes as though the enormity of what just happened has hit him again, even harder. His shock might sweep away all reason.
“We’ll talk more about it later.” He draws his hand back to his side and turns to the legionnaires. “Make sure everyone gets out of the building. Are the fire trucks and ambulances on their way?”
The closest legionnaire snaps a salute. “Yes, Your Excellency. They’re almost here.”
Prince Otho motions toward the crowd of scientists. “Get these people further away from the building. If the ambulances are delayed, you may use my cars to take the injured to the hospital.”
“I can hear a fire truck, Your Excellency. The ambulances should be just behind it.”
“Good. I want that fire out quickly, and all the captured Knight Skins salvaged. Have the knights moved to a secure location, and ensure the scientists can resume their work.” He moves away, checking on the people who are still being carried out of the burning building.
I suck in a breath. My legs feel weak and I’d give anything to be able to sink to the ground and drop my head into my hands. If Sentin were here, he’d probably order me not to fall apart. I can imagine his calm voice telling me to remember what I’m here to do, that mourning the dead is a luxury I can’t afford. Still, I can’t stop the sick, miserable feeling that’s constricting my chest and squeezing my insides.
Otho is directing the legionnaires to help the crowd. He’s hiding his grief well.
Two legionnaires march over to me. “We’re to take you back to the palace, ma’am.”
I nod and let them put me in a car. Anyway, it’s not like I have a choice, and the prince is busy. Better to let the shock wear off and talk to him later.
But the moment I’m in the car, sandwiched between two stern-faced legionnaires, I feel my composure slip, and the pressure on my chest becomes almost unbearable.
Was Sentin planning this all along?
Why was he willing to pay such a high price?
I wish I could convince myself he managed to somehow slip out of that room unhurt. It would be the world’s best magic trick if he did.
Now my selfish relief has gone, replaced by a sense of loss so strong, I can hardly breathe. I’m never going to see him again.
I squeeze my eyes shut, my throat burning as I fight back tears. His handsome face is imprinted in my memory, the way he looked last night in the candlelight when he confessed his miserable childhood and my heart broke for him.
He was the invisible guiding force behind everything, the one with the plan, the genius who always had an opinion. Now he’s gone, I feel lost.
What am I going to do without him?
Fifteen
Since Sentin’s death, I’ve grown to hate the imperator’s palace, mainly because I’ve been cooped up doing nothing for two days, confined to quarters while Otho decided whether or not I could be trusted. This is the first time the legionnaires have let me out of my room.
Now, I’m sitting on an upright wooden chair in one of the palace’s luxurious sitting rooms. The two legionnaires who escorted me here said I’ve been summoned for an audience with Otho. They’re standing by the door, their hands by their sides, staring straight ahead.
The door opens and Otho comes in, with Cale and Tori behind him.
Cale’s face lights up when he sees me, and I’m so relieved to see them both, I want to jump up and hug them. Instead, I stand and duck my head in a respectful bow, keeping my gaze on Otho.
“Your Excellency,” I say. My legionnaire guards haven’t exactly been talkative, but one did tell me that the ceremonial transfer of power isn’t yet complete and it’ll be a few days before Otho officially becomes the new imperator. Still, it can’t hur
t to start using his title now.
Otho gives me the barest nod in return, and sits on the couch opposite me. Tori settles herself next to him. Cale leans against the wall next to the fireplace, and I sink back onto the hard wooden chair, debating what to say. Judging by the way Otho is staring at me with narrowed, suspicious eyes, he still hasn’t made up his mind about me.
“Thank you for seeing me.” I meet Otho’s gaze. “I want to assure you again that I didn’t know what Sentin was going to do. It shocked me as much as it did you.”
“I have no way to know whether you’re telling the truth.” Otho’s voice is clipped.
“You’re right.” I spread my hands, palms up. “You can choose whether to believe me or not. But really, your choice is whether or not you want to negotiate a peace treaty with Triton.”
“Why should I negotiate with you?”
“Because you want the things I can offer,” I say. “Food. Technology. Infrastructure. The same things Sentin talked about.” I only wish I knew more about what Sentin wanted. I’m trying to keep my promise to him with only the bare fragments of information he gave me.
Otho grunts, sounding unconvinced. “Why shouldn’t I do what my father wanted and use you as a hostage? I could get what I want without giving anything in return.”
I nod. “You could threaten to kill me, but it won’t work. If I die, the election will be brought forward so Triton can elect a new president. Nobody’s going to try very hard to stop that happening, and I don’t have any family who’ll rush to save me.”
Cale pushes himself off the wall, turning to face Otho. “The president’s right. It wouldn’t be a good long-term strategy. You’d get some food and supplies, but without heavy industry, you’re crippled. What happens when your water tanks disintegrate? Or the last of your solar cells degrade? Do you have the resources to fix them?”
I stare at him in surprise. Don’t the Deiterrans have any factories? Maybe their water and power systems were built before the wall went up. Or perhaps our soldiers torched their factories as well as their food supply.
Tori leans closer to Otho and pitches her voice low, as though she’s here as his advisor. “If you make a deal, you could get everything you need.”
“Your knights are dead.” Otho doesn’t take his eyes from me. “Without them, Triton is less of a threat. My army could invade.”
“We still have more soldiers than you do,” I point out. “Not that I want to use them. More fighting will get us nowhere.”
“I used to make my living as a professional gamer.” Cale walks over to the other couch in the room and sinks into it. “One of the games I was good at was a strategy game, where you could build relationships with your neighbours, or go to war. The warmongers always ended up worse off than the players who chose diplomacy.”
“In a game?” Otho frowns. “So what?”
“The software was developed by political scientists, who uploaded every real-world event from history into the system’s intelligence. Before the food wars, it was used to make political decisions. Afterward, its creators had the bright idea to turn the software into a game and make money from it.”
Otho fixes me with a glare. “If you don’t want war, why send your knights here to burn our grain stores?”
“It was a mistake. I apologize.” I shift on my hard, uncomfortable chair. “Even if you decide not to trade with us, I’ll ship you enough food so your people won’t go hungry.”
“And if I agree to negotiate a peace treaty? What do you want from me?”
“I’d like you to sell some of your produce to Triton on an ongoing basis. That’s all. And we’ll make sure the arrangement doesn’t leave you with any shortages.”
Otho glances at Tori, and a silent conversation I can’t read passes between them. Does Tori know who I really am? Cale probably told her, if they’ve been able to talk privately. Hopefully she’s on my side and hasn’t tried to convince Otho that I’m his enemy.
“Why do you want our fruits and vegetables so badly?” Otho asks.
Truth is, I’m not sure of the answer. Sentin seemed to think it would mean that one day Deiterra and Triton could unite, but knowing him, he was talking about something that might happen decades from now. And I can hardly tell the prince that I’m striking this deal because I made a promise to the man who killed his father.
“We don’t have any food like yours,” I say instead. “Tritoners will be eager to taste it.”
As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I can’t help but think how weak that reasoning sounds. But to my surprise, Otho nods as though I’ve given him the answer he was expecting.
“High demand, high profits.” He arches his eyebrows. “No doubt you’ll make a fortune.”
“That’s the idea.” I smile and lean back a little, pretending I’m comfortable even though this chair was clearly designed by someone who’d only ever heard about sitting and never actually done it.
“I’m no expert,” says Cale. “But I think with the right technology, you could easily double or triple your farming output. There’s no reason you can’t grow enough food and vegetables to feed all your people, and export to Triton as well.”
Otho looks up at the ceiling, clearly thinking over the possibilities. After a moment, his gaze comes back to me and his expression hardens. “There’s something else we need to discuss. You can manufacture more Knight Skins in your factories. How do I know you won’t go back to Triton and build another Skin army to invade us?”
“You have my word.”
“That’s not enough.”
Cale leans forward, his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped together. “What if we banned Skins altogether? We could close down all development of the technology.”
I frown at him, already shaking my head. There’s no way I can do that. What about my beautiful Leopard Skin? The scientists have been making it better, faster, stronger, and I haven’t even had the chance to try it yet.
Otho purses his lips, considering the offer in silence for several long seconds. “I’d need to send in overseers, to make sure all trace of the technology is destroyed,” he says finally. “Every factory that makes them, every research center, every laboratory. No exceptions.”
Cale nods. “And in return, you’d destroy the Knight Skins you have. Skins would need to be outlawed on both sides of the wall.”
Otho’s gaze turns to me. With an effort, I make my expression as neutral as I can.
“I’ll think about it,” I say.
His eyes narrow. “Ban all Skins. Permanently. Or there’s no deal.”
My gaze drags slowly to Cale. He’s the only one who understands how it’ll feel to give up my Leopard Skin. Again.
“We’re better off without Skins.” Cale drops his voice, speaking just to me as though we’re alone. “The technology is too dangerous. We’ve seen what it can do in the wrong hands.”
Otho frowns, probably wondering what he’s talking about.
My heart feels like it’s breaking. Nobody knows about President Morelle’s Skin, so at least I’ll get to keep using it. But I can’t stand the thought of my Leopard Skin being destroyed.
Still, I manage to nod. “I’ll disband the Skin program.”
“And destroy all the Skins?” he insists.
I nod again, unable to say it aloud.
“Good.” Otho leans back. “My coronation is on Friday. I’m willing to accept the deal in principle. We can hammer out the details, and finalize it once I’ve been crowned.”
It’s only Tuesday. I can’t bear to spend another three days shut up in the palace, regretting ever coming here, and worrying about what the Beast might be doing in Triton.
“I have official duties in Triton, and I’ve been away for too long. You understand how many demands there are on a leader, don’t you? I need to get home.”
Otho frowns, his gaze flicking quickly to Tori. “You want to leave right away?”
“Duty calls.” I give him an apol
ogetic look. “But if Tori wouldn’t mind staying behind, she could make sure the lines of communication stay open between us. In fact, the first thing we should do is set up an open channel so we can talk. I want closer ties between Deiterra and Triton. We’ve been separated for too long.”
Tori shrugs. “I could stay for a while,” she says in a voice that’s a little too casual.
Otho’s frown smooths away. “It’d be helpful to have you here.”
I don’t think they’re a couple yet, but judging from the way the prince is looking at her, he’s smitten. Tori’s been through a lot, and I’m not sure she’ll be ready to open up to anyone so soon after Gareth’s death, but I hope she gives him a chance. She deserves to be happy.
I stand up, relieved to prise myself out of the uncomfortable chair, and cross to Otho to offer an outstretched hand. “Let’s seal our agreement, in principle at least. We’ll start by delivering a shipment of food to you as a sign of good faith, and go from there.”
Otho stands up and puts his hand in mine. His handshake is firm. “Very well. I’ll look forward to trading with you.”
“We can also send a delegation of scientists and engineers to help with reviving your infrastructure,” suggests Cale.
The prince offers his hand to Cale and the two men shake.
“What was the name of that game you played?” asks Otho.
“Utopia.”
Otho’s mouth twitches. “Utopia,” he repeats. “Let’s hope so.”
“We’ll make it so,” I tell him.
I’ve fulfilled my promise to Sentin, and everything he wanted is coming to pass. I only wish he were here to see it.
Sixteen
Otho has his driver take Cale and me as close as we can get to the wall. His imperators escort us the rest of the way, but the walk back to Triton seems longer and slower than when we walked in the other direction. It feels like forever until we’ve made it through the gap in the wall, picking our way through the rubble until the two of us are finally back in Triton.
