The Choosing (The Arcadia Trilogy Book 1) (10 page)

I
n the morning
Solene and an honor guard accompanied Livy to her family's new home. In the bright Pastoreum sunlight, unfiltered by glass walls, the temperature unregulated by government whims, she looked on the land her parents now owned, and the stone house they shared with her siblings. There was more than one outbuilding and more than one goat, as well as cows, beef cattle, sheep, ducks and several chickens.

And Pippa. Who came running but stopped short and performed such an absurdly clumsy bow Livy knew it was on purpose and almost laughed, but that would have spoiled it. Her mother was out the door next, and her father after her, their arms going around Livy the minute they'd finished the unfamiliar obeisance.

"How have you been? Have you been sick? You've lost weight. Doesn't she look like she lost weight, Jep? Are you eating right? I can't imagine what they feed you there. Do you get enough? What happened to the other children? What have you learned? Did you see anything of the Thomlinson's son? He was taken as well. Come in, come in, this is the only blessing that's come of this, yes, yes, Jep, I know we're supposed to pretend it's a great honor but it's not, is it? It's just the loss of our Livy."

Her father just shrugged. And looked to Solene. "Will you come in?"

She said mildly, "If I'm invited."

Livy's father bowed. "You are."

They sat around the table eating nut loaves and drinking tea, discussing the doings of the village, whose husband had strayed again, whose mother was ill, what child had an ear infection and which had probably had his or her ears boxed.

Livy ate, and drank and asked again, for she had asked when they first went inside but no one had answered and possibly had not heard. "Where is Grandfather? Is he – " she stumbled over
alive
and settled for, "Alright?"

She didn't miss the look that passed between her parents and didn't need to eavesdrop on their conversation to understand it. Grandfather was alive, but not well.

Her mother gestured to the bedroom off the kitchen, the one that would get the heat from cooking in the winter, and the southwest light in the summer. "He's waiting for you, love."

G
randfather Bane
really had lost weight. His hair was now sparse and dry, white strands decorating his skull. His eyes were circled by yellowed bruises from jaundice and his cheeks sunken. His breath was rapid and shallow and Livy went instantly to his side and said his name.

His eyes opened, and they were the same bright blue she remembered, and every bit as brilliant.

"Livy. Love. I am so happy to see you and so scared for the reason."

She took his hand, blinking back tears. "No, Grandfather, it's alright. I was chosen Alpha. I'll get to help make laws. I can help our community. I can help
you
. I can take you to Arcadia, get you medical attention."

He coughed, and even that seemed to tire him. "It's too late for me, girl. It's not too late for you. You should run."

She gripped his hand tighter with both of hers. "You don't understand. It's alright. It's beautiful there and I'll
be
somebody. I'll have power."

"They'll never allow you to have the power you think you have. Look closer, Olivia; what you perceive as beauty may be something else. Look deeper: Beauty is only skin deep."

In desperation, thinking he didn't understand, she told him she'd been named the Plutarch's mate, the Chosen One.

But he wasn't surprised. "I know," he told her. "I knew it the day you were born. Your parents didn't believe me and didn't let me tell you, but they let me school you."

Weakness washed over him then. The coughing grew worse, his lips dotted with blood. She said
please
and begged him to save his strength. He only laughed weakly and stroked her face. "There's nothing left to save it for. Little one, be careful. You will be tested like you've never been and you must be strong. When the time comes for you to act, to free the world, you'll know what to do."

She pulled back, appalled. "To
what?
"

But he only repeated. "When the time comes, you'll know what to do, and who to trust."

She leaned forward begging for more.

But his eyes had closed. And this time, they did not open again.

B
efore she left
his room to tell her parents, before she faced the burial that must come before the wedding, Livy slipped the carefully preserved book of Shakespeare from the place of honor where her grandfather had kept it. She buried it inside her traveling clothes.

Then she went to find her parents.

T
he night
after the funeral Livy dined with the Plutarch. It was the first time since she had been a new student at the Institute. This time it was in one of the ruler's community palaces, the seat of government when he was way from Arcadia.

Chandeliers glittered with candles. The table was set with snowy white linens and gleaming silver utensils. Solene stood directly behind Livy's chair and the Plutarch's guard behind his. The other Centurions ranged throughout the room.

The mayor of Agara was there. Livy remembered Kev Jens as a smart man, decisive and good for the community, but in the presence of the Plutarch he sank, as he was meant to, becoming nothing but a serf in the presence of his master.

Around Livy the women in the retinue talked of makeup and shopping, of the goods made for them by Betas and the quality of goods taken in tax from the villages they visited. They asked Livy questions about her binding and wedding, what she was to wear, how her fittings had gone, about the veil that would encase her from head to toe, about how she would redecorate the Plutarch's palaces, and other things Livy didn't care about. She longed for her grandfather and her family and her home, and in desperation when the conversations again turned to beauty and fashion she employed the talent she'd perfected at the family table, that of interacting with one person while actively eavesdropping on others.

Which was how she overhead the men planning to increase the share each province paid to the government.

"You know Pastoreum is rich," one fat, ruddy-faced Senator said. "They're the breadbasket of the world. They produce the grains, the goats, the goods. Why should they keep so much of what they grow when in fact it belongs to Arcadia?"

It belonged, in fact, to the Plutarch and not to his minions, but Livy held her tongue until the fat man's companion spoke up. "Tax the creatures and should they complain, make an example of a few of them – resisting is as close to treason as you can get."

The Plutarch was listening now and when he didn't argue, Livy jumped in. "I lived in Pastoreum! There's almost nothing left after the tax, the winters are near starvation, and nobody is holding back anything! Everything that's demanded is given. They're already working beyond their capabilities." And even as she spoke, she wondered at calling herself
us
of the Plutarch's entourage and
them
of her family and community.

The room silenced at once. Even the women's bird-like voices stopped cheeping.

"Out," the ruler of the world ordered in a voice that was so low no one should have heard him, but everyone did. "Get out. Clear the room. You as well," he barked at his own guard and at Solene and both hesitated, looking like they'd argue, but departed and closed the heavy doors behind them.

Livy stood, raising her chin, preparing to plead for the people she loved. But in a flash the Plutarch was behind her, a blade pressed close against her throat. Livy felt a single drop of blood burn its way down her white satin dress.

"Cross me again, and I'll cut your throat ear to ear," her future husband said in a voice that made her go cold. "I've done it before. Do not make me do it again."

He released her so suddenly she fell forward, one hand on the table, one hand holding her throat as she gasped for breath, her eyes filling with terrified tears.

Moments later Solene and another guard entered the chamber and roughly escorted Livy to a cell. She glanced around wildly, but there was only one window, high above her cot, barred and beyond her reach anyway.

Trapped, she had no way to escape, and no way to sleep.

As the darkness surrounded her, she cried for Simon, for her grandfather, and for herself.

T
he day
of the binding dawned a bright, clear, crisp Pastoreum day. Livy woke and lay listening to the sounds around her, familiar sounds of home. For a moment she allowed herself to daydream that life was the way it had been. Soon she'd smell her mother's coffee and hear her grandfather clearing his throat and her father calling to her to get up and milk the damn goat because Pippa had gone off somewhere without doing it again.

But instead she swung her feet onto the floor and found the best that had happened was the door to her cell was unlocked and flung open. But only so a bevy of women could enter, berating heated water for her bath and oils and perfumes with which to anoint her.

"This is your binding," one said. "You should be so happy."

Livy closed her eyes and wished she were still asleep.

"Who will stand with you at your wedding?" another asked and Livy opened her eyes to see if it was Solene again, having forgotten her answer, but apparently it was a normal question women asked, because this was just one of the entourage, busily washing and perfuming Livy's hair.

She answered automatically, naming those she'd like to have stand with her, Julia who was of course in Arcadia, serving, and Pippa and Tarah, and was surprised to find once she was wrapped in the traditional heavy veil, that both Pippa and Tarah stood outside the door, waiting for her.

She rushed into their arms, the three of them exchanging as much information as they could. She'd had no time alone with her sister the day before, and hadn't seen Tarah until now.

"Denny says I'm beautiful and we're to wed, not now, of course, but once I'm sixteen. How is it being sixteen? Is it the best thing ever?"

And Tarah, "Goose, it's being sixteen that got your sister into this mess. Is he mean? What's he like? Is there anyone else you like? Would you marry the Plutarch if you didn't have to?"

And all the while they were all being led to the platform where the ceremony would take place. The red and gold leaves on the trees in the Square rustled drily. Horses snorted impatiently, ready to pull the cart with the Plutarch and his mate from the place of binding to the place of wedding and then back to their waiting vehicles.

Livy's vision danced to the beat of her pounding heart, black spots clouding what she could see, her ears stopped by the violent ringing of fear and confusion and fury. She stumbled as they walked and so she and Solene and her entourage were still some distance from the Square, passing under the colorful trees, when the explosion sounded in the Square.

The world spun. The Square rocked with the force of the explosion. Livy found herself hurled face down in the dirt. Her guard fell across her.

"Stay down!" she shouted.

All around them Livy heard the smaller explosions of guns, and men yelling and running, and the voices of guards, shouting that rebel forces had surrounded the Square. The Plutarch's guard called out orders, shouted for horses, grabbed the ruler and rode hard.

Abruptly, Solene hauled Livy to her feet and Livy in turn grabbed Pippa and Tarah, unwilling to leave them behind. Together the four ran through the streets, and all around them came the sound of struggle and gunshots.

Despite Solene being with her, a mounted Centurion galloped toward them, grabbing Livy up in a strong embrace, crushing her against his chest as he wheeled the enormous horse and took off in the direction the Plutarch had been taken.

Livy barely had time to shout for her friends and Solene when a figure flew at them from one of the fall-colored trees lining the Square. He landed directly on the guard who held Livy, knocking the guard from the horse and taking control of both horse and Livy.

Even as Livy found herself losing consciousness, the sound of the battle faded.

Her last thoughts were of friends, of family, of home.

L
ivy woke in shadowy light
. Panic gripped her and she bolted upright, her head spinning.

She lay on a pallet, on tarps and furs, with more of the furs on her keeping her warm. She still wore her ceremonial robes, but the ceremony had never taken place. That much was obvious.

A quick glance around and it was equally obvious that she was surrounded by resistance fighters. They lay wounded and in some cases dying upon stretchers. They spoke in undertones as those around them helped if they could and lay still if they couldn't.

Her mind raged. So much had happened. Was she safe here or about to meet her death? Her father had spoken of freedom but he had never met with men like these. They wielded freedom as a weapon.

Now she was in a rebel camp, somewhere inside a cavern, she thought, and she watched as some of the women prepared food and one of them looked up and saw Livy and came over to her offering her a hot cloth for her face and a cold compress for her neck. Another young male, coldly beautiful, came over to the pallet where she sat and offered her a cup.

Terrified, Livy shoved herself backwards away from him. He knelt in response, looking impatient, and proffered the cup again.

"It's just water. Drink it."

Not taking her eyes from him, she did, and when she'd slaked her thirst, he handed her a plate of fruit, oranges, kiwi, and a glass of goat's milk.

One look at the food and Livy was flooded with hunger. She grabbed the bread from the side of the plate and began eating as fast as she could.

He reached out and stayed her hand. "Don't make yourself sick."

Livy stared around the bread and fruit, at the cavern they were in, at the other people in it, many of them stretched out on pallets as she had been, others cooking food or dealing with stockpiled weapons or sitting in small groups talking.

Where in the world was she?

"Who are you?" she asked around a mouthful of bread.

He'd been standing beside her, where her pallet had been pulled into an area where the rock overhang in the cavern gave her some privacy. Now he moved, standing closer, arms folded over his chest.

"My name is Arash."

That told her nothing. He wore a uniform that seemed familiar, desert colored and heavy enough to provide some protection from the elements. He carried a gun on one hip and a heavy-duty knife on the other. All at once being seated in what was essentially a bed while he towered above her felt threatening. Livy surged to her feet, knocking over the water glass, which was empty now anyway.

"I don't understand. What happened and how did I get here?" She stared around the cavern, trying to remember what had happened, then looked down at herself. She still wore the exquisite dress she'd been given for her binding to the Plutarch, though the irritating heavy veil was gone. She put a hand to her head, expecting it to come away bloody because her headache was so intense. There was no blood on her fingertips, but she'd been bruised. She looked back to Arash.

"I was in the Square – " she started, and gasped. "The girls I was with!" Tarah and Pippa, where were they? "What happened?" Panicky energy filled her and she began pacing in tight steps, the dress clinging to her. The lovely satin concoction fit like a glove all the way to her knees, then flared out where it was too late to make a difference in her being able to walk. She supposed that was the point. Where in Pastoreum she wore hardwoven clothes, nothing more than tunics and elastic banded pants she could move in, for the wedding she'd been given something that hampered every movement, making her dependent on others.

Not any longer.

Arash was watching her, bemused, and she held her hand out to him. "May I borrow your knife?" When he hesitated, she shook her outstretched hand. "I hardly think I'm any danger to you. Undoubtedly you could take it from me any time you wanted. Besides, all I want to do is indulge my sudden passion for fashion."

Arash made a sound that might have been laughter and pressed the handle of the knife into her hand. Livy nodded her thanks, bent at the waist, grabbed the bottom of the dress, and began cutting. When she was done, she'd split the dress up the sides so she could walk, and completely removed the bottom of it all the way up to her knees. She carefully handed the knife back to Arash and noticed he was smothering a laugh.

"What?"

He gave a one shoulder shrug and a kind of a head toss. "Nothing. It's just, we could provide you with clothes…"

Embarrassed, Livy scowled. "Provide me with intelligence instead. What. Happened?"

"You can remember," he said. "You didn't hit your head. You were in the square. With your friends. With your intended – "

And she had it. "The Plutarch! Is he -- ?" Even saying it would be treason.

"Alive and well?" asked Arash. "Yes, damn it."

Livy took a step back. "You're the resistance."

Arash made a sweeping bow that took in the others in the cavern. "At your service, my lady. Or rather, you're at ours. Once they discover you're alive, you may become our best bargaining tool."

Livy doubted that. She hadn't even married the Plutarch yet. More likely he'd go collecting again and find someone else. He could afford to wait a year. He wasn't
that
old.

And now she knew why they'd saved her – or that she'd never been in danger from them, and why they'd brought her here safe from the Centurions – was because of her inherent
usefulness
, she was angry.

She'd had food and water, and she had a splitting headache, which she figured balanced out the gift of food and water, because it was the result of the explosion and the subsequent attack.

She started to say something to the rebel, to Arash, but he turned when someone called his name, striding over to talk with them and Livy seized the chance. She moved stealthily toward where she felt air coming into the cavern and where a light shined in. No one stopped her as she headed that way, until she passed Arash where he stood with the girl who had called his name.

"Where do you think you're going?" he asked Livy.

"Home." It sounded like an excellent plan. She wanted to check on her mother, her sister, her father, her brothers, and most especially on her –

No. Not on Grandfather. Not anymore.

Her eyes filled with tears, she snapped back at the rebel, "I'm going
home
."

She rounded the corner of the cavern then, following the light and fresh air, and from behind her she heard the rebel call, "Good luck! You're going to need it!"

Once she was out of his sight, she took off the heels, clutched them in both hands, and set off at a run. The entrance to the cave was full of such bright light, it almost looked artificial. She ran to it, determined to win her freedom from both sides of the battle. At the mouth of the cave, she squinted against the light, shading her eyes with her hands, and stepped out.

Before her stretched a vast desert, sand and heat and sunlight as far as she could see. The sun blazed down. The rocks, the very earth, was scorched.

The rebels had brought her here, kidnapped her from her very wedding.

And brought her to the Forbidden Zone.

Whatever happened now, whatever course she took, Livy stood on the brink of a very new world, staring into a wholly unknowable future.

Standing on the blazing plateau, Livy remembered her grandfather's words. Whatever choices she made, whatever direction she took, to her own self she would be true.