Renegade (The Elysium Chronicles #1)(59)

There are no signs to guide me on my way—probably because these tunnels are used so frequently, people don’t really need a guide—so I use my instincts to lead me in the right direction. They’ve worked for me so far. Here’s hoping they don’t give up on me now.

Within ten minutes, I find myself thoroughly lost. I’ve gone down at least four flights of stairs and I quite literally don’t know if I’m coming or going. Even when I sit down and try to get my bearings, it’s useless. The tunnels all look the same and there are so many junctions, I don’t know which one to take. The heat and humidity is making it difficult to breathe, and sweat is creating sticky trails all along my skin.

I close my eyes and picture where I came from and how I got to where I am. If I’d gone the normal way, I would have had to travel southwest. But I don’t know where I am now. I don’t even know if I’m still in the Residential Sector.

Guilt blooms again when I worry about being found and what will happen to Gavin if I don’t return.

I decide to risk detection and take a peek to find out where I am.

Opening one of the doors carefully, I leave only a gap large enough to peer through. It doesn’t take me long to realize I’m near the Square and Festival is in full swing.

Apparently I’ve been heading in the right direction all along. After I close the door, I follow the tunnel until the next junction, then take it to the left, keeping straight until I hit a place where I can only go left or right. I take the left and continue down that path. When the tunnels get brighter and cleaner and cooler, I know I’ve made it to the Palace Wing. Only there would Mother care what the tunnels looked like. And that’s only because she wouldn’t want the servants tracking dirt all over the marble floors.

Since there aren’t any turrets in the Palace Wing, I feel it’s safer outside the tunnels than in them. I know my way around the Palace Wing a lot better than I know the tunnels and I can find a place to hide if need be. I step carefully into the open and breathe in deeply, inhaling the sweet scent that fills the air. Mother always insists that lavender flows through the oxygen recyclers in this area. It’s so familiar to me, it instantly calms my scorched nerves.

I glance around to get my bearings and am happy to note I am not far from Mother’s rooms, or mine for that matter. Just up a few flights of stairs and a decision to go right or left. I debate whether or not to just go to my rooms. I can do everything there that I can from Mother’s computer and no one would be the wiser.

Except that I’m sure Mother is waiting for me to do exactly that. So Mother’s rooms it is. Knowing Mother, she probably thinks I wouldn’t dare try to use her computer.

I creep down the corridors, and at first I’m concerned with the lack of life. There doesn’t seem to be anyone around. Then I remember it’s Festival. Everyone should be at the Square, including Mother and Father. They’ve never missed a Festival and I’m sure they won’t miss this one. Not now that a Surface Dweller has broken in and stolen the Daughter of the People. They’ll want to present the illusion that everything is fine and just like it was before.

With that thought, I walk more confidently down the halls and up the stairs. I should be able to hear anyone coming before they can get to me.

Maybe I should stop by my rooms, I think again at the junction where I would go left for Mother’s room and right to go to mine, but while I’m more confident I can sneak in and out without being caught, I’m still fairly certain going to my room is not a good idea.

It’s only one more corner and then I’m standing at Mother’s door. I place my hand on the door to open it, but then quickly yank it back. Memories of beatings for stepping into Mother’s private quarters without permission swim in my head.

More Conditioning.

My breath hitches as my skin crawls and I’m bombarded by glimpses of other memories.

I swallow hard and take several deep, calming breaths before I’m able to push aside the terror and open the door. But even then, staring at it, I can’t force my feet to take a step in a forward direction.

The room itself is fairly large—about twice the size of my own. The walls are covered in what I know is silk wallpaperings. All except the recess in the wall to the left that houses her computer and hologram equipment.

The large, canopied bed takes up a large portion of the other wall, with two ornate nightstands on either side. The bed is made up perfectly and there is nothing left out on the desk or nightstands. Mother doesn’t tolerate any kind of sloppiness or mess.

The wall that is host to the door also boasts her vanity, complete with mirror. And like mine, hers is littered with perfume bottles. Unlike mine, however, all her bottles are beautiful, cherished treasures. There’s no sign that she actually uses them or the vanity. There are no makeup pots or tubes, and while there’s a silver brush, comb, and hand-mirror set, I’m sure they’re all for show. The only thing that seems out of place is the picture tucked into the side of the large mirror.

Directly across from me is a sliding wall made entirely of glass that leads out to a balcony with a magnificent view of the lava flows and the ocean. The balcony is where Mother usually takes her breakfast. Alone, of course.

I don’t have much time, so I force myself to take those initial steps into her room. When nothing happens, I shut the door behind me, leaving it open a crack so I can hear if anyone comes. Then I walk to her computer and boot it up.