Forbidden (18 page)

“
Find the boy
,” Feyn repeated softly, to herself. “The keeper said that.”

“To you?”

“Yes. He was reciting the vellum.”

Rom’s heart beat like a cudgel in his chest. “That’s it? There’s no more?”

Feyn focused on the vellum. “Only one line, four months later.”

“What?” Rom said. “What does it say?”

She stopped, visibly faltered, and a moment later read:

C
haos gripped
the Senate Hall, threatening to pull Order into the abyss once again.

Saric stood, reeling. Feyn was missing. Feyn, who was to be central to everything.

For several minutes, no one seemed to know what to do. Even the guard on duty were looking around for direction.

Rowan’s gavel came down with a crash, again and again.

“Order! We
will
have Order! This news is not confirmed. I’ve heard no reports of this.”

But that changed when the captain of the Citadel Guard himself burst in through a side door, motioned Rowan over, and spoke urgently into his ear. The senate leader questioned him and hurried back to the podium.

They came to order without encouragement this time, to a man and woman.

“My friends, last night as we slept, an imposter entered the Citadel and kidnapped our lady, Feyn Cerelia, from her bedroom. It seems we are without a Sovereign, present or to come.”

There was no outcry, no more argument. Only dreadful silence.

And outrage, at least on Saric’s part.

“In light of this,” Rowan said, “we must now acknowledge the wisdom of the new law proposed by Saric. We must move now. The world cannot be left without a leader.”

On the floor, Senator Dio lifted his hand. Saric stood off to Rowan’s side, mouth dry. He had to find Corban.

“This senator would speak.”

“Speak, Senator Dio.”

“I move that we amend the law as proposed.”

Murmurs now issued throughout the chamber, floating up to roost in the ceiling’s high vaults.

He heard the motion’s second as though from a distance.

The gavel. “And so will read the law.” Rowan’s voice rang out in the senate. “
Should a Sovereign die before the tenure is fulfilled, the former Sovereign will step into office once more. It is hereby agreed and ratified to be signed into law by the new Sovereign as his first act of office.

“My lord,” Rowan said, near his shoulder, startling him. “Your request is fulfilled. Please come stand at the edge of the dais.” He held in his hand a Book of Orders.

Saric moved woodenly to the edge of the dais. He held up his hand to the assembled senate. It was the posture of blessing the masses. His other came to rest on the book in Rowan’s hand.

“I, Saric, son of Vorrin,” Rowan said.

Saric repeated the words, but all the while he felt ill.

What if she was dead? Or died in the days to come? This was the work of the keepers, carrying on beyond the grave, using as their instrument this Rom Sebastian.

“…will carry out the office of Sovereign to the best of my abilities, to uphold Order with my life…”

“…to uphold Order with my life…”

It was to be the pinnacle of his life.

But all he could think about was Feyn.

“…under the Maker. Maker, help and bless me, and bring Bliss to the world.”

“…under the Maker. Maker, help and bless me…”

“And bring Bliss to the world.”

“And bring Bliss to the world.”

The senators, all of them standing for the oath, began to kneel. Beside him on the dais, Rowan went to one knee.

“Sire,” Rowan said when Saric gazed at him, “you are now Sovereign of the world.”

Inside Vorrin’s chambers—no,
his
chambers, now emptied of Vorrin’s body—Saric stormed toward the windows. He stared out.

“I want to be alone.”

“Sire,” Rowan said. “If you require—”

“I don’t. And if I do, I’ll call for you.” It occurred to him that Rowan was his senate leader now; Saric might depose him with a word. It was a fact he might have liked to savor. But now that was lost.

Rowan turned for the door, but before he had pulled it open, Saric said, “Please ask Camille to send for Corban the alchemist immediately.”

When the taller man had gone, Saric stood in his father’s apartments, staring out at the maze of the Citadel with her walkways and her rock gardens, her ancient palaces and museums and her modern administrative buildings, much as he had seen his father do on so many occasions.

One of the heavy bronze doors opened behind him. Saric turned to see Corban walk sedately into the chamber and, almost as an afterthought, drop to one knee.

“Get up. Feyn’s missing.”

“I’ve heard,” the alchemist said, rising.

“Do you realize what this means?” Saric lowered his chin and leveled a gaze at the alchemist. Corban never changed. He never aged. Though he had no emotion, he seemed to have other uncanny gifts.

“The law is passed?” Corban asked.

“Of course it’s passed. But it’s now worthless!”

“How can you say that?” Corban asked. “Feyn will succeed you in three days, and the office will pass to the previous Sovereign, you, when she dies.”

“What if she’s already dead, now, before she’s seated?”

“Then rule will pass to the next eligible candidate upon the inauguration. And you will kill them once they are seated.”

True. Then he would have his throne either way. And yet, it rankled.

“The outlaw, this artisan. He’s the one who took her. It has to be.”

“Rom Sebastian.”

“Yes.” Rage clouded Saric’s mind. “But why? What would he gain by kidnapping her?”

“Clearly, leverage. He may have just become the most powerful person in the world. It’s not so foolish.”

“You will find him and my sister. You’ll assure me that she is alive. But you will kill him, and this time you will not fail. I want to see my
beloved
sister safe. I want, as her devoted brother, to see her come to power. It is my duty. I will not be defied. Do you understand?”

The bronze door opened. Both men’s heads turned.

“Does no one beg entrance? I won’t have people coming in and out of here at will!”

Camille stood white-faced, having never fully recovered from this morning.

“Forgive me, sire. There is a woman here demanding to speak to you.”

“Of course,” he said drily. “The whole world would demand to speak to its Sovereign.”

“She insists that you’d harm me if you knew she’d departed without audience.”

“Send her away.”

“She says to tell you that she’s brought you information about the keepers.”

Saric stilled.

Interesting.

Corban, standing between Saric and Camille, tensed.

“Who is she?” he said.

“She came in with one of the apprentice guards. She says her name is Avra.”

F
or nearly
an hour they had paced the knoll—Rom, raking at his hair as he speculated how this information might change the world, Feyn lifting the swath of fabric on which she’d translated the vellum, scanning it again and again.

“
The first viable means to reprogram that DNA by means of a retrovirus
. He claims that the limbic system is the seat of humanity, but he must be speaking metaphorically. Surely.”

“Reread that part about the virus,” Rom said.

“
H
umanity is dying. The fact is clear to me: Though blood flows through their veins, those infected by Legion are no longer human but a fear-filled race of dead.
” Feyn set the translation to her side. “I still can’t fully grasp it.”

“But we aren’t dead,” Rom said, “you and I.”

“And when we were, did we have any clue we were?”

“Can a dead person know they’re dead? I don’t think so.” He shook his head. “But I know one thing: Everything I’ve been told about the blood so far has turned out to be true.”

He watched Feyn as she gazed skyward, then closed her eyes. Standing there like that in her skirt with its tattered hem, she might be a peasant, a nomadic urchin basking in the country air. She inhaled deeply. Her ribs expanded against the bodice of the dress as though to draw as much life into her lungs as she could.

She opened her eyes and leveled her gaze at him. “But you and I are alive now in ways the rest of the world is not.”

Feyn came to him then and took his hands. “I’m so grateful.”

She laid a kiss against his knuckles. He thought she would laugh, but she didn’t. Perhaps it was the mind-bending significance of the keeper’s account, but she was already less giddy than before. A hint of the ordered ice that had held her eyes so steady before she’d ingested the blood laced them again, he thought. Or was it only his imagination, fearing the consequence of her not drinking a full portion?

“This vellum…it can never come into the hands of the public,” she said, letting go of his fingers. “Not yet. Not now. We have to protect it and keep it.” Her voice trailed off, as though interrupted by another thought. He could almost see the play of ideas across her face, the thought captured in the glance of her eyes. Something was there, niggling at her, bothering her.

“Feyn…”

“We’ll find a way to solve this riddle—all of it.” Again, the look of distraction, and then she seemed to shake off the thought, as though by sheer act of will. She reached for him, slid her hands around his neck. “Remember I said I wanted to tell you something?”

“Yes?”

“Come to my estate with me. Stay with me until my inauguration. We’ll rest, we’ll talk, and we’ll eat. I want to eat with you.” She laughed then. “Come back and I’ll send for instruments. You can make your music. Lie down with me and get up with me, and when the day of my inauguration comes, ride into the city with me. I want you at my side. Sovereigns don’t marry, but I could change that. My father has seven concubines he’s kept by him for thirty years. He might as well be married. I’ll be the world’s Sovereign, and we will be each other’s.”

She tilted her head. The sun was in her face and playing through the nearly blue highlights of her hair. Tiny virgin creases marked the corners of her eyes, and he realized that today had been the first time that genuine expression had reached them.

He opened his mouth to speak, but she laid her finger against his lips.

“Don’t say it. You’re right, I have to return. We’ll bring your friends to the Citadel. We’ll release the old keeper. But most important, Rom, we’ll be together. Because this is what I wanted to tell you. I love you. I
feel
it. In all its chaotic glory, in all its scandal, against everything I’ve ever stood for. I love you.”

She held his gaze, refusing to let him escape.

“Do you hear me? I love you, Rom Sebastian. And whatever this is—this old vellum, this account and secret knowledge, we’ll get to the bottom of it. Together. And my reign will be a reign of love. We’ll bring truth, beauty, and love to the world!”

Tears welled in his eyes. He wasn’t sure if they were summoned by the thought of bruising the joy in her voice, or by the thought of a reign of love that might come at her hands. The world needed Feyn. Her. And in that way he needed her, too.

In a world without Avra he would lift Feyn onto her stallion right now so they could begin that very journey together. But that was not this world.

“Aren’t you in love?” Feyn smiled, but her eyes were filling with confusion. “I can’t imagine life without you. Not now. I’ll never forget this day. I will never forget waking to the sight of you, the cast of your eyes. I’ve never seen anything so beautiful. Ever! We will—we must—find a way to bring this to the world. Don’t you see? This is what I want every woman and man to feel under my rule.”

“Yes. I’m in love,” he said quietly, lifting his gaze.

The first flush of her smile vanished.

“Then let’s go. Rom, please. I’m asking you.” She leaned closer to kiss him, but he brought his fingers to her chin and stopped her.

“Feyn, listen to me…”

“What is it?”

“I
am
in love. But with someone else.”

The illumination in her eyes faded.

“What do you mean? With who?”

“Her name is Avra.”

Even saying her name sparked warmth—and worry—in him.

“Her name is Avra and she’s as much a nobody in your world as I was yesterday. I’ve known her my whole life, and I think a part of me was always waiting to love her—”

“Avra?” She pushed back from him, spun away. Her hands went to her head. “There’s nothing left, no love for me?” She turned back. “This Avra was with you when you came through the pain and the sickness of your change?”

“Yes, but—”

“Then maybe it’s only a matter of who’s present when it happens. Maybe—who’s to say that if I had been with you, you wouldn’t be declaring your love right now for me? How do you know you don’t, or can’t, love us both? Surely you can love more than one person.”

“I…I don’t know…I…” Hades, was it possible?

“What is this to us?” Feyn grabbed his hand and kissed his fingers again. “You’ll bring her. And I will love her. This is no obstacle to the Brahmin. It will be perfectly acceptable.”

“Feyn. I don’t know if she…” His voice trailed. “Avra isn’t Brahmin. Neither am I.”

“You’re an artisan. Don’t you know what your name means, Rom?”

“No.”

“It means ‘highness,’ and at any rate, you may not be Brahmin, but I am. I’ll be Sovereign. I’ll make it happen. We’ll be together.”

Her mention triggered another thought. The account on the vellum had said that the effect of the blood wasn’t permanent, even in its full portion. How long did they have to even know the meaning of love, let alone to chase its far reaches? Months? Days?

“For all we know our ability to love is fleeting,” he said. “What if it’s gone in a week? Or a month? The vellum said it would be temporary.”

“Then…we would love out of loyalty, from fear and duty, as we do now.”

“That isn’t love. That was never love. Love requires emotion, not simply duty or a contract practiced by dead people. I know that now. It’s a living thing. Supported by loyalty, but without emotion it’s empty! As dead as we were…and will be again.” He felt something inside him recoil at the very thought.

“I love you, Rom.” It was an offering. A wish. The cry of a living heart heard by his own.

“And I love you, Feyn.” He kissed her pale cheek. “But I also love Avra. We aren’t Brahmin. It’s not our way.” What could he say? Conflicting thoughts spun through his mind.

For a few moments, she held his gaze. Then she released his hand and turned away. “If the feelings of love fade, will the pain of it, too?”

“Pain? How can you say that—love is life itself.”

“Then life must be filled with pain.”

His own heart felt fractured.

“You see?” she demanded. “This is why they called it Chaos. With the bliss comes such pain. The suffering of loss, the desire for what one cannot have, the ambition to have more…all of it filled with so much pain!”

“But it’s also life!” Rom said.

“If so, then I can see why death might be preferred by some. At least in death there is peace.”

Her boldness surprised him. Surely she wasn’t reverting to death already. A chill spread down his back.

“Feyn, there’s something else. I didn’t have a full portion of blood to give you. The effects might be more fleeting with you than with the others.”

“So then it’s true. Humanity reverts to death, which has become its natural state. This fairy tale was real for a day. A beautiful morning of intoxication.” She glanced at him with a sad smile. “A part of me wishes now I had never lived it.”

“It’s not a fairy tale.”

“Of course it isn’t. Because what do we have? A story. About life. About death. It has no happy ending.”

“The boy, Feyn. There’s the boy,” he said. “That’s why we’re here.”

She gave a short laugh. “How would it be possible for some boy to assume power? A cripple no less?”

“What if he’s a royal? In line for the throne?” He glanced down at the translated account on the ground. Feyn had scrawled a note on the edge of the cloth:
Boy. Royal. Nine years old.

She shook her head as though she had already been through this in her own mind. “I know every royal child who qualified for sovereignty. The list is short. And besides, cripples no longer exist. The royals would never have allowed such a child to live. Brahmin aren’t supposed to be born with defects.”

“But everything so far has been true! The account of the blood, the virus, the…” Rom stopped.

“What is it?” she asked.

An image flashed through his memory. He strode quickly back to where the original vellum lay and grabbed it, scattering the stones that had held it flat. They’d pored over the first keeper’s ancient account on the front. But there was more, wasn’t there? A few handwritten notations on the back.

“Rom?” Feyn came over.

“What about this?” He flipped the vellum over. The notations in the upper left-hand corner were faded from handling. Names. Dates. Times. Thirteen of them.

She seized the document from his hands.

“What’s this?”

“Later notations.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about this before?”

“I forgot. I completely forgot. They’re just dates and names. For all I knew, they were other keepers or trustworthy sources.”

She scanned the list. “These…These are all sevenths, like I was. I know all of these. See, there is my name:
F. Cerelia
.”

“Sevenths?”

“Brahmins born closest to the date of the cycle of Rebirth—the seventh hour of the seventh day of the seventh month every twelve years. The last eligible cycle during Vorrin’s reign for the choosing of a Sovereign to succeed him began nine years ago. See, here’s a seventh from that cycle. A candidate, basically, for my office, except that I was born closer to the mark in the cycle prior. And as you can see, there’s no Abyssinian b…” She stopped. Her brow furrowed.

“What?” Rom said.

“Something…Nuala, my maid. Years ago she told me about a boy, a royal boy born with a crooked leg, though I dismissed it as a fearful wives’ tale.” She shook her head. “In either case, he was immediately killed.”

“Why isn’t he on this list?”

“As I said, the Brahmin aren’t supposed to be born with defects. It’s a terrible embarrassment. His name would have been removed from the primary birth record so that the knowledge of his birth would be buried with his body.”

“If he had lived, how old would he be?”

She hesitated. “Nine.”

They looked at each other.

A boy. A royal. Nine years old.

Rom stared at her. “What if he’s not dead?”

Feyn was silent.