Renegade (The Elysium Chronicles #1)(4)

“I’m sorry, Citizen.”

He looks up at me again, his eyes flashing with anger. “She’s not dead. Your Slate is wrong.”

The Enforcer advances, and the room becomes quiet again as chills race up and down my spine.

“Mother handles the death certificates—”

“Then Mother is wrong!” the man says, and steps forward, tears streaming down his cheeks.

“Hold your tongue, Citizen!” I shout, but immediately I regret it. The Daughter of the People must never lose her calm.

The Enforcer is watching me closely, obviously waiting to see how I handle the situation, and I can’t help but feel I’m not measuring up to whatever she expects from me. And that she’s delighting in that fact. That makes me more nervous than I want to admit, and I swallow the lump in my throat.

I gesture for the man to step closer. “You will have to speak with Mother, then, if that is what you believe.” The Guard moves toward the man, but the Enforcer beats him to it.

When she steps closer, unlike the respectful Citizens, she first meets my eyes before bowing her head. There is no life in those cold blue eyes, or in the unmoving set of her mouth.

“I’ll escort him, Miss. Your Guard is needed here, with you.” Her voice is quiet and breathy, and shouldn’t be any more frightening than the ladybugs in my garden, but it makes my skin crawl. I nod and she grabs the man.

“No,” he whispers, and there is a strange understanding in his eyes, but he doesn’t fight as the young Enforcer pulls him toward the door on my right, then disappears with him.

I glance around, trying to determine if another Enforcer has replaced the one that just left, but it’s useless. I’ll never be able to see her.

The room remains quiet as I rub my arms to remove the chill from my skin. I’ll have to ask Mother later what happened. The Guard next to me leans down. “Are you all right, Miss Evelyn?”

“Yes, I…” I straighten my shoulders and force my hands to rest in my lap. “I’m quite well. Bring me a soy chai latte.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He turns and is halfway to the door before I remember to say, “Iced.”

“Yes, Miss.”

I focus on the next person in line. “Next?”

*



Mother and I sip our afternoon tea in her sitting room. We enjoy having tea together. It is really the only time we have to recount our days to each other and just talk. Just us girls. I smile when I see she’s using my favorite tea set: the gold-rimmed china with the large English tea roses on the side. Flowers from my gardens sit on the table between us.

Today, only two Maids are in the room with us, waiting patiently to serve us whatever our hearts desire. Two Guards stand by the door, but they aren’t the same ones that were in the gardens earlier. It is unusual for me not to have the same Guards. I may not know their names, but it is slightly disturbing not to recognize a familiar face. My life revolves around familiarity.

Mother sits across from me, her attention completely focused on her tea. Her wheat blond hair gleams in the light of the overhead crystal chandelier. It amazes me, as it always does, how beautiful she is. She is the epitome of excellent culture and breeding. What every lady should strive to be. What I strive to be.

Today she wears a bloodred dress suit that enhances her small curvy body, but not enough to tempt the men around her. A lady should be like a flower under glass, beautiful yet untouchable.

It’s quiet. Pleasantly so, and I stare over her shoulder to the window behind her. The outside lights make the water a gorgeous blue and a school of colorful fish swims by. Very faintly I can hear the low moaning of a whale.

“Evelyn,” Mother says, tapping her nails on the tabletop to draw my attention back to her. I love the pink marble of the table. It reminds me of my roses.

“Yes, Mother?” I say.

“Do you have your speech prepared for Festival?”

“Yes, Mother. I submitted it to your assistant this morning for your approval.”

She nods and takes another sip of her tea as I spin the metal disc in my hand.

“Mother?”

She looks over at me and lifts an eyebrow. I hold my hand out to her, with the metal disc in the center of it. “Do you know what this is? Ti—” I cut myself off, not wanting to get Timothy into trouble. “I found this. When I was in Three yesterday, checking on the mining. Remember? I don’t know what it is, but it has the most unusual markings on it.” Her beautiful peaches-and-cream face pales, and the dusting of freckles across her nose and cheeks stand out clearly against it. She plucks the disc from my palm and studies it carefully, but I continue. “On this side, it looks like that’s one of the birds from the Surface. And the other has some kind of head on it. Is it from the Surface?”

She nods slowly. “Yes, I’m afraid it is.”

I bite back a smile, trying not to show how excited I am about it. “And the words? ‘In God We Trust.’ What do they mean? What is it, Mother?”

“It is death, Evelyn.” She looks from the disc to me. Her eyes bore into mine; their gray striations standing out against the sapphire blue. “This little disc—they call it a coin—is half responsible for starting every war there has ever been on the Surface. And that saying? It’s the other half. You must never touch this thing again, Evelyn. I won’t have you corrupted by its power.”