TALIA
When I return to the Citadel, a guard in the lobby informs me that the king would like to see me.
“Please head to the forty-seventh floor, Your Grace,” the young woman says. “The healer’s presence is not required.”
Ryin bows before disappearing around the corner, headed away from the elevator bank. For some reason, I feel more comfortable when he’s around. I don’t want to look into those feelings too much, so I stuff them down and pour all of my energy into withstanding the elevator.
Harshal, Callum, and Zanna ride up with me in silence and if they notice my distress, they don’t draw attention to it. When the doors finally open, I release the air trapped in my lungs in a gush as we step out of the metal box.
The hallways in the Citadel look just like any office building I've ever seen: bland and tan with thin carpeting underfoot. Of course, there are the biometric doors and the glowing blue orbs in the ceiling giving off bliss light—spirit energy. I’m still trying to wrap my mind around that.
A hallway leads off to the right, but Harshal stops just outside the elevator, where two guards are stationed on either side of a door. Instead of the single handprint sensor that leads to my suite, this doorway has three different indentations.
“What is this place?”
“The royal vault, Your Grace,” Harshal answers.
The second elevator dings and the doors slide open, revealing Lyall with his own guards. The short hallway is quite crowded now, mostly with soldiers. They take up positions along the wall, shoulder to shoulder.
“Celena, my girl!” Lyall booms, again overjoyed to see me.
I swallow, hating the fact that his greeting warms me inside. “Everything’s okay now, right? Shad said that Revoker didn’t hurt anyone.”
He tilts his head as if I’ve said something odd. “Our soldiers dealt with it. Nothing for you to worry about. You were never in any danger.”
He approaches the one door in sight and presses his hand to the lowest indentation in the wall next to it until it pulses blue. Then he leans his head to the second notch, which appears to scan his eye, and finally, he again presses his hand to the third and highest one. When he pulls back, a bead of blood is visible on his palm.
“Only you and I have access to the vault,” he explains. “It is tuned to our blood—our living blood pumping through our veins. No one can steal blood from us to open these doors. The sensors also test for the presence of adrenaline and will not open it if we are exhibiting a fear response like we’re being forced to open it. Ingenious, really.”
Pride wafts from him like smoke. The door slides open and it’s thicker than the other doors I’ve seen: nearly three times as thick. No drilling through it either, apparently.
We step into a small vestibule with a round table and two plush chairs. Beyond is a dimly lit room bearing rows of shelving. The closest ones reminds me of a safety deposit box room in a bank, with rectangular lockers taking up all of the space.
“So bliss makes all of that possible?” I ask, waving back toward the door we just came through.
“Our scientists innovate the usage of bliss every day. It is the key to keeping our people happy and successful. It is part of the strength of our line.” Lyall makes a fist and holds it up to indicate strength.
I want to shrink away from him, from the violent gleam in his eye, but I hold steady, mindful of my role. If I’m going to try to push him toward peace, I need to move slowly…plant seeds, and hopefully watch them bloom.
“So the Fai stand in the way of that? Is that why you capture them and make them drudges?”
“Oh, yes. With the bliss, we developed the soulcatchers—the devices which steal a person’s dominant soul. But let’s not discuss all of that now. I brought you here so that you could pick out your jewels.”
Disappointment squeezes my chest as we enter the vault. Lights on motion sensors blink to life when we walk down the aisles, and they create harsh shadows for Lyall and none for me. He chatters on about the treasure in the vault and all of the wonderful things they’ve reclaimed from all over the city. We pass row after row, the initial bank deposit boxes transitioning to more of a warehouse. It’s full of junk from what I can see: furniture and artwork, frames, old computers, electrical equipment, parts of machines. So much stuff—these are the treasures he’s so proud of?
The vault must take up most of this floor, because we just keep walking. Beyond the last shelf of crap, the cases are shorter and it’s like we’ve entered a jewelry store. Reclaimed glass jewel cases surround me, all of them full to overflowing.
Necklaces and earrings and rings and items I can’t even name are laid out beneath the glass. Bliss floor lamps shine down on everything. I’m completely overwhelmed.
“Pick out a few things that you like,” Lyall says, appearing pleased with my reaction.
I hesitate, still staring around me while he lifts the cover of the nearest case. It’s full of chunky, gaudy baubles that look heavy and made for an old lady. I shake my head and move on to the next one, skimming my fingers across the glass. Toward the center of this section, I stop before a case with delicate silver necklaces bearing diamond and amethyst pendants. Purple is my favorite color and I admire the jewelry for long moments.
“Princesses wear rubies or garnets or topaz. We give pieces like these to those lower in rank. Gifts for attendants who please us or to the enemies of those we wish to push harder.”
He leads me by the elbow to another case with items I like half as much. I suck in a breath, paste on a smile, then choose a few pieces at random. This is not for me. This is not my life. It’s Celena’s. I have no idea what she would like, but the choices please Lyall. He picks up the necklace I point at and drapes it around my neck. Helps me fasten the bracelets on my wrist.
There’s no mirror, but I don’t need to look at myself again anyway. I see the approval reflected in the face of my father—Celena’s father—and I feel I’ve done well. But it leaves me brittle and empty.
“When you are queen, you will inherit your mother’s jewels. I’m only sad that she will not be here to see it.”
I struggle to picture her face. When I went to live with my father, I took nothing but the clothes on my back. I didn’t even have a picture of her. Apparently, our landlord had thrown or given away all of our stuff while I was in the hospital.
Memories are fleeting and easily damaged. Perhaps even in my world the memory is somehow connected to the soul. I run a finger across the chunky jewels at my neck, still caught with one foot in the past. “How do you think I lost my memory soul? Unless a Nimali with one of those soulcatchers took it—”
“No Nimali would dare.” He practically growls the words. “I control access to them personally.”
“Of course. I just don’t understand what could have happened.”
He peers at me and then leads me to a mismatched set of armchairs against the wall. We sit and he reaches for my hands. “Your desire for a daimon was strong. Before you disappeared, you’d been very interested in the old legends. Ancient tales of early leashings. Long ago, dragon daimons were far more common, and some have theorized that the purity of the bliss is the reason.”
I tilt my head in question.
“While we are not zealots like the Fai, some among the Nimali do believe that unmined bliss is more potent. That you have a better chance of leashing a powerful predator if you undergo the trial in an untouched bliss pool.”
“So bliss is required for the trial.”
“Yes, you must submerge yourself in liquid bliss to visit the spirit world and be chosen by a daimon. I believe that, driven by duty, you went outside the wall to find a source of untouched bliss. The Fai guard theirs stridently, and you must have believed you could avoid the Revokers somehow.”
Chills run down my spine. I can recall exactly the terrifying sound of the Revoker. Those glowing red eyes. “That would have been very foolish of me.”
“Very foolish indeed. But you are a deeply determined young woman, Celena. And, honestly, it is just the sort of thing I would have done at your age.” His hands tighten on my own, still gentle, but firm.
“However, you must promise not to do it again. Your next trial will take place in the Citadel. Those old stories are nonsense—I leashed my daimon here and you will too. You will be queen, my dear.”
The words are meant to be encouraging, but to my ears they sound ominous. Celena died in pursuit of a daimon, and our fates might not be that different.