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nineteen
CLARA DROPPED HER PLATE BESIDE MINE, SPATTERING TINY droplets of tomato sauce on the white tablecloth. “You look tired,” she said coolly, her eyes searching mine. “Late night?” Her short blue dress was too tight, the silk puckering along the seams.
“Not at all. ” I straightened up. At most, Clara had seen my back as I darted inside the stairwell door. She couldn’t have known for certain that it was me.
Charles and the King had just cut the red-and-blue ribbon of the new marketplace, a giant outdoor restaurant built around the Palace’s expansive pools. People ate at tables set up on the stone patio or strolled past various stands. Columns towered over us, holding up verdant topiaries and hanging purple flowers. Statues of winged lions and bucking horses perched above. The fabric stalls—called “cabanas”—had all been converted to storefronts where vendors sold Moroccan olives, Polish sausages, and fresh crepes with strawberries and whipped cream.
Rose sat across the table, looking as though her face might melt off. Pink blush had settled in her wrinkles, and there were faint dark circles under her eyes. She stared down at Clara’s half-eaten plate of pasta. “Know when to say when,” she whispered, resting her hand on Clara’s fork. “You’re too beautiful to let yourself go. ” Clara looked away, her cheeks going a deep red.
“We’re thrilled with the final product,” the King said loudly as he strolled toward us, Charles by his side. He addressed Reginald, the Head of Press, who was clutching a notebook. “When we restored Paris, New York, and Venice we wanted them to be tributes to the great cities of yesterday’s world. This marketplace is an extension of that, a place people can experience all the delicacies we enjoyed before. You can’t just hop on a plane and be in Europe, South America, or India anymore. ” He gestured to a corner of the wide marketplace. Tents were filled with steaming carts of dumplings, meats, and tiny rolls of sticky rice and fish. “My favorite is Asia. Did you ever think you would have sashimi again?” the King asked.
I watched him, noticing how easily he slipped into his public persona. His voice was louder, his shoulders back. It seemed as though every word had been rehearsed beforehand, every slight nod and gesture carefully designed to inspire confidence. “Our Head of Agriculture is working on ways to produce seaweed. The trout is all farmed from Lake Mead. It’s not an ideal substitute, but it will suffice until we get the fishing fleets back on the oceans. ”
They sat down beside me, Reginald still scribbling in his notebook. Charles’s eyes followed me. He kept staring until I met his gaze. “Don’t say hello or anything,” he said, playfully raising one eyebrow. “You know, I’m starting to take it personally. ”
“I think your ego can handle it,” I offered, as I cut into the yellowish dumplings I’d found at the Polish storefront.
The King reached over, squeezing my hand so hard it hurt. “Genevieve is kidding. ” He laughed. He offered Reginald a subtle wave, as if to say, Don’t write that down.
He cleared his throat and continued. “This is only the beginning. The City has proven a workable model for others in The New America. There are three separate colonies in the east. Every day people in those colonies worry about where their next meal will come from, if they’ll be attacked by their neighbors. There’s no electricity, no hot water—people are just surviving. In the City of Sand we aren’t surviving—we’re thriving. This is what living is. ”
He pointed at the blinding white marble and the clear blue pools. “There’s so much land for the taking, and Charles and his father have proved we can develop quickly and efficiently. In six months we’ll start walling in the first colony—a settlement in what was formerly Texas. ”
“I can’t wait to see what you’ll do with it. ” Clara slid her chair closer to Charles. “I’ve been listening to people talk about the global marketplace for the last few months, and I never imagined it would be as incredible as this. ”
“A lot of this we owe to McCallister,” Charles said, waving to the Head of Agriculture, a man with glasses who stood by a giant mural of the old world, each country painted a different color. “If it wasn’t for the factories he built in the Outlands, or the new methods of farming he developed, we wouldn’t have any of this. ”
“You’re being modest. This was your vision,” Clara cooed. She pointed at Reginald. “I hope you’re writing that down. Charles has been imagining this since before the Palace was even completed, before most of the buildings were restored. You’ve been going on about it since as long as I can remember, how you wanted to bring the diversity of the world inside the City walls. ”
I could barely look at her. Teacher Agnes’s voice was in my head, her warnings about men and the deceitful nature of flirtation. Charm is a verb, she’d said, something men do to control you. But I wished she could see this now: Clara leaning in, resting her fingers on Charles’s arm, tucking her blond hair behind her ears. It was the first time I’d seen a woman flirt so blatantly. I covered my mouth to stop myself from laughing, but it was too late. A slight chuckle escaped my lips. I turned away, trying to pass it off as a cough.
“Is something funny, Genevieve?” the King asked.
Clara narrowed her eyes at me. A subtle smile crossed her lips as she looked around the table. Everyone had gone quiet, their attention fixed on me. “So what were you doing out last night?” she asked loudly, tilting her head as though it were the most innocent of questions.
“You left your suite?” The King turned to me. I slipped my hands under the table, clutching the skirt of my dress to steady them. I’d studied his face at breakfast that morning, wondering if he’d returned to my suite at night, if he’d discovered the mound of pillows beneath the covers. But he seemed so calm, his voice even as he spoke of the day’s events.
“No. ” I shook my head. “I didn’t. ” I turned back to my food, plunging the fork into the dumplings, but Clara continued on.
“I saw you in the east stairwell. ” She planted her elbows on the table and leaned forward. “You were going downstairs. You were wearing a black sweater. You stopped when I called your name. ”
The King turned to me. “Is that true?”
“No,” I insisted, trying to steady my voice. My throat was suddenly dry, the heat of the day too much, my hair sticking to my face and neck. “It wasn’t me. I don’t know what she’s talking about. ”
“Oh,” Clara said, her voice singsong. “I think you do …”
Everyone’s eyes were on me. The sun beat down on me, the air stifling and still. The King was studying my face, his expression dark. It had been worth it, even for a few hours with Caleb, but I suddenly wished I hadn’t paused in the stairwell, that I had ignored Clara’s calls. I offered a slight shrug and turned back to my plate, the words lodged in the back of my throat.
The King leaned over, his hand heavy on my arm. “You are not to be going out,” he whispered. “It’s for your own safety. I thought that was clear. ”
“Perfectly,” I managed. “I didn’t. ”
The table was silent. Clara opened her mouth to continue, but Charles interrupted her. “Have you seen the fountain outside the conservatory?” he asked, giving me a small smile. “I’ve been meaning to take you there. If we leave now we can make it for the next show. ” He glanced across the table at the King. “Do you mind if I steal your daughter for a little while?”