Blood Crown Page 15

  I look away for an instant, and when my focus returns to Archibald, I find Gart has him on the floor, shoving and shoving his clawed fist into Archibald’s body. Clear, golden-hued liquid seeps from his wounds. Gart pulls up great handfuls of wires and I watch in horror as he hacks away at Archibald’s chest cavity.

  Archibald lies there, his legs and arms spread wide, his hands open in supplication. His body twitches and I know he has lost control of his limbs or else Gart wouldn’t have stood a chance. Archibald can’t move his head, or command his lips, but his gaze fixes on me.

  I can’t hear him in my mind, but I know he is telling me to go. Go!

  I can barely see him past my tears. I scream—a mistake because it draws Gart’s attention.

  “It’ll be your time in just a—” Gart turns back to Archibald and thrusts both his fists inside Archibald’s body, cracking his ribs, bearing his circuitry, his power source, “second.” Gart grunts with the effort.

  The light in Archibald’s eyes blinks out.

  And suddenly every part of me screams for me to move.

  I scramble forward, praying Gart takes a moment to gloat over his victory like he usually does. I lean out of the tube, slapping my hand around the wall outside of it, looking for the control panel. My fingers find the panel, and I push, but nothing happens—I am pushing all the wrong buttons.

  My nanos identify one, pulsing with energy—that’s the one! I stretch for it, am just about to push it, when Gart grabs my wrist.

  He clasps his fingers tightly, the titanium in his hand gripping me as surely as any android’s.

  “You’re not going anywhere.” He thrusts his baton into my side, sending a current of volts racing through my bloodstream. I try to scream, can’t scream, as pain echoes through my mind and everything goes dark.

  Dr. Maxwell is quite good at his job. By the time he is done with me I’m certain I no longer possess a single secret. To my shame and sorrow my mind was wrenched open and I gave up every detail of the rebellion—at least I assume I do.

  Dr. Maxwell, or Dr. Maniacal as I have come to think of him, removes the electrodes he placed behind my ears, on my chest, my groin and behind each knee. I breathe a sigh of relief because maybe now the pain will stop.

  He offers a sideways grin and when his eyes meet mine there’s a wicked gleam in them. “Thank you for your cooperation, Prince Nicolai. I think we have everything we need.”

  I close my eyes because I can’t bear to see my sweat- and tear-stained face reflected in his pale eyes.

  “Now for what I want.”

  My eyes pop open just in time to see a small scalpel pop out of the droid’s index finger. I manage to restrain my screams while he cuts into my forehead, but when he uses both hands to peel the skin apart, I don’t bother to hold back.

  I wake with a start, flailing my arms as if to push things, people—Gart—away. But I am alone. I am lying on pristine white sheets, an ornate, richly woven blanket on top of all the fluffy coverlets. Slowly, I slide to a sitting position, tugging the edges of the blanket up around my chin.

  The bed is vast, like the one in the royal chambers on the Capital—but it is not mine. The room is twice as large with rugs of rich golds and deep reds scattered around the floor—a wooden floor. My nanos inform me it was created to look like a queen’s chamber in the heyday of British rule on Earth. Receiving their knowledge warms me and I stretch my awareness, hoping . . .

  But Archibald is gone, the connection between us severed. I remember now.

  I do feel Nic, though I skirt his awareness, refusing to acknowledge him. I hope to never see him again. If I do I’ll spit in his face and run him through with my fist.

  The thought sends fire racing through my veins so I jump from the bed and stride toward the door. I’ll die killing Nic, but suddenly it’s the only thing I want, and I want it now. Vengeance and death feel like the perfect way to end the nightmare of the past two days.

  Serantha.

  I stop dead in my tracks.

  Be welcome.

  The ship speaks to me—not in the way my ship shared its data, its knowledge—this ship speaks with a voice of its own in my mind.

  Of course , she tells me. I am a child of the Mind, and have been created to provide the most satisfactory living experience possible to each and every one of my charges.

  Charges?

  My children, of course. Of which you are now one. You are now a part of me.

  I don’t belong to you.

  No, of course not. But I will cherish you, just the same.

  I don’t have anything to say to that.

  “Open the door,” I command.

  I’m afraid I can’t do that.

  “Please,” I add with a sigh.

  The ship impersonates a laugh that sets my teeth on edge. It is all too much, too perfect, too intelligent.

  Thank you for using your manners. I will be happy to open the door for you, when you are ready. Please, enter the washroom and prepare yourself. Clothing has been provided.

  The ship prods my nanos toward a door to the left side of the bed. The door stands slightly ajar and exudes an inviting fragrance. Inside, the room is white and bright, with golden fixtures and golden feet on the tub. But it’s the shower that draws me nearer. It’s small—built for just one person, unlike the washroom at home where we had to share. I step inside and activate the cleansing air, but it isn’t air that bears down on me, but water.

  I jump back, startled, shocked. Water!Such a waste, such a luxury!

  Don’t be alarmed, Princess. We only aim to provide you with every possible accommodation suitable to one such as you.

  The voice angers me, but I let my clothes fall to the floor and step under the water anyway, unwilling to let my pride deny me this gift.

  The water is hot and pounds upon my skin like heaven. I feel my worries and cares wash away with the dirt. I wash my hair with the provided soaps and scrub every inch of my skin. Long after I’ve rinsed myself clean I’m still standing beneath the spray, my eyes closed, the water shriveling my fingers.

  That is enough, child, the ship chides and the water shuts off.

  I sigh and search for something to dry myself with and find a lush, cushiony towel just within reach.

  I take my time getting ready. I brush my teeth as I stand under the drying vent and shiver while the heat banishes the goosebumps. I brush my hair until it shines. It’s not brown, like I thought, but a rich, golden blonde. It’s longer than I realized, too—having worn it dirty and tied in a knot at my neck the whole of my life.

  Now it falls in soft waves over my shoulders. I luxuriate in the feel of it against my bare skin. I spend an inordinate amount of time staring at myself in the mirror. I’ve never seen my body like this—naked, clean. I admit that what I see is . . . beautiful. I bear no bruise, no other mark of the unkindness dealt me over the years than the faint white scar that cuts beneath my right eye and down toward my lip. But perhaps it’s only noticeable to me because I expect to see it there.

  With a sigh I turn away from the mirror and enter the room that stands adjacent to the cleansing room. It is half its size, with three dresses hanging there. Each one is gaudier than the last, but at least they are not shear.

  I choose the least ornate of the gowns, but it still weighs at least twenty pounds with its many skirts, its pearl and ruby adornments. I carry the dress into the bedroom and nearly jump out of my skin when I see a girl standing in front of the door.

  “I am sorry M’Lady,” the girl says, keeping her gaze fixed on the ground. “I am to help you dress—is that acceptable?”

  I stare at her, unnerved by her presence. She is human, and young. Perhaps Sher’s age—fifteen, maybe, or even younger. Suddenly I am overwhelmed by the sight of her. I take a step forward, but she jerks ever so slightly. I step back. “I won’t hurt you.”

  “Of course not, M’Lady. I am here to serve—in any capacity.”

  The way she says that—a
ny capacity—makes my stomach turn. “Just . . . help me get dressed, maybe? And answer some questions?”

  “Of course, M’Lady.” She steps forward and begins preparing the dress. I realize belatedly that I am naked and reach to pull the drapery hanging on the wall around me. “You have no need for modesty, M’Lady. You are beautiful.”

  She says the words, but I get the feeling they are not meant for me. They are rote assurances. Perhaps words that have been said to her.

  I don’t drop the curtain, but I ask, “What is your name?”

  “My name is Lily, M’Lady.”

  “That’s a very pretty name.”

  “Thank you, M’Lady. You may step forward now.”

  She pulls a white sheath over my head, and I shiver beneath is silkiness. “Where am I?”

  “You are on the Crown ship, M’Lady.” She leads me back into the washroom, placing me in front of a wall covered in mirrors. At her indication, I lift my arms over my head.

  “The Crown ship? What is that?”

  “You’ve never heard of it, Lady? Or seen it?”

  I shake my head while she pulls the gown over my raised arms, but I’m not sure she sees it. She begins to talk, her voice muffled by the layers and layers of material that’s still covering my head.

  “Oh you are in for a treat!” She settles the gown over my shoulders but doesn't move to fasten it. Instead she picks up a comb from the table in front of me.

  I listen carefully while Lily tells of the vast upper level and how it was built to resemble the city streets of France in the seventeenth century. There is a wide sky overhead that changes with the passing of time throughout the day, so you can stroll in a sunny afternoon, or lie down on the real grass and look at the starry sky, naming the constellations as they would have been viewed from France on Earth.

  “Well,” Lily says. “The ship is lovely. And even more beautiful today!”

  “Why is today special?” I watch her face in the mirror while she wears an exaggerated expression of happiness that is off-putting. But I know I can't judge her. I don’t know how hard her life has been here—but I can imagine.

  “Because of the party, M’Lady.”

  “Party?”

  “It’s a party for you, M’Lady—for you and for the prince. And—” she leans down, a conspiratorial smile on her face, “they are even allowing the servants to attend!” She nearly drops the comb in her excitement. My brain hitches.

  “Servants?” I think of Archibald, torn apart and gutted on the kitchen floor.

  “Yes! All of us who serve the Masters—we are all allowed to attend!”

  “You mean, humans? Humans are the servants?”

  She looks at me as if I have lost my mind and there’s a part of me that wonders if I have. Certainly I feel as though I have stepped into a nightmare.

  I listen to her chatter and all I can think is, What is the point? Why am I here? Why was I instructed to bathe, why am I being dressed in clothing that is far too impractical? I would rather my execution be swift—or if not swift, then without all these trappings.

  I close my eyes and direct a thought—at Galen, at the ship, at Nic—Just get on with it, already.

  Lily’s hands pause in my hair where she has been creating an intricate weave. “M’Lady? Are you all right? Should I fetch the doctor?”

  “What? No. I’m fine.”

  She stares doubtfully at my reflection. “Please, just . . .” I wave my hand in the air. “Just do what you were doing.”

  Lily resumes her work a little stonily and doesn’t recommence speaking until she has finished pinning the braiding in place.

  I think about Nic and this supposed party and how there is no way I will do anything the Mind tells me to do. I will not be their trophy. Whatever they have planned, I don’t want any part of it.

  I reach out for Nic and find him, as I expected to, at the edge of my awareness. His presence feels as reserved as mine, as if he doesn’t want to grant me access—I know I certainly don’t want to allow him into my own mind.

  But I know he is near, know he is stressed or anxious. Know he is on high alert. Probably feeling guilty for betraying me—at least I hope so. Whatever the Mind has planned for us, I will never partner with Nicolai. No matter what Lily and the other humans wish. Nic is no hero, whether they know it or not. I will deny him, deny the Mind, or I will die in the effort.

  “Won’t that just be wonderful, M’Lady?” Lily asks, her hands settling on my shoulders. I stare at her reflection while I rack my brain for some clue of what she has just said. And there it is, a file in my mind as neat as if it were labeled “Lily chatter.”

  They haven’t said as much, but we all know the prophecy. We know what will happen when you and Prince Nicolai have children—and your children marry our children. Humankind will flourish again! We all believe it, and we are so grateful you’ve been found, Miss.

  The prophecy again. Is that what this is about?

  “Lily . . . I’m afraid my, uh, training wasn’t very thorough. What can you tell me about the uh, prophecy?”

  “Oh, M’Lady!” Lily sections off my hair, placing a chunk over my right shoulder while she works on the left side. She takes a styling rod and begins curling the ends of my hair and the ribbon that she worked into the plaiting. “My mum used to tell me all about it. The ladies used to talk about it more, but things got . . . well, I’ve heard that since your, eh, parents died and things looked so bleak, the old-timers didn’t want to talk about it much because we all thought you were dead, too. But then the Mind told us you were not dead and that you were coming here!” She examines her work, then picks up a section of hair to go over again.

  “Now the stories are flying, I tell you! And the prince! He couldn’t be more handsome—and you couldn’t be lovelier, either! Anyway, the story goes that you and the prince, being royal born and all, are not entirely human—you’re enhanced, they say. Is that true, M’Lady? Do you really have nanotech and . . . well, you know? Are you not entirely human?” Her hands have come to rest again and she looks into the mirror, meeting my eyes there for a moment before dropping her gaze.

  “I am so sorry, M’Lady. Please forgive me! I can be, well, I don’t always watch what I say.” Her chin falls to her chest and she works more quickly on my hair.

  I reach up and touch her hand and she doesn’t flinch. I owe her something for that. For the kindness she is showing me. For the acceptance.

  “I am not sure I understand it either, Lily, but . . . no, I don’t think I am entirely human.”

  “Oh,” Lily says, looking everywhere but at my eyes.

  “Would you like me to show you?”

  Lily gasps and she drops the styling rod to the floor. “Oh, I’m sorry, M’Lady!” She picks up the rod and I notice her hands are trembling. I realize that I don’t understand humans at all.

  I say, “Shall I show you?”

  Lily doesn’t meet my gaze as she sucks a corner of her lip. “Would you?” she whispers.

  I lift the brush from the desk. I let my consciousness see past the obvious, the smooth lacquer finish, the paint that was expertly applied to make it appear to be wood. Feel the cold metal lying beneath its warm exterior. I send my nanos rushing through my finger tips and force them to demand a state change of the brush handle. I will the particles of metal apart, essentially rendering the brush transparent. Lily gasps while tiny particles spin around my hand, waiting to be reordered.

  She reaches out a fingertip and pokes it into the handle of the brush, finding no resistance there. Her fingertip goes directly through to my palm. “Oh!” she exclaims. She withdraws her finger and I retrieve my nanos, allowing the brush to return to its normal state. I hold it up to Lily.

  She hesitates. “Is it safe to—I mean, can I still use it?”

  “Of course.”

  She takes the brush from me, rubbing her thumb along the handle as if marveling that such a thing could exist. “I never dared hope it could be�
��that there could be a human who was also part . . . Mind. But I am ever so grateful to know it is true, M’Lady.”

  A chime sounds in my room, followed by the soft, flowing voice of the ship. “My lady, you are expected to appear in twenty minutes.”

  Lily squeaks and her fingers tremble as she resumes her work, pulling and tugging on my hair in her haste. We don’t speak anymore, except for small exchanges that mean nothing, but her words still hang in the air between us like a fog.

  The humans hope for liberation from the Mind and they hope Nic and I will be the ones to give it to them. But Nic obviously doesn’t care about me, or the people. If he did, he wouldn’t have disappeared. He would have stayed, told me the truth of who he was, tried to actually do something. Nic will be the last one to save our people.

  “I am finished, M’Lady.” The way Lily speaks with such reverence, I glance quickly at the mirror—and find that I am speechless.

  My fair hair shines, accentuated by the ruby ribbon braided throughout. Lily has arranged braids around my head like a crown, while the rest of my hair hangs down my back and over my shoulders in long, shining curls.

  A braid, woven with the ribbon, crosses my forehead and reminds me of the twisted imprint I saw on Nic’s head when we kissed. I push the thought aside. Let Lily and the humans believe I wear a crown—it is the closest to it I will ever come.

  “It’s beautiful. It—” I swallow hard against the lump in my throat.

  “You are beautiful, M’Lady.”

  Our eyes meet in the mirror and I try to let her see all the things I would say if I could. I believe in you. I believe in humanity. And though my death is imminent, I would have saved you if I could.

  When I wake, I am no longer in Dr. Maxwell’s lab, but ensconced in a kingly bed, surrounded by all the amenities I was accustomed to at home. But I am not home.