I open the door and start to bustle out, but I run right into Saber. It’s not unlike running into a brick wall. I’m not small, and when I run into people I’m used to them giving way—not me. But I practically bounce off Saber and he doesn’t move even a centimeter. He was braced here. He was waiting.
“Is this about him?”
Him? I feel the blood drain from my face.
“Is this about Reginald? Is that why you won’t tell me?”
Finally, something I can be honest about, if only tangentially. “Yes,” I say, gluing my eyes to my feet so he doesn’t catch the half-lie. It is about him. Sort of.
“Then just say that,” Saber says, frustration in his voice. “You think I can’t tell when you’re trying to hide something?” He rubs his hands up and down my arms and when I chance a peek up at him, he’s smiling, albeit tightly. “You do a marvelous job for everybody out there,” he says, gesturing vaguely. “But I know you. I can tell. And when you’re hiding things and won’t tell me what, I’m forced to use my imagination. And trust me, neither of us wants that.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, disgusted with my dissembling. I’ll fob this secret off on Reginald, because I suspect that even Saber’s imagination won’t come close to the awfulness of the truth. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, and I’ve never spoken truer words.
Not sorry enough to have made a different choice, but so very, very sorry that it was necessary.
Saber releases a long sigh and wraps his arms around me. “I’ve been thinking about this all day. I’ll tell him you want to meet, if that’s what you want. Because at the moment—even if it’s at Reginald’s orders—I work for you. But, Danica, please reconsider.”
I swallow hard, hating that he’s been agonizing over this.
“Please don’t fight him,” Saber says, his voice cracking on the word fight. “If you do, he’ll win, and we’ll both lose.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I’ve been working for him for more than a decade, Danica. I do know that.”
“So I should just leave you with him? Leave him to terrorize the streets of Paris?” It feels good to direct my self-loathing at someone else, even if only for a moment. “If his dealings with me are any indication, he’s a despicable human being who deserves to be so utterly destroyed he’ll never recover enough to cheat and manipulate anyone ever again.” My voice is shaking with anger. Emotions I didn’t realize I had pent up.
“You’re right,” Saber says, and I look sharply up at him. “And I agree with you. But it’s going to take more than one girl with loads of righteous anger. It’s…it’s going to take an army.”
“Maybe I have an army,” I whisper.
“Where would you get an army?” he snaps, and my mouth goes wide with indignation. “No, I mean it. Everyone here reports to the King—if you took palace security on a field trip, you know he’d wonder why, and this is definitely not something you want him looking into. Paris is worse—anyone you could hire who doesn’t already work for Reginald probably works for the government. He’s unbeatable, Danica, and I pray I can convince you of that before your stubbornness gets you killed.”
I scoff. “He won’t hurt me. Pathetically enough, I’m too valuable.”
Saber is quiet for a long time until I look up at him. My insides clench at the look on his face. Not anger, but anguish. When he speaks, his words are so quiet I scarcely hear them, even mere centimeters away. “Your passion, the thing I love best about you, is dragging you away from me.” He hesitates, then the words seem to burst from him, as though he has no power to hold them back. “You’re becoming like him.”
“Because I want to save you!” I lash back, stung by his words.
He shakes his head. “You can’t. You think you can, but it isn’t possible.”
“Why won’t you let me try? If I were in your shoes I would let you try to save me.”
“I am trying to save you.” His hands are tight, but not painful, on my upper arms. “Someone’s got to save you from yourself. Your life; your choices!”
“I can’t ever live a life without regrets knowing that I left you in his hands.” I don’t know when I started shouting. But I can’t stop. “I’d rather regret what I’ve become, because I can fix that.”
He laughs quietly, a harsh sound, like ice shattering on the surface of a frozen pond. “You think that now, but you don’t understand how overwhelming it is. The blackness of this life. It might leave you breathing, but trust me, you’ll be dead. No one fixes that, Danica.”
I hear him. I understand him. But I can’t accept it. I’ve sacrificed too much already not to see this through to the end.
Everything between us is going to change tonight. In one minute. I’m going to make him do what he doesn’t want to, and the only way everything is ever going to be right between us again is if I emerge victorious.
I’ve learned the hard way not to count on victory. But I’ve also learned the hard way that everything carries a risk.
This is the first step.
I close the distance between us and kiss Saber with every ounce of emotion and longing and wishing that has existed between us since that first day at Giovanni’s, when I figured out he wasn’t Reginald. The first time I saw that fire in his eyes and knew he wasn’t satisfied with his lot in life—perhaps, the moment I saw myself reflected in those eyes. I tell him how much I love him and how I have to try to save him even if he doesn’t believe he’s worth it. That I believe in him enough for both of us. I tell him all that and more with my kiss.
And then I step back. “Tell Reginald,” I say, keeping my voice steady, “I want a meeting. In private. In Paris.”
Saber hesitates, then nods before turning away. Nothing has ever shattered my soul more than the disappointment in his eyes.
* * *
—
WHEN THE CAT is away, the mice will play: that’s the refrain I want on everyone’s lips as I leave the palace for a day at the spa with my dear, dear friends Lady Mei and Lady Nuala. Saber comes along for security, per the instructions of the new senior vice president in charge of such things. A small crowd has gathered to see us off—several courtiers who doubtless hope to be invited along at the last moment. We slip into our vehicles and wave and smile: elbow, elbow, wrist, wrist, wrist.
If any of them wonder why we’re taking two cars when we could easily fit into one, well, they don’t question the excesses of their Queen any more than they did in the days of Marie-Antoinette. Thank you, Lord Aaron.
It’s striking, really, how often I find myself contemplating the young Queen I never had any desire to emulate. It makes me wonder if she was hiding as much beneath her façade as I keep beneath mine. I suppose we’ll never know.
Today’s mascarade includes shoulder bags, with towels concealing all sorts of fun supplies beneath, and the largest picnic basket I could locate—no food required. Lady Nuala has one small bag with a few toiletries for herself and Lady Mei, but truly, how stupid are the courtiers? When you go to a five-star spa, you don’t bring luggage. You could show up on the doorstep with nothing but your bank account number and they would happily provide everything you could possibly require—so long as the funds cleared in advance.
Which is precisely what Ladies Mei and Nuala are going to do.
Saber and me? We have other plans.
* * *
—
THE COM IS waiting when we return from Paris in the late afternoon. It’s from Duke Spencer’s Sonoma address—a slight risk, that, but at worst they can track where it’s been sent from, and everyone already knows he and Lord Aaron went to New York City. The document itself is encrypted, but with Lord Aaron’s key, which I’ve had for years, it’s a simple task to decrypt it.
I set the message to move offline before decrypting and take a moment to put my packages away. Saber has been conveniently uncurious all day. When w
e split from the other ladies, when he helped me with some minor breaking and entering without comment or argument. Even now, he hands me my purloined bubble-wrapped parcels without meeting my eyes. He seems to have decided not to fight me.
I’m not sure what to think of that. I like it when he fights me. It helps me gauge when I’ve gone too far. This silence makes me worry that I passed that line long ago.
“Thank you,” I murmur, stowing the precious packages in the largest drawer of my desk. “Oh, I have a com from Duke Spencer,” I say brightly, wanting to clear the air of the tension that secrets always bring.
Saber smiles genuinely at that. I rarely saw them together, but I think he and Duke Spencer bonded in much the same way Lord Aaron and I did. Both are quiet and steady, while both Lord Aaron and I are…not. “How is he? They, I guess.”
“Let’s find out,” I say, opening the message—now decrypted for display on my tablet, but scrubbed from the network.
The note is surprisingly short.
Your Royal Majesty,
My apologies for the delay, but I consulted several sources to be certain, as I’m afraid you’re going to be disappointed. The document we found contains detail and analysis on a series of clustered regularly interspaced short palindromic repeats (CRISPR) for the Norwegian Blight and the resistant GMO, the Sonoman Rally.
In layman’s terms, these are nothing more than the lab recipes for the Blight and the Rally seeds. Everyone here is familiar with both reports as part of the company’s history and because the Rally seeds continue to be one of their largest exports. I’ve no idea why the file was marked as a trade secret; though the time stamp was pre-Sonoman-Versailles, so perhaps it’s an eAntique of sorts. The data is today quite public and, I’m afraid, not useful to your particular aims.
We are well. Aaron sends love.
Spencer Harrisford
I’m weak with disappointment. I expected something from this document, but weeks of waiting have yielded absolutely nothing. Why was the doc even on Mateus’s tablet? It doesn’t make sense. But thinking about it just makes my head hurt. I don’t realize how hopeful I truly was until that hope is extinguished, a single candle being snuffed in a dark room. I fight back tears and slap my tablet down on the top of my desk a little too hard.
Saber raises his head. “You okay?”
Even his concern doesn’t calm me. I crumple a blank piece of parchment from my desktop and throw it against the wall. “That document, the one I hoped was anything I could use?” I glare up at him.
“Wasn’t?” Saber guesses.
“Worse.” I crumple another sheet of parchment and throw it, too, tempted to throw something heavier, more expensive, more breakable. “It’s just technical data on the day Sonoma saved the world. The day they were the bloody superhero of mankind. What the hell good does that do me?”
Saber hesitates, then steps into the office and picks up the two wads of parchment.
I sigh and rub at my eyes. “My apologies—I’m too old to throw tantrums.”
“Are you ever really too old?” Saber asks playfully, tossing the pages into the wastebin.
“Aren’t I supposed to be?”
“In this palace, does anyone ever grow up?”
I snort my amusement, but it’s sadly true. What are we all but overgrown children, still playing dress-up? Pretending the world around us isn’t so vastly different from the lives we lead. Pretending we know what we’re doing. Certainly that’s all I do every day—and, more often than not, well into the night.
“Come,” Saber says, offering his hand. “You have a party to prepare for.”
IT’S LADY NUALA’S first chance to keep a secret for me, prepaid with her decadent day at the spa. So far she’s passing with flying colors, but I keep a wary eye on her. At least she got to remain with Lady Mei. I, on the other hand, got roped into a conversation with a cluster of high nobility, and I’m trying to pretend to pay attention but rather failing as I continue to glance in envy at Lady Nuala, laughing with Lady Mei and Tamae on the other side of the room.
I’m drowning in uncertainty, my confidence in my decisions utterly fled. My victory over Lady Cyn, which is proving more total than I’d have thought possible, feels shallow compared with the daunting tasks I’ve set myself on other fronts. I’d hoped by now to have some leverage for that final exit. I find myself lashing out too often, especially at Saber, who’s been my lighthouse in turbulent seas. Leaning on him for access to Reginald, even for Saber’s own benefit, makes me feel petty and small.
“Anxious to have your husband back?” Duke Florentine’s jovial inquiry is, I realize, directed at me.
“He’s never far from my thoughts,” I say, smiling. “Five more days.”
“Counting every one of them, aren’t you?” he teases.
Days? I’m counting the hours, truly—my remaining hours of freedom. Despite how assiduously I wear my charade, I can’t help but be surprised at how fully they’ve fallen for it. Aren’t they supposed to be the best and brightest of Sonoman-Versailles?
“Can’t wait to hear about his business trip. Don’t suppose you’d drop a hint in an old friend’s ear?”
I stare at the duke, unable to hide my surprise at his request. Old friend? This man didn’t know I existed as recently as a year ago. I force a demure smile and flutter my fan just below my nose. “Oh, Your Grace, I couldn’t.”
“Ha! I knew you knew,” he says, gesturing with a very full martini that I’m afraid he’s going to splash all over the front of my silk gown. “Of course he’d tell you early. He’s going to brief the rest of us when he returns. Beginning of a new era. Profits like this company hasn’t seen since the days of the Blight,” he adds, referencing the discovery that earned Sonoma Inc. its first billion. Its first ten billion.
My disappointment over what turned out to be the formula for that very thing threatens to spill over, and I have to clench my teeth against it. “Indeed.”
“I do think we were right to keep him.”
The Duke prattles on, speculating about business of which he assumes I’m fully informed; he’s right, but only because I stole information from Mateus’s tablet.
I find the company of high nobility incredibly tiresome. It’s probably a generational thing—the youngest among them is in her forties, and some have grandchildren older than me. They seem to reminisce constantly while I obsess over future plans. And when they’ve run out of memories, they resort to reciting history to one another—which is where Duke Florentine has now meandered.
“I’m sorry,” I say when—against all expectations—his recitation manages to catch my interest. “What was that you just said about the Rally?”
“That the King’s present plans might even eclipse it,” he says, beaming. “Wouldn’t that be amazing? It’ll be like the golden year of thirty-eight all over again.”
“Wasn’t the Rally released in 2034?” I ask, puzzled. I learned the story as a child, of course—all children of Sonoman-Versailles do—but I was always more interested in math than history.
“Oh no, Your Highness,” Duke Sells says, inclining his head respectfully. “It was certainly thirty-eight. A momentous year, indeed; my grandfather told me about it in detail. It was thirty-six when the Blight raged so badly, and thirty-eight when Sonoma’s great discovery was unveiled.”
“Oh,” I say lamely. “I must have forgotten.” Heat rushes to my cheeks because I’m quite certain I haven’t forgotten—but the thing I haven’t forgotten I only learned quite recently. A terrible, horrible idea enters my mind, and I feel my knees weaken at the thought. “I’m afraid I must return to my rooms, if you will all excuse me.”
“You look quite flushed, dear,” Countess Poe says, laying a gentle hand on my arm. “Are you well?”
“I had a heat wrap today. At the spa,” I add. “It must have…” My words trail into a meaningless
mumble.
“Oh, certainly,” the countess says. “I’ve had the same reaction myself. As lovely as a spa day can be, one does come home quite exhausted. Where is that man of yours?” The Countesses Poe offer their arms for support, and Countess Maria looks around and then signals to Saber.
“To her rooms,” she commands when Saber bows low. “Try not to let it appear as though she is unwell.”
As though that matters. The damned heat wrap excuse certainly worked well enough.
“What’s wrong?” Saber asks, bending close to my ear.
“I have something to confirm, immediately,” I say hoarsely.
On arriving at my rooms, I gracelessly kick away my heels and strip off my gloves, letting them fall to the floor behind me. Saber follows, my silent shadow. Unlocking my private office seems to take forever—I keep moving just as the face scanner is about to finish. I don’t close the door, but Saber seems unwilling to cross the threshold, instead lingering in the doorway.
“What year did Sonoma Agriculture discover the cure for the Norwegian Blight?” I ask my Lens daemon. Cure isn’t precisely the right word, but the search engine will understand what I mean.
Sure enough, a date scrolls across my peripheral: November 2038.
“When did the Norwegian Blight first appear?”
A moment. March 2036.
Just as the Duke said.
The type blurs, and I feel dizzy as I reach for the drive where Lord Aaron stored my copy of Mateus’s tablet. It takes a few minutes to hook it up, and my fingers tremble as I access the document Duke Spencer took to America for me. I check the time stamp of the file’s creation.
February 8, 2034.
This, this is what I was missing.
Two years before the Blight appeared, wiping out crops around the world, spreading famine, collapsing economies, and eventually putting Sonoma Inc. in a position to occupy the Palace of Versailles as its corporate headquarters, our biotech division already had the full formula both for the Blight and for Blight-resistant crop strains. The damned Sonoman Rally.