Lotus and Thorn (26 page)

THE MIDDLE SISTER
was glad she was not carrying the egg, for surely she would have dropped it. Inside the forbidden room was a basin filled with blood and bones. Beside it sat a chopping block and ax that dripped red. And, by her feet, hundreds of eggs lay smashed and broken upon the floor.

Alas, what more did she behold? Her beautiful sisters lay in the basin, murdered and chopped into pieces. The brave girl gathered the parts of her sisters together, and laid them on the floor: feet, legs, torsos, arms, and heads. The middle sister knelt beside them, weeping for what she had lost. And as her tears mingled with the blood, the pieces of her sisters knitted together and began to move.

Fingers twitched and eyelashes fluttered, until they looked up at her with wondering eyes.

“What has happened to us?” the sisters asked.

The middle sister hugged them close, but before she could answer, she heard the sorcerer call out for her.

“Wait here and I will return for you.” She kissed their cheeks and locked them inside the room. Then she hurried to retrieve the egg.

When the sorcerer saw the middle sister, he said, “Give me the egg so I know it is still safe.”

And he was surprised to see the shell was white as snow, without a drop of blood to mark it.

“You have proven yourself worthy. You shall be my bride.” And as he uttered those words, his power over her was lost.

“FITCHER’S BIRD,”
FROM
FAIRY TALES OF THE BROTHERS GRIMM
BY JACOB AND WILHELM GRIMM,
EARTH TEXT, 27
TH
EDITION,
2084.

IT HURT . . .
looking at the dazzling lights of Pleiades. Sarika was out there. And somewhere on the other side of the desert was Lotus. I wanted to go to them. I wanted to walk across the sand and the stars and forget what I’d seen.

But that was impossible. Taschen was still inside the Dome. And Riya. And Oksun. And Nik. And hundreds of other Citizens down in that ward.

And Edison.

I doubled over, retching on the ground. I had to go back. If I stayed out here tonight, I’d be missed. And if I was going to save Tasch, it would have to be from the inside. The Indignos had known that when they sent me there, even if they hadn’t known what I’d find.

I had to go back in. I had to come up with a plan. I had to save my sister.

Because only a Kisaeng could smile and plot and move around the Dome. Only a Kisaeng could destroy it.

IT TOOK ME HOURS
to find my way back through the tunnels, back through the decontamination portal, and back up to the surface of the Dome. Even with my good sense of direction, I was still lost half the time. At least I didn’t have to go back through the Sanctum. Thankfully, I found an exit that came up through the street near the old church.

Even though it was the middle of the night, I traveled by foot so I wouldn’t run into anyone. As I reached the edge of the Kisaengs’ neighborhood, a cloud of flys passed overhead. I ducked into the doorway of a nearby house, hiding. Barely breathing.

When Nik mentioned that Grimm could “pick up” the flys’ feed, I hadn’t thought twice about it. Now it hit me that with the flys, there were eyes everywhere.

I was stumbling with exhaustion. But when I turned onto my street, exhaustion was replaced with panic. Through the balcony curtains, I could see a light in my bedroom. A light I hadn’t left on.

I reached down into my boot and pulled out my knife. Then, thinking it through, I slid it back in—leaving it hidden. I was pretty sure Edison hadn’t seen me down in the ward with Taschen. Even
if he’d glimpsed someone in an isolation suit through the mist, it was unlikely he’d known it was me. The only reason I recognized him tonight was because I was used to seeing him wearing the suit out in Tierra Muerta.

I didn’t have a plan yet for rescuing Tasch, and until I did, there could be no suspicion. I’d have to play my role as Kisaeng to perfection. So when I finally pushed open the door to my bedroom, there was a smile on my face.

Edison was standing by my bed and he said, “So nice of you to stop by.”

His tone was pleasant, but his eyes were cold and distant. I tried to say something clever—to say anything—but I couldn’t. This Edison was a stranger to me. His forehead was smooth and untroubled. His jaw slack.

In fact, Edison was completely calm up until the moment he smacked me across the face and sent me flying. Slamming me against the wall.

I was so surprised I didn’t even cry out. Blood trickled into my mouth from a split lip. My cheek throbbed, already swelling. I curled into a ball and a groan seeped out of my mouth.

“No! This is
not
how it happens.” Edison shouted the words and I wasn’t sure if he was talking to himself or me. Then he walked over, his face crumpling, his hand outstretched. Like a little boy begging for answers. “How could you?”

I stared at the hand reaching out to me, but I didn’t take it. Panic hissed like static in my head. Fear was an animal burrowing through my thoughts. I wrapped my arms around myself—my hands digging into my shoulders.
If I hold on tight enough, I can protect myself.

Then I heard Dad’s voice in my ear, counseling me to be calm.
Loosen your grip. Loosen your breath. Loosen the knot.

I could be brave. I steadied myself—breathing in—and unwound my body. I took Edison’s hand, letting him help me stand up. Not allowing the ripple of pain to show on my face.

“I was worried when you didn’t come back to work on the radio.” Edison’s grip tightened, the ache shooting up my arm. “So I came by to make sure you were okay.”

His tone was wheedling, but by now his huge hand was crushing mine. My finger bones ground together—the blinding pain making me go limp. “And do you know who was waiting for you in your room?”

“No . . . please—” And now
I
was the stranger, my desperate pleas foreign in my own ears. But at least my brain was working again, and somewhere behind the agony, I marveled at how much Edison must’ve been holding back the first time we’d fought.

Edison released my hand and I dropped to the floor. When he spoke again, the other Edison was back. Cold, his voice playful as he said, “Three guesses.”

I held his eyes, but I didn’t speak. Words were not going to save me. I knew the Dome’s secret. I knew what Edison was capable of. Right now, I was a crumpled heap on the floor, but I slipped my hand under my skirt. Concentrating on wriggling my knife free from my boot without Edison noticing.

“Time’s up!” He hunkered down, so close that flecks of spit sprayed my check. “It was your little bird friend! Nikola’s spy.”

Edison’s nasty grin echoed Nik’s bitter smile and the similarity was unnerving. My hand was on my knife now, but I hesitated again.
What did this have to do with Nik?

“Did you think you were clever? Were the two of you laughing at me?” And he kicked me where I huddled on the ground—a sharp, stunning blow to my hip. “After everything I’ve done for you. After I came across the desert, into the grit and the filth to find you and bring you here.”

My thoughts moved slowly, trying to crest the throbbing waves of pain.
Nikola’s spy.
I wasn’t completely sure what Edison was talking about, but this wasn’t about the LOTUS or the wards.
He’s angry about me visiting Nik.

I just didn’t know whether that meant I was in less danger, or more.

It took every bit of strength I had—every bit of courage—but for the second time, I left my knife where it was. If I pulled it on Edison now, I’d lose my place in the Dome. Or worse. And as far as I knew, I was the only one that knew about the Citizens down in that ward.

I
would
use my knife. Just not tonight.

Instead, I gently pulled at the string of Edison’s words, hoping if I was careful, this knot would unravel. “I’m grateful you came for me.”

“After all those years. There was your voice again, on the radio, calling out to Earth. And I thought, ‘Of course.’ Nikola and I had
known
you were special.
Of course
you would be the one to save us.”

“And so you came out to Tierra Muerta for me.”

“Yes, I had to be patient. But on the third day . . . there you were, walking along the tracks,” he said, his eyes wide. “But I should’ve known Nik wouldn’t stay in that hole he crawled into. I should’ve realized he’d recognize your voice too and try to turn you against me.”

Then Edison’s face hardened—his words a belted accusation. “But
you
. I never imagined that
you
would demean yourself. Can’t you see what he is?”

I shook my head—anything I said now would be the wrong thing.

“Nothing more than a bad copy of me. Twisted.” His eyes flamed with disgust. But there was hurt there too. “Cringing away in the dark.”

Edison’s voice rose now until it was almost a scream.
“He is a mistake!”

It was like his humanity was stripped away and stripped raw at the same time. And I had my answer—
this
is what Edison was like when he had no one to perform for. I reached out and touched his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” And Edison yanked me up by my arm and flung me onto the bed, like I was nothing. My head slammed into one of the posts and the whole world roared and spun around me.

I pushed myself up, wanting to retch again. I wouldn’t pull my knife, but I wouldn’t stay put and let him kill me either. I tried to steady myself while I estimated the distance between the bed and the porch. Between the bed and the door. Getting ready for my moment.

“Marisol was right. You aren’t worth my time.” Edison noticed my gaze on the door, and I leapt up, running in the opposite direction toward the back balcony.

In two steps he was on me. His giant hands bruising my arms in his grip. I scratched and spit and clawed and bit. But he barely flinched. After all my training, after all my sparring and lessons with the Kisaengs, I was defenseless. I gave up and stopped fighting.

He held me there—in midair—for another second. His face blank. Fingers digging into my bones. Then he dropped me. I slammed onto the floor, watching his feet move farther and farther away from me. Fighting back the sob that clawed at my throat.

He paused at the door. And when Edison spoke again, he sounded almost friendly. Almost happy. “I left you a present on the dresser. Hope you like it.”

I DON’T KNOW
if it was minutes or hours until I could move again. All I knew was that it was still dark. I’d never felt this way after a fight before. Not after sparring. Not even after skirmishes in Tierra Muerta. My soul had been scooped out to make room for the pain.

But Edison’s words kept repeating in my mind—taunting me.
A present.

Finally, I crawled over to the bed. Using the post, I pulled myself to my feet. Then I hobbled to the dresser.

A silk scarf had been draped across something—red splotches seeping through the bright fabric. My empty stomach churned again as I forced myself to pull it away. And there he was. Grimm. His wings sprawled at a horrible, unnatural angle. His head was smashed in, wires fused with blood.

I let the hurt of it saturate my own body, propping myself up against the dresser as my whole body sagged with it. Visions of Tasch, wires and tubes stretching from her body, transposed themselves over Grimm’s broken corpse. Magnifying the impossibility
of what Edison had done. And the question rang out in my mind—asking itself over and over:

How could he?

Edison had killed Grimm—a creature he’d brought to life. A friend.

“I’m so sorry.” I stroked his lovely golden breast feathers. “He did it to hurt me. Not you.”

I took Grimm in my arms and the light caught his wings—shimmering blue and silver. He was beautiful, even now. I carried him over to the fireplace and tucked him between the lengths of wood. My hands shook as I struck the match. Another funeral pyre.

The room filled with the stench of burned flesh and the sting of smoke. I let them choke me for a minute before flinging open the doors to both balconies.

Then I turned the water on in the tub, as hot as it would go. When it was full, I lowered my body into the steaming, scalding water. I bit my already split lip, refusing to scream. Refusing to cry.

I would burn it off of me. Whatever I’d been to Edison, whatever he’d been to me, I would burn it away. Then I would burn him.

I WOKE UP
aching and cold. My right eye was almost swollen shut, and my mouth was mushy and sore. I felt around for blankets—pain searing through my arm—and pulled them over me. Then I went back to sleep.

The next time I woke, a door slammed downstairs and there were footsteps. I fumbled under my pillow for my knife and forced myself to sit up.

But it was only Riya. “You missed morning practice and we were afraid something—”

Then she
really
saw me and, from the shock on her face, I got a pretty good idea what I must’ve looked like.

“Oh, Leica.” Riya said my name in a hushed whisper.

“I don’t want your pity.” I couldn’t take it from her. Not the same girl who’d chopped her hair so she could be like me.

“Never pity.” And Riya crawled onto the bed with me—her long legs curling under her as she faced me. “Not for you.”

She reached up to stroke my hair. I held myself stiff, anticipating pain, but she was careful of my bruises and cuts. “This doesn’t make you weak. You know that, right?”

I squeezed my eyes shut. That was exactly what it made me. Weak and stupid. I had trusted Edison. Worse than that, I had
fallen
for him.

“Let me tell you a story. There was a girl who lived in Pleiades and an older boy there who fancied her. But there was something wrong with him . . . a violence behind his eyes. For a while, the girl felt safe because, by law, the boy couldn’t touch her, since they were born in the same building. But sometimes he caught her alone, in the garden or the stairwell, and he whispered things in her ear. She was a quiet person . . . shy . . . and she didn’t tell anyone.

“When he was twenty, he became one of the Abuelos’ guards and then I didn’t
dare
tell.” Riya got a glint in her eyes as she took ownership of the story. “I knew that I had two choices. I could stay and live in fear of the day when he did more than whisper. Or I could marry someone I didn’t love and flee my building.

“But I knew there’d be no happiness in either choice . . . so I made a third one.
If
I was going to give myself to someone, then I was going to do it on my own terms. So, one day in the Reclamation Fields, I smiled at a Curador. And that was that.

“Now. Do you think I’m weak?” And her chin stuck out stubbornly, daring me to say so. When I shook my head, she said, “No. There’s the courage it takes to fight—you’re good at that. A natural. But there’s also the courage to endure.”

Then she gathered me up like Taschen had so many times before, laying my head in her lap. And the image of Tasch’s face, half conscious, contorted in pain, blazed against my closed eyelids. A tear rolled down my cheek and soaked into the blanket.

Then I was truly crying—great choking sobs that made my sore ribs sorer. The sound was more animal than human, and I
despised myself. In the midst of it, the words that had been chasing themselves in my mind broke through like a wail. “How could I have gotten it so wrong?”

All that time we’d spent talking about my sisters . . . and Edison had
known
Tasch was sick and sedated in that ward. How could I not have seen the monster that he was?

How do you move forward after this? How do you trust anything again? I looked up at Riya, hoping for answers.

“You want me to tell you it’s all your fault.” She wiped my tears with the heel of her hand. “Or maybe you want me to grant you absolution. But those are not mine to give. Sadly,
this
is the best I’ve got to give.” And Riya handed me a tissue, a little smile on her face as I blew my nose.

“And this.” She kissed my forehead, careful to avoid a nasty bruise.

“Now, come on,” Riya said, easing me off her lap and going to the closet. “I’ll help you get ready.”

“For what?” I hurt everywhere. I pulled the blankets up to my chin. I was in no condition to go anywhere.

She kept her voice light as she rummaged through my clothes—studying skirts and dresses with an evaluating eye. “Then you’re going to hide here? Let him win?”

Like Nik in his trees. It sounded nice to just disappear. “Can’t I stay? For a little while?” I was like a kid, begging her mother for permission.

“You can. But know this, if you make room for the fear, it will build a home inside you. It’ll get comfortable in there, making up a bed for itself. Pushing other parts of you aside so it can stretch out. You don’t want that.”

And for an instant, I saw the war that raged inside Riya. Not just now, but always. Each day, a battle against her fear.

Still I couldn’t force myself out of the bed. My face burned as the words spilled out. “I don’t want them to see me like this.”

“Leica, the Kisaengs admire you because you’re a survivor. We’re under no illusion that you’re some kind of invincible god.”

She didn’t mean for her words to hurt, but they did.
Invincible.
It stung because that’s exactly what I’d thought. That I was too clever and too strong to be hurt like this. That I was
better
than this.

Riya pulled a dress out of the closet. “In practice, when you knocked me down, what did you do next?”

I didn’t want to answer. I already knew where she was going with this. “I asked if you were okay . . . then I told you to get back up.”

“Yes. And that’s what I’m telling you to do now.”

“But what if I’m not okay?”

“Sometimes, the only way to find out is to get on your feet.”

• • •

The Sanctum courtyard went silent when I limped in. I had no energy for a stoic entrance.

“Rough night?” Marisol sneered as she passed, the Ellas tittering around her. But I heard the tension in her voice. A flash of fear beneath her taunt.

And Edison’s words echoed in my head:
Marisol was right. You aren’t worth my time.

Maybe it wasn’t just Grimm who gave me away. Ignoring my bruised muscles, my hand shot out and grabbed hers. Stopping her. Forcing her to face me. But I couldn’t make her meet my eyes.

And her avoidance spoke the truth: Marisol had gotten her revenge. She’d told Edison about the kiss.

“Thank you for letting me know where we stand.” I spoke in a calm voice, empty of emotion. “For showing me what my friendship means to you.”

Shame burned on her face and I knew Marisol was truly seeing the bruises on my body. She blinked hard and pulled her hand out of my grip.

I let her go.

Riya helped me sit down on the grass and I sucked in air as my bruised hip hit the ground. Then Oksun came over and had a whispered conversation with Riya. I lay down—letting the cool grass soothe my muscles—and turned my back to them. But I could feel Oksun standing over me.

“I got dressed. I dragged myself here,” I said without opening my eyes. “What else do you want from me?”

“I want you to get up. I want you to fight!” Steel ran through Oksun’s voice.

Then, more gently, Riya said, “Leica, people are waiting for you.”

“For what?” I squinted up at her.

“For training,” Riya said.

I sat up slowly, looking at my two friends, Oksun’s fierce square face untouched by sympathy, Riya’s hopeful but determined. Behind the pair of them, the Kisaengs were gathering. Not ten or fifteen—but sixty-some of them, arranged in four neat rows. Everyone, except Marisol’s circle. Then June glided into the lineup as well.

I actually laughed. “You’ve got to be kidding. I’m living proof that those moves are worthless.”

“No.” Oksun’s jaw was clenched, her compact frame braced for
confrontation. She shoved a strand of hair behind her ear. “What you’ve proven is that all Kisaengs are vulnerable. And we must do whatever we can to make ourselves strong.”

“And what about when it still isn’t enough?” I pushed myself to my feet, pointing to my face. Pulling up my shirt to show the red welts on my ribs. “How can I help them if I can’t even help myself?”

“Fine.” A chord of anger shook Oksun’s voice. “Go ahead. Explain to them that it’s fun to
pretend
we’re fighters, but when someone beats the crap out of us, we just lie down and give up.”

“Leave me alone.” My hands balled into fists. My legs were shaking, but at least they still held me. “You know nothing about this!”

“Oh yeah? You think you’re broken? You think you’re pathetic? Well, I’m starting to think you’re right!” Oksun shouted the words at me, but it was
Edison’s
voice I heard.
Edison’s
words screaming accusations in my head.

How could you?

Rage numbed my body and I went for her. I punched—one, two—and lashed out with my foot.

Oksun blocked it all. I swept my leg out again and she hooked it with her own. I fell backward and Oksun grabbed me. I thought she was catching me, but instead she yanked me forward and flipped me over her shoulder.

But she didn’t slam me to the ground. She just held me there.

Then Oksun lowered me gently to my feet, her eyes glinting with a savage anger. “You started something here. I won’t let you tell these girls it was all a lie.”

Then I saw what I hadn’t before: This had happened to every Kisaeng. If not in violence, then in words. In groping hands. In the threat of disappearing.

Riya squeezed my fingers, lending me her courage. “Come on. They’re waiting.”

Then I was in front of them, every eye fixed on me. But there was no pity there. No disappointment. They stood with their chins up. Eyes somber. Waiting for my instructions.

“Okay. Today is about truth. Sometimes your opponent is stronger than you. And no matter how fast you are, or how smart you fight, you still can’t win. But you still fight, in whatever way you can. So. Let’s talk about how to anticipate an attack . . .”

• • •

By the time practice was over, I felt stronger. Not to say that my sore muscles didn’t hurt more, because they did. But I was ready to figure out what came next.

And the conclusion my mind kept coming back to was, before I did anything else—before I even came up with a plan or started surveillance or made a move against Edison—I needed to tell someone about what I’d found. In case something happened to me, someone else needed to know about LOTUS. After Edison . . . and Marisol . . . I hated the idea of trusting anyone else, but I couldn’t risk Taschen getting abandoned down there.

Oksun and Riya were getting bowls of soondubu stew from the Sanctum food synthesizer. The spicy, homey scent made my mouth water as I pulled them aside. “We have to talk.”

We carried our bowls to a quiet spot on the grass. While I tried chewing with just one side of my mouth, I figured out where to start. Finally, I looked at the pair of them and said, “I know where the missing Kisaengs are.”