False Hearts (26 page)

I look around for Nazarin again, my mouth dry. I drink more champagne to wet it, though the bubbles are going to my head already. It all just seems so very, very stupid. We’re here with essentially no backup because any type of surveillance would be instantly recognized by the scanners we passed at the gate. There’s plenty of cops seconds away if we can manage to call them, but the odds of that in here are next to nothing—all signals are blocked.

I’m beginning to panic, sweating beneath the silver fabric. Where is Nazarin? He wouldn’t leave me, would he? I keep saying hello to strangers, fudging conversations, my mind working in overtime not to step in the wrong place. Nobody mentions a thing about the Ratel. They comment on the decor, how amazing this building is, the champagne, the salty caviar blintzes. I want to scream.

Be Tila. She’d know how to react. None of this would faze her.

The party wears on. My cheeks ache from the effort of appearing cheerful and flirtatious, uncaring and unaware of the precariousness of my situation. I dance with people. I sip more champagne, nibble at the decadent treats. There’s still no Nazarin. I can’t help but feel he’s thrown me to the wolves. The shiny, silvery distraction.

Nazarin finally returns. He has a pretty man next to him, who’s flirting shamelessly, and he’s flirting in turn with considerable skill. I feel an unwelcome flare of annoyance at the display. With a start, I recognize the other person: he’s Leo, the young man Tila mentioned in her notes. The potential ally. I make my way toward them.

“Good evening. Great party, right?” I sound inane.

Nazarin gestures to me. “Leo, I believe you’ve met Tila.”

“How could I ever forget?” he says, taking my hand and kissing the back of it.

I wonder what sort of impression Tila made.

Leo seems composed, but his eyes keep darting about the room. Perhaps he’s uncomfortable with eye contact. He moves with the grace of someone who knows how to fight.

He meets my eyes. “The party’s only just getting started, isn’t it? Lots more entertainment to come, I’m sure.”

I smile, though something makes me uneasy. Nazarin narrows his eyes at Leo.

“Leo,” Nazarin says. “You’ll have to excuse us, but I want to steal Tila for a dance.”

Leo smiles. “Of course. I might have to steal her after, if you don’t mind that is,” he says to me. Smooth. Very smooth.

“That’d be lovely,” I say, thinking it would be no such thing. “Excuse me, I’m going to find another drink, first.” Nazarin reaches out to touch my elbow. He wants to tell me something, but there’s no way he can. The crowd is thicker than at the start of the evening. Too many ears to overhear a whisper. Ocular and auditory implants have been blocked by tech dampeners.

Nazarin’s eyes follow me as I take another flute of champagne I will not drink from a droid servant.

I turn around and a woman stands right before me, flanked by two guards. She looks me up and down, smiling in recognition. She knows me and has seen me before.

And I recognize her, though it takes me a moment to realize who she is, with her hair up.

It’s Malka. The Queen of the Ratel.

She has the tightness around her eyes that speaks of facelifts. Her brows are high and arched, her full lips curl at the edges. She has skin of a deep brown, her hair in a slick updo, with a web of metal and crystals holding the hair in place.

“Tila,” Malka says. She reeks of power. The two bodyguards at her sides are droids, their blank faces twisting from side to side for danger.

I smile blankly in return, my mind running in frantic circles. I glance at Nazarin and his eyes are wide, locked on me.

“The Khan of Xanadu is ready to see you now. It’s time to Test your mettle.”

I blink quickly, then put another inane grin on my face. “Wonderful. I’ve been looking forward to it.”

She laughs, low and throaty, rubbing the fingers of one hand against the fleshy base of her thumb. “I wouldn’t be, if I were you. Come along, little canary.”

Malka takes my arm and leads me through the crowd. She stops as people greet her, introducing me. I watch other people’s reactions, the awe and fear she inspires in them.

People notice me at her side, and wonder why I’ve been so favored. Why has she come to get me herself? How well does she know me? Tila’s notes didn’t tell me much about her. I’m lost.

“Come,” Malka says. “We musn’t be late.”

All my nerve endings seem to freeze. Malka takes my arm, unlocking me, and I follow her toward the spiral ramp. I chance a look over my shoulder and Nazarin’s staring at me, barely concealed panic in his eyes. Leo is speaking to him, but he doesn’t seem to hear. He wanted to tell me something, but now it’s too late. I try to smile at him, but I can’t. I turn away and walk up the stairs.

I don’t have a choice.

Nobody is up on this level. The clear glass of the ceiling seems almost close enough to touch. Up here, little rooms helix off around the huge circle in the center, a maze of little hidden nooks and crannies. I peek over the banister down at the revelers below. Nobody looks up except for Nazarin. I nod at him, try to smile.

I feel strangely detached. Deep down, I’m aware I should be more scared about this. But it feels … inevitable. I’m following Tila’s breadcrumbs, seeing if they lead to the gingerbread house and the hungry witch.

The Queen opens a door. I can’t see anything inside but another dark, curving hallway.

“Put these on.” She passes me a small white box. I open it. Inside are small electrodes. She helps me attach them to my temples, the back of my neck, my heart. There’s a thin pair of dark glasses. I put them on, feeling silly.

“These will track your physical responses,” she says.

“All right.” I wonder if my mechanical heart will impact anything. They’ll know of it, I’m sure. They know everything; except, hopefully, that I have changed my face and taken my sister’s place.

“There. Now. Go down to the end of the hallway and turn left.”

I lick my lips. “Any advice?” I ask, striving for a light tone. Desperate as I am, she’s my only point of contact and I’ll take any help I can get—even if it’s from the devil herself. I sense she appreciates that I’ve asked her.

She leans close, and she smells of jasmine and expensive makeup. “Don’t speak unless ordered. Don’t lie. Don’t look away. Don’t let us down.”

She looks into my eyes, deep and searching, as if she knows all my sins. After a moment, she leans back. I don’t know what she found. With a twirl of turquoise silk, she is gone.

I’ve never been more confused. My head hurts, and I’m still dizzy. There must be something in the fog in that room downstairs. I should be tempted to throw myself out that window, climb down, jump the impossibly high fence, and make a break for freedom. How would Tila feel, if it was still her walking down this hallway to this Test? If she’d never come across Vuk, if he’d never ended up dead, then she’d be here, right now, and I’d never know. My head feels unattached to my body, like it’s floating down this darkened hallway.

I turn to the left as instructed, and push open the door.

I’m the last person to arrive. In the room are four chairs. The other three are occupied. One is a girl with bright crimson hair down to her waist, dressed in black trousers and a glittering top. A man with a tuft of blond hair and black eyeliner wearing a red suit, with a tattoo of a tarantula on the back of his hand, sits in the middle. The man next to him has dark green hair and is dressed in black leather. It goes without saying that they’re all beautiful.

I sit in the last chair, crossing my legs to stop them from shaking.

The room is completely blank. White walls, white chairs, white floors. I open my mouth, but then I remember what Malka said.
Don’t speak.
My mouth snaps shut. I grind my teeth together. The drug from downstairs might be wearing off. I’m petrified.

There’s a flash in the corner of my vision, a small beep in my ear. I have a message. Judging by the way the others grow still, they’ve received it, too. The white wall in front of me seems to undulate in waves. I can feel the little electrodes buzzing against my skin.

“You are here because you have done well. You have served and done all I’ve asked of you.” The voice is disguised—it echoes, distorting strangely in my mind. “You have made it to a level that few can claim to reach.”

It wasn’t me. I did none of it.
How did you get here, Tila?
I want to ask.

“Now, for the moment, do nothing. Just watch. And listen.”

Don’t look away
.

Images flow onto the blank wall, so quickly I barely register one before the next flicks into my field of vision. A praying mantis. The inside of a cat’s mouth. The glowing algae of the bay. The aftermath of a battle. Blood splattering on white walls. A decomposing corpse. A little girl in pigtails, holding a teddy bear by an arm. Ink blots, like in old psychological tests. Nature. War. Humanity. Over and over again.

Sounds come with them—from soft birdcalls to shrill shrieks and sirens. Smells appear too, and some are nice: cinnamon, the green smell of broken pine needles and the scent of crushed apples. Others are putrid: rotten fish, decomposing flesh, the oniony smell of unwashed bodies.

The man with the blond quiff bends forward and throws up onto the white floor. I glance at him but then fix my eyes to the wall.

Don’t look away.

I don’t know what this means. What it’s meant to test. Am I passing or failing?

The images go on for what feels like a long time. I clutch the sides of the chair. My stomach roils, but I clamp down tight on my tongue. I won’t throw up. Soon, someone else pukes, but still I don’t look away. I think it might be the red-haired girl.

The images cease. All returns to pure whiteness. I sag against my chair in relief. The room smells of acidic vomit and new sweat tinged with old fear.

“Now,” says the distorted voice in our minds. “Stand.”

We stand. I allow myself to look at the others. The other girl has vomit smudged in her red hair. The blond man’s hair is in disarray. The green-haired man seems relatively unruffled. I wonder what I look like to them.

“Now, face each other. Tila, look at the man with green hair.”

I almost start at being addressed by this stranger. This is the oddest test I’ve ever taken. I don’t understand the rules. I don’t know the score. I haven’t studied, as Tila’s notes stopped right before I needed the cheat sheet most.

The voice changes slightly. Still modulated, but more familiar. “Study your opponent’s face, Tila. Memorize every line.”

I look at him, and he looks at me. I see a man, but only barely. He can’t be much older than twenty. I think he’s half-Chinese and half-Mexican, or something along those lines. I wonder what awful things he’s done to get this far.

“Good. Now look at the man with blond hair.”

I look, and as I turn my head, I see the red woman and the green man have done the same. As soon as we’re all looking, the blond man crumples. Blood pours from his nose, his ears, his eyes. He’s dead.

“He failed,” the voice whispers in our minds.

Fuck,
I think. I should think more. Feel more. I can’t—all I can concentrate on is making sure that it’s not me next.

“Look forward.”

We stare at the screens again. More images flash, even quicker this time, so that I couldn’t explain them even if I wanted to. I hear retching beside me. Why do they affect them more than me? My stomach hurts, my head hurts, and I feel pressure behind my eyes, but I’m still looking.

Don’t look away.

The voice starts asking me questions. I’m to blink once for yes and twice for no. The man doesn’t ask me about what I—Tila—have done for the Ratel. Instead they’re hypothetical questions. Some are difficult:
Would you kill your childhood pet for X sum of money? Would you risk your life to save a drowning child? What about a drowning person who wronged you?
Some are beyond asinine:
If there were ice cream and sprinkles on that white coffee table right now, would you add the sprinkles?

I answer them all without thinking too hard. There are hidden layers and messages in this, impacting us all in ways we can’t anticipate. Feints and jabs before hooks and crosses. I don’t even try to outsmart them. There’s no way to.

The scarlet-haired girl goes next. Falls right out of her chair. Her red hair perfectly matches the blood.

This is insane
, I think distantly.
This is absolutely insane.
I wonder if I’ll be the next person to die.

Maybe this is all a trap. These are people hopeful of moving up in the Ratel, and maybe the King already knows that we’re not worthy. He’s here to catch us in lies, pick us off one by one. Perhaps it’s his idea of sport.

Maybe he wants to discover whether we’ve betrayed him before he kills us.

The green man is nervous, sweat dripping down his temples. I’m surprisingly calm. I must look unafraid to him, and that makes me feel braver. I stand, staring at him. His pupils behind the darkened glasses dilate as he listens to his own instruction. Then he rushes me.

He grabs my arm, hard enough to stop the blood flow. I try to jerk out of his grip but he only holds on tighter. The man’s face is red, twisted with rage.

He means to kill me.

“Kill him,” the voice whispers in my mind. “Or be killed.”

I stomp on his insole, the way Nazarin taught me. The sharp stiletto of my heel presses on his foot and I’m sure I hear something snap. He cries out and I twist my arm, breaking free.

He rushes me again, but this time I see it coming. Nazarin’s training serves me well enough, but I won’t be able to avoid him forever. He’s much bigger than me, and much, much angrier. I look for a weapon and grab the nearest chair, stepping over the body of the blond man. I bring up the chair and swing it at him, trying to frighten him off, and then I hold it close to me like a lion-tamer against a rabid man with a mane of green hair. The signal to my implants is blocked—the voice and images are silent in my head, including the self-defense programs for the implants. I’m left to fend for myself.