Renegade (The Elysium Chronicles #1)(6)
Her words only barely reach my ears. She walks away, her heels clicking on the marble.
A Guard steps over and something cool presses on the skin of my arm. I look over in time to see him inject something into me. Immediately the room spins and I collapse onto Timothy.
No!
His blood warms my cheeks as darkness swoops over me like a shroud.
CHAPTER TWO
The War has corrupted the Surface Dwellers. They have been consumed with hate and violence, and should be considered extremely dangerous. Any Surface Dweller who attempts to break into Elysium should be shot on sight.
—ENFORCER STATUTE 104A.1
My life is just about perfect.
Every morning Mother has the Maids wake me at precisely ten. Then it’s time for a light breakfast followed by a mandatory visit with my Therapist. It’s nice to have someone to talk with.
After, I am free to do as I wish until it’s time to perform one of the duties Mother has requested of me. This morning I sit in my garden, quietly doing my cross-stitching. The garden is so peaceful in the morning, especially when the sea life outside the glass dome passes by.
The Surface could never compare. Not that I’ve ever seen the Surface. It is forbidden, even for me.
Which is fine. My life is just about perfect.
The scent of roses, gardenias, lilies, and countless other flowers fill the air. Compared to the rest of the facility, the sunlamps make the air here feel sultry. Between that and the continual buzzing from the bees pollinating my lovely flowers, I often find myself falling asleep. Wind chimes tinkle in the current from the oxygen recyclers.
The sound reminds me of something, someone, just at the far reaches of my memory. Absently, my fingers reach up to play with the charm around my neck.
The pendant to recover what is lost.
I stare at the chimes for a long time. They twist and sway in the slight breeze, the silver and purple of the metal glinting like knives in the light. For some reason, my heart races. I can’t stop myself from reaching out to touch the cold, smooth metal. Without warning, a flash of memory—pain and blood—causes me to jerk my hand from the chimes, but I continue to watch them spin. I touch a hand to my temple as a tremendous sense of loss sweeps through me.
Tears sting my eyes, but I blink them back. I don’t know why I should react this way to wind chimes.
Mother steps up next to me. “Is there a problem, Evelyn?” She watches me carefully, as if I am a snake and might strike out and bite her.
An odd feeling of guilt pulls at me. “No. I thought I knew something about the wind chimes.”
Her eyes narrow. “Really? And what would that be?”
Don’t tell her, a voice whispers in my head. I glance over at her and slowly say, “I don’t know.”
Her face softens. “It is nothing, my child.” She runs her own finger down a chime. “These have been in the gardens since your father had it constructed for you. However, if they bother you, I can have them removed. I found the most talented metal Artist today. I would be more than happy to have him commission something for you to replace these old things.”
“No, that’s all right.” While they carry a hint of sadness and guilt, I find I don’t want her to take them away.
“Are you sure? How about a new dress? The Dressmaker reports she has made a lovely purple silk she thinks will look exquisite on you.”
“A dress would be wonderful, Mother.”
“Very well. I’ll make an appointment for her to come after lunch so she can measure you.” She glances around the garden and her nose wrinkles. “I don’t understand why you want to play in the dirt, Evelyn. Such a messy business. You should spend more time playing your violin. It’s really the only thing you do well.” She lifts a blue silk-covered shoulder. It isn’t quite a shrug, because ladies don’t do that, but the gesture is meant to be the same. “Your Therapist will be here at noon. Please make sure you are ready for him.”
Inwardly, I sigh. I always feel so peculiar after seeing him.
No. That’s not true. It’s nice to have someone to talk with.
“Yes, Mother, of course.”
She smiles and pats my cheek before clicking away. I stand where I am, unsure of what I was doing before she came. The corners of my lips lift when I remember. I was gathering Egyptian lilies for the Healers and Scientists.
I slip out of my kitten heels and into the water. It is shin deep—only a few centimeters below the skirt of my dress—and warm as bathwater. I hum while I collect the delicate flowers, taking care to make sure the hem of my skirt does not get wet, and think that my best friend, Macie, will be pleased with this latest bunch. They are quite a bit larger than the last batch.
A low moaning pulls me from my thoughts and I walk swiftly to the windows that separate my gardens from the millions of liters of seawater that is the Atlantic Ocean.
Because my garden juts off the side of the buildings that make up our underwater city, I have an almost three hundred and sixty-degree view of the ocean. Even the ceiling is made of the thick glass. As often as I am in my gardens, it never fails to amaze me how clear and undistorted the water looks.
A blue whale passes by the window, and from the pattern of the scars by his eye, I’m pretty sure I’ve seen this particular one before. The thought pleases me. I touch a hand to the cool glass and his eye fixes right on me. He moans again, and it’s as if he’s talking to me.