Rebel Born (Secondborn #3)(77)

Some of the gods I meet own spheres like the one we’re in, small universes where they can wield the kind of political power they once held in the past. It’s possible I’m being a little dramatic. I haven’t a clue how they conduct their lives. I simply don’t trust any of the them to do the right thing when given absolute power.

Clifton pulls out a chair for me at the main table, and then he settles into the seat beside me. Thorny rose vines twist and climb up the crystal vases of the centerpieces. An excessive display of roses erupts from the top, spewing vibrant blossoms of molten red and ashy white.

At an adjacent table, the Winterstrom brothers flank a beautiful blonde goddess. Ransom’s nervous and fidgety, while Reykin’s relaxed, or seemingly so—I’m not sure he’s quite as calm as the image he projects. His superior air allows him to fit in with the egocentric creatures surrounding him. Whether the assembled gods believe he fits in is another matter. They have their own hierarchy. It intrigues me. They’re fixated on both Reykin and Ransom, plying them with questions and animated chatter. Especially the sultry, exotic-looking goddess sitting between them. Her attention never wanes from them, but Reykin’s been watching me.

The woman leans closer to Reykin and murmurs something with a toothy grin. I strain to hear what she’s saying, but it’s no use. At my table, a youngish-looking man with dark eyes regales me with a story about the first time he’d met my supposed relative, the goddess Roselle. Dinner is served. Clifton leans closer to me and whispers, “We’ve scheduled a thunderstorm tonight. Would you care to watch it with me?”

“You’re gonna make it rain?” I ask with an uptick of my eyebrow.

“I am. Changing weather makes this place feel real.”

“I hope your invitation extends to me as well, Cassius?” the goddess next to Valdi asks with a sultry smile. Her use of his godly name makes me feel that much more like an outsider. They’ve known all along who and what he is. Did they think it was amusing that I hadn’t a clue?

“Edwah, you and Valdi are welcome to join us, of course,” Clifton replies.

I listen with only half an ear to more flirtatious banter between Clifton and Edwah. I’m much more focused on what the lovely goddess seated between Ransom and Reykin is saying. She touches their sleeves with her fingertips, leaning close to one and then the other as she talks. Reykin doesn’t seem to notice. He’s trying to pretend like he’s not watching me. Ransom notices, but he shrinks from her, unused to the contact. She doesn’t understand that he’s spent the last few years in a hell she can’t even imagine. Her touch probably feels like a soldering iron to him.

The plates are cleared. The goddess covers Reykin’s hand with hers. Something shifts in me. My eyes narrow. I blink, and suddenly I have a different perspective. I gaze down at my body and find it isn’t mine—it’s Ransom’s. I glance across the courtyard and find myself still seated at the table beside Clifton. I’m still conscious in my body as well.

I’ve split.

I’m Ransom and Roselle at the same time. It’s not even confusing, and it takes very little effort. I search Ransom’s mind for him. He has receded to the background, but I get impressions of him—fear, in echoes that lack intensity, and memories of me that I don’t remember at all. Goose bumps rise on his arms. I reach for Ransom’s water glass and take a sip. It tastes different with his taste buds, diminished somehow. I frown.

“Is something wrong, Ransom?” Reykin asks.

I gaze at Reykin with both Ransom’s eyes and my own. But it’s Ransom’s voice that answers, “Excuse me, I wasn’t listening.” I mean to assure Reykin that I wasn’t eavesdropping on his conversation. I bite Ransom’s lip in consternation.

Reykin says gently, “Nesunna asked you if you’d tested your RW1 Device on anyone besides Roselle?”

I tilt Ransom’s head in their direction. Nesunna has a doe-eyed, innocent look on her youthful face. Cynically, I wonder how many eons it took the angelic blonde to perfect it. In an instant, I know everything that Ransom knows. I sift through data in his mind. He doesn’t remember much about the device he created, or even how he implanted it in my head. He has purged almost all these memories. The last time he purged seems to be after he spoke to me on the airship, on the way to the Sword Palace.

The information isn’t gone, though. He couldn’t bring himself to delete it. He buried it inside me. In my device. It was in the upgrade he gave me. I’m the only person who knows how to make a replica of my implant now. He has a code. It will unlock his secrets in my mind.

I whisper that phrase now: “Winterstrom five, dead or alive.” Ransom derived the phrase from his acute longing to know what had become of his siblings.

The vault in my mind springs opens, and with it comes a chaotic swirl of knowledge. I can’t call what’s in my brain a device anymore. It’s a part of me, a living, growing organ—a neuro-enhancement that has adopted and adapted my DNA. In fact, I’ve already modified the new organ several times, upgrading it subconsciously. I can even make another one if I want to—a much better version—with the information Ransom has given me, and my own knowledge of my physiology. It’d be so easy.

Reykin nudges Ransom’s elbow with his own. “Ransom?”

“He doesn’t know how to construct another RW1,” I murmur with Ransom’s lips. “He doesn’t remember.”