by Rosiee Thor
Only, of course they could. Eliza had been young. She’d been driven and focused, but still young, and Marla was far better at the Queen’s game of secrets than Eliza had anticipated. Eliza’s run should have been over when Marla’s pot of tea had her sleeping soundly at the other girl’s table. When Eliza woke, her secret was neatly folded next to the saucer.
Eliza didn’t know what to make of it. Marla could have culled the competition then. Eliza was the biggest threat—though Marla would not know to what extent for weeks to come—and ending it then would have been the smart move. But Marla always followed her heart, not her head, and Eliza found she loved her for it. Instead, Marla lied, uncovering another girl’s secret instead of Eliza’s, and the pair of them advanced to the next round.
The following night, Eliza found a different slip of paper beneath her pillow: I am simply infatuated with Eliza.
Marla had not broken the rules; she’d circumnavigated them. The Queen had left them room to interpret, and they’d filled the space with the true joy of a first love.
Now Eliza would fill it with false love for a boy she’d never want. She would spin herself a lie so strong, not even Nathaniel Fremont would know the difference, and just as Marla had helped her achieve her dreams then, she’d ally herself once more to find this secret, too.
“So Nathaniel Fremont is not my target?” Eliza asked finally, landing on a safer question.
“He’s a troublesome boy, from what I’ve observed,” the Queen replied.
“You’ve met him, then?” But as she said the words, she was reminded that Nathaniel Fremont was not simply a boy to the Queen; he was her grandson. He’d been born to such privilege, while Eliza still had to work for only a fraction of what he’d achieved by circumstance. She’d prove herself ten times over, outmatch him in every test of espionage, and still he would be the Queen’s in a way Eliza never could be.
“Not in the flesh.” The Queen shook her head, indicating the holocom on her desk. “He was present at today’s council meeting. I daresay, he’s reckless and rebellious, but brighter than his father thinks. He should be an easy mark, but be wary. Start by gaining his confidence.”
“And what next?”
“First, the boy.” The Queen pushed away from the desk. “The rest will follow.”
“You can trust me,” Eliza whispered, not meaning to say the words aloud.
“I keep this secret to protect you, Eliza. The fewer who know, the safer everyone will be.” The Queen sighed and gripped the edge of her veil with gloved fingers. “Some secrets are like a blade, their vengeance swift and concentrated. Others are like a pestilence, spreading without prejudice, and I fear not everyone it touches will deserve the affliction.”
Eliza shuddered involuntarily. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
“You’ll have a fair amount of time, never fear.” The Queen stood, her imperious shadow falling across Eliza. “The Commissioner won’t act against me just yet. He can’t afford to use what he knows publicly until he catches some outlaw—the Technician.” Her veil swayed dramatically as if she rolled her entire head, not just her eyes. “The Commissioner’s warped sense of power may be a boon for once.”
“The Technician?” Eliza had never heard the name before, but of course she paid little attention to planetary events. She made a mental note to research the outlaw later.
The Queen gestured for Eliza to rise and led her toward the door. “Remember: If he catches the Technician, your time is up.”
Eliza took her leave, feeling no more informed than she’d been upon arriving, but she knew the Queen’s words would steep in her mind like tea until the proper time, dormant until awakened as if by magic.
Secrets had always served her well. Secrets were warm, tucked beneath her ribs like muscle, wrapped around her arms like cloth. But this one was different. This secret had turned against her, a cold blade pressed upon her skin. It would not do to fight it, not when she was so close to achieving everything she wanted. Instead, she would wrap her fingers around this secret and draw it close—make it her own.
Anna didn’t like asking for help. Perhaps she’d learned the habit from living with Thatcher, whose assistance always came with a healthy dose of lecture. But Anna could not do this alone.
If every case of Tarnish occurred in Mechan—apart from Nathaniel, of course—then there had to be a reason. After some careful thought, it seemed clear enough to Anna: Someone must be poisoning Mechan.
And as far as Anna was concerned, it had to be the Commissioner. Poisoning the town certainly wasn’t outside the scope of the Commissioner’s brand of evil, never mind that he didn’t know where Mechan was. Anna would work out that flaw in her theory later. First, Anna needed to put aside her pride, and her habits, for she needed more than medicine and machinery. If a poison had caused Tarnish, she’d need alchemy to combat it.
Anna knew only one alchemist, and she was dead. Ruby’s mother, lost to the Commissioner’s men some ten years ago, had been a light in a harsh world during Anna’s childhood. Most of her memories involved the woman with a skip in her step and a spin in her skirts. Her death had been a blow, but to Ruby most of all—another untimely death in her family.
Anna knocked three times on the green painted door of Ruby’s house.
“Anna?” Ruby asked, opening the door and letting Anna inside. “What are you doing here so early? Roman’s still sleeping; you’ll have to wait if you want to take him on a walk.”
Anna shook her head. Though she’d promised to take Roman on a walk every day now that he’d returned to his mother’s house (and his stamina and distance were increasing at an impressive rate), her reasons for visiting were entirely selfish. “I’m not here for Roman.”
Ruby pursed her lips. “Truth be told, I wish you wouldn’t take him on so many outings.” She held up a hand at Anna’s protest. “I know he needs the exercise, but he’s developing such an adventurous streak. I worry he’ll wander off one day.”
Anna laughed. The thought of Roman—needy, loving Roman—running off was almost too absurd to consider. “I’ll try not to be such a horrid influence on him.”
Ruby didn’t smile with her. “Since we’re on the subject, for days he’s talked of nothing but some metal arm you made him.”
“Oh! Does he like it?” Anna took hold of the new conversation thread gladly, but Ruby’s disapproval still didn’t sit well with her. “I’ve been working on it for months.”
“He does.” Ruby crossed her arms. “I don’t.”
“I—” Anna flinched.
“He’s a seven-year-old child, Anna. What did you think you were doing, showing him that arm?”
Anna took a step back, nearly colliding with the closed door. “I thought it was a kind gesture. He needed cheering, and it seemed to lift his spirits well enough.”
Ruby’s expression darkened. “Do you know what he asked me last night? He asked if he was broken.”
Anna opened her mouth to speak, but Ruby cut her off.
“I’ve worked tirelessly to make sure that boy feels loved—to ensure he knows that he is enough exactly the way he is.” She crossed her arms. “How do you justify telling him that he is less than he ought to be?”
“I didn’t! I would never …”
But she had. Not in so many words, exactly, but she remembered the odd confusion on Roman’s face when she’d shown him the arm. Even he had seen her gift for what it really was.
“I’m sorry.”
Ruby nodded once. “Good.” She gestured to a pair of brown armchairs. “Now sit down and speak your piece. Why have you come to call so early?”
“I need your help.”
Ruby moved to the kitchen and poured two mugs of tea. “With what?”
Half-truths had no place between Anna and Ruby, and Thatcher’s words rang through Anna’s mind so loudly, she was sure Ruby could hear them, too: Visualize the entire problem and diagnose; do not simply apply the bandage.
Anna sucked in a dee
p breath. “I want to find a cure.”
Ruby offered Anna her choice of chipped mugs and sat beside her. “You what?”
“I spend so much time treating heart disease with tech. But I have no inkling of what causes the damage in the first place. I think if I can diagnose the problem, then I can find a solution, not just a patch like the TICCER. A real cure.”
Ruby sipped her tea, a cautious smile tugging at her lips. “Thatcher got to you.”
“What makes you say that?” Anna hated the defensive tremor in her voice.
“You don’t say things like diagnose. That’s a Thatcher word, if ever I heard one.”
Anna grimaced. Her eyes darted to the bottles of salves and tonics on the kitchen counter. “I’m not an alchemist, either, which is why I need your help.”
“No!” Ruby set her mug down forcefully, tea sloshing over the side. “No, no, no.”
“You don’t even know what I’m going—”
“Not a chance! I make tonics. That’s it. I’m not an alchemist. I’m not my mother.” Ruby leaned back in her chair, her eyes frantic.
“And I’m not asking you to be! If you would just hear me out—”
“I swear, Anna, if you think for even a second … You saw what happened to my mother.”
“Alchemy didn’t kill your mother.”
Ruby’s eyes were daggers. “You treat the law like a machine you can take apart and reassemble to fit the life you want to live, Anna. It’s dangerous, and it’s deadly.”
“What law? It’s not like we live in the Settlement.”
Ruby stood, backing away toward the kitchen. “I was only a little older than Roman is now when my mother died. Maybe you can’t understand what that’s like, but I won’t make Roman an orphan—not again.”
“I do understand. My parents are dead, too, remember?”
Ruby’s hands shook. “You still have Thatcher. I have no one.”
Anna’s stomach clenched. Thatcher had raised her, taught her, but never loved her. Anna was not generous enough anymore to call that family. She’d been alone a long time.
It was easier that way.
Anna lowered her voice. “Think about the good we could do, Ruby. Think about all the people we could help—all the children we could save.”
“Don’t bring children into it. I can’t … Don’t make me choose.” She pressed a hand against her stomach. The unborn child she carried couldn’t yet breathe or scream, but someday its heart would beat an arrhythmic beat, and Thatcher would have to crack open its chest to put metal inside.
Anna crossed the room to join Ruby at the kitchen counter, the whisper of an idea forming on her tongue. “What if you didn’t have to actually perform the alchemy?”
“I don’t see how that—”
“You could teach me. That way you wouldn’t be putting yourself in any danger.” Anna grinned, rather pleased with herself for such an ingenious plan, but Ruby shook her head.
“Alchemy isn’t something you can learn in a day.” She rubbed the sides of her face, pulling brown skin tight over her cheekbones. “It isn’t as simple as tossing ingredients together and hoping. It isn’t like learning to cook. You have to understand the elements and the breakdown of …” She let out a long sigh. “Listen, Anna, I know you mean well, but alchemy isn’t just some trade. It’s something my mother and I shared—until it got her arrested and killed. I’m not ready to revisit it.”
“But—”
“I won’t argue about this.” Ruby stalked away, disappearing behind her bedroom door, leaving Anna with little more than hampered spirits and a mug of lukewarm tea.
Anna made her way back home, trying to imagine what it must be like for Ruby. Ruby’s mother had died, but that wasn’t exactly the alchemy’s fault. It certainly didn’t justify Ruby turning away from this opportunity. How she could let one accident keep her from helping, Anna couldn’t understand.
Except … she could.
Anna felt the same way about surgery. It took only one mistake—one careless stroke with a scalpel—to turn a completely salvageable arm into a residuum. And Ruby was right: Anna couldn’t fix that mistake with a metal arm. Roman wasn’t a machine to be fixed. He was a happy, human boy.
When Anna returned to her workshop, a mess of metal greeted her on the other side. Usually, her workshop was comfortable. But now every gear and cog reminded her that anything she could do with steel would never be enough—would never mend the world.
Hours later, when a knock sounded at the door, Anna considered pretending she wasn’t in. She bore Thatcher’s condescension with difficulty on the best of days, and Anna had not yet overcome Ruby’s blow to her plans that morning.
But when Anna answered the door, it wasn’t Thatcher. Instead, Ruby stood awkwardly outside, eyes shifting to look at anything but Anna. She carried a large clothbound book.
“I thought it over,” Ruby began. “I’m not going to do any alchemy. But, well … here.” She let the book slide onto the worktable, a layer of dust ballooning out from its pages. “Mother always used this when she worked. It’s not the same as a real teacher, but perhaps it will serve your purposes.”
Anna traced her finger down the book’s spine. The cloth cover, made gray by all its years, looked as though it had once been blue. She flipped through the pages to see mostly handwritten entries and diagrams, presumably by Ruby’s mother.
“Thank you,” Anna breathed.
“You’re welcome,” Ruby said mechanically, turning to leave.
“I’m sorry.” Anna lifted her hand from the book, suddenly feeling like an intruder in a relationship she didn’t understand. She should never have insisted Ruby compromise her emotions—Ruby, who had already given up so much.
Ruby paused, her hand on the door handle. “Start with a blood sample,” she said. “If there’s something to be found, it will be in the blood.”
Nathaniel left the council hall in a hurry, eager to avoid his father at all costs. He needed to do something right—and fast. After his abysmal performance in front of his father’s advisors and the Queen, proving himself was no longer a simple fancy, but a necessity. He needed to catch the Technician once and for all.
The locket lay on Nathaniel’s desk where he’d left it, the shiny metal catching rays of sunlight. The intricate craftsmanship struck him. What a pity his father’s greatest enemy had made it.
Nathaniel withdrew the slip of paper, tracing Anna’s spiraling purple letters with his pinkie.
The heart of the Settlement.
That had to be the city center. But Nathaniel knew before the thought finished crossing his mind that he was wrong. The Technician had yet to be quite so obvious with his clues. Why start now? No, Nathaniel would have to look past the easy answer for the true solution to this riddle.
Pulling the map of the island from his desk, Nathaniel ran his fingers over the page. Smooth paper did not do the terrain justice, the ache in his muscles from his excursion reminding him of the rolling hills and rocky coast. The map beneath his fingers barely even scraped the surface. The Settlement, centered in the middle of the page, spilled out in arcs with the market closest to the gate and the Commissioner’s manor and its grounds farthest away. Each quarter had been drawn with precision, a careful hand that knew the weight of its pen.
Past the Settlement gates, however, it seemed detail had been sacrificed for artistry. The farmlands were marked, of course, but from there the island became a suggestion rather than a statement.
It was like the map’s author didn’t know what was outside the city’s walls, or simply didn’t care.
Or both.
Nathaniel had been just as ignorant only days ago, but now his hands itched to fill in the rest of the map, to see and know and care what else their world had to offer.
And there had to be something else, something his father didn’t want him to know. Anna had implied as much, and now that she and the Technician had drawn him out from beneath his father’s protecti
ve roof, he wasn’t sure he wanted to go back to a place of not knowing, not caring … Not sure if he even could.
But this riddle didn’t lead him toward the unknown, toward exploration. Rather, it pushed him back. The heart of the Settlement had to be inside its walls.
Returning to the map, Nathaniel stuck his finger on the very center of the Settlement. It wasn’t the answer, of course, but it seemed an appropriate starting point. He could, at the very least, mark it off his list of possibilities. From there, he traced the streets with his left hand, and followed the beat of his own heart with his right. It had been the key to the first riddle, after all.
If the Settlement was a body, where would its heart be? Not the center, that was for sure. But the upper left quadrant of the city yielded no obvious meeting place, either. He squinted at the small markings for houses. Was this where the Technician lived?
No, that was absurd. Nathaniel leaned back in his chair, lip caught between his teeth. He was thinking too linearly. Last time, he’d literally needed to flip his thinking upside down to understand.
Nathaniel turned the map over.
It was a blessing no one could see him. His father would laugh in his face, tell him an upside-down map was worthless and inaccurate. Nathaniel truly was an embarrassment, if this was the best he could do. He couldn’t let his father be right about him—worthless, indeed.
But not everyone thought him worthless. The Queen, much to his father’s chagrin, had praised him, hadn’t she? And Anna wouldn’t laugh at him, at least not for this. Anna wouldn’t call him—or his upside-down map—worthless. Because a map flipped over was still a map, just read from a different perspective.
A grin spread across Nathaniel’s face, and he let his eyes fall back to the page. He just needed a new perspective.
Inverted, the Settlement looked a stranger, with its streets weaving in unfamiliar patterns. The manor left a lump along the side of the Settlement where one didn’t belong, and on the opposite side, the city’s clock tower mirrored it, a growth on the otherwise circular city.
