Burn (Pure #3)(67)

She holds out swatches of fabric for bridesmaid dresses, tablecloths, napkins. She makes him choose silverware patterns and dishes, candlesticks and gravy boats for their registry. A pastry chef brings in cake samples. A cook brings in meal choices and wine—more samples. He tastes and sips and points. “That one.”

“Really?” Iralene says.

“Okay, fine. That one.”

“I want you to love it!”

“What do you want me to say? Which one is the right choice?”

Iralene tears up whenever he gets frustrated. “This is supposed to be a blessed occasion!”

“No,” he says. “The wedding is an event to distract people and raise morale and stop people from killing themselves. It’s not a blessed occasion; it’s not even a marriage. There’s a difference.”

She sighs, as if realizing that she’s pulled out the big guns too soon, then leans toward him and whispers, “Pick the salmon.”

And he picks the salmon. As a concession, he adds, “I like the hollandaise sauce very much.” He looks at Iralene as if to say, See? I’m trying.

“If you just focus a little,” she says.

He can’t focus. There’s one thing that Foresteed said that’s stuck with him—his father’s little relics, a collection of his greatest enemies. Partridge remembers the chamber that was different from all the rest—the one Iralene showed him once while they were walking those long halls. It was unmarked and heavily secured. Partridge didn’t know how to break into it. But if his father’s little relics are truly his greatest enemies—ones he kept around so he could pull them out and torture them when the mood struck—then who’s in that chamber? Could his father’s greatest enemy be Partridge’s greatest ally?

He wants to get to that chamber somehow and try to open it. He keeps wondering if it’s possible that one of the Seven is kept there. His father’s greatest enemy was a personal one: Hideki Imanaka, the man Partridge’s mother fell in love with, had an affair—with Pressia’s father.

Also, Pressia’s grandfather is still in one of those suspension chambers. Is Weed on Partridge’s side or not? Is he even trying to bring Belze out of suspension? Now that he’s punched Weed, he’ll either be more compliant or refuse to help.

How will Partridge get down there? He’s faced with relentless wedding plans—being fitted for a tux and shiny shoes, picking flower arrangements, talking about seating the guests in a very strict social hierarchy that he doesn’t understand or care about.

Partridge feels light-headed. He hasn’t been eating much—not with this gnawing in his stomach all the time. He’s started taking some indigestion pills—chalky and bitter—but they don’t help. He feels like one of the big cats at the zoo—like the pads of his feet are worn raw from pacing the hard cement. He feels locked up.

And then, while it’s just the two of them and Iralene is asking him about ribbon trim on centerpieces, she grabs his hand and gives it a squeeze. “Which is your favorite?”

Her hand is so cold it shocks him, and he remembers that Iralene spent most of her life in suspension. She’s told him that she thinks of those halls of chambers as her childhood home. Iralene is his suspension specialist. She was the one who first showed them to him.

He puts his hand on hers. She looks up, startled. “Iralene,” he whispers, “I want you to do something for me.”

“What?” Her eyes are bright and wide. It scares him sometimes how desperate she is to please him.

“I want to go to the chambers again.”

She shakes her head. “That part of my life is over,” she says with a quivering smile.

“I need your help. I wouldn’t ask this otherwise.”

“Don’t make me go back.” She bites her lower lip.

“I need a guide. I need you to explain all of it to me. I need you to take me to the unmarked high-security chamber.” He can’t just announce his plans. He’s no longer his own person now that Foresteed has wielded his power over him. He wants to keep this visit quiet, and he doesn’t know who to trust. Iralene is trustworthy, and she knows that building.

She shakes her head, closes her eyes.

“I need you. I can return the favor somehow. I promise.”

She crosses her arms on her chest and stares at him coolly. “Without any conditions. A favor. At any time in the future. You’ll owe me.”

He’s a little scared; he’s not sure what he’s gotten himself into. “Yes. I mean, I don’t want to have to—”

“No conditions.”

“Okay,” he says. “Fine. Can you get us there undetected?”

She thinks about it. “With Beckley’s help, yes.”

“I want to see if Odwald Belze has been taken out of suspension too.”

“Up for air,” she says. “That’s what we call it.”

Up for air. Partridge wants to come up for air.

All the while, he misses Lyda. It’s worse at night when there aren’t as many awful distractions. Foresteed has sent word that Partridge can’t see Lyda until after the wedding, after the scrutiny dies down. It would be too dangerous if word got out to the public.

Later, Partridge sets up his bed on the sofa. Now that Iralene sleeps in Partridge’s old bedroom and Glassings in his father’s bedroom, Partridge has started sleeping in the living room. But he has trouble sleeping. He writes Lyda letters and passes them to Beckley, like Partridge is just a school kid passing notes in class. His letters at first were short—I love you. I miss you…He doesn’t tell her that he’s under Foresteed’s thumb. He knows he should, but he can’t. He’s too embarrassed. The writing does help him clear his thoughts, though, so he’s started to try to carve out some kind of future. Tonight he writes,