Promised (23 page)

Gaia nodded. “The Protectorat told me the other day.”

Pyrho made a whistling noise. “He probably wants you to start having babies pronto. Has he invited you to come live inside the wall?”

Gaia felt many eyes focusing on her. What would her friends think if they knew the answer was
yes
? “I have no intention of moving inside the Enclave,” she said.

“I was only going to say, if you and Leon ever need a place to stay inside, my parents and I would be happy to have you,” Pyrho said. “That's if you don't want to stay at the Bastion. Our place isn't as fancy, obviously, but still.”

Her gaze flew to his. “You are so nice,” she said, touched by his generous offer. “My home's out here, though. With the people of New Sylum.”

Peter straightened, catching her eye. “I'm glad you remembered us,” he said. “You are not to go back into the Enclave without an escort. For any reason. That was a serious mistake.”

He hadn't spoken loudly, but the chatter around the table fell silent.

“I know,” she said. Under the table, she gripped her hands together hard. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have left like that.”

“You lied, Mlass Gaia,” Peter said.

“I know,” she said, ashamed. “I'm sorry.”

The hum of voices gradually picked up again, but Gaia could barely bring herself to lift her gaze from her plate. When she did, Will was watching her with kind concern.

“You meant well,” he said gently.

She let out a soft, pained laugh. “No. I messed up,” she said.

He watched her steadily. “Then make it up to us,” he said.

She would have to, somehow, she thought.

“What do you do for a living, Pyrho?” Peter asked.

“Fireworks,” Pyrho said. “My family's had an exclusive contract with the Bastion for generations.”

“So you know how to use explosives,” Peter said.

Bill and several miners turned in Pyrho's direction.

Pyrho was nodding. “I've always liked blowing things up.”

There was movement by the tavern door, and a pair of Enclave guards entered. Peter stood and drew his sword in one fluid movement, and half of the company reached for their arms. Gaia rose.

The Enclave guards slowly put their hands up.

“Take it easy,” said Marquez, the man from the Protectorat's headquarters. “I just have a message for Masister Stone. That's all.”

He gingerly lifted an envelope into the air. Peter took it and passed it over to Gaia.

“Thank you, Mabrother,” she said. “You'd better go.”

Marquez bowed briefly and took his companion out with him. Gaia fingered open the flap and slid out an invitation on heavy, cream-colored cardstock.

T
HE
P
ROTECTORAT

AND

T
HE
V
ESSEL
I
NSTITUTE

KINDLY
REQUEST
YOUR
ATTENDANCE
AT
THE

B
IRTH
C
EREMONY

OF

T
HERESA
S
ANNI
G
OADE

3.6
KILOS
, 51.5
CM

AS
SHE
IS
PRESENTED
TO
HER
FATHER

M
ATTHEW
A
LOYSIUS
G
OADE

7:00
P
.
M
.

THIS
SECOND
DAY
OF
O
CTOBER

TWO-THOUSAND
,
FOUR
HUNDRED
AND
TEN

B
ASTION
OF
THE
E
NCLAVE

In the corner, a handwritten note was scrawled:

So looking forward to continuing our conversation.

Your fiancé sends his regards.

Yours,

Miles

 

CHAPTER 16

birth ceremony

“
T
HEY HAVE
L
EON,” SHE
said. It shouldn't have surprised her, but she felt stunned nevertheless.

She stared up at Peter, and then around, at the rest of her friends. They regarded her with obvious concern, and a sobering dose of caution.

Her resolve hardened. “We're going in for him.”

“It's a trap, obviously,” Peter said.

“I don't care.”

“Mlass Gaia,” Will said. “You just agreed it was a mistake for you to go in before. You can't go in again now.”

“We're going in through the gate, on our own terms. You can come with me. I'll take as many scouts as you like. But we're going to be there at seven o'clock.” She tossed the invitation onto the table. “The Protectorat has a hostage now. We're not leaving Leon in there.”

The rest of the table erupted into plans and discussion.

“You're not going like that, are you?” Myrna asked, stepping around the table.

“What?” Gaia asked, looking down at her red dress.

“It's a formal invitation. They'll be dressed up,” Myrna said.

Gaia laughed for the first time in ages. “I'm not going to socialize,” she said.

“You're not going to serve them either, which is how it will look if you go to the Bastion dressed like that,” Myrna stressed. “And you don't arrive at seven. You go at seven thirty or later if you're important.”

These were niceties that wouldn't have occurred to Gaia. “You should come with me.”

Myrna lifted her eyebrows. “I wasn't invited.”

“So crash. You have influence with people, Myrna,” Gaia said. “It's time to speak up. You should be at the Bastion.”

“I need to still be here after the dust settles,” Myrna said. “I'll stay out of it until the wounded need me. I assure you, the time will come.”

“I'm not leading us towards violence.” Gaia said.

“No? Don't deceive yourself,” Myrna said. “And get yourself out of that red. You're no servant.”

*   *   *

Gaia entered the Enclave for the third time since returning from the wasteland, this time by invitation, and escorted by Peter and a dozen scouts. The guards at the south gate stepped back respectfully.

“We've been expecting you, Masister Stone,” one of them said, tipping his hat.

Behind him, Sergeant Burke was talking into a device, regarding Gaia with watchful eyes.

“It's still a trap,” Peter said.

It didn't matter if was a trap. She had to go.

“You look very nice,” Peter added.

She let out a laugh. She'd conceded to Myrna's advice by taking off Rita's red dress and donning clean clothes she'd worn as Matrarc in Sylum: brown trousers and a white blouse. Josephine had insisted on loaning her a lightweight jacket of very soft leather, which hugged her slender arms and figure. What Gaia appreciated most, however, was a spare dagger Norris had given her for her boot. She knew she didn't look particularly dainty or nice, but with her clean face and freshly brushed hair, her necklace and Leon's bracelet, she felt like herself.

“Thanks,” she said to Peter.

“No return compliment for me?” he asked.

She didn't bother to look at him. Peter looked good no matter what he did. It was a freakish fact of nature.

“No. Don't be annoying.”

The rest of the escort was a couple paces behind, and Gaia glanced back to see they were looking around the city with interest.

“I can't help wondering,” Peter said. “Do you enjoy having backups?

“What do you mean?”

“If anything ever happened to your fiancé, do you think you'd pine away for him forever, or do you think you'd call up one of your spares?”

“Don't even
think
that,” she said. “What an awful thing to say. That's sick.”

“It's just honest.”

“It's just sick.”

“I guess that's an answer,” he said.

She turned. “Malachai. Come up here with me,” she said, and waited for the big man to step forward and walk between her and Peter.

“I get the point,” Peter said dryly. “I apologize. Most sincerely.”

You're supposed to be over me by now
, she thought. He was finally making it easier for her to dislike him, especially considering how worried she already was about Leon. She had to get him free from his father, and she had no idea where he even was. She refused to think he could be back in V cell.

Peter leaned around Malachai. “I said I'm sorry,” he said once more.

“Fine.”

They progressed steadily through the Enclave, up the main road, until they reached the terrace of the Bastion. Light streamed through the windows, and white-clad guests were passing in, bringing brightly wrapped gifts. Gaia could hear laughter and distant music.

When she moved toward the door, the butler Wilson greeted her and ushered her in with Peter and Malachai. The rest of her scouts filed in behind.

Ahead, guests were mingling in the great hall between the sweeping, curved double staircases. More were visible in the solarium beyond, and the music, nearer now, was a lively swing melody. Gaia spotted one of the pregnant women of the Vessel Institute in a white gown, her glimmering bracelet distinguishing her like a badge of honor among the other elegant, white-clad guests. Children in white party clothes and polished shoes were playing with a kitten at the base of the stairs. Two young women dressed in red cradled babies in their arms, and waiters in black were circulating with trays of drinks.

Wilson extended his arm toward a pair of footman. “Your guards might be more comfortable in the billiard parlor,” he said.

Gaia's scouts were staring in open amazement. Nothing in their lives in Sylum had prepared them for the majestic scale and bright lights of the Bastion, and they were clearly dazzled. She'd felt something similar once.

“Peter and Malachai, stay with me,” Gaia said. She spoke in a low voice to Peter. “They're not going to physically attack us among all their friends.”

“You can go,” Peter said, quietly gesturing the other scouts towards the footmen. They headed for an arched opening on the right,

“Gaia, you've arrived!” Genevieve said, coming forward with a broad smile. She passed her glass to Wilson and took both of Gaia's hands in her own. “Do come in. We have so many people who are anxious to meet you.”

“Where's Leon?” Gaia asked.

“He's here somewhere,” Genevieve said airily. Her golden curls were toppled on her head in an artful hairdo, and her white dress shimmered with a delicate design of gold. “You should have told us you were engaged! What a wonderful surprise.”

“Did Evelyn tell you?” Gaia asked.

“No, Leon did himself. We wanted to wait until you were here with him so you could announce it together, but I'm afraid some little bird let it out of the bag and the gossip's already circulating,” Genevieve said. “You've brought your friends?” she smiled pleasantly, turning to Peter and Malachai.

Gaia introduced them, and was impressed by Genevieve's cordial welcome.

“So handsome, my goodness,” Genevieve said as she released Peter's hand. “Would you care for some punch or wine? Our chef makes a wonderfully festive punch with sorbet in it. You'd like it.”

“I just want to see Leon,” Gaia said.

“He was just here. Let me introduce you to some of our friends while we look for him.” Genevieve drew Gaia toward the solarium, leaving Peter and Malachai to trail behind. “The Goades and the Rhodeskis are becoming grandparents tonight and they are thrilled. Such generous people, too. All the donors to the Vessel Institute are. They're wealthy beyond anything you can imagine and they've given countless sums to our latest new civic projects. As a matter of fact, they've taken a great interest in providing a pipeline for New Sylum. Here we are!”

Genevieve led them to the solarium, where Gaia paused on the threshold. On all four sides, every French door was open now, affording glimpses of more rooms beyond, and Gaia could see the farthest doors led into a larger room where the music originated. Ferns grew in lush fans around her, and palms reached high toward the glass panels of the ceiling above. Lovely as the interior garden was, Gaia was struck by how pitifully tame it was compared to the wild, teaming expanse of the Dead Forest and the marsh she'd left behind in Sylum.

Guests strolled through the verdant, inviting space in an ever-changing array of faces, including Masister Kohl, Tom and Dora Maulhardt, and others she recalled from before.

A strange thought hit her. Leon had grown up in this wealthy milieu, among these people. When he was disowned at sixteen, he'd left his family bitter and angry, but this was still his heritage. Civilized, elegant parties like this one had to be a formative part of his childhood, yet he almost never mentioned this part of his life. She could easily picture him here, but she couldn't find him.

A waiter offered her a small cup of a frothy, amber-colored drink. She took one from the tray, and Peter and Malachai followed her example. Her first cold sip was of tang and foam, and it slid down her throat like pure luxury.

“Do come,” Genevieve said, drawing Gaia forward. “There's someone I want you to meet.”

Gaia glanced back. A middle-aged, short man had paused to talk to Peter, and Malachai lingered with him, looking rather awkward. He looked questioningly at Gaia, but she nodded for him to stay there.

Genevieve guided Gaia to an elderly man in a white jacket who was passing out lollipops to a couple of children. More of the candies bulged in his jacket pocket.