TALIA
I would have thought that a princess’s bed would be luxurious and soft, a paradise of cloud-like comfort, but Celena’s mattress is lumpy and hard. I wake with a crick in my neck and an ache in my back. Plus, I’m oddly disoriented because I’m so used to the sun peeking in through the blinds greeting me in the mornings. No blinds here and no windows. I have no idea what time it is, so I groggily decide it must be time to begin the day.
I stumble out of the torturous bed and cross the enormous bedroom to the equally enormous bathroom, also decorated entirely in gray. After washing up, I put on the robe hanging on the back of the door and emerge into the hallway to find Filomena and the crew setting up in the preparation room.
She assures me this isn’t the everyday routine; I only have to withstand the stylists when I’m scheduled to meet a large number of my royal subjects. Fortunately, the beauty regimen is abbreviated this morning.
Hair and makeup fly by, and then the quiet teenaged boy is stuffing me into another too-tight outfit where my boobs are practically spilling out. Today’s selection: a ruby-red bustier made from the leather-like material, which is honestly pretty bad ass, and a pair of form-fitting leggings. Instead of yesterday’s stilettos, he holds up a pair of knee-high boots in a slightly darker color. He motions for me to sit on the bench in front of the mirror wall.
“I can put these on myself,” I tell him, but he shakes his head, looking affronted. Resigned, I step a foot into the boot and then look on in awe as he takes the laces and whips them back and forth, catching them on the grommets with precision and lacing them all the way up in seconds. “Never mind. You do that much better than me.”
The stylists all smile and coo in approval when I’m done, and I try not to let it go to my head. They bow their goodbyes and file out, and then I head to the main room, where Noomi and Ryin wait for me. This morning, her dreadlocks are piled on top of her head in a bun, and her eyes sparkle with light. She has what I’ve always thought of as Disney princess eyes, doe-like and wide set, along with a little button nose and an overall fey quality that seems almost magical. She’s in stark contrast to Ryin, who has dark, heavy clouds hovering over him. His expression is the same implacable mask as usual, but I can somehow sense a darkening in his mood compared to yesterday.
After their obligatory bows, Ryin retakes his seat on the same hard chair, which ignites a spark of anger within me. At the very least he could have a comfortable chair while he waits for me; there are plenty around.
I sit at the dining table and try to act nonchalant. “Ryin, would you mind moving that chair for me, please?” He looks startled, and I hold back a smile as I dig into my breakfast: a black porridge-like substance that tastes like strawberry jam.
He stands and I have him swap out the plain, wooden chair he sits on for one of the ornately carved, golden, gilded Louis XIV monstrosities. It looks kind of heavy and I feel bad for a moment, but he has no trouble lifting the thing and carrying it across the room. Now it sits in the corner near the dining table and he stands next to it expectantly.
“That’s all,” I say. “Please have a seat.”
The soft huffing sound of Noomi’s laughter lights me up inside. I glance over at Ryin, who looks completely ridiculous sitting rigidly on the throne-like chair. He shoots visual daggers at Noomi and then veils his features before turning to me. His eyes narrow but I just grin at him, then toast him with my glass of amber peach-cran-grape drink.
Victor would have laughed. Ryin shows no amusement, but I think I see a crack in his armor. I decide to make it my goal to lighten him up a little. It always helped me to focus on the rays of joy breaking through the clouds of misery. Maybe I can bring a little cheer to counteract all the pain.
“You've eaten, right?” I ask him.
His head jerks in surprise, but he recovers quickly and nods. “We have our rations, Your Grace. Fai are not permitted to eat Nimali food.”
I purse my lips. Of course not.
Then the doorbell chimes with a much longer ring than yesterday. Noomi disappears into the servant’s room, a haunted expression on her face, and the door slides open without needing anyone to open it. When King Lyall saunters in, it makes sense. He must have access to anything he likes.
Something in my chest lifts when I see him, a sensation quickly followed by guilt. But the cavernous crater inside me that always longed for a father’s love wins out, especially with the joyous expression on his face when he looks at me. He crosses the room, and I rise to meet his embrace.
“Celena, my girl,” he says, still beaming. “I trust your breakfast was pleasant.”
“Wonderful, everything is wonderful.”
“Good.” He settles himself beside me, still smiling, but flicks a hand at Ryin, who quickly makes his exit. His sudden absence is the space left by a lost tooth, tender and throbbing.
“I have a present for you.” Lyall pulls a small object wrapped in a red bow from his pocket.
A memory of last Christmas flashes before me. The twins both received new cars, months before they were even legally able to drive. Identical white Mercedes convertibles with red leather interiors. Meanwhile, I was puttering along in the twenty-year-old Hyundai I’d driven since high school. A hand-me-down from my dad that he claimed he’d kept for nostalgia. There had been a box under the tree with my name on it—Dad gave me a sweater fit for a nineteenth-century librarian. High neck, pearl buttons, the whole nine. Meanwhile, my stepmother had spent some money, too much money, on the ugliest Louis Vuitton handbag I’d ever seen. I’d smiled and thanked them and actually put on the horrible sweater, taking our yearly Christmas Day photos in it.
I desperately hope Lyall has better taste in gifts.
I slide the box toward me and open it. Nestled inside is an object about the size and shape of a man’s wallet, black and smooth, its texture silky. “What is it?”
Lyall chuckles. “It’s a comm. Here.” He motions for it and I push it back over to him. “Just open like this.” He pulls the edges apart and it opens on a hinge, changing the device’s shape from flat to a prism, with the newly revealed section made of glass. He hands it back to me, and I turn it around in my palm.
Then he pulls out a similar device from his pocket and opens it. “Ping Celena,” he says, and his comm lights up. The one in my hand starts pulsing blue light and rattles to get my attention.
I gasp and look up to him. “How do I answer?”
“Just say, ‘Accept.’”
“Accept,” I speak into the device, and the pulse settles into a solid glow. Then, Lyall’s head pushes out from the glass in a monochromatic display. The image is a little scratchy, definitely not high-definition video, but what it lacks in quality it makes up for in depth.
I rotate the comm in my hand to find that the face is three-dimensional, extruding out of the glass. “This is fantastic,” I whisper.
Lyall’s blue-tinted image shakes his head and smiles. “Now, this is just a temporary comm.” His voice comes from both across the table and the device in my hand. “It was all the engineers had available this morning. But I’ve commissioned the artist who created your last one, and she will have a custom model ready by this evening.”
My mouth opens on an instinctive Thank you, but I snap my lips shut before I can speak, not sure of whether that’s appropriate.
“We only have short-term bliss cells available,” Lyall says, his demeanor growing serious. “Unfortunately, all the larger cells are being diverted for critical usage.”
I tear my gaze from the magic 3D video phone to face him. “What is bliss?”
He smiles again, the brief darkness fading away. “It is the reason the Nimali were able to claw our way back to civilization after the Sorrows. After the human electrical systems failed, and war and weather and disease basically destroyed their race.”
He closes the comm with a snap and spreads his hands apart. “Bliss is the energy that runs through the spirit world. It breaks through into our world in places called matrices. Our city, Aurum, is home to several such matrices, and we have developed ways to mine bliss. That is how we’ve reclaimed this city and our way of life.”
He motions to the lighting overhead and the comms before us. “Bliss powers everything.”
I’m still stuck on the whole “spirit world” part of it. “Is this technology or magic?” I breathe in wonder.
“A bit of both. But it is also the reason we fight the Fai.” His expression grows thunderous again. “Those zealots worship bliss and believe it’s better stored in a temple than used in our lights and technology. Their territory to the west includes several rich matrices that they deny us access to. Even as our mining supply dwindles.”
“So the matrices, they can run out?”
“Yes, certainly. But there is plenty of bliss in Aurum, hoarded by the Fai.”
I choose my words carefully. “But if you do get access to their matrices, at some point we would mine them until they’re empty. What happens then?”
He tilts his head at me looking thoughtfully, then grins widely. “Come, it’s time for your tour of the city.”
He stands and pockets his comm. I do the same, mindful that he never answered my question. Ryin appears and follows us out of the suite to the elevators, where a lean, bald man in a well-fitted cherry-red suit is waiting.
“Your Majesty. Your Grace,” he says, bowing low.
“Lord Jovi, you have a report for me?” Lyall commands.
“Yes, Your Majesty.” He holds up a thin, rectangular-shaped object that reminds me of that children’s handheld game where a clear plastic box is filled with liquid and you tilt it this way and that to make the fish inside move around. The thing in his hands is filled with blue liquid that moves slower than water, with floating dark beads inside it.
Lord Jovi slides some of the beads around, then turns the device and presents it to Lyall. As the king peers at it, I ask in a low voice, “What is that?”
“A data tablet, Your Grace.”
“Like an iPad?”
He tilts his head, reminding me of a confused puppy with his long face and droopy eyes. “We store data in liquid bliss. These devices allow us to access the information.” I see nothing but beads in blue water, but I guess I’ll have to take his word on it.
“Come with us,” Lyall says, handing the device back to him. “I’m accompanying Celena and her retinue on a tour of the territory. We can discuss further.”
The elevator ride leaves me dizzy, with sweat drenching my back and underarms. I haven’t figured out the deodorant situation here, so I keep my arms close to my sides, my fists gripping my skirts as if that would help if this thing were to plummet to the ground. Ryin is in front of me and in the corner so he’s unable to witness my reaction, for which I’m grateful. He’s way too perceptive, and I don’t think there’s anything his magical healing abilities can do about my claustrophobia.
When we finally make it down to the first floor, Lyall and Lord Jovi exit first, deep in a conversation I had no extra mental energy to expend listening to. All my focus is on walking upright and breathing deeply while leaving the rattling death trap of an elevator. The rides are not getting any easier with repetition, but at least the things have been running smoothly so far, not stoking too much fear of becoming trapped in a broken down car.
That thought jars me and I miss a step, tripping over flat ground. An arm reaches out to steady me and I look up into Ryin’s stern but concerned face. I’m overcome with gratitude, opening my mouth to thank him when I hear a hiss.
One of the soldiers who rode down with us is staring daggers at Ryin. He withdraws his hand quickly, but I reach out and grab hold of his arm again, leaning heavily on him.
“Your Grace?” the soldier asks.
“Just a bit light-headed. I deeply appreciate the healer for not letting me fall.”
The soldier sniffs and looks away. I squeeze Ryin’s biceps, noting the firmness of the muscle and honestly needing a little stability as I move forward, legs still wobbly. Based on the guard’s reaction, I’m guessing Ryin isn’t supposed to touch me, but I also know that no one will naysay the princess. And memory loss has made Celena a bit more touchy feely. Also, Ryin’s steely arm under my hand has short circuited a few of my brain cells. The last thing he needs is me groping him, especially since he’s here under duress, so I reluctantly let go.
But my fingers itch to hold onto something as I walk toward the unknown, surrounded by guards. Today will be my first real test at being Celena, and so far I’m doing a terrible job. A tour of the city will help me learn more about this place and hopefully how I can pull off this deception.