The Sowing (32 page)

Outside the night is chilly and crisp, but golden lights atop the buildings have already begun to glow, marking the solstice. At midnight, hundreds of thousands of candles will be lit outside of individual homes, illuminating the whole city as a tribute to the Blackout that set off the tailspin of destruction that almost wiped humans off the planet. That night, almost two hundred years ago, neighbors and small communities banded together to support each other and lit candles for light on a night of global darkness. We call it the “Blackout.” They called it the “Apocalypse.” Now, we memorialize it with candles, golden lights, and an enormous party.

I step into the chancellor’s official airship and follow my mother to the lounge. My heart catches in my throat as my father glances over and smiles at me. My palms are sweaty, and I’m sure my cheeks are flushed. My father either doesn’t notice or chooses not to mention it. Instead, he just clasps my arm and says, “Looking sharp, Vale.”

I give him a shaky smile in return and sit down across from him. He beckons my mother to sit next to him, and I try to keep my smile plastered on, even as it threatens to dissolve and run off my face like water.

Neither of them have mentioned my temporary removal from duty two nights ago, although I was reinstated as director of the Seed Bank Protection Project once Aulion was satisfied there was nothing linking me to Remy and Soren’s escape. Despite my few mishaps getting out of the OAC building and my suspicious exit of Sector HQ during a Code Red, no one has yet managed to connect me to the security breaches. Reluctantly, Aulion reported to my father that there was no evidence of my involvement. When my father first learned the two prisoners had escaped, he was enraged. I’ve never seen him so furious. He demanded I conduct a full investigation into their disappearance and that we dispatch soldiers and drones to every corner of the Sector to search for them. His rage was bearable. It’s my mother’s silence that eats at me. She hasn’t said a word on the subject since I heard her speaking to Chan-Yu. Aside from Jeremiah, only my mother and I know that Chan-Yu was supposed to kill Remy and Soren that night. Only we know how thorough his betrayal of the Sector was. And no one—yet—knows that I was complicit as well.

But that’s about to change.

I don’t have much time. It’s only a few kilometers from the chancellor’s estate to the Solstice Ball, and it will only take a few minutes for the airship to make the trip. I clear my throat nervously, and my father’s happy smile changes to one of mild concern.

“Are you okay, Vale? Your face is flushed,” he says, leaning forward to get a better look at me. “You don’t have a fever, do you? Hell of a night to get sick.” My mother instinctively reaches out to feel my forehead as if I were a toddler.

“No, I’m fine.” Some part of me wants to brush her hand away, but another wants to hold it, press it against my cheek one last time. The airship’s engines thrum beneath me, and a few seconds later we lift off. I close my eyes briefly, and Demeter whispers soothingly in my ear.

“You owe them this, Vale.” I nod, trying not to grimace. I wish I could have her by my side as Jeremiah and I make our own escape tonight, but her networking capabilities won’t work once we get outside the Sector. And since she’s just a tool to link to the OAC database, for all intents and purposes, she doesn’t exist without networking. I’m keeping the earpiece with me though, just in case. Maybe just for nostalgia’s sake.

“Mom,” I say, my eyes still closed, forcing the words bodily out of my chest. “I was the one who broke into OAC headquarters the other night.” I open my eyes. My parents are staring at me dully, as though without recognition. “I overheard your conversation with Chan-Yu.” I can’t bring myself to say the second part:
when you ordered him to kill Remy and Soren
. Suddenly my mother’s face is frozen, too still, too stony. “And … I know about Tai, too.” I think of the compass pressing against my chest, tucked into my jacket. “And Hawthorne.” I turn to look at my father. “Were you a part of all this, Dad?”

A vague, uncomfortable smile surfaces on his face briefly, and his eyes flit back and forth between me and my mother. “A part of what, son?”

“A part of the plan to kill—”

“Stop!” Her voice is low and hot, her body is tense, her hands wrapped so tightly around each other that her knuckles are bone white. Her face, normally so serene and beautiful, is knotted and afraid. But her next words come out in a whisper: “Don’t tell him.”

I gape at her. No words come to me. The smile has fallen off of my father’s face. He squeezes my mother’s knee a little too tightly, and his jaw clenches.

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m sorry, Mom,” I respond quietly, meeting her eyes. But I say no more, because nothing more has to be said. She knows. She knows what I’ve done and why. Sadness is scrawled across her pale face, her eyes are downcast, and tiny beads of sweat dot her lip. She sets her mouth in a firm, unhappy line and nods at me slightly. It’s an acknowledgment, maybe, that we’ve found ourselves on opposite sides of a bitter decision. But to her left, my father’s eyes are narrowed. They are a window to a brewing storm and for the first time in my life I recognize the steely, grey anger that makes people cower before him, that makes people afraid. He pulls his hand away from her knee as she squeezes her eyes shut, and tears sparkle beneath her lashes. She won’t look at him.
He doesn’t know.

My father leans back and casually stretches his arm out behind my mother’s shoulders. His voice is calm but with a harsh edge. “One of you is going to tell me exactly what you’re talking about.” The threat attached to that statement goes unspoken. But I’m not going to further incriminate my mother—she’s done that well enough herself.

Below us, the airship extends its landing gear, and I know the door will soon open. I summon up another smile from the depths and think
maybe this will save her
. “Dad, we can talk about it tomorrow, after the party. I’m sorry I brought it up.” The airship settles down, and I hear the engines shut off. “Forget it,” I say. “Let’s just have a good time.”

“Too late.” He stands, straightens his tie, holds his hand out for my mother, and with a twisted look on his face, says: “Everyone smile for the cameras.”

The door whooshes open, and I step down off the airship into the cool winter air and let the flashbulbs drown my senses. I pose, laughing, answering idiotic questions, as my mother steps out delicately from the ship and I offer my hand to her, the tears gone already, wiped away, replaced by the cool confidence she always shows the cameras. I kiss her on the cheek and everyone wants a recording, microphones are shoved into our faces, careless eyes and dull people, and it seems as though maybe sound has disappeared from the world and we are living in a vacuum. My mother speaks less than usual and her mask falters once or twice, her lips quiver, her eyelashes blink away liquid that shouldn’t be there, but then the chancellor steps out of his airship, and all eyes turn to him. My mother leans in and whispers in my ear, so quietly I almost don’t hear, “I’m sorry, Vale, but it had to be done.”

There is nothing to say to that. I turn and leave them behind. I stalk away from the cameras, the photographers, the politicians who are now swarming the dock waiting to greet the chancellor and the director general. I’m sure the photographers will be confused about my abrupt departure, but I don’t care. I turn away from it all and head into the party, looking for sympathetic faces, searching for people who don’t believe that murder is the only answer.

For the governors of the Okarian Sector, high-level researchers and administrators at the OAC, and the very, very wealthy citizens, the Solstice Celebration is held every year at a building called Kingsland. It’s an ancient building that managed to survive the Religious Wars and even the Famine Years, despite that it had already been over three centuries old on the day of the Blackout. In our history classes, we learn that Kingsland is actually where the Okarian Sector was properly born. The soldiers and the governors who fought for unity in the Sector and established an aggressive plan to colonize and develop farms in the surrounding areas held their meetings here. Eventually, it became the temporary home for the new government, but it was too small to last for long. Now, restored using modern and recovered technology, we use it for weddings, celebrations, inaugurations, and the like.

Inside, the ballroom is beautiful. Polished black-and-white marble floors are complemented by glowing chandeliers that appear to be floating. The dome is an enormous blue and green stained-glass window, and during the day the sunlight dances through it, shimmering in a way reminiscent of the sunlight playing off of the Great Sea to the east of us. The solemn austerity of the place is offset by thousands of colorful bouquets, all arranged with a bright sunflower in the center.

A waiter approaches with a plate of fresh oysters and scallops in tiny glasses, but I have no appetite tonight. I wave her away and scan the room looking for Jeremiah. I spot him off to one side of the dance floor, talking to Moriana. I’m just heading off in his direction when I’m cornered by a reporter waving his camera in his hands.

“Valerian! Could I get a photo?” He grins at me wildly, flashing two rows of absurdly perfect teeth. I give him a thin-lipped smile and turn towards him, knowing that I am already being watched. Any suspicious activity on my part will make it impossible for me and Jeremiah to get away. The light flashes several times, and then he leans around the side of it. “So, Vale, how do you like your directorship?” This must be one of those rogue photographers, some no-name working for a low-budget publication, trying to get gossip on the politics and celebrities of the Sector.

“It’s great. Really great.” I stare around the room, stretching up on my tiptoes, looking for someone to pull me away from this event.

“Any big plans for the future?”

Does getting away from you as fast possible count?

He ducks behind his camera again and the flash almost blinds me.

“Oh, yes, but I’m sorry, I can’t talk about it. It’s all classified information.” I head off to the left, but he’s back in my face in seconds.

“Do you feel like you’re living up to your parents’ expectations for you, Vale?”

“Meeting and exceeding,” I say breezily, trying to dodge past him. Suddenly, I get an unexpected blessing: To the right of the reporter, I spot Linnea Heilmann, dressed in a marvelous blue floor-length gown, watching us with a faint, almost hopeful smile on her lips. Thinking fast, I give a broad smile to the reporter.

“I’m so sorry, err—buddy—but I’ve just spotted my girlfriend. Would you like to get some photos of us together?” As the reporter’s mouth drops open, no doubt thinking of what price he could get for breaking the story that Valerian Orleán has a mysterious girlfriend, I push past him and boldly stride towards Linnea, smiling at her brightly. She looks just as surprised by my enthusiasm as the reporter, but hers shows only in slightly arched eyebrows and an upward curl of her lip. She stands stock-still, watching me as I approach, and half the guests I pass on my way turn to get a glimpse as well. I reach out to take Linnea’s hand and I bring it delicately to my lips, wondering what this will cost me. She accepts and smiles at me, wiping all traces of surprise from her face. After all, she must have known that I couldn’t hold out against her charms for too long. Indeed, how could I not? I’m sure she’s just wondering why it took me so long.

“Linnea, you are without a doubt the most beautiful woman in the Okarian Sector tonight,” I say, surprised to find that I mean those words sincerely. I rest my hand on the small of her back, and a quick glance around confirms there are at least a dozen onlookers. The flash on the reporter’s camera is going off over and over again. Linnea always was a media darling.

“Thank you, Vale,” she says, giving me a seductive smile. “You look quite dashing yourself.” I wonder how long it will take my mother to find out I’m “dating” Linnea, and if that will make her think I’ve somehow forgiven her for her crimes. Remembering Linnea’s connection to Corine helps remind me who I’m dealing with. Linnea’s hardly trustworthy in this game.

 “I’m sure everyone in here is looking forward to finally seeing us together,” I say, out of the corner of my mouth. I can’t quite keep the sarcasm out of my voice, and Linnea looks up at me sharply and her smile fades a little. She’s not an idiot. I feel bad using her as a distraction, but I’m committed to this ruse now, and she’s going to figure out what I’m up to sooner rather than later.

A few minutes later, Linnea and I have fended off several reporters, and I have steered her to the dance floor for our first “formal dance as a couple,” as she put it to one of the reporters. The chilly edge in her voice told me she knew something else was up. As the music begins and I lead her river of blond hair around the other couples, her piercing blue eyes slice my façade to pieces. She sighs enormously, and I almost laugh—she always did have a flair for the dramatic.

“Okay, as happy as I was when I thought you might actually want to spend the evening in my company, I can see now that you want something from me.”

Guilt resurfaces in my gut. Am I legitimately hurting her? Am I no better than my parents, manipulating people to suit my needs? I put my hand on her hip and try to conjure up a look of sincerity and concern. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Jeremiah and Moriana staring at us, obviously disturbed by this turn of events.

“I do want to spend the night in your company, Linnea. But bigger things are happening than you and me tonight.” Her eyebrows arch and her eyes widen. “I’m sorry if you think I’m using you, so I’m going to be completely frank. I need a favor.” Her face settles into a cold, judgmental stare.

“What makes you think I have any interest in helping you?”

“Maybe you don’t. But I can give you something in return.”

“It had better be worth my while.”

“It’ll more than compensate for the tragedy of letting Valerian Orleán slip through your fingers tonight,” I respond, maybe too harshly. I’m not happy about the possibility that, to her, I really am, as Moriana said,
just a few rungs from the top of the power ladder
, and Linnea is using me just as much as I’m using her. We are pawns in each other’s games. “You were asking about Elijah Tawfiq….”