Blood Crown (22 page)

We exit the transport and I follow Archibald into the royal apartment. I drag my feet, my mind filled with memories both distant and near. Archibald gently takes my elbow and leads me in the opposite direction of my rooms.

“I wish there was time to get you clean, M’Lady, but I fear we don’t have long now.”

“It’s okay. I’m used to being dirty.”

Archibald slips his hand off my elbow and pushes open a door. As I step over the threshold, I realize I know this room. “My parents’ room,” I breathe. “I remember I used to hide in here.”

“Yes and you were always punished for it, too.”

I catch his eye, momentarily surprised by this memory that I don’t have—and see the gleam of humor there. He chuckles then, and casually, cautiously, I join him.

“One time, when you were about seven years old, you stuffed yourself into a pillowcase and hid in plain view. It took me a great deal of time to find you. And when I did—”

“You laid down on the bed and put your head on me!” I am smiling now, using muscles in my face I never knew existed.

“Your father came in and he was not pleased to discover me lying on his bed.
Servant
.” Archibald replays Father’s voice exactly as I remember it. “
What are you doing on my bed? The disobedience! The outrage!
”

I don’t remember Father saying that, but I still laugh.

Archibald places his hands on my cheeks. “Oh how I love your laughter—then and now.” He pulls me into his arms again and I wish he would never, ever, let me go.

While I find suitable clothes for Serantha to wear, I feel as though I am living two lives simultaneously—every action, every word has the ghost of our past shadowing it. Every, “This will suit you,” becomes, “How about this one?” when I tried to dress her as a child. Even her responses, such as, “But I’ve never worn pants before,” becomes, “But I want the pink one” from before.

So much has changed—
she
has changed. And yet I find so much is the same.

Finished, she stands before me in one of her mother’s exercise ensembles, plucking at the lightweight, breathable fabric as if it is strangling her.

“I feel strange,” she announces, and I can only chuckle—the way she stands, like the clothing is a creature she is afraid to anger, makes normal clothing appear abnormal.

“Come,” I say, for we haven’t much time.

I sit in one of two deeply cushioned chairs in an alcove of the room and indicate Serantha should take the other. She makes her way stiffly and sits across from me. It strikes me then just how much she is like her mother. Serantha must sense my reverie for she drops her eyes and smiles slightly while a little color blossoms on her cheeks.

“There is much you must know,” I say. I try to let my expression convey my tender feelings because there is no more time to coddle her. She is the Queen now, ruler of the Empire of the West. Her enemy surrounds her and she knows nothing of it.

“There isn’t time for conversation—will you permit me?” I reach for her hand and after a moment’s hesitation she places her hand in mine. “First, I must discover what you know.”

Her eyes are open, but I close mine. Her childhood memories and Gifts have been restored, but even her abilities remain largely those of a child. She knows the protocols of society—how to dress and act, how to behave in polite company.

From her years on the support level, I discover she has fostered the strength and healing that are present in her DNA—the result of a thousand years of Gifts passed down from Servant to parent to child.

On her own, she has developed an interface with the ship that has never been seen before. I discern that should she apply herself, she could likely develop that talent into something much more than it is now.

I skim over her time on the support level—in part because it is too painful for both of us, but mainly because what she learned there was survival and not much else. Next I come to Nicolai and Sera squirms and tries to withdraw her hand. I open my eyes and find her watching me. She wears an expression of stubborn defiance. It is so much like her child-self that I chuckle and she glares at me.

“You don’t want to know that,” she says.

“But I do, Your Majesty.” I push the humor away so she can know how very serious I am. “What transpired between the two of you may determine the fate of the human race—it is of the utmost importance.”

I close my eyes again but I am certain I feel her glare burning holes into my face while I search her symbiants for her Exchange with Nicolai.

I recognize him right away—he is still as serious as he was as a young boy, though I wonder at the anger in his eyes. It amuses me to discover that Sera knew who he was almost from the beginning though he continued to deny it. From what he told her, I am unable to reconcile why he kept his identity a secret—especially when they kissed and the Blood Crown manifested.

Giving Serantha’s hand a squeeze, I release it with a sigh. “I am sorry, M’Lady.” Sorry for how Nicolai treated her, sorry for Gart, for not being here, for not Gifting her—sorry for everything.

Though I feel as though I don’t deserve it, she lets her anger fall away and offers me a warm smile. “It’s okay. Really.”

I know it isn’t, but there isn’t time to indulge our emotions.

I lean forward on my elbows, letting my hands hang loose between my knees. I want to touch her, to feel that added connection, but I can sense she needs a moment to herself. My symbiants have given me some idea of what nine years of no kindly human touch did to her.

“Twice a year, on your birthday and your half-birthday, you would receive Gifts—do you remember that?”

She hesitates before nodding her head slightly.

“The Gifts would have continued until your nineteenth birthday at which point you would have reached adulthood and would have the choice to retain me as your advisor or decommission me. But that’s neither here nor there. What is important is that I feel it is vital that you receive all the Gifts prepared for you. I believe you will need them—all of them—in order to defeat the Mind and Bond with Nicolai.

She jerks backward at the mention of Nicolai, but I ignore her. I don’t know why Nicolai did what he did, but without their combined DNA, mankind is doomed.

“I must give you the remaining Gifts but they have never been delivered en masse like this. I imagine it will be painful, but I believe you are capable of receiving them. The choice, however, is yours.”

Serantha doesn’t hesitate, but grabs both my hands in hers. “Do it.”

At some point soldier droids come for me and yank me to my feet. They take me to a white, sterile room where I am strapped to a cold steel table.

“What is this?” I demand—but I receive no answer. The soldiers leave the room and after some time the lights flicker off. I scream and yell and thrash against the restraints but nothing happens and no one comes.

When the lights do eventually come back on, all searing, painful brightness, a medical droid approaches. “Hello Nicolai, I am Dr. Maxwell. I will be performing your procedure today.” He moves out of my peripheral vision and I hear the clank of tools being placed on a steel.

I try to wiggle my limbs but the straps are merciless and all I feel are pins and needles. “Procedure? I don’t recall scheduling any procedure.”

The droid created to provide a familiar human experience, chuckles at my joke. “No, no, of course not. Nevertheless, it must be done.” He returns to my side and smiles amicably.

“Now. I am going to inject these nanos,” he holds up a syringe filled with a golden, viscous fluid, “into your corpus callosum.” He presses his index finger to my forehead, between my eyes. “These nanos will bond with yours in your prefrontal cortex and tell me everything I need to know.”

“Wait. What do you need to know?” My heartbeat accelerates and I strain against the restraints. I give everything I have to wake my nanos but they remain unresponsive. I think of Serantha and wonder if I know anything that could be a betrayal of her—but there is nothing. And with her dead . . .

I realize what information they seek just as the droid presses the needle beneath my skin.

“Why, the rebellion, Your Highness. You’re going to tell us everything we need to know.”

He presses on the plunger and I am lost to screaming pain.

Archibald releases my hand and stands. I move to join him, but he gestures for me to remain sitting. “Sit back in your chair,” he directs. “Lean all the way back and close your eyes.”

I do as he says, but when he presses his fingertip to the spot between my eyes it startles me and I open them wide. He offers me a gentle smile.

“I am sorry, Sera. This will hurt, but I will try my best to be as quick and gentle as I can.”

To let him know I am not afraid, I close my eyes again. Archibald applies more pressure and I feel heat build beneath his touch. And then I feel the pain.

Too many messages swarm through my senses. Lights, voices, sensations, data . . . all of it and more clamor for my attention. With each passing moment it grows in intensity until I throw myself onto the floor, my hands wrapped around my head, my forehead pressed to the carpet.

“Serantha.” Archibald kneels beside me. “Ah,” he says, like he’s just discovered I have a scrape on my knee.

“Make it stop!” I gasp between ragged breaths.

He places his cool hands on both of mine and takes a deep breath—as he does, the pain eases back ever so slightly. “Just breathe,” he soothes. “Pick one thing, just one thing you want to know.”

My mind whirls like a tornado.

“Do you have one thing?”

My breath comes in short bursts as I try to focus my thoughts. In the end I let my mind run to the one constant I counted on to survive all these years—the ship. With effort I am able to push out all other thoughts and feelings until it is only the ship’s voice I hear—and then I jerk upward so quickly Archibald falls back onto his rear.