Rebel Born (Secondborn #3)(68)

“Hair growth?” I wrinkle my nose at him. “Why would anyone want to grow more hair?”

“People used to lose their hair.”

“Really? How?”

He nods with a small grin. “It just fell out.”

“Weird.” I straighten and look around, taking in the full vista of the avenue.

The impact of a long-ago kingdom hits me and steals my breath. The lush landscape before me is a mixture of old and modern—of urban and oasis. Vines cling to spiraling buildings that jut up twenty stories or more. Their facades, made to appear like ornately carved stone, have ledges with various types of statues. One dragon-shaped sculpture, with massive gilded bones, snakes up the frame of a skyscraper across the river.

“Do you like it?” Clifton asks.

“It’s breathtaking,” I reply.

“It’s Gildenzear.” Cherno’s voice holds a breathless note as well.

“I call it New Gildenzear,” Clifton replies satisfactorily. His eyebrows waggle a bit when he glances my way again.

Cherno smiles grudgingly. “You’ve captured Icarnus’s likeness rather well”—the dragon-man nods in the direction of the dragon sculpture—“although she had a bit more flesh when I knew her.”

“You knew the dragon?” I ask, my eyes widening.

“She wasn’t a pleasant creature,” Cherno replies, “but she was very beautiful.”

“She was also—often—very hungry,” Clifton states dryly, “and as I recall, we were her favorite snack.”

“A dragon’s gotta eat,” Cherno mutters. His stare lingers on the carving. “Look at that tail!” His appreciation is clear. It must be hard to be the only one of your kind left, even if he no longer resembles the kind of dragon on display here.

Clifton takes my arm in his. Reykin stiffens but says nothing. We wander along the edge of the river. White lilies dapple the water that runs parallel with this street. Reykin walks on my other side.

“This is a mere copy of Gildenzear,” Clifton says. “Some of the monuments I salvaged from the originals and reconstructed them. The rock was preserved due to the depth, temperature, and lack of sunlight where the city lies now. We harvested it from there and did some reconstruction, but this is a modern version of what used to be.”

We spend the next hour or so journeying through Clifton’s marvel of design and engineering. The considerable girth of this sphere probably elevates the sea level. New Gildenzear’s integrated magnetic system, Clifton informs us, repels against the planet’s molten metal core and keeps it from crashing onto the seafloor. The indoor metropolis seethes with city dwellers. It has streets with pedestrians, automated scooter-like transports, and a large monorail.

“Who are all these people, Clifton?” I ask.

He tips his head toward Reykin. “Ask him.”

Reykin gives me his half smile. “They’re mostly rescued thirdborns.”

“Wait”—I touch his arm—“I thought you didn’t know each other.” I look from him to Clifton and back. “Didn’t you just meet at the Halo Palace?”

“We did just meet,” Reykin replies. “I never knew who he was, and he never knew who I was. Only Daltrey knew us both. It’s how we keep from compromising everything if we get caught. The less people know about each other, the better. Details don’t circulate. When I explained to you that we took care of thirdborns, this is what I meant. In most cases, I didn’t know where they went. I just knew that they’d live. Obviously, not all thirdborns came here. Some were integrated into Fates because you provided us with new monikers.”

“They seem happy here,” I comment.

Laughter floats to us on the gentle breeze. Some couples hold hands. There’s energy in the air around us. Even their clothes are unique and vibrant, with all the colors of the rainbow woven into creative designs that would enthrall a Diamond-Fated fashionista.

“They’re safe, as safe as I can make them,” Clifton replies. “I’d like to keep them that way.”

We’ve strolled at least six blocks already when I finally notice that the simulated sky isn’t congested with hovercrafts or other airships but instead is clear and pristine—blue and hopeful—like the airspace above the Halo Palace when I lived there.

Clifton pauses to gaze up as well. “You get used to not having airships.”

“I prefer it this way,” I say.

“I manufacture airships, and I prefer it this way, too. It’s hard to control an idea once it gets out. Once a dream originates, it becomes, in a way, inevitable.”

He takes us toward the center of the sphere. Most of the straight avenues lead to it. The streets that don’t are concentric circles that surround the center. Formal garden paths of pebbles and loamy earth and grass lay out before us in an enchanted inner sphere. Lush foliage with pink flowering trees teems with bees. Pollen teases my eyes. A gentle breeze stirs my hair. We pass through an archway of stone into the inner courtyard of a building so gorgeous that it makes Grisholm’s at the Palace of Virtues seem quaint by comparison.

“Is this where you stay?” I ask. We cross a stone bridge over a tranquil pond and climb steep stone stairs.

“Yes, and you’re my guests. You’ll have rooms in my home. Arrangements have been made for Ransom Winterstrom to join us here. It’s my understanding his vessel will be arriving shortly.”