When I emerge, I see a black catsuit, like Clay’s. While living in Prynne, I only ever wore a pee-in-the-snow yellow jumpsuit, so this is a major improvement.
I eat the wafer of manna, delighted by the sweetness and accompanying jolt of energy, and don the skintight ensemble. Then I join my guests.
“Hot,” Clay says with a thumbs-up.
“Meow.” Meredith pretends to rake claws through the air.
My cheeks heat as they lead me out of the building. Along the way, every kid I pass glares at me. No more smiles or waves. I’m not gonna lie; it stings.
My companions fail to notice my subpar welcome, and I remain mute on the subject. I don’t want the offenders in trouble, especially for anger they’re entitled to feel. Besides, nothing Meredith or Clay says will change the minds of my haters.
But come on! I can’t be the sole offender. Has no one else ever dated a Myriadian? What about spending time with family? A parent whose child signed with the other side? A husband and wife split by the war?
“In Troika,” Meredith says, “there are seven major cities. The Garden of Exchange, the Baths of Restoration, the Temple of Temples, the Capital of New, where your apartment is based, the Museum of Wisdom, the House of Secrets and the Tower of Might.”
We enter a tube—or Gate—and after traveling at the speed of Light, emerge in...
“The House of Secrets,” she says with a proud grin.
We’re standing on a teeming sidewalk. A circular sidewalk about the size of a football field. Along the outer edge stands one skyscraper after another. In the center, almost like an island, is a massive oval of glistening mist...or maybe melted glass? Surrounding the mist-glass is a jagged, unpolished frame made of diamonds; the upper and lower points extend outward, creating an eyelash effect.
I grew up with wealthy parents, but nothing they owned compares to this. Nothing found in the Land of the Harvest compares.
Among the masses, no one is wearing a catsuit. Everyone is draped in a plain white robe. My memory...or maybe the Grid...supplies the reason. This is a business district, and different-colored robes are reserved for different tasks and ceremonies.
Tension is tangible, hustle and bustle obviously mandatory. Both men and women rush in and out of different buildings, though only a handful approach the center island. No one is smiling or laughing. Only a rare few appear at ease, as if they know something the others do not.
“The Eye,” Clay says, pointing to the mist-glass.
Meredith nods. “The Eye sees into the Land of the Harvest. Through it, Headhunters are able to monitor humans and compile dossiers for Leaders. Leaders then draft a recruitment game plan and figure out the best Laborer for every individual.”
I’m torn between three emotions. Awe—knowledge is power, and these people wield theirs like a sword. A resurgence of anger. How many times was I spied on? And envy. Does the Eye peer into Myriad? The Rest? What about Many Ends? If I could catch a glimpse of Killian and Archer and study a future battleground...
My heart skips a beat. I’m a hypocrite. As bad as the people who spied on me. “Can the Eye—”
“No,” she interrupts.
“You don’t even know—”
“Don’t I?” She arches a brow. “You aren’t the first newbie I’ve shown around, and you all ask the same things.”
Okay, yeah. She probably knows what I plan to ask. Disappointed, I change the subject. “I haven’t seen any animals. Are pets allowed in the realm?” I’ve always wanted a dog or a cat, but my parents flat-out refused.
“Oh, baby, the animals!” Clay slings an arm around my shoulders. “There’s a sanctuary in the Capital of New. Animals are allowed anywhere, anytime, but they usually prefer to stay in the sanctuary or visit the Sanatorium where Healers work. You’re welcome to visit either place.”
My brow furrows. “Why do animals prefer the sanctuary? Why don’t they live with families?”
Meredith snorts. “Why don’t you ask the animals? They’d love a chance to fill you in.”
Is she implying the animals...talk? No, surely not. But...maybe? How cool would a talking dog or cat be?
I see you has manna, hooman. I has no manna. Give me your manna.
We stroll down the sidewalk and enter another Gate, this one posed between two buildings. I hardly notice a change in my surroundings before we exit. Or rather, try to exit. A mammoth crowd blocks our path.
“This,” Meredith says, ramping up the volume in order to be heard over the crest of murmurs, “is the Temple of Temples, where the Secondking lives. There are three separate parts. The courtyard is located on the east side and opens to the Waft of Incense. The Waft of Incense—or WoI—leads to the Great Throne, where Eron presides.”
“And when the Firstking visits Troika, he stays here,” Clay adds, his tone wishful.
He wants to meet the Firstking, doesn’t he?
I’ve seen both kings only once before, when Archer allowed me to view Troika through his eyes.
A twinge of grief causes me to hiss. “How often does the Firstking visit?”
“Once a month.” Light flashes on the brands in the center of her palms. Frowning, she taps one, and a text message appears, hovering just over her hand. She sighs.
When she cants her head toward the Gate, I understand it’s time to go. We enter, returning to the House of Secrets. Next stop—my apartment. The tour is over.
“Something wrong?” I ask her.
“Nope.” She offers no more, and I decide not to press. I’m a newbie with, like, zero clearance.
I eat the wafer of manna, delighted by the sweetness and accompanying jolt of energy, and don the skintight ensemble. Then I join my guests.
“Hot,” Clay says with a thumbs-up.
“Meow.” Meredith pretends to rake claws through the air.
My cheeks heat as they lead me out of the building. Along the way, every kid I pass glares at me. No more smiles or waves. I’m not gonna lie; it stings.
My companions fail to notice my subpar welcome, and I remain mute on the subject. I don’t want the offenders in trouble, especially for anger they’re entitled to feel. Besides, nothing Meredith or Clay says will change the minds of my haters.
But come on! I can’t be the sole offender. Has no one else ever dated a Myriadian? What about spending time with family? A parent whose child signed with the other side? A husband and wife split by the war?
“In Troika,” Meredith says, “there are seven major cities. The Garden of Exchange, the Baths of Restoration, the Temple of Temples, the Capital of New, where your apartment is based, the Museum of Wisdom, the House of Secrets and the Tower of Might.”
We enter a tube—or Gate—and after traveling at the speed of Light, emerge in...
“The House of Secrets,” she says with a proud grin.
We’re standing on a teeming sidewalk. A circular sidewalk about the size of a football field. Along the outer edge stands one skyscraper after another. In the center, almost like an island, is a massive oval of glistening mist...or maybe melted glass? Surrounding the mist-glass is a jagged, unpolished frame made of diamonds; the upper and lower points extend outward, creating an eyelash effect.
I grew up with wealthy parents, but nothing they owned compares to this. Nothing found in the Land of the Harvest compares.
Among the masses, no one is wearing a catsuit. Everyone is draped in a plain white robe. My memory...or maybe the Grid...supplies the reason. This is a business district, and different-colored robes are reserved for different tasks and ceremonies.
Tension is tangible, hustle and bustle obviously mandatory. Both men and women rush in and out of different buildings, though only a handful approach the center island. No one is smiling or laughing. Only a rare few appear at ease, as if they know something the others do not.
“The Eye,” Clay says, pointing to the mist-glass.
Meredith nods. “The Eye sees into the Land of the Harvest. Through it, Headhunters are able to monitor humans and compile dossiers for Leaders. Leaders then draft a recruitment game plan and figure out the best Laborer for every individual.”
I’m torn between three emotions. Awe—knowledge is power, and these people wield theirs like a sword. A resurgence of anger. How many times was I spied on? And envy. Does the Eye peer into Myriad? The Rest? What about Many Ends? If I could catch a glimpse of Killian and Archer and study a future battleground...
My heart skips a beat. I’m a hypocrite. As bad as the people who spied on me. “Can the Eye—”
“No,” she interrupts.
“You don’t even know—”
“Don’t I?” She arches a brow. “You aren’t the first newbie I’ve shown around, and you all ask the same things.”
Okay, yeah. She probably knows what I plan to ask. Disappointed, I change the subject. “I haven’t seen any animals. Are pets allowed in the realm?” I’ve always wanted a dog or a cat, but my parents flat-out refused.
“Oh, baby, the animals!” Clay slings an arm around my shoulders. “There’s a sanctuary in the Capital of New. Animals are allowed anywhere, anytime, but they usually prefer to stay in the sanctuary or visit the Sanatorium where Healers work. You’re welcome to visit either place.”
My brow furrows. “Why do animals prefer the sanctuary? Why don’t they live with families?”
Meredith snorts. “Why don’t you ask the animals? They’d love a chance to fill you in.”
Is she implying the animals...talk? No, surely not. But...maybe? How cool would a talking dog or cat be?
I see you has manna, hooman. I has no manna. Give me your manna.
We stroll down the sidewalk and enter another Gate, this one posed between two buildings. I hardly notice a change in my surroundings before we exit. Or rather, try to exit. A mammoth crowd blocks our path.
“This,” Meredith says, ramping up the volume in order to be heard over the crest of murmurs, “is the Temple of Temples, where the Secondking lives. There are three separate parts. The courtyard is located on the east side and opens to the Waft of Incense. The Waft of Incense—or WoI—leads to the Great Throne, where Eron presides.”
“And when the Firstking visits Troika, he stays here,” Clay adds, his tone wishful.
He wants to meet the Firstking, doesn’t he?
I’ve seen both kings only once before, when Archer allowed me to view Troika through his eyes.
A twinge of grief causes me to hiss. “How often does the Firstking visit?”
“Once a month.” Light flashes on the brands in the center of her palms. Frowning, she taps one, and a text message appears, hovering just over her hand. She sighs.
When she cants her head toward the Gate, I understand it’s time to go. We enter, returning to the House of Secrets. Next stop—my apartment. The tour is over.
“Something wrong?” I ask her.
“Nope.” She offers no more, and I decide not to press. I’m a newbie with, like, zero clearance.
