by Rosiee Thor
For your tech-related inquiries, see a consultant when the moon last smiles to the east and the bacon burns. It is a long eight to the short eleven.
There, among the Technician’s thin letters, a different, heavier hand had penned small notes in the margins. Someone had written the word morning just above the word bacon. This fell in line with his own conclusions, but as he scanned through the second scribe’s annotations, he saw the officer had circled the word moon.
Of course—the lunar calendar would tell him what he needed to know. A time of day would do him absolutely no good without a date. It seemed so clear now, but of course a trained investigator had found the truth before him. As Nathaniel read on, his eyes found the last annotation just above the words smiles to the east. It read last week. The officer had been too late, and the note had expired.
Nathaniel had time. His note was very much still in play; he’d snatched it right off the cart of one of the Technician’s men—or, in this case, women. He’d simply plucked up the gear-woven locket without waiting for the girl’s approval. He’d managed what his father’s officers could not, but only by accident.
Replacing the annotated note where he’d found it, Nathaniel retrieved the next.
The Technician thanks you for your patronage.
For your tech-related inquiries, see a consultant when the moon shines brightest and the embers glow. It is a long six to the short two.
That meant the full moon in the late evening—perhaps even after nightfall. Officer Benson’s annotations seemed to confirm the theory, but the location still stumped him.
Nathaniel was unfamiliar with the island’s geography. He’d never been allowed to leave the manor house, let alone the Settlement, and it had never been important before.
Officer Benson, it seemed, had enjoyed little luck in parsing the location, too. There were no notes on the latter part of the riddles. The only other marks on the page were two sets of lines—triangles. One was a wide V, the other … an arrow of some kind?
Nathaniel held his fingers up to make the shape in the air, glancing from the page to his hand and back again. One mark, he could write off as a mistake, but two—the officer had worked through the clue at least one step further, and Nathaniel would not leave until he understood at least as much as his father’s investigators.
He glanced back over the riddles.
Long eight to the short eleven.
Long six to the short two.
Long four to the short nine.
If not for the machine regulating it, Nathaniel’s heart might have skipped a beat.
It was a clock.
He held up his hand again, positioning his fingers just so—the long hand to the short hand: 11:40, 2:30, 9:20.
But it didn’t make sense for the Technician to include specific times when he’d already given a date and a time. No, the numbers meant something else. Were they points on a map? Longitude and latitude? But that required more numbers, and the Technician had given him only two.
“It is a long four to the short nine,” he whispered, maneuvering his fingers to form a wide angle. It wasn’t a time; it was a direction—and a duration.
That was all he needed.
“It is twenty minutes to the ninth hour.” The nine on a clock would be to the west, and per the note, he would find the Technician twenty minutes from the Settlement.
The riddle solved, Nathaniel snapped the file closed, but with it poised to slide back into its place on the shelf, he thought better of it. He might still need the file. Probably, no one would miss it. With a few flicks of his wrist, he undid the buttons on his jacket and placed the file against his chest. Warmth spread out from his center, as if the paper itself gave him hope.
Time was a powerful tool. That was the first lesson Eliza had learned from the Queen. Sometimes it was a gift; sometimes it was a curse. Today it came in the form of a weapon Eliza was determined to wield.
The Queen circled her, blade in hand, a confident strength in her steps. They sparred on the Queen’s terms, on her terrain. The Queen’s office served a poor training ground, asymmetrical with a desk and bookshelves instead of padded floors and walls, but it was more realistic, or so the Queen insisted. Eliza was unlikely to fight anyone while wearing a bodysuit and kneepads, and hadn’t trained with them in years. Besides, the Queen had taught her fashion was as sharp a weapon as her blade. She could wear bright colors to attract, dark colors to impress, or no color at all to disappear. Every color, every cloth, held meaning, whether or not the wearer or the observer understood its message.
The Queen held the advantage, projecting power in deep navy satin and a shoulder-length mourning veil to match, and yet she held back, waiting. It was a trap, of course, designed to lure Eliza into striking first. They’d been through this training exercise countless times over the years, yet it always ended the same: Eliza on her back, the Queen’s knife against her throat.
Today would be different. Eliza took small steps, keeping her center of gravity low and her blade neutral—the better to block the Queen’s attack when it finally came. It did not matter how long the Queen waited; Eliza would wait longer.
“You’ve been my Eyes nearly three years, is that right, Eliza?”
A distraction. The Queen sought to disarm her with conversation, but it wouldn’t work. Eliza had spent the better part of her youth training under the Queen, and she knew her style inside and out.
“Yes, Your Majesty, and your student for six,” Eliza said evenly, not taking her eyes from the Queen, searching for any indication of her next movement. If there was to be an attack, it would come from the Queen’s chest, moving her center before her arm. With any other opponent, Eliza would simply look to the eyes for the telltale flicker of intention, but the Queen’s veil prevented such tactics.
Eliza had never seen the monarch without the veil, worn in mourning for their lost planet. She would remove it only once they migrated to Earth Adjacent—if they ever did—so the Queen’s face was as much a mystery as her motives or her methods. The more Eliza understood the latter, the more she hoped one day to see the former. How ironic: Eliza was the Queen’s Eyes, forever sworn to see everything except the Queen herself. Was the veil weapon or armor, meant to pierce or protect? Eliza had not yet learned that lesson.
“I didn’t know when I began your training you’d be such a quick study, such a valuable asset.” The Queen quickened her steps, circling faster. “I suspected, I hoped—but I was not sure. Until now.”
This was it—this was the conversation Eliza had hoped for all these years. She’d thought it would be with a desk between them, not knives. All the same, the Queen had been both mistress and mother to Eliza, who had no family before the Queen took her under her wing. Eliza had always thought if she worked hard enough—if she waited long enough—the Queen would finally acknowledge her, finally accept her as the daughter she’d never had, the heir she deserved.
Eliza knew the Queen had a son, but no one ever spoke of him except in whispers and rumors. He’d been sent to Earth Adjacent long ago, banished from the Queen’s palace in the sky. The Queen, who could trust almost no one, certainly could not give her mantle to him, which left Eliza a particularly attractive substitute.
But all the power in the world, with all the skies under her command, was not half so important as the Queen’s trust, the Queen’s—dare she think it—love.
With every subtlety the Queen had taught her about body language, Eliza projected uncertainty. She held her breath, letting her grip on the knife falter, slowing her steps to an uneven rhythm.
The Queen slowed to match her, shoulders squared. “It’s time for you to play the part you were trained for.”
Eliza fought a smile. “I’m ready,” she breathed.
The Queen’s knife came from above, and Eliza dodged just in time, the Queen’s knuckles grazing her shoulder. She should have been faster. She’d lured the Queen into the attack, after all, but better knuckles than a knife.
Rolling to the side, Eliza gathered herself and lunged for the Queen’s leg. For once, Eliza had the upper hand. But the Queen’s foot met the blade, kicking it from Eliza’s grasp. Eliza hit the ground, the Queen’s boot pressed against her chest.
Eliza was unarmed, and the Queen remained undefeated. She’d failed the test. Again.
Burying her frustration, Eliza did her best to mask her disappointment. “I yield.” Though the Queen always won their sparring matches, Eliza had yet to master the art of losing.
The Queen stepped back and placed her dagger on her desk. “You must be more diligent. Remember your lessons and be conscious of your tells.”
Eliza picked herself up and brushed the Queen’s boot print—a badge of her failure—from her bodice. “Of course, Your Majesty.” She would have to spend more time studying her form in the mirror to find the weakness the Queen exploited.
“Still, I do think you’re ready.” The Queen motioned for Eliza to sit across from her. “This mission is unlike any other, and it will take all your skills to see it through.”
Eliza sat dutifully, crossing her legs and leaning forward. If she could not best the Queen with a blade, she’d at least perform a gracious resignation. Besides, from the sound of it, Eliza was about to win much more than a fight.
The Queen’s voice turned from airy to sharp. “Earth Adjacent is a peculiar place. I’ve not been in many years, but I hope I’ll live long enough to see our people migrate.”
Eliza began to protest, but the Queen held up a hand.
“No, my dear. Though I am getting on in years, I do not want your sympathy, only your utmost dedication to this mission.”
Eliza nodded, signaling for the Queen to continue.
“The goal has always been thus: Find a suitable planet, terraform it, and bring humanity to this new world. My people will flourish, and I will be remembered as the Queen who made the world.” She paused, though whether lost in thought or for dramatic effect, Eliza didn’t know. “I’m very close to finalizing those plans—so very close.”
Another pause, this one surely for drama. The Queen had once spent an entire afternoon teaching Eliza the art of the well-placed pause. Eliza’s pulse quickened in anticipation, and this time she took the Queen’s bait. “But something is preventing you from moving forward,” she surmised, breaking the cultivated silence.
The Queen gave a slight nod in approval. “Someone. You see, I’ve lost the cooperation of the one man I trusted to help me accomplish my goals.”
Eliza sat straighter. There was only one man it could be—only one man who could hurt the Queen in such a way.
“The Commissioners of Earth Adjacent have not always been our allies, but whoever has held the position, they’ve known what was at stake. Now I find myself with an adversary on the ground—an enemy of my own flesh.”
Eliza’s breath caught. The Queen had never spoken of such things before, preferring to leave familial matters in the past. Surely she couldn’t mean … “Th-the Prince?”
The Queen shook her head. “He lost the right to that title when he crossed me. I won’t have him disgrace my legacy, not when he already seeks to claim it for his own.”
Eliza longed to ask what betrayal he’d committed but thought better of it. The Queen would tell her only what she needed to know, as she always had.
The Queen rummaged in her desk drawer and withdrew an envelope, wax seal already broken, with Eliza’s name scrawled across the front.
Eliza gulped. Part of her—perhaps the only truly innocent part of her left—had hoped the Queen would name Eliza her heir on the spot. She’d proven herself time and time again, sacrificing everything in the name of the Queen. What more would the Queen ask before finally granting Eliza this reward?
Serving the Queen is reward enough.
That was what Eliza told herself, repeating it every day since she’d been named the Queen’s Eyes. She would see no other recognition than the job the Queen had granted her three years ago. She was the Queen’s Eyes, and a spy’s work always went uncelebrated. It would be selfish indeed to expect more.
“Going forward, you will no longer be Eliza, the Eyes of the Queen,” she said, holding up the envelope. “You will be Lady Eliza—demure, pleasant, and unassuming, betrothed to the Commissioner’s heir.” She held out the letter.
Eliza’s stomach pitched. She’d known this would catch up with her eventually, but she’d thought it a distant future, a problem for tomorrow’s Eliza. But tomorrow’s Eliza was today’s Eliza, it seemed.
Engaged Eliza.
The Eliza she embodied when she wrote her letters was a cultivated version of herself, pieced together with careful penmanship. She’d revealed nothing she did not want her betrothed to know—so she’d revealed nothing at all.
With a shaking hand, Eliza took to the envelope, running her finger across her name, penned in a nervous hand. Nathaniel Fremont had been a diligent correspondent, writing to her often. But to marry the boy would be to give up her future, even though Eliza’s future no more belonged to her than her present.
Still worse, marrying Nathaniel Fremont now, before the Queen and her courtiers descended to Earth Adjacent, meant leaving the Queen’s side. It meant becoming a Planetary, falling further from the seat of power she sought.
“It’s a silly exercise, marriage,” the Queen was saying, “bound more in tradition and custom than any real exchange of power. Yet it has its uses. I’ve led the Commissioner to believe this engagement will appease me, and just now he wants to circumnavigate my wrath. It will make him feel confident; it may make him careless.”
Eliza curled her fingers around the envelope and nodded. She knew this tactic well, taught by the Queen herself. Convince a fool they’ve done you a favor, and they’ll never see your blade coming, the Queen told her once. Gratitude is as strong a disguise as any mask.
“And his heir?” Eliza asked, her throat suddenly tight.
“Once you have arrived and gained the boy’s confidence, then we will plan the next steps. I find myself in need of better intelligence, and you are primed to infiltrate Earth Adjacent’s highest circles.” The Queen stood and offered her a silver holocom. “Do this for me, and you will prove beyond shadow of doubt you deserve to be my granddaughter-in-law.”
Eliza reached for the metal device, weighing it in her palm. This would be her only tie to life on the Tower, the only tie to the Queen. It pained her to think of leaving, but the Queen had given her an order—a mission—and Eliza would not disobey, she would not disappoint.
A mission was an opportunity to show her worth. And if that failed, well, she was Eliza, fiancée to the Commissioner’s son, and the Commissioner was the Queen’s son. Though it certainly wasn’t the way she’d expected, or the way she’d wanted it, Eliza was about to become royalty, and that, at least, was something.
With a deep curtsy, Eliza turned to go, but the Queen called her back.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” She inclined her head, and Eliza followed its direction.
The dagger still lay on the floor, discarded from their sparring match. Alone on the stark white tile, the blade looked inconsequential and small, not a grand symbol of Eliza’s duty to her Queen.
Eliza darted forward to retrieve it. Cold steel sent a shock through her, as though she’d regained a piece of herself when her fingers closed around the hilt. From the moment the Queen had placed it in her palm, she’d never gone without it. The blade was a reminder that Eliza had been chosen above all the others—she’d beaten all the others.
All but the Queen.
In a flash, Eliza turned, ready to strike. The Queen caught Eliza’s dagger with her own and twisted the blades to disarm Eliza once again, leaving Eliza’s hand as empty as her heart.
“A sloppy attempt,” the Queen said, returning Eliza’s blade to her. “You’ll try again tomorrow.”
Eliza knew a dismissal when she heard one, but she couldn’t bring herself to leave. “W
hat is it?” she asked instead.
“What is what?” The Queen had already returned to her desk, her own holocom in hand.
“My tell—how you know when and where I’ll move.”
The Queen, busy with the blue light from her holocom screen, did not look up.
Eliza ought to have known better. The Queen liked her secrets, after all. But as Eliza turned to leave, the Queen’s voice chased her out the door.
“It’s your eyes. You always look where you plan to strike.”
Her eyes. Eliza shut them, pausing on the threshold. It was the one lesson the Queen had never taught her. Of course. The Queen, who saw all but was seen by none. She had no use for the fluttering of eyelashes or the subtlety of eye contact. This was one last lesson Eliza would have to teach herself.
Perhaps veils had their uses after all.
Nathaniel had never left the Settlement before. He doubted many had, with Tech Decree Thirty hanging over their heads. No one was permitted to leave without express permission from the Commissioner’s office. The farmers who worked the land just beyond the city were granted special passports, allowing them to pass freely through the gate, but the rest were to stay within the city’s walls, safe from harm. Though exactly what sort of harm that was, Nathaniel didn’t know.
The Settlement wall seemed a shield, a stone embrace around the city. From Nathaniel’s bedroom window, the wall had always made him feel safe. He’d never needed to worry about anything beyond. He’d never needed to worry about much at all.
As Nathaniel made his way through the streets, still bustling with vendors and visitors for the final day of the Celestial Market, he felt trapped. The manor was spacious enough, with a vast perimeter, but the rest of the city hardly resembled the home Nathaniel knew. Here, everything was cramped and squeezed together. Though the buildings stood straight, he felt as though they leaned toward him, casting judgment instead of shadows.
