Crowned (33 page)

“I suppose I’ll see you in the morning, then. Be careful.”

Too late. “Night, Dad.”

“Was he worried?” I turn to find Kelly standing behind me, holding two mugs of hot chocolate. She hands me one.

I nod and take a sip of the hot chocolate. “He’s always worried. Look, Kelly, I can’t even begin to thank you for what you did today.”

“It’s nice to do something that matters once in a while.” She smiles, and I feel like the biggest idiot in the world.

“I’m sorry.”

Her eyes widen. “For what?”

I take a deep breath. “All those years I hated you. I guess I was jealous, because you were beautiful and popular, and I was the weird chick no one would talk to.”

“I thought you liked being the weird chick no one would talk to.”

I shake my head slowly. “I think it was more of a defence mechanism.”

“Don’t worry, I hated you, too. You were always looking down on me. You made me feel stupid and shallow.”

“I thought you
were
stupid and shallow! Besides, you made me feel uncool and ugly.”

“I thought you
were
uncool and ugly,” she teases, then laughs. “No, I thought you were lucky. You have that whole natural beauty thing going on and I have to work so hard to look good all the time.” She takes a long sip of her chocolate. “Never mind – the past is past, right? Now I get to be friends with a telepath. That’s cool.”

I smile, but my heart isn’t in it. “Is it everything you imagined? Because there were no battered armies in my vision.”

“You made a mistake.” She shrugs. “I’ve made a million mistakes. One of them is in there, pretending not to see me when I walk into the kitchen.” She jerks her head in the direction of the house. “He’s still sexy, though.”

“Kelly!”

She laughs. “Relax, I’m over pretty boys. You know, Conz, you can’t let this get you down. You have to pick yourself up, put on some eyeliner and move on.”

“I don’t wear eyeliner.”

She gives me a disapproving look. “Now you know why your life is so tough.”

Despite the fact that I’m guilt-ridden and miserable, I laugh. “You’re a little bit cool, you know that?”

“Obviously.” She tosses her head and takes my arm, steering me back towards the action.

Chapter Thirteen

By two or three in the morning the soldiers are awake, fed and watered, and their wounds tended to. Painkillers have been administered to those who wanted them.

“I feel like a relief worker in a documentary, saving all the starving natives in Somalia or something,” says Lebz with a gleeful grin. I’m too grateful for her presence to point out how politically incorrect that statement is.

The ungifted who live in and around Gaborone are taken home by Ntatemogolo and a reluctant Rakwena. Some insist on finding their own way, and those who live out of town head to the station, where they’ll take the early buses. Mandla kindly offers to help with transport and some money. The rest of the drifters don’t even bother to come outside.

We give the soldiers all the money we have on us – which isn’t much. In the end Kelly goes to the ATM to withdraw some of her pocket money.

By the time the sun comes up the yard is empty, except for the pile of harmless copper rings near the veranda. Ntatemogolo has worked his magic on them – they won’t be enslaving anyone else. Maybe I’ll pawn them to pay back the money Mandla and Kelly contributed.

Rakwena hasn’t said a word to me. He could barely even look at me when I went into the house to ask him to help us take the soldiers home. I sit on the veranda, waiting for him to come back so I can find a way to make this right. I don’t care if his brothers never forgive me for putting Duma at risk, but I can’t bear having Rakwena angry with me.

Wiki took a taxi home hours ago. Only Kelly and Lebz remain, busying themselves in the kitchen making everyone breakfast. I get to my feet and go inside to help, but they shoo me away.

“You’ve been up as long I have,” I protest.

“Ja, but we’re superhuman,” says Lebz, flashing a grin over her shoulder.

She’s right. They’re both veterans in staying up all night, while I tend to doze off after ten p.m. I leave them to their own devices and venture into the living room. Only Temper is there, pacing the floor. He’s on the phone, but it seems the person on the other end is doing all the talking.

“Yes,” he says finally. “I understand.” He hangs up and looks at me. “Can I help you with something?”

Gulp. “I just wanted to check on Duma. Is he…”

“Awake? Not yet.” His expression softens slightly. “He’s weak, but he’ll be fine. He took quite a bit of energy from the guy who was carrying him. He’ll need another conquest soon though, to keep up his strength.” He turns towards the corridor.

“Um, Temper?”

He stops.

“I’m sorry about all this. I didn’t mean… I’d never… Just let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

He lingers a moment longer, then walks away. I exhale. That went well. I return to the kitchen.

Lebz looks up. “Are they still angry?”

“I think they’ll be angry for life. I’m surprised they haven’t called a tribunal.”

She lowers the fork she was using to beat eggs and turns to me. “This is my fault, isn’t it? Me and Wiki. All that stuff we said to you. That’s why you decided to use the army instead of releasing them.”

“You were just giving me advice. I’m the idiot who twisted it around.”

Lebz shrugs. “We should have known better than to get you worked up. But when we said take action, this wasn’t really what we meant.”

“I know.” Even if I hadn’t known, the Ultima warned me. I’m getting that gnawing feeling in my stomach again, so I excuse myself and return to the crisp outdoor air.

It’s chilly, but I don’t mind. The cold keeps me alert. I wish I had my bell with me. My head is crammed full of thoughts and emotions, laced with a generous dose of guilt. I hate feeling guilty. It’s like having slugs crawl up the inside of your stomach, leaving an acid trail.

The sky is bright blue-white and the city is wide awake. What day is it? Monday? Tuesday? I can’t remember. I feel like time is no longer relevant.

I look up at the sound of an approaching car. Mandla’s been back for a while, so it can only be Rakwena or Ntatemogolo. I stand still, waiting, trying to determine which car it is from the sounds it makes. It’s a smooth, powerful roar. Rakwena. My heart jumps into my throat, and for a second I look around for a place to hide, which is ridiculous. I have to face him.

The car door slams and I listen to his footsteps. After an eternity he appears around the corner of the house. He spots me and his brow creases, but he says nothing.

“Rakwena–”

“Not now.” His voice is flat, lifeless. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t look at me.

“But I–”

“I said not now.” He opens the door and disappears into the house.

I feel like my chest has been split open. There it is, the answer to that question that plagued me all the while he was away. If it came down to it, who would he choose? Even when he came back and I realised how worried the clan was about our relationship, I knew. He’d choose them. Of course he would.

I stumble back into the kitchen, fighting tears.
Eish
, I’ve become a real sap lately, turning on the waterworks at every opportunity. I don’t like this version of myself. She’s rather pathetic.

“Lebz, I need to borrow some money.”

She looks at me in surprise. She and Kelly have made a heap of egg sandwiches and what looks like a thousand cups of coffee, as well as a large flask of orange squash for Rakwena.

“Sorry,
choma
, I don’t have any left,” she tells me, with an apologetic grimace. “What do you need?”

I need to get out of here. I need to clear my head. “Never mind.”

“Here.” Kelly fishes in her purse, a cute clutch that has no place in the midst of this drama, and retrieves a crisp hundred-pula note. “I took a little extra from the ATM in case we needed more food, but it looks like we’re good.”

“Thanks. I’ll pay it back.” I’m going to owe her a couple of internal organs at this rate.

“Forget it,” she says.

“What’s going on?” Lebz’s eyes narrow. “Where are you going?”

“To get some answers.” I give her a reassuring smile. “After everyone’s eaten and Ntatemogolo’s back, please ask him to take you guys home. I’ll see you later.” I head towards the door, then stop and turn. “And thanks for everything. I’ll find a way to make it up to you.”

“But you haven’t had any food!”

“I’m not hungry. Oh – Duma might need a conquest. Nothing major – just holding his hand or something. If you’re up to it. You don’t have to.”

I leave quickly, making my way across the yard to the gate. I walk to the Main Mall, buy a drink to get some change, then walk to the bus rank and take a combi to the Game City shopping centre. The walking helps keep my mind focused, to a certain degree. One foot in front of the other. Don’t trip. Pay attention.

When I get to Game City I hop into a cab. I have no idea where I’m going until the driver asks, as we’re pulling out of the parking lot, where I’m headed.

“Kgale Siding,” I reply, surprising myself. The place where I first met the Puppetmaster, in another of his illusory houses. The place where it all began.

The driver tries to charge me pretty much all the money I have, but I beg and plead and haggle him down to twenty bucks. Well, I don’t haggle. I use my gift. I know I shouldn’t, but desperate times and all that. He drops me off just outside the Number One Ladies’ Opera House, leaves me his number so I can call when I’m ready to go, then drives off.

I walk all the way up to the very end of the street and stare out into the bush. The Puppetmaster’s first house used to stand a short distance ahead. I’ll never forget the way it vanished the minute Rakwena and I stepped out of it.

I don’t know what I’m searching for. A sign, maybe. A hand, reaching out to pull me up. I feel utterly lost, and this is the place I chose. What does that tell me? In my search for answers I came back to the place where I first met the man who runs my life.

I thought I could be a hero. I wanted to fight the bad guy and save the world like they do in the movies, and instead all I’ve managed to do is play right into his hands. I am his puppet. I am his princess, leading his army, unwittingly acting out every last scene of his crooked play. Every move I make works in his favour.

Poor Duma. I could have killed him with my arrogance. I could have killed many others.

I drop to my knees on the tar at the place where the road gives way to a wall of tangled branches. I feel the hot sting of tears moments before they spill over and pour down my face. I don’t know what to do. The road ahead is blocked by more than dead branches, obstacles too high for me to see over, hurdles I can’t cross. He’s won. The Puppetmaster is too smart for me. He set his plan in motion before I even existed, and to think I had a chance of defeating him was lunacy. Of course he’s won. The game was rigged from the start.

I don’t want to be the Definitive. I don’t want to carry all that responsibility on my shoulders. There’s nothing I can do to change the odds. At this moment I would give anything to destroy the Puppetmaster, but he’s always ten steps ahead. I might as well throw myself under a train.

I linger on that thought far longer than I should. My gift tries to draw me back to safer waters, but I have to follow that thread to its conclusion. The Puppetmaster’s plan hinges on two things – accumulated power and a successor to help him wield it. But what if there were no successor? What then? It would take him for ever to replace me. This machine that he has built is very specific – without me, he has no hope of using Rakwena or the Ultima at all. Without me, he will fail.

You don’t want to die.

Of course I don’t want to die. But what if that’s the only way? What if…

Footsteps. I jump to my feet and turn around, expecting an attack, but it’s just Rakwena. Rakwena! My heart soars.

“I had a feeling you’d come here,” he says.

I swallow hard and force myself to turn away. “I wanted to be alone.”

“You’re not alone. Not as long as I’m breathing.” His arms slip around me, taking me by surprise. “I’m sorry for the way I acted. I was upset. I didn’t mean to take it out on you.”

I’m ecstatic at his words, then ashamed of my joy. “You
should
take it out on me. I screwed up.”

“Ja, you did.” His hands move to my shoulders and he turns me around to face him. “But Duma’s awake, and he’s not angry with you at all. He’s angry with the rest of us.” He shakes his head. “Can you believe that?”

I try to smile, but instead the tears come again. “I never meant for it to turn out like this. I would never have done it if I knew…”

“I know.” He draws me to him.

I close my eyes and sink into him, soaking up his power, letting relief mingle with the tingle. “I feel like I don’t know who I am any more.”

“That’s what he wants.” His voice is calm and soothing. “He wants to shake you, to make you believe you’re under his thumb, but you’re not. You’re your own person. You always have been.”

I raise my head to look at him. “How can you say that? The man’s been pulling my strings all my life! He’s the reason we got together!”

His expression darkens, and I spot that familiar twitch in his jaw. “You can’t really believe that.”

“What am I supposed to believe? He engineered everything! You meeting my grandfather, the serum…”

“Maybe. But I’ve been off the serum for months and our connection has only grown stronger.”

“That’s probably part of his plan, too.”

Rakwena heaves an exasperated sigh and releases me. “Think about what you’re saying. There was no way the Puppetmaster could have known that you would respond to my gift the way you do. He might have hoped we would meet and become friends, but everything else was dumb luck. I didn’t fall for you because you can absorb my energy. I fell for you because you’re crazy and brave, and you give off the kind of power that makes people nervous – and I’m not even talking about your gift. I’m talking about that strength that allows you to be OK on your own. You have a certainty about you.”