Veracity (The Seven Cities Book 1) (13 page)

GRAYSON

Travis storms into my room, upset over my antics in the garden. Silent and fuming, he paces the length of the room, indecision playing across his face. Knowing my brother, it will be several more minutes before he is composed enough to speak. What I wouldn't give for that much self-discipline.

I have always been fascinated with Travis when he is angry. When I am upset, it is furious and destructive, but his is rarely more than irritation, and so fused with concern he can't fully express his feelings.

Travis finally settles, taking a seat near the window.

"You watch her too closely," he says, shaking his head. "I can't tell if she is scared or enthralled, but either way it sets us up for failure."

Travis' voice is rough and tired. How many times have we had this conversation? How many times will we have it in the future? He is just as weary of my heartache as I am.

"Why can't you just let this go?" he asks. "Why can't you just forget her? If it were up to me things would be different, but it isn't. This arrangement is about loyalty, it is not designed to hurt you. Can't you just be satisfied to be loyal to your city and your father? Can't you find happiness with someone else?"

"Do you love her?" I ask.

"I am positive I could," he replies offhandedly. "She is a lovely girl and marrying her is what is best for our family. Look, you know me. I have never been one for marriage, but if it is what father wants . . . "

"You
could
love her?" I scoff. "You have no idea what love is. I died for her every day she was gone, I was reborn when I found her, and I was ripped apart by my own father's hand when she was promised to you. I have perished a little more every night since this decision was made."

Travis walks over and embraces me. I stiffen at first, but relax into the comfort he offers. He has always had a talent for making people feel better. For making me feel better. He is a good man, one of the few genuinely good men in this world. I hate what is happening with every ounce of my soul, but if it had to be someone else, I suppose I am thankful it's him.

"I need her, Travis. I think of her every moment I can't see her, and when I can, I am in a constant battle of will with my own body. My feet long to walk to her, my arms to wrap around her, my hands to brush her hair from her face. I love her, and she loved me. How can you marry her knowing she loved me first?"

"But was it really love?" he asks. "People can be fond of each other and attracted to each other without loving them. Father is the perfect example. He doesn't love Amber, but obviously he is fond enough of her to give us a younger sibling."

"Father and Amber are a terrible example of any form of relationship. Kat and I have been drawn to each other since we were children."

"Drawn to each other, yes," he says slowly, "But love? Did you ever tell her you loved her? Did she tell you?"

"We didn't have to say it," I grumble. "It was there, and it still is."

My brother stands before me, his concerned face open and vulnerable. His anger toward me is long gone and only the gentle affection he is known for remains.

"If you are right, she will hate us all if she realizes what we have taken from her," he says shaking his head. "But I have to do as my General commands, and so do you."

"We are fools," I say. "Everyone of us." 

I am dreaming of the beginning. At first, I am adrift in a vast nothing, just a slight awareness in the dark. A moment later, I'm blinking back the fog to find myself sitting in a grassy clearing, surrounded by a thick forest.

The sun is rising behind the trees, and I watch the rays of light as they slip over and under the leaves, casting shadows in the early hour. With no motivation to move, I pass the time watching ants as they march in front of me; on and on in an endless line, off to some unseen location. They ignore me as I watch, having no fear of the giant sitting next to them. I'm just another mountain, just another piece of the world too big to concern them.

I don't hear him when he enters the clearing. Just like my existence, he is absent one moment and here the next. He reaches for me and I take his hand without hesitation, letting him pull me to my feet. He wraps his strong arms around me, and I hug him back; his body warm and comforting next to mine.

"Do I know you?" I ask.

"I'm Jack," he says sweetly, "and you are Katherine."

"Why am I here, Jack?"

"To be with me."

"Why are you here?"

"To be with you."

"Oh, okay," I say, satisfied with his answer.

"How are you?" he asks, concerned.

"I'm sleepy and a little light headed."

"That's normal. Your old life ended and you were made new. It can be a little disorienting at first."

"Am I dead?"

"No," he laughs. "You will find that for the very first time, you are alive."

This dream, our first meeting, occurs more often than the others.  Maybe my brain wants me to see something, to figure out some small detail I have missed so far. The only thing I know for sure is that something must have been done differently with my first drugging compared to my second. The first time, at least in my dream, I am too accepting. When I woke up the second time, I knew right away something was wrong. In my eyes, this is more evidence to prove that Jack did not drug me after my parents were killed. Whoever did, knew exactly what they were doing.

After my morning routine, I am standing in front of the mirror in my sitting room when Travis walks in. Appearing behind me, he is all smiles as he drapes a delicate gold chain around my neck. I have to admit that we make quite the picture. A perfect study in contrast, my dark hair and eyes play against his sunny blonde and crystal blue.

Keeping eye contact through the glass, he wraps his arm around my waist, pulling me close to him. I blush at the sudden intimate moment; the first that has ever passed between us.

"We look good together," he says.

"I was just thinking the same thing."

"Great minds think alike," he laughs, giving my cheek a soft kiss.

I watch him through the mirror as he adjusts the fine necklace against my skin. My mind flashes back to when a different man stood behind me in the mirror. How his dark eyes burned as he caressed my unmarked shoulder. Snapping back to reality, my eyes fly to Travis. Oblivious, he still stands behind me, working a strand of hair out the necklace's clasp. He doesn't seem to have noticed I drifted away.

"Thank you for the necklace," I say, my voice surprisingly breathy. "It's stunning."

"You are most welcome my dear," he grins, the intimacy between us gone in a flash, replaced by the familiarity of friendship. "I have been told I have impeccable taste, and as my wife you should expect all sorts of pretty things."

"Impeccable taste, huh?" I tease, "I admit the necklace is beautiful, but I also recall seeing you wearing a rather questionable outfit a few days ago."

"Questionable?" he asks, confused.

"Outside my window," I laugh. "It was quite the odd getup."

"You saw that, huh?" he grins.

"It was hard not to notice when you were working right under my balcony."

"Yes, well . . ." he says, slightly embarrassed. "Typically I am not much of a outdoorsman, but my father is wanting to extend the garden to this side of the Big House. He feels it has been neglected. I felt that under your balcony was the perfect place to start, even if I was wearing a tattered old pair of overalls."

"Your father seems to have a way with inspiring people to do things they normally wouldn't," I say.

"I would do anything to please him," Travis says, a serious tone lurking under his levity. "My loyalty is to my General and I pride myself on that. My father is a good man a heart, and he only does what he feels is best for our city."

The mood slightly more somber than before, he holds out his arm to escort me out of my suite. Unmarried women are not allowed to roam about unattended and I have gotten used to my golden knight walking me through the halls. I don't remember having anything planned for the day, but I am grateful to be rescued from the quiet of my suite.

We are discussing the merits of roses versus mums, when I realize we have walked to a part of the house I have never seen before. I mentally kick myself for not paying better attention. I so rarely get to explore the Big House, and I hate missing anything when I get the chance.

"It's time for your first visit to the head scanner," Travis says. "I know you have been scanned several times already, but these are the only scans that are saved into the historical records."

"Oh," I say, nervously. "I didn't realize that was today."

We have walked into what appears to be the business portion of the Big House; an entire wing dedicated to the men and women who spend their lives pushing papers and balancing budgets. It's beautiful, designed and decorated to impress. Elegantly papered walls and heavy wooden furniture create an air of sophistication. Large windows line the walls, allowing the busy workers glimpses of the outside world.

I feel tiny as we walk through the cavernous main hall toward the rows of offices in back. Glancing inside doors as we pass, I spy a grand auditorium, formal looking dining room, and a rather impressive library. I suppose it is harder to become disgruntled in a lovely environment. I'm reminded of Ruth and her claims that the General is keeping us dumb and happy. Would it take longer to realize you are imprisoned if the cage is beautiful?

The offices are a mass of hectic organization. Women shuffle papers and use typewriters, filling the air with the click clack of hard work and determination. I marvel at the speed their fingers as they move over the intricate metal keys, filling the crisp paper with lines of black ink. I can't remember seeing any working machine before, save for the scanners, and I am in awe of the efficient relics of the old world. Not one of the typists look up as we walk by, but a frazzled looking woman in her mid-thirties hurries over to us.

The frizzy haired office manager gives us a curt, but friendly hello before showing the way to the head scanner's office. She may have been neatly dressed when she arrived this morning, but now her gown is wrinkled and her hair has escaped her tidy braid, creating an auburn halo around her face. She tucks and pulls on it as she walks, trying without success to put it back into its proper place.

We reach the scanner's office, and Travis pulls me inside when my feet turn to cement at the door. I know that for most residents, frequent scanning is just a part of life, but for me, it is still scary. The room does nothing to alleviate my fears either. Stark and empty, except for a small wooden table and a few chairs, it looks uncomfortable and intimidating. The room also lacks windows, and while the many candles provide light, they also warm the room to a miserable degree. Taking a seat on one of the hard, rigid chairs, I sigh with relief when Travis sits beside me. He takes my hand, squeezing it gently in support. I am so glad that he is here for this.

The head scanner walks in with a grimace and an air of superiority. He is younger than I would have expected, maybe 20 or so. Short but well built, he has a hard, unfriendly face.  Unceremoniously sitting in the chair across from me, and without introducing himself, he holds out his arm, waiting for me to respond. I slowly lift my arm up, wrapping my fingers around his forearm to allow my wrist to press against the device on his.

"You have been scanned before?" he asks.

"Yes."

"It looks like this is your first "official" scan since being back, though," he says looking through a file. "You are aware that lying while being scanned is punishable by death?"

"No! I most certainly was not aware. That seems very . . ."

"Harsh?"

"Absolutely!"

"The rules were set long ago," he says absently. "We are meant to enforce them, not question them. So, you are now aware of the punishment for lying?"

"Yes," I say, shaking with fear, suddenly aware of the power the scanner yields.

"Your name?"

"Katherine Winters."

"Your age?"

"18."

"Are you a rebel or work with a rebel organization in any way?"

"No."

"Do you have memories from before you were kidnaped?"

"No. I may have had nightmares of my parent's death, but nothing is ever clear the next morning."

"Do you have memories from when you were gone?"

"No. Well, maybe. I have been dreaming about then as well, but I don't know if they are truly just dreams or memories."

The man writes something down on a pad of paper, and Travis is staring at me with a curious expression.

"What have you dreamt of?" the scanner asks.

"Waking up in the woods, running from soldiers, finding a cabin to live in, and two men arguing over me."

"What were they arguing about?" he asks.

"About taking me away from where I was staying, and away from the man who I was with."

"Did you recognize either of the men?"

"The man who drugged me was one of them. I don't know who the other one was."

"Did he say where he wanted to take you?"

"No, but the one who drugged me didn't like the idea and said I would die there. That it was too dangerous."

"Would you recognize the man he was talking to if you saw him?"

"I don't think so. He was in a uniform but other than that, no."

"Would you recognize the man who drugged you?"

"Yes."

"What are your plans for the future?"

"I am not sure," I say, put on the spot. "I know I am supposed to marry Travis."

"Anything else?"

"Maybe have some kids eventually? I am really not sure what the future holds for me, I suppose whatever Travis and the General wish."

The Scanner and Travis both seem happy with my answer, but I am not, even though it was obviously the truth. Am I so passive? I hadn't realized just how little value I put in my future until this moment.

"Have you lied, stolen, or hurt anyone since your last scan?"

"No."

"Have you been indecent in your actions or words?"

"No."

"Have you willfully broken any laws set forth by our city founders and enforced by the General and his soldiers?"

"No."

"That concludes your scan, you are free to go," he says grabbing his notes before making a hasty exit.

"That makes me so nervous," I say, rubbing my wrist.

"It shouldn't. Unless, of course, you have something to hide," Travis says winking at me.