Shadow Fall Read online

  “If I have to hear that song one more time, I’ll die,” Flame says, breaking my focus away from Pit Boy.

  No one moves.

  Flame twirls a neon-red cord of hair. “What? Bad choice of words? Die. Die. Die. We’re all going to.” She flicks her gaze to Riser. “Shame, too.”

  “Well,” says Cage, clearing his throat, “I’ll take that drivel any day over the Matches.”

  “Matches?” Riser asks, running a hand through his hair. He seems a bit lost. I imagine all the novel things his brain is trying to assimilate right now. What a world this must seem compared to the savagely simple one he knew.

  What a crazy, beautiful, strange, tragic, jacked up world.

  “Yeah, you know,” Flame says, “the programming they blasted for a week nonstop? You’d have to be living under a rock to not see it. They ran bios on every Chosen and then let us vote for who we wanted to be matched together. They announce the results tomorrow.”

  “Together?” Riser shifts in his chair. “For what?”

  Flame laughs. “Are you for real?” Lowering her eyelids, she rests a spiky hand on his forearm, oblivious to the way his hand clenches. “When a mommy and daddy love each other very much—”

  “Stop it!” I interrupt. “He’s not an idiot. The Chosen they matched will get married when they turn eighteen.” Riser’s uncomprehending stare makes me elaborate. “It’s a contract, sort of, like the one we just signed, where you promise to be with that person forever.”

  My mother’s brilliant idea. Just another way to distract the masses. Keep them interested in something other than the giant fiery rock in the sky.

  Riser’s dark eyebrows meet in a scowl. “Why do you need a contract?”

  “I don’t know.” I mesh my fingers together. It didn’t stop my mother from leaving. Or my father from letting her. “Look, it doesn’t matter. It was all for show. A way to keep you from thinking about what’s coming.”

  “It wasn’t for show,” Flame says, jutting out her chin. “I voted. It used up three of my saved water rations and took all day—”

  “The marriages were predetermined before conception.” Everyone stops to look at me, and I cringe at how cynical my voice sounds. “We were matched based on genetic harmonization and temperament compatibility. Every effort was taken to ensure a strong bond; nothing was left to chance.”

  “We?” Flame raises her eyebrows, which aren’t so much eyebrows but tiny glistening spikes tipped teal with gems. “You’re one of . . . them. But you don’t look like one. Where’s your twin?”

  “Was,” I amend carefully. “I was one of them. Sort of.” Although we both know there really is no way to undo what I am. “I’m a Bronze, I didn’t come from court, I don’t look like they do, and I have a little brother, not a twin.”

  “Wicked. A Chosen Bronze.” Flame’s eyes gleam. “Which Chosen were you supposed to marry?”

  Riser, who has been a statue of disinterest until now, suddenly looks up.

  My lips pucker as if I’ve tasted something bitter. “What does it matter now? He’s matched to someone else.”

  Flame makes a gagging noise. “Wow, Princess, the Royalist noose would be more fun than you right now.”

  “A Fienian that participates in Royalist-sanctioned matches?” I raise a disapproving eyebrow. “A bit hypocritical, don’t you think?”

  “Well, I only bomb the ones I don’t like.”

  “Play time’s over, sister,” Cage says, easing the tension. “Before we begin, our mutual employer would like a word.”

  That’s when I notice the thin white strip in the center of the table. The Interceptor crackles, clicks, emits a quick flash of blue, and projects a life-sized, four-dimensional face, mostly eclipsed by a cowl, just above it. Even though the hood casts deep shadows over the face, it’s obviously Nicolai.

  “Hello, children,” he purrs. “I thought since our last meeting was a bit rushed we could iron out some details.”

  “Like what?” I ask, crossing my arms as Riser runs his hand through the hologram, disrupting it momentarily.

  There’s a pause.

  “Cage, Flame,” Nicolai says in a dismissive tone.

  They rise in unison, mirror reflections of one another, and clear the room.

  “Now then,” Nicolai says. “First things first. You are both entered as finalists into the Shadow Trials, along with ninety-eight other desperate ex-courtiers, as Lady Everly March and Lord Riser Thornbrook.” Static interrupts the picture. “These are your court identities, replete with your Houses and the fancy titles and estates they stripped from you. Soon, if you manage to survive the reconstruction, you will have fully realized memories to go with them.”

  “Sounds promising,” I remark, drumming my fingers on the table.

  Nicolai shoots me an annoyed look and continues. “In three days’ time, you’ll be escorted to the north, where you’ll be remanded to the custody of the Royalists for travel to the Island.”

  “How can you be sure we’ve been chosen as finalists?” There must be thousands of other exiled courtiers vying for our spots.

  Nicolai chuckles darkly. “You know better than most that everything Emperor Laevus does comes at a price.”

  “The selections are . . . are paid for?”

  “I daresay they are.” His mangled lips stretch into a smile. “The Emperor does have an evil empire to fund, after all.” The projection crackles, static rippling across his form before solidifying once again. “As soon as you step foot on Emerald Island, you will be given another Microplant. The moment you accept it, you are open to populace upload.”

  “And what if someone working for the Royalists decides to piggyback onto our upload along with the Sleepers? They can see everything as well. Our thoughts. Our memories—our true ones.”

  “Anything that could jeopardize your mission or safety has already been encrypted,” Nicolai explains. “The first night will be the Culling. It will look like an elaborate feast, but don’t be fooled. Every interaction you have, every innocent gesture or eye contact will be watched and speculated on until evening’s end, when the fifty finalists with the highest Avatar count will proceed to the next round.”

  For the first time since the projection began, Nicolai glances at Riser, who’s still warily eyeing the projection as if it’s a threat. “That’s also the night the twenty-five highest ranking Chosen will decide on which two finalists to mentor. It’s absolutely crucial that you are paired with Lord Thornbrook.”

  “No—”

  “This is not a debate,” Nicolai interrupts. “There’s never been a more dangerous time to enter court. The Emperor’s paranoia has spread through the halls like poison, and they’re turning on each other.”

  Great. I sigh. “Okay, just how do we get paired together?”

  “First we worry about your Avatar ranking. Sleepers don’t have to choose their Avatar until the Culling, so they’ll be watching, looking for who’s the most interesting. Give them something that will make them forget about the giant rock above their heads just waiting to eliminate half the populace.” Beneath the shadows I swear I see him wink. “Perhaps sparks of love will fly between Lord Thornbrook and Lady March?”

  Suddenly uncomfortable, I plaster my eyes to the table. “The viewers will see through it.”

  “The Sleepers,” Nicolai says, “will see exactly what they want to see. Just don’t overdo it. I need you memorable but not exciting enough to interest the mentors.”

  “You have that rigged, too, don’t you?”

  Nicolai gives a bored shrug. “Don’t like surprises.”

  “Me neither. So maybe you can you tell us which mentor to look out for.”

  “Sorry, Lady March. You are just going to have to trust me.”

  I glare at the wavering hologram. “But I don’t. Trust you.”

  “Then I recommend you start,” Nicolai says, motioning dismissively with his hand. “Now, after your reconstructions, we will spend several days t
esting you. Let’s hope it’s enough.”

  I get the feeling he’s not exactly optimistic about this, which makes two of us. “So, that’s it?”

  “Not quite. Brogue will be there on official capacity, so if something goes wrong, find him. Then there’s the matter of your escorts. You are each allowed one on the Island to assist you. I have chosen the Biotechs, Cage and Flame. But there’s a catch.”

  My heart leaps into my throat. I can’t imagine what it could be. Riser’s body snaps to with interest.

  Nicolai clears his throat and delivers the worst possible news. “If one of your attendants manages to kill Emperor Laevus before you do, the extra tickets go to them, not you.”

  My mouth opens to protest just as the projection dissipates.

  Nicolai must have some way to communicate with Cage and Flame because they instantly appear, arms loaded with gowns and medical bags that jangle. While they busy themselves in the back room, I pace.

  I find myself standing outside of a door by the elevator. The padlock has been broken, and the hinges creak as I open it. A mountain of banned tech toys fills the dark space. My father built them for Max, tinkering late into the night. I can still hear my father humming, see his slender fingers as they worked the tiny gears, an eye loupe covering one eye.

  My mother hated them, of course. And eventually they all found their way here.

  Something stirs in the mound of metal on the floor. There’s a muffled buzzing, and a small metallic sphere spits from the dead parts, spilling dust into the air.

  The sphere buzzes around my head a couple times, too fast to follow, then hovers playfully in front of my face. Inside its reflective surface, my nose looks huge, my eyes enormous.

  It zips away and then pauses in front of Riser. He stiffens and his hands begin to move upward, slowly, as if he is trying to catch a fly. The sphere darts out of reach, and Riser spins around, stalking it.

  I laugh, ignoring the death glare Riser tosses me.

  “It’s toying with you,” I explain.

  The sphere buzzes above Riser’s head, and he pounces on my father’s workstation, causing a glass beaker to fall to the floor and shatter.

  Brogue comes sprinting out of the other room. “What in the Fienian hell is going on here?”

  Riser lunges after the device, but it evades him, and he lands softly on his toes. He’s ignoring Brogue, which I gather from Brogue’s incredulous look is adding insult to injury.

  I’m laughing too hard to speak.

  The sphere has stopped midair. The buzzing is now a quiet whirring as the silver globe’s surface ripples, the bottom elongates into a chin, and a nose pokes out from the mercurial surface. Air escapes though Riser’s teeth. His look reminds me of Max’s boyish wonderment after visiting the Hall of Shadows, the Royalist museum that houses nearly every anti-Reformation, prewar invention.

  “Is that . . . ?” Riser’s mouth falls open, and he reaches out.

  “You,” I say. “It’s mimicking your face.”

  “Is that . . . ?” the face says. It even tilts to the side, just like Riser did.

  Riser frowns, sticks out his tongue.

  The sphere-face frowns, sticks out its silver tongue. And then the device creates another eye where Riser’s missing eye should be.

  Something passes across Riser’s face, transforming the sphere’s expression to mimic it. Before the face can fully change, Riser knocks it across the room with his fist, and the ball slams into the wall and drops to the floor.

  Flame emerges from the doorway. “Who’s ready to become aweso—?”

  Riser stalks past her into the room before she can even finish speaking.

  Heart hammering, I follow them. The Reconstructor machines, two oblong steel capsules similar to the Caskets, lie long ways, one on each side of the wall. Red triangles of light pulse across a square screen in each Reconstructor’s center, making strange geometric patterns. A faded-blue curtain that smells of mildew separates them.

  Riser and I are given yellow gowns to change into. I dress quickly, trying not to stare at the slender shape wavering on the other side of the curtain. In the corner of my room is a screen with a bunch of numbers and lines. Cage hooks me up to the machine to gather my vital signs and then exits.

  After a few minutes Flame enters, garbed in hot-pink gloves, a black apron with glow-in-the-dark skulls and a mask that has the words shut up plastered over her mouth.

  I eye her now that we are competitors. She expertly ignores me.

  Everything inside me is screaming not to do this. But Flame taps the red triangles until they burn orange and yellow and flicker wildly. Then the lid pops open with a hiss. As I clamber inside, my gown flips up, and I scramble to cover my left side.

  “Don’t bother,” Flame instructs, glancing away from the screen. The mask muffles her voice. “I’ve seen every inch of you. Who do you think placed that bootleg Microplant inside your skull?”

  “Right,” I say, adjusting my gown anyway. After Nicolai’s revelation, I can’t shake my mistrust. This machine will tamper with my mind. Who’s to say Flame won’t do something awful to me to give herself an advantage?

  Her glittering eyebrows lift in exasperation. “Ready now, Princess?”

  My fingers brush the fresh scar on my side. “You healed my wound, too?”

  “Well, it wasn’t that disgusting oaf, Brogue.”

  I hesitate. “Can you leave a part of me? Something small . . . It doesn’t matter what.”

  Her fingers pause over the screen. “Our employer won’t like it.”

  “Gee, if he won’t like it, I guess you can’t do it.”

  Flame scowls. Without another word, she stabs the screen with her finger, and the lid seals shut.

  The inside of the Reconstructor is a shiny metallic material that glows faintly, emitting a low hum. As soon as I lie down, a cold ache spreads through my back and makes me gasp. Neon-green tendrils snake around my body. Tiny shocks emit from their fingerlike touch.

  Before I can shift into a more comfortable position, the apparatus just above my face, which resembles black goggles, drops down, pinning my head and blinding me. Straps of some sort paralyze my wrists. A soft pinching feeling, like a fine needle entering my flesh, gathers in my neck, just below the jaw, and becomes a dull, throbbing pressure as the nanites they inject me with spread.

  They move slowly. Numbing every cell, every molecule of my being, until I am drifting, disembodied.

  Speakers crackle to life. Flame’s voice, a garbled whisper murmured from the end of a long tunnel, mixes with the steady thump of my heart. “Don’t fight it. Concentrate on your breathing. Think of something nice, something safe. The machine will help you.”

  I’m floating in an ocean of black. Thoughts collide into one another and break apart. I’m buoyed toward a pinprick of light no bigger than a diamond; with every slow, shallow breath I take, another jewel appears.

  Soon, they are innumerable, a winking tapestry of lights engraved in the darkness, spanning an eternity.

  Not diamonds, I think I hear myself whisper. Stars.

  Goodbye, monster girl.

  And then I soar away.

  Chapter Ten

  The first thing I’m aware of are noises. Constant, low humming. Gentle whirring. A slow click-click sound. Far-away voices and high-pitched beeps, muffled as if underwater.

  But the noises are intensifying. The beeps becoming shrieks, the voices screams.

  My memory floods back. I spring straight up, slam my forehead into the top of the Reconstructor. The lid creaks open above my palm.

  After the dimness of the Reconstructor, the room is painfully bright. Shadows scamper behind the curtain. Cage’s harried voice barks commands over the shrill cacophony of alarms.

  The first step I take is wobbly but not bad. The second sends me to my knees. Using the counter for support, I stagger up and fight my way to the curtain. I don’t feel any different. I wonder if perhaps I’ve woken up before
the reconstruction completed.

  The scene on the other side is chaotic. Riser’s Reconstructor lid hangs open, the screen a wild jumble of red shapes whirling helter-skelter. Sweat beads on Cage’s forehead as he works over the machine. Veins bulge in his neck and forehead, and he’s blinking fast and muttering. Behind him, her face taut with emotion, stands Flame. Her desperate look tells me all I need to know about Riser’s condition.

  Although my mind’s a bit fuzzy, I must have walked closer because now I can see Riser. His gown tangles around his lower half, exposing most of his pale upper body, which is curled in on itself like a pitiful, dying creature. His thrashing legs make a rhythmic thumping against the machine.

  His scars, the ones he showed me only hours earlier, are now an angry reddish-purple. Spidery blue-black veins river his flesh, converging around his eyes, nose, and mouth.

  “He’s dying,” I say. There’s no emotion in my voice. It’s like my feelings are locked away somewhere. I can access them if needed—or not, depending on their value to my cause.

  Maybe I am different, after all.

  Cage looks up from Riser’s body, startled.

  “You’re supposed to be resting.” Cage’s voice cracks.

  How long have they been working on Riser? Too long, from the way their shoulders slump.

  We all freeze as a guttural cry erupts from Riser. It’s horrible, the most wretched, pleading sound I’ve ever heard. Flame slaps a hand over her mouth, her eyes burning with tears. “He can’t find it. The safe place. He can’t—”

  “That’s enough.” Cage’s tone is defeated. “Close it. Let him go in peace.”

  “Wait.” My hand’s on the lid, inches from one of Riser’s balled fists. I let one of my fingers brush his knuckles. A ragged sigh escapes his bluish-gray lips. “He’s cold.”

  Again, no emotion one way or the other, just a mental note that he’s vital to my mission. I climb in beside him. I was wrong: He’s not just cold; he’s frozen, his body stiff as marble.