Traitor Born (Secondborn #2)(18)

“Making sure you do everything I tell you to do is just a bonus,” he replies. He’s not joking. He’s enjoying the power he has over me. One whisper from him in the right person’s ear, and I’m dead. He could turn me in anonymously to be executed for treason.

A rusted bolt slips from my fingers and clatters on the table. I reach for it, my fingers shaky. “What would you do . . . if I stopped helping you? Would you turn me in?”

He picks up the bolt, circling it between his fingers. “I would never turn you in, Roselle.” He gazes into my eyes. “You know too much. I’d kill you myself. You’re too big a liability for me to leave your death in the hands of the Fates Republic.”

“I’m hard to kill.”

“Then I hope it never comes to that.”

He hands me the bolt. “Do you want to learn how to install weaponry in a Class 5Z Mechanized Sanitation Unit?” He holds up some parts from a disassembled hydrogen cannon.

“Yeah.”

We spend the next few hours upgrading Grisholm’s prank mechadome with several degrees of firepower. Midway through the upgrades, I order us some coffee from the automated food and beverage dispensary unit located on the wall in my kitchen. At the formal dining table turned workshop, we stand over Phee, sipping the steaming brew after Reykin uses Phoenix’s programs to test it for poison. The firstborn Star explains that he installed technology in my mechadome that will allow him to see through Phoenix’s eyes like real cameras and receive a regular video feed instead of just infrared images.

I frown. “I’m not so sure I completely love that upgrade,” I mutter, leaning my hip against the table edge.

“Why?” Reykin truly looks puzzled.

“Umm . . . I’ll have no privacy. You’ll see everything.”

He shakes his head. “Would you rather be dissected on your sofa?” His eyes are blue smoldering flames. “I thought they were going to slit your throat last night. I didn’t know if Phoenix had the arsenal to stop them.” He points to the balcony. “If you hadn’t woken up . . .” I stop listening, his voice just a noise. My throat tightens with the horrifying memory of fingernails dragging against my scalp. Panic seizes me with cold claws. My heart contracts painfully and then rages in accelerated flares. My skin instantly becomes clammy—I’m dizzy . . .

“Are you okay?” Reykin scowls and reaches out to touch my elbow. I yank it from him and back up a step, bumping into a chair and knocking over my coffee. It spills onto the floor. I hurry to the stairs, climbing them with my arm on the wall for support. In my bedroom, I retreat to the bathroom and close the door.

“Shower,” I croak. The water in the glass enclosure turns on, but I don’t get in. I want the sound to cover the panting that leaves me feeling as if I might pass out. At the sink, I whisper, “Cold water,” and splash some on my face. My vision blurs. I clutch the enameled edge of the sink, lowering myself to the floor. Steam fills the room.

Reykin taps on the door. “Roselle?” His voice is low. I can’t catch my breath enough to tell him to go away. The door opens. I start to rise, but my world tilts, and I slide back down the wall. My hands go to my forehead. I’m trembling. Am I dying?

Reykin kneels in front of me. “I’m sorry I said that.” His voice is soft and low. He strokes my hair. “You’re okay. I’m not going to let anyone hurt you again. I promise.”

I still can’t breathe.

From his pocket, Reykin pulls out a silver case like the cigar case Clifton uses. Inside, it’s different, though, with a secret compartment behind the narrow green cigars. From it, Reykin takes out a chet. He tears off a corner of it. “Stick out your tongue,” he orders. “I’m only giving you a little. You can’t take a full one again. You’re too small. It’ll wipe you out.” He places the small piece of chet on my tongue, where it melts.

Reykin sits down and puts his arm around me. I lean my cheek against his chest. After a few minutes, I can take a full breath again.

“Better?” He squeezes my shoulder.

I lift my cheek. “I need a shower.” Reykin helps me up. I’m weak, as if I just sprinted for miles. I shake off his hands, not meeting his eyes. “I’m okay now. You can . . .” I nod my head toward the bathroom door.

“Oh. Okay. You’re sure?” He hovers closer to me.

“Yes,” I growl.

“You don’t want me to stay and help you into the shower?” I glare at him. “What?” he scoffs. “I’ve seen you naked before, Roselle. Who do you think bathed you after I found you beaten half to death?”

“Out!” I point to the door. He stuffs his hands in his pockets.

After he leaves the bathroom, I take a long shower, trying to wash away the scent of fear. I’m relieved to find my bedroom empty when I exit the bathroom. I select a dove-gray lounging outfit and dress quickly in the closet. I towel-dry my hair and braid it in one thick plait. The sound of voices leads me to the den, where Diamond-Fated anchors on a visual screen report on preparations for the Secondborn Trials.

It’s dark in here with all the windows turned opaque. Reykin sits on the couch against the wall, his long arms resting on his thighs, his hands clasped, scanning the images in front of him as if he’s searching for someone. I lean against the frame of the doorway. The sharp planes of his face have a blue tint from the light of the visual screen.