Renegade (The Elysium Chronicles #1)(5)

Despite her warnings, I’m still curious. How could such a tiny little metal object be responsible for so much destruction?

She narrows her eyes at me and folds her hand over the coin. “This curiosity you have with the Surface is unhealthy, Evelyn. I must insist that it cease. Immediately.”

I sigh, but bow my head. “Yes, Mother.”

“And to make sure of it, I’m going to have your little fountain dredged for any more Surface contraband.”

No! Not my collection!

I look up sharply, but her face is dark and I know better than to argue. “Yes, Mother.”

She watches me for several minutes before she takes another sip of tea.

“By the way, Evelyn, I heard a disturbing rumor this morning as I was taking my morning constitutional.” She lifts the delicate teacup to her mouth, but pauses. “Do you know to which rumor I am referring?”

Rumors are not uncommon among the Maids. If there is ever anything you wish to know, the Maids are sure to know it. They were unusually quiet this morning after my time with Timothy. But this couldn’t be about him. Mother approved of him.

“No, Mother.”

She places her cup in its saucer and purses her lips. They are the same color as her dress. “I’m surprised. Since this rumor mostly revolves around you and a particular Third you’re fond of.”

So this is about Timothy. Though that doesn’t explain what rumor would be so important Mother would concern herself with it, or why she would talk to me about it.

“Still don’t know?” Her eyes are hard and cold.

“No, Mother.” I suppress a shiver. I don’t like that look. It reminds me of one of the sharks that sometimes swims outside my gardens.

“According to the incessant mutterings of the Maids, he touched you this morning. In plain view of the Guards and an Enforcer.”

“Touched me?” I think back to the garden. “Oh, no, Mother. He didn’t touch me. A thorn stuck my finger and he bandaged it for me.” I smile and sip my tea, pleased with myself for remembering. Today is better than yesterday. And yesterday was better than the day before.

“The Guards report this to be true,” she says, her lips still pursed, “but they also say he didn’t let go right away.”

“It was an accident. He asked if I was okay and, when I said yes, we both realized he was still touching me. It won’t happen again.”

Mother’s face turns hard and she nods. “You’re right. It will not happen again. Guards!” She claps her hands with the command, causing me to jump in my seat and slosh tea out of the cup.

My eyes widen when two Guards enter, carrying Timothy between them. His face is bruised and bloody. A black eye is already forming and his slack jaw reveals several teeth are missing. I barely realize when my teacup slips from my limp fingers and shatters on the marble. Two more Guards are suddenly at my side, holding me down.

“What’s happened?”

Mother clicks her tongue. “Evelyn, Evelyn, Evelyn. I thought I taught you better than that. Touching before coupling is an impropriety. Punishable under the law.”

I swallow hard as she continues to stare at me, then close my eyes. She is right. I must resign myself to it. The law is the law, after all. It is what keeps us safe. Keeps us from being like the Surface Dwellers. “Very well, Mother. What is our punishment?”

“Oh, no, my child. You are not being punished. It isn’t your fault. It was he who touched you. He who tried to defile your innocence. His punishment is death.”

My eyes fly open. “What? No! It was an accident. This was my fault, not his! Please, Mother—” I’m cut off when she slaps my face. Hard. Rage tears through me in a sudden jolt, but fades as quickly as it came, leaving only panic. I stare aghast at her as I curl my fingers into my palm.

“You do not talk back to me. Ever.” She straightens the skirt of her dress, then her hair. She makes a gesture with her hand and an Enforcer—Veronica—steps from the shadows. She holds a Colt .45 equipped with a silencer in her gloved hand.

Before I can blink, she pulls the trigger. Once. Twice. Two bullets rip into Timothy’s chest, hitting both lungs. He collapses to his knees as the Enforcer steps back into the shadows. Her face is completely blank—there’s not even a spark of emotion in her eyes—and the Guards let him fall.

The Guards on me have held me tight, but I haven’t even moved; my body is still frozen in shock. When they finally release me, I run straight to Timothy’s side. I don’t care if Mother punishes me. He’s dying and it’s my fault. Because of my carelessness. Because I hadn’t remembered until it was too late.

He gasps for breath and blood pours from his mouth just as quickly as it comes from his wounds.

He looks up and into my eyes. “I’m sorry,” he gasps out before his eyes close. “I thought I would be different. I thought I could”—he coughs, splattering blood across my chest—“save you.”

I try to stop the flow of blood, but it seeps over my hands.

“No,” I whisper. His breath shudders out one last time before his chest becomes still. I turn to Mother. “How could you? I’d chosen him. He’s the one I wanted.” My voice cracks with each word.

Mother walks over and places a hand on my shoulder. I think she’ll say she’s sorry, but instead she says, “Now this is a pity. His genetics were … promising.”