Broken Crowns (16 page)

I've never fought with Basil. We have, despite our flaws, found it easy to love each other.

Until now.

I don't know how to fix this. I need Alice to tell me what to do when one of us has broken something this important.

Basil and I don't speak. Celeste is the one to bring us a tray of breakfast—fresh fruits and bread—and she is all chatter about the day's plans. She can't wait for us to speak to Nolan Atmus, the head engineer over at the glasslands. Maybe we'll even get a tour, she says. “That's a rare privilege,” she says. “My brother and I have seen it, of course, but for a normal citizen it's a high honor. You're so lucky!”

Pen has seen the inside of the glasslands, but I don't say that.

Celeste slips a stack of folded papers into my hand. “Keep these hidden. Do you understand? They're for Nolan Atmus's eyes only. Top secret information from Nim.”

I tuck the papers into my dress pocket.

After breakfast, a patrolman comes to our room to take us to the glasslands at King Furlow's request, just as Celeste predicted. He stops Basil in the doorway. “The invitation has been extended only to Ms. Stockhour.”

“I'm sure my invitation was implied,” Basil says with uncharacteristic boldness. “We go everywhere together.”

“King Furlow has requested a private audience with you,” the patrolman says. “Someone will be along to escort you shortly.”

Basil and I exchange glances. He seems worried. “It'll be fine,” I tell him. It's the first thing spoken between us in hours, and my voice sounds strange.

He nods.

There are two more patrolmen and a guard in gray waiting for me when I step outside the clock tower. I suppose they think I'll run away, but it isn't as though I have many options. Maybe they think I'll fling myself over the edge and hope for death.

Or maybe they aren't worried about what I'll do, but rather what someone might mean to do to me.

I'm led to a shuttle, which is empty aside from the guards and me. We drive over grass, away from the train tracks, and through the windows I can see that the city itself has changed. There aren't many people, and the shops appear to be closed. I wonder if children are in class, or if they've all been forced to mine for sunstone as well.

The glasslands appear in the distance, and the shuttle slows to a stop.

“Up,” one of the patrolmen tells me. I recognize him. After the fire at the flower shop, he was assigned to my building. I remember him holding open the door for Pen and me, telling us to be safe.

But if he recognizes me, he gives no sign. And without Celeste here, I don't know whether he's one of the patrolmen to be trusted.

I've never been this close to the glasslands before. I can see the beveled edges of the panes of glass, see the bolts holding the panels in place. The fence that surrounds the area is buzzing like a swarm of bramble flies, making my skin prickle.

Surrounded by a cloud of guards, I approach a gate where patrolmen seem to be waiting for us. “Ms. Stockhour?” one of them asks me.

I nod.

“Come with me,” the patrolman says. And to the others, “None of you are permitted. You may wait for her here if you wish. This is the only entrance or exit, so there's no need to worry about an escape.”

Escape? I could laugh. Where would I go? I suppose I could be like Judas and roam the wilderness for a few days, never staying in one place long enough to get caught. Only, this time there's no metal bird waiting for me underground.

The guard in gray tries to protest. He wants to see what's on the other side of this fence. But if there's one thing that makes the people of Internment bold, it's protecting our fuel source. Otherwise, what's to stop King Ingram from stripping us of our resources and blowing us right out of the sky?

I'm led inside by the patrolman from the gate. Once we have put some distance between ourselves and the others, he says in a low voice, “What is it like? On the ground? I've heard that there are thousands of kingdoms and that they shoot at each other for fun.”

“You're not too far off,” I say. Now that I've seen the ground, I'm no longer awestruck by the thought of it. Sometimes I even wish I could go back in time to before I left Internment. But then I remember that the king murdered my mother and quite possibly my father as well, and that I didn't have a choice.

“Are they barbarians down there?” the patrolman asks.

“People are people, regardless of where they are,” I say. It isn't a yes or a no, because I don't have the answer. I used to think I did. I used to think that by living in the sky I had evaded some vengeful god's curse. I used to think that the ground was mysterious and intriguing. But as it stands, I've lost any sense of enchantment for either place.

“Mr. Atmus has been looking forward to meeting with you,” the patrolman says. And again he lowers his voice. “He's going to help you.”

“Is he?” I say. I hope my face doesn't betray the nausea I'm starting to feel, not only at the thought of facing Pen's father, but as a result of all the constant humming in this place. And there's so much heat. This place is meant to absorb the sunlight, and I suppose it stands to reason that it absorbs a lot of heat as well.

And despite everything, I am in awe of what I see. It's as though we are walking in a giant gemstone, or a betrothal band.

I see a few men and women working in the distance, taking notes, fiddling with knobs and steering wheels that are built right into the glass. Sun engineers. Internment's elite, the ones who give us the fuel for our trains and our lights.

When we've reached what looks to be the center of the glasslands, I see a small building made of brick, scarcely bigger than a water room, with a door but no windows. There's a glowing red lightbulb, and a sign that cautions people not to enter while the red light is on.

The patrolman steps forward and knocks on the door. “Sir?” he says. “You told me to inform you when Ms. Stockhour was here.”

There's a long pause, and I hear shuffling within the building, the clink of something metal. And then the door swings open.

Pen's father stands in the doorway, wearing a denim jumpsuit, just like many of the other sun engineers. He looks from the patrolman to me with a distracted, almost deranged, stare that I know all too well. I hate how much he reminds me of Pen. She's even got his smile.

“Morgan!” he says, and makes room for me. “I've been waiting for you. Come in, come in.” And then, to the patrolman, “Wait outside. See that no one disturbs us.”

I will myself not to tremble. Whether the feeling is from hatred or fear, I can't tell. I don't want to be alone with him. I don't trust him, but more important, I don't trust myself. I'd like to take that pencil that's tucked behind his ear and stab him in the jugular.

But it's because of Pen that I don't. If I killed her father, I would be arrested, probably executed, and what good would that do her? And besides, we made a promise to keep ourselves safe and alive so that we'll see each other again.

I force a smile and follow him into the brick building. The door closes behind us, but despite being windowless, this tiny room is filled with lights. There's a wall made up entirely of glowing buttons in a gradient of colors. On an adjacent wall there's a small, flickering screen that shows a gray, aerial image of the glasslands.

“Sit, sit,” he says, gesturing to two wooden stools beside the wall of buttons, next to a desk littered with papers, maps, and pencils. “I know it isn't very much to look at. It certainly isn't as spectacular as the rest of the glasslands. But it's the only place on Internment where I feel confident no one will hear us.”

That hardly puts me at ease. Is this the place where he lured Pen when she was a child? Is this where it all started?

I fold my arms across my stomach and I wish desperately that Basil were here. Suddenly the air feels very warm.

“First things first.” He runs his hand through his blond hair. “How is Margaret? Her mother and I have been beside ourselves all these months. When I heard that the king of the ground was sending someone back home, I had hoped she would be in the group.”

He is the only one to call Pen by the name she was born with. Margaret. She's always hated that name with a vitriol I never understood until now.

“She's doing well,” I say.

“Is she truly?” he says. “I know that she can be sort of . . .” He trails off. “I know that she takes after her mother, in some regards.”

“The ground has suited her,” I say.

I see a bit of her in his smile, and I force myself to look at the papers on the table instead. “What are all these?” I ask.

“Boring paperwork, I'm afraid. We gather daily reports from all posts to ensure that things are running smoothly. King Furlow is very particular about this place. Without electricity, the whole city would fall into chaos. Although I suppose an argument could be made that it's in sort of a chaotic state right now.”

He leans forward on his knees, closer to me.

“What I really need from you is information about the ground. The princess said that you would be coming back with something for me.”

“I suppose she means this,” I say, and hand him the stack of papers from my dress pocket.

He unfolds the top page and reads it, and his eyes brighten. “It's as I thought,” he says. “That king down there on the ground hasn't got a clue what to do with our sunstone. His people are about ready to overthrow him.”

“That's what I gather,” I say. “So what are you planning to do?”

“Oh, let it happen, of course. We hardly need to concern ourselves with that greedy world down there. No, when it comes to the ground, we just wait for King Ingram to be assassinated. Believe me, it will happen. He thinks that he's holding Prince Azure as his hostage, but I guarantee that the prince has got a plan up his sleeve. I spoke to him myself before he left.”

“But those notes are from Nimble Piper. He's the son of one of King Ingram's advisers.” He's also King Ingram's grandson, but I don't say that, as I'm not sure whether Celeste has shared this with anyone up here. “You're telling me Nimble is part of a plan to assassinate his own king?”

Nolan Atmus slaps the papers against his knee in triumph. “That's what I'm saying. You seem surprised.”

“I suppose it does make sense,” I say. Murder hardly seems like something Nim would go for; he's so peaceful by nature. But then I think of the lost look in his eyes in the weeks following the bombing, after he'd buried his only brother and burned an offering to save Birdie. Maybe he's still trying to save her, and his other sisters too, from a king who would hurt them a thousand times over for his own gain.

“If that's Nimble's plan, I'm okay with it,” I say. “He knows what he's doing.”

“That's what the princess said as well. She seems to have a lot of faith in his politics. Splendid. Now we can discuss what to do while we're up here in the sky.”

I can smell whatever redolence he's wearing. I smelled it every time I was in Pen's apartment. He has been everywhere all her life, and somehow I never noticed. He was always polite to me, pleasant. Much like the way he is now. How did I never see him for what he really is?

“For now,” he says, “you should go along with King Furlow's plans. I suspect he'll parade you around for a bit. Let King Furlow's men have the illusion that you are trying to convince all of them down on the ground to aid his dying little kingdom. Let him watch your every move and believe you're under his thumb.”

“That's it?” I say. “Just wait?”

“Just wait,” he says. “I suspect King Ingram will be dead by the end of the month.”

I walk back to the shuttle in a daze. I knew that Nimble would have some plan brewing, but murdering his own grandfather? Now I see why he was so adamant about my delivering that envelope to Celeste directly.

The shuttle begins to move.

I wonder how he'll do it. Will he stage an accident? Will he march up to the palace and cut the king's throat?

I wonder if Birdie knows. I think, after everything, she would want to help. It took weeks for her to emerge from her coma, and even longer for her to regain awareness of her surroundings. When she learned that Riles was gone, I worried that the news would destroy her. She cried for days. She said that she hated the king, and her father too. Nim tried to quiet her, but only because he didn't want anyone to overhear her spouting treason.

I understand. My king killed someone that I love, too. I wouldn't object to someone killing him either. Maybe that's a good plan. Kill both kings and just start over.

The shuttle comes to a stop. I'm led back into the clock tower, smiling at the thought of King Ingram and King Furlow both dead. Justice.

I feel guilty for this thought when I see Celeste. Vile or not, King Furlow is still her father, and I know that she loves him, in her way.