by Susan Grant
“You will notice even more as the day wears on. Now, hold still, please.” The doctor gently moved Cam’s head to the side, lifting her hair away from the back of her neck. Cam winced as something sank into her nape. “Ow. That one burned.” She rubbed the skin. There was a small lump. “What was that for?”
“It is a prox-beacon. Harmless, really.”
A flicker of alarm went through her. “What does a prox-beacon do?”
“It assures the prince that you will remain within the city walls.” The woman flashed a kind smile. “He really is quite worried about you.”
“Enough to make me a prisoner. Tell me more about what you put in me. Will it reveal my whereabouts? My thoughts?”
Park’s laughter was almost musical, this physician who didn’t object to copies of herself being put to sleep with no more thought than one swatted flies. “If that were the case, every husband and every wife in all the empire would be requesting one for their spouse. A prox-beacon simply causes discomfort should you move outside the protected area.”
Cam frowned, rubbing the lump on her neck.
“Please,” the doctor urged. “You will irritate the incision. Once the swelling goes down, you will forget all about it.”
“Until I try to scale the city walls and get out,” Cam said irritably.
“I am certain that if you need to depart the area, the prince will be happy to deactivate the beacon.”
“How does one . . . shut it off?”
The woman was too smart to fall for that. “One comes to a suitably equipped medical office. It is not really a single beacon, you see, but thousands of microscopic alarms that remain in the vicinity of your neck and skull.”
She wiped her hands and stood. “One of my attendants will see to your comfort, as I must leave to attend to my other duties.”
Like wounding baby animals.
“Joo-Eun!” the doctor called out to the group of slack-jawed gray-clad girls.
Three of them glanced nervously at the one who kept her head down, the one with the uplifted pinkie and the interest in Cam. Hmm . . . Clone status notwithstanding, each person was an individual with her own mannerisms and quirks. No matter how closely the Park clones resembled each other, after only a few minutes observing them Cam had already noticed traits that set them apart. In Joo-Eun, especially.
“Joo-Eun, please,” Dr. Park said with a hint of impatience.
The girl raised her head, her braids swinging. Just like Zhurihe’s.
But really, how could they be one and the same? How could Zhurihe live in two different places? Then Cam thought of the magroads and flying cars and realized it was possible to get back and forth in a day or so if one didn’t go by horse.
Yet when the girl met Cam’s eyes, it was with a stare that was so vacant Cam found herself wondering if anyone could fake something like that.
“Joo-Eun is simple,” Dr. Park explained. “Unfortunately her difficulties seem to be getting worse over time. I don’t know how much longer she . . .” The doctor sighed. “Never mind. You may have to repeat your instructions several times if she seems not to understand. Remember to speak clearly.” She turned to the girl. “Prepare Miss Tucker’s bath, please, Joo-Eun. Stay with her to see to her needs.”
Reluctantly, the girl left the others. In a shuffling walk, she did as she was asked, her eyes downcast and her face averted. It pricked Cam’s sympathy. Bless her heart, she was a ghost of the vibrant Zhurihe.
Something definitely drew her to this simple girl. Was it just her resemblance to her former friend?
Or was she her former friend?
The moment the other women left the room, Cam pushed out of her chair with more control over her body than she’d had since waking in this future world. She felt lighter on her feet, almost graceful. She was practicing walking when Joo-Eun returned from arranging towels and clothing next to a large, round in-floor tub.
The girl bowed, bent over nearly double as she backed toward the door. “Will that be all?”
“I thought your instructions were to stay.”
The girl’s mouth made the tiniest of twitches. “As you wish.”
“But you never did stay, did you? You’d always leave—for days, and even weeks at a time. Why was that?”
The servant remained silent.
“Could it be you were doubly employed . . . here in the palace?” Cam walked closer to the fidgeting girl. “And on a farm in Mongolia? Were you spying on me, or on him? Or both of us?”
Meekly, the girl shook her head. A flicker of guilt kept Cam from interrogating the servant any further.
Pushing her hair off her forehead, Cam turned away. “Sorry. Go. Just go.” It was sensory overload, too much to absorb in one day. Her longing for closure with Zhurihe was making her think this servant girl was her, and now she’d gone and frightened one of Prince Kyber’s servants.
In the hush of the luxurious bedroom, Cam heard the door swish closed, and, a fraction of a second later, a squeak of a sneeze.
Her head jerked around. Zhurihe! No one else sneezed like that. No one.
Cam pushed on the door. It didn’t budge. Then she remembered one of the conversations she’d had with Kublai on horseback. Nearly everything operated using voice commands. “Open!” The door slid aside and Cam burst into the marble corridor. “Zhurihe!”
The girl took off running at full speed. What had happened to the shuffle?
“Zhurihe!” Cam bolted after her. Although the medicine had done wonders for her, she didn’t have the stamina to catch the fleeing servant. Cam jogged to a stop in the middle of the empty corridor, her chest heaving.
The plot thickens, Cam thought. The girl was Zhurihe; she was sure of it. What she was doing here in the prince’s palace as part of an army of clones was something Cam was bound and determined to find out.
Chapter Thirteen
Kyber sat on his throne, one knee bent, the other leg stretched out in front of him. From the dais, he received briefings from his cabinet ministers on all that had transpired in his absence.
And he was bored as hell.
His thoughts drifted to Cam. How many times had she asked to see him? He’d lost count. It worried him, to say the least. He’d already learned that Cameron Tucker was not a woman easily discouraged. Several times now he’d considered giving in to her requests, granting her an audience. Would she recognize him? Perhaps not visually, but she’d know his voice. As Prince Kyber, he’d have to see her eventually, and endure the questions about Banzai that he’d be unable to answer to her liking. Yes, as soon as she no longer affected him, he’d throw the doors to his reception room wide-open.
A particularly vivid replay of Cam falling asleep in his arms invaded his mind. He blocked it. He’d never had difficulty putting other women out of his mind, Banzai Maguire included.
Propping his elbow on an armrest, Kyber supported his heavy head with two fingers as the minister of culture approached. “How was the summit, Your Highness?” she asked brightly.
A summit on education: that had been his cover story. “Very good, Minister. Much was accomplished.” More than he’d ever intended.
“Was the weather fine?”
“Yes.” And the company was even better.
“Excellent. I’m pleased to hear it.”
He checked his watch. Why hadn’t Dae Park reported to him yet regarding Cam’s latest tests? He’d like to throttle the rebels who had woken her from stasis without the proper training. He would have the physician message him immediately after the meeting with his cabinet. No, better to have Dae report to him in person. . . .
“Thank you, Your Highness.”
Kyber blinked as the minister of culture took a few steps backward and curtsied. It hit him that he’d just conducted an entire conversation without remembering a single word. Not since he was fourteen had a woman so captured his thoughts. That the episode in question was the morning after he’d lost his virginity, being distracted had been expected
. It wasn’t now.
All the more reason to control his thoughts, to stay away from Cam until his objectivity had returned. Thoughts led to action, and he would not, could not, take action regarding her. Not when it came to his heart, that was. He knew that once he took Cam as a mistress, he’d want more. And if he wasn’t mistaken, so would she.
He wasn’t ready for more. Visions of his mother and the upkeep she’d required of his father over the years haunted him. Marriage—bah. Merely thinking about the complications of it all gave him a headache.
Stifling a groan, he pushed himself upright on his throne. The thing was damn uncomfortable. Why didn’t he insist on a regular chair? Because Father ruled from this throne. Yes, and since he wanted to prove as good an emperor as his father, he’d taken nearly all the man’s customs as his own.
A throne does not a ruler make. Cam had told him that while on their journey. He missed their hours-long, rambling conversations, never tired of listening to the exotic flavor her accent gave the boring words he’d long known. She spoke “Southern,” she’d explained to him during one of those two days of riding. Kyber smiled. Her speech was the verbal equivalent of honey.
Minister Hong walked up to the dais, clearly pleased by the warm reception that had nothing to do with him. “We have the latest images from the UCE—the colony of Central, where the tax protest is taking place.”
Kyber sobered. “Display them.”
The wall ahead pixilated into riot-filled streets. Protestors threw rocks, and police dressed in riot gear fought the protesters back. Kyber sat up straighter as the image of several police throwing off their riot gear to join the protesters sank in. What would it take to push what was happening in Central to a full-fledged revolution? Not much, he thought. A lasting spark. A defining moment. And then it would be over. “It’s gotten worse over there since I’ve been away. Much worse. Ideas, Niko?”
“I believe the unrest is feeding off UCE government reaction. Every move Beauchamp makes to quell the trouble worsens it. The curfews, the arrests, the travel restrictions—it’s exacerbated it all. However, the government insists they’re firmly in control.”
“Beauchamp,” Kyber spat. “He wouldn’t know a lie from a lily pad.” Yet, watching the images change to different crowds and different cities—all in Central—he didn’t see any telltale signs that the government had lost control.
The anger and passion of the protesters was near to boiling over, though. Flags waved, and plenty of them, but they weren’t the flag of any country he knew. What had Cam called it—the Stars and Stripes?
The image switched to another protest, this one more massive than the others. “New Washington, DC,” he grumbled. “Fort Powell. I remember the reports from some time ago of abuses practiced on the political prisoners held there. And the UCE had the gall to accuse the Kingdom of Asia of violating basic humanitarian practices?”
As the scenes played before his eyes, the streets of the UCE capital besieged by chaos, in his mind’s eye he envisioned the stately, tree-lined streets of downtown Beijing teeming with angry citizens. “Let us make damn sure that doesn’t reach here.”
That raised heartier-than-usual murmurs of agreement from his cabinet.
Kyber lifted a hand, his finger drifting until he found his minister of defense. “Realm Admiral Moon. Beef up security at the borders, and all around the Rim. Send out extra Rim Riders and report any irregularities to me.”
“Done, Your Highness.”
“Take those measures and double them.”
Moon dipped his head in answer.
The worse the situation in Central became, the higher his concern. At all cost he must keep his Shangri-la intact. To do that, he must let the chaos outside the borders play out as fate intended. As for the chaos reigning inside his palace walls . . . well, that was another matter entirely.
“He refused to see me?” Cam fisted her hands, wanting to growl. What a jerk!
Then, somehow, she managed to politely thank the palace staffer who’d brought the news that Prince Kyber was too busy to meet with her. Again! As furious as she was at the apparent brushoff by the prince, she refused to take it out on the staffer. Even if it was the sixth request the prince had refused. In two days. No, three, if she counted the day she’d arrived here. And if she was backdating, that would make it ten requests, not six.
The man took a step back, bowed, and left.
Cam swept her hair away from her face, holding it there with two hands as she walked to a panoramic picture window. All her pleading for an audience with the prince in the name of Bree’s safety had gotten her nowhere. It didn’t make sense. Prince Kyber clearly wanted her here, and now that she was living under his nose, he wanted nothing to do with her. He wouldn’t even give her five minutes of his time!
She was almost ready to take Minister Hong up on his offer of contacting the UCE to see if they could help her. The only thing holding her back was his warning that Prince Kyber didn’t take kindly to reaching outside his neatly sealed borders for any help. She wasn’t at the stage yet where she could afford to piss off the prissy prince. She needed him. She needed to be nice. But if his rudeness went on any longer . . .
It was after five, and the sun had set. The orderly peace of evening had taken over the streets outside the palace. People went to and from stores, picking up items on their way home. The children were plump and happy, and unlike in the China of her day, many families had more than one—and that included girls.
But something marred the apparent perfection: Bree’s disappearance. The prince had ignored Cam’s every attempt to learn why.
Could Kublai help her?
Lord, she missed him. She missed his deep voice and hearty laugh. His teasing, too. He gave back as good as he got, and she respected that in a man. Yeah, he had a tendency to be condescending, and a little pigheaded, but it was part of his roguish charm. And they’d shared that moment of attraction. . . .
Where did he live? She had no idea. Then she remembered something he’d said the day he exchanged her for the bounty money. The Serpent Quarter—a pub called the Hardened Heart. No, Hollow, the Hollow Heart. That was where he drank. And if he was like most men of his type, he’d be heading there now for a few drinks with his friends.
How difficult would it be to find him? She’d been given a cash stipend, and hadn’t used a cent. She’d buy him a drink in exchange for his views on the prince’s irritating attitude.
Yes, she thought, her heart giving a little skip. Kublai had an opinion on everything. Plus, he seemed to know the prince, certainly better than she did. He had to be Prince Kyber’s number one fan, if nothing else. There was a very good chance that Kublai could convince Prince Kyber to see her.
Cam went to her computer and entered Serpent Quarter in the location finder. There it was, approximately four square blocks in the northernmost corner of the palace district. She brought up the map on a flexible, portable computer screen as thin and as light as a piece of paper. She rolled it up to shove in her pocket, then hesitated.
Wait. She had a better idea.
She’d bathe, get prettied up. Mama always said that when wanting to impress a man, always make sure you looked your best.
Especially, Cam thought with a smile, when you were hoping he’d do you a favor.
Kyber emerged from his bathing pool to find a woman stretched out nude on his bed. He halted in the middle of scrubbing a towel through his hair.
Smiling at his attention, the woman arched her back, lazily lifting an arm and running long, delicate fingers over her abdomen to the gold rings she wore in her nipples. The jewelry made small, bell-like tinkles in the suddenly silent room.
How did she get in here? was his first thought. Then he remembered that a woman was always brought to his room in the evenings unless he requested otherwise, as he had the past three nights since returning from the Rim. He didn’t always make love to the women before dismissing them; sometimes he merely kept them around for
the pleasure of their attentive company, which was slightly more interactive—and usually more entertaining—than that of the palace felines and ferrets.
He walked closer, close enough to discern the scent of her body from the light aroma of her perfume. “I know you,” he said. “You were the manicurist.” She was the lovely young woman who had tended to his feet and hands the day he and Nikolai left to find Cam.
Her fingers circled the nipple ring. “Yes. My name is Anjali. They said you were interested in seeing me, Your Highness.”
Yes, he thought. He had been.
Ten days ago.
She rolled onto her stomach, her elbows tucked, lifting her hips invitingly. Any other time, Kyber would have gone to her without another word and buried himself inside her body.
When he didn’t, she peeked over her shoulder. “Would you like to come to bed?” Her dark brown eyes had turned even darker with sexual arousal.
He took a robe from the back of a chaise and draped it over her. Her rear end dropped to the mattress. “Do you not want my company?” she asked, her mouth forming a perfect pout.
Kyber sat heavily on the edge of the bed. “It is not you, my sweet.” What was it then? “I shall pass this night alone.” As you have all the nights since arriving home from the Rim?
Instead of kissing the woman good-bye, of all things, he reached out and ruffled her silken curls. “Go on. Get dressed.”
Then, with a sigh, he drew the towel around his hips and walked to his balcony. The weather was cold, and so he left the French doors closed. Outside, street globes cast citizens running their errands in a soft white light.
He wanted to be out there, not here.
Normally he did not assume his alter ego, Kublai, so soon after a trip to the Rim. It was a risk anytime he left the palace without a retinue of bodyguards, even if the disguise he wore was convincing. Yet the draw was strong, tonight, to escape who he was. Who he was required to be.
He stood for a while, watching his citizens go about their mundane chores. One woman caught his eye. Graceful and standing a full head taller than most of the other women, she hurried across the central square. She didn’t wear a hat, as was fashionable, and it allowed the breeze to toss her shoulder-length blond hair.
