TALIA
The Citadel looms before us like a giant standing watch over the city. I don’t want to go back inside. If I could, I’d have stayed back in that bathroom with Ryin, crouched on the floor in the dark. No matter what cramped, dark space we’re in, something about being alone with him can calm the worst of my unease. But the danger never eases.
Even though my guards know the truth about me, I have no idea how they feel about the Fai. And I won’t risk being responsible for Ryin facing punishment in any way just because I consider him a friend. Because I wish he could be more.
Breaking down after talking to my not-father is not a princess move. If I’m going to pull this off—be Celena until I can find a way out of this place—then I need to get my shit together. Focus on helping these people, and it’s obvious my influence on the king is not as great as I would have hoped.
“I’d like to speak with Shad,” I tell Harshal. “Do you know where he might be?”
“I can ping him for you, Your Grace.”
“I don’t want to take him away from whatever he might be doing.” Like strategizing for a coup? “Just, the next time you are in contact, please let him know.”
Harshal winces a bit. “Of course, Your Grace.”
I drop my voice to a whisper. “Too polite?”
His nod is quick. I take a deep breath and square my shoulders. Be Celena. Be Celena. Whoever she is.
“What are things that…I normally do?” I ask.
Harshal blinks and turns to Callum, who looks off in thought. “You are often seen among the orphanages. You spend time in the Umber and Azure infirmaries as well.” Charity work, that makes sense. She’s not a total monster.
“Your Grace is sometimes found in the Citadel’s arcade, organizing some of the entertainments for the children,” Zanna offers.
My ears perk up. “There’s an arcade?”
“There are vids of you archived there leading the children in skits and plays.”
Vids of Celena. That sounds like a gold mine! “Yes, let’s head there.”
The nineteenth floor is as loud and boisterous as any arcade I visited as a child. A woman in loose-fitting, dark brown clothing stands at a greeting station near the entrance. She bows low when I arrive and offers to lead me around the space.
Both old and young crowd the warren of rooms that take up the entire floor, but it’s not the type of arcade I’d pictured. Instead of the weird, bliss-powered video games of my imagination, just about everything here is salvaged. Rows of people, old and young, play chess on water-damaged boards with pieces cannibalized from several different sets. A group of younger teens fold over one another playing Twister, while a handful of old men peer thoughtfully at a Monopoly board. Card games, dice, and dominoes are scattered across tables throughout the room, and some kids in the midst of what I’m pretty sure is a D&D campaign fill the cubby-like rooms on one side of the floor.
The other half of the large space is made up of what used to be small offices, but instead of doors, each has a thick, velvety black curtain covering the doorway.
“These are the theater and screening rooms, Your Grace,” the woman says. “Groups come together to watch or record vids here.” She pulls aside one of the curtains to reveal a group of teens acting out a scene. The glowing blue device affixed to one wall that looks like a supersized comm must be the camera. In another room, the same device serves as a projector—a three-dimensional holographic image of two lizard puppets fighting each other delights the pair of young boys seated on a bench, their attention rapt.
I smile at the obvious joy on their faces as they watch what is likely their own creation. They don’t notice our observation and I back away before we intrude on their enjoyment. For all its faults, this world has some good parts too. Creativity seems to flourish. Necessity has pushed these kids into using their imaginations and making their own entertainment.
I'm surprised to find two of my courtiers, Ofelia and Alaya, in the last room. They do notice our presence and clamber to their feet to bow. I thank the attendant and let her go back to her duties. My three, ever-present guards, along with Ryin, wait outside when I join the girls.
“I hope I'm not bothering you,” I tell them.
“Of course not, Your Grace, please come in.” Alaya’s smile is bright and she waves me forward. “In fact, I was going to give this to you the next time our paths crossed.” She pulls a small box from the pocket of her dress.
“What is this?”
“It's a memory box. We made them a few weeks ago when we were volunteering at the Umber school. We brought equipment there so the children could make their own vids and we recorded some of our own. Would you like to watch?”
“Yes, of course. I was hoping for something like this.” I sit on one of the benches in the center of the room as she fiddles with the projector. My feet bounce with anticipation.
Just like the comm’s video chat, the vids are all monochromatic, three-dimensional, and tinted blue. Like a hologram, they’re projected out onto the ground at about one-quarter scale.
A grassy park dotted with spindly trees is the first thing that comes into view. Then children run through the frame, pretending to be animals. These kids are too young to have gone through the trials, and I laugh at their antics. Until I realize that they’re playing at sparring and some of them lie on the ground, clutching imaginary wounds. I guess it’s no different to how I’m used to seeing children play, but it’s just more chilling knowing that many of these kids will grow up to be soldiers.
The scene changes, and I get my first glimpse of the real Celena. She sits straight backed and regal on a park bench. I’ve been trying to affect the same posture, but watching her makes me realize what a poor copy I am.
We are identical, though of course I must have about fifteen pounds on her. Staring at my face knowing it's not me is so strange. And then she opens her mouth and my voice comes out, but so different.
“Stop fidgeting with that and come sit down,” she demands, but there's kindness in her tone. Dominga emerges from behind the camera and sits next to her, rolling her eyes. The woman is more relaxed than I've seen her. Still fierce, but the question I had upon meeting her is answered. She and the princess are best friends. Their closeness is obvious.
“This is for the memory box,” Celena says.
“What in Origin’s name is a memory box?”
“It’s like a time capsule.” Her bearing is of someone who has confidence dripping from her pores. Suddenly, I really do want to be her—not just pretend to be her, but have her life. Have the kind of life that makes you into this. I'm such a poor facsimile it's no wonder Dominga looks at me with barely concealed resentment. She lost her best friend and got me in return.
“A time capsule is a silly idea,” Dominga gripes with no heat.
“The human ones we found are very elucidating. One day in the future someone will find ours, and I want them to know how we lived.”
Dominga sighs. “Fine.”
“And besides, when I am queen, I will want a record of my juvenilia.”
“You are hardly a juvenile at twenty-three.” It’s the first time I’ve heard Dominga laugh, and it’s shocking.
“You’re right. At twenty-three, I should have a daimon.” Celena drops her head and Doming grabs her hand to comfort her.
“You will. Your next trial will be successful.”
Doubt clouds Celena’s expression even as she nods in agreement. Doubt and pain…maybe even shame. I feel my own cheeks burning in sympathy.
Other courtiers come into view. I'm honestly surprised it took Elayne so long to push her way in. Her jealousy is apparent and her behavior now makes even more sense. If the princess doesn’t remember her best friend, then Elayne has a chance to fill the spot.
The five of them arrange themselves on the bench and then pose and preen for the camera. Then the vid ends.
“This reel was discarded,” Alaya says. “I think that you kept the final version in your suite, Your Grace.”
“Thank you so much for showing this to me. I…I think I’d like to watch it again.”
Alaya looks at Ofelia and the girls stand. “We will leave you to it.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean to kick you out of here.”
“No, we have elocution lessons starting shortly.”
“For promoted Cardinals,” Ofelia says nearly inaudibly.
“Before you go, will you show me how to work this?”
Alaya complies, and after another round of bows, they’re gone. I watch the vid again, inspecting everything about Celena from how she tilts her head, to her smile, to the glimpse of wistfulness on her face when she talks about having a daimon.
I don’t think I’ll ever truly know her, but hearing her thoughts in her own words, getting a chance to “meet” her—it means a lot. And shines a spotlight on all of my deficits in impersonating her.
I'm starting the projector for the third time when Ryin peeks his head in. “Sir Harshal bid me to come in to ensure you weren't lying on the ground in a pool of your own vomit.”
My brows rise. “He said that?”
Ryin's lips purse. “Not in so many words. But after the incident earlier today, he seems concerned.”
“Fair enough. I'm fine, just learning about...myself.”
He looks at the frozen image and nods. “I will leave you to it.”
“No, wait—” I stand and grab his arm. His skin burns hot under my hand.
“Sorry,” I say, releasing him. He tilts his head to the side, waiting for me. “It's just...What was she like?” I motion to the woman on the screen.
Ryin scrutinizes the image for a moment. “She was a princess through and through. Haughty and superior, but not cruel. She spent time with the orphans, gave aid to the Umbers, distributed food during the Month of Wildness when the rains flooded some of the residences on the outskirts of the territory.”
His gaze settles on me. “She did not thank those who were kind to her. She did not learn Fai sign language nor care what a drudge thought of her.”
I blink, chastened. But his voice is gentle. “When people lose their memory souls, they generally do not undergo massive personality shifts. But in this case...”
I hang on his words. “In this case?”
Dark eyes glitter, piercing me. “I am glad of it.”
He is standing quite close. I would only have to lift my hand to stroke his cheek if I wanted. The urge is strong.
But I push it back.
If I can somehow manage to play this role to completion and survive, I could give him his freedom. Only if I am queen.
The idea seems impossible and fantastical, but I cling to it as his eyes roam over me, warming me in places that have not felt heat in a long time. The intensity of his gaze stirs feelings that have nothing to do with my crush on a boy who looked like him years ago. I almost do reach for him, graze his skin with my fingertips just to know what it feels like.
“You know that I would never cause you any harm, don't you?” I ask.
He nods. Is he closer now somehow? I think his lips are. They’re full and the bow of the top lip is mesmerizing me. I can't tear my gaze away. I want to trace it with my finger. With my tongue.
Yes, he's definitely closer, or maybe I am—I'm breathing in his airspace now. His breath is warm and smells of melons. Sweet. He must have had the same dark red mash for breakfast that reminds me of cantaloupes.
I swallow, visually tracing a path through the freckles on his face that stand out against his cinnamon skin. I want to feel the scrape of the stubble on his jaw.
His eyes flash, reflecting the same forbidden desire that is coursing within me.
I reach for him, blind to all the reasons why this is a terrible idea.
And then movement from the corner of my eye has us breaking apart.
The thick curtain slides aside, revealing Dominga, glaring. Her nostrils flare and her eyes are diamond chips. She’s just as different from the laughing woman on the vid as I am.
“Wait outside, healer. I need a word with our princess.”
He bows to her, doesn't look at me, and retreats without a word.
I force myself not to watch him leave as Dominga stalks closer.
She glances at the projection then back to me, her expression hardening. “I’ve been trying to figure it out for days. When I heard you'd returned, my heart was so…full.” A melancholy expression crosses her face before anger and hurt swamps her features again. “But this person who came back to us…” She shakes her head.
Celena in the vid is confident and cool, steeped in the knowledge of her place in the world. Surrounded by people who loved her. None of which I've had in a very long time.
“A whole life gone,” I say, still shaken by her sudden arrival. “It changes things.”
“We’ve all known those who lost memory souls before. None have ever acted as you do. And the worst thing is, I begged you not to do it.” She spits the words out and then her face falls. Grief blends with the anger.
“Not do what?”
“The second trial. That's where you went.” She steps closer to me, forcing me back a pace. “Off to do it alone. To find an unblemished source of bliss.”
“The king was right,” I whisper.
“He suspected as much, though he didn’t want to believe you’d ever disobey him like that.”
I swallow as she sits next to me, leaning into my space. “What happened to you out there? Did the bliss across the wall change you? You had a plan. You were so certain it was going to work.” Her jaw clenches as tears well in her eyes.
Misery drowns me. “I'm sorry, Dominga. I'm so sorry that your best friend didn't come back to you. I'm sorry to be such a bad substitute. But I'm doing the best I can.”
She snorts. Then stares at me in the dim light coming from the projector. A frown mars the rigid perfection of her skin. She leans closer, like she’s about to whisper in my ear.
I incline my head away. Is she trying to smell me?
Her eyes narrow even further. Then she jerks back. “Who are you?”
My eyes widen as fear nearly chokes my response. “C-Celena.”
She tilts her head, looking me up and down. Scrutinizing me again. Then she stands suddenly. “No. You can’t be.”
She spins on her heel and leaves. And my heart clenches.
She knows.