Secondborn (Secondborn #1)(90)

“Where are they supposed to pin my medal?” I ask Emmitt.

“Not on this dress!” he screeches. “Just hold out your palm and let them hand it to you.”

I know better than to argue with him. He gives me a small golden clutch.

“I think it’s the most beautiful gown I’ve ever seen,” I tell him.

“It could be better.” He clucks and smooths the fabric again.

“No, it couldn’t. It’s perfect. You’re a genius.”

“Do you want to see the best part?” he asks coyly.

“It gets better?”

“You can unzip this seam on the side so that you can dance later at the event.” He shows me the cleverly hidden zipper.

“That’s brilliant, Emmitt.” Impulsively, I find his hand and squeeze it. “I think I’m ready. Should we go now?”

He frowns at my hand on his. I quickly drop it. “Yes, it’s time.” He looks down his nose at me.

As we leave the room, I hesitate. “I forgot the lipstick. I’ll get it and meet you downstairs.” I rush back in alone and go to the closet. Locating the thin metal malware device in my boot, I hide it between the pad of my foot and the sole of my shoe before snatching up my lipstick on the way out the door.

Clifton meets me at the bottom of the stairs, attired in a black Exo dress uniform. A cape covers one shoulder, held in place by a braided rope attached to the other. On him, the look is roguish. He takes my hand and kisses the back of it. “There are no words for your kind of beauty, Roselle.”

“It’s a stunning gown,” I admit. “Emmitt outdid himself. The only problem is there’s no way I can wear my X16. The thigh scabbard doesn’t work with this dress.”

He smiles cunningly. “You’re all the weapon we need.”





Chapter 23


Secondborn Traitor


It’s now, when I’m seated next to Clifton in his airship, that I begin to panic. I’ve gotten no further instructions from Reykin regarding the malware. Time has worked against me. My sweaty palms grip my star-beaded clutch. I stare out the side window at the dark sea as we lift off.

The closer we get to the Sword Palace, the bigger the fool I believe myself to be. I haven’t been home in over a year, and I’m going to get caught for espionage before I even make it through the front door.

“What are you thinking about?” Clifton asks.

“The maginots. I miss them,” I reply, trying to hide my true thoughts.

“You mean the ferocious wolfhounds that roam the Sword Palace grounds? Those maginots?” He’s alarmed.

“Yes. They’re my sweet babies,” I reply with a soft smile.

“They’re cyborgs that will rip your throat out,” he teases me, but he also seems a little worried.

“Maybe your throat, but never mine.” I grin.

We pull up to the security barricade by the iron fence. Iono guards with handheld wands scan our monikers. We’re waved through, and Clifton pulls around the Warrior Fountain. Women in sparkling ball gowns float by, accompanied by a mix of uniformed and evening-wear-clad men and women. They make their way inside the Grand Foyer of the St. Sismode Palace.

When it’s our turn to exit the Recovener, I wait for Clifton to come around to my side. I take his offered hand. We walk arm in arm into the glowing reception. Dozens of people are here. Some are standing on our family crest. The last time I saw the symbol, I had rifles pointed at me. It was a year ago, but I still feel the shame and fear vividly. I almost expect to see Mother on the balcony at the top of the staircase, hanging over the railing, screaming for her soldiers to shoot me.

Faking a smile, I allow myself to be drawn into conversation as we queue up in front of the security checkpoint. An older gentleman with a much younger companion takes an interest in me. Clifton introduces us. “Ah, yes,” the man says, stroking his graying beard. “We watched the news of the Atoms rushing you into surgery, my dear. You took a severe beating, didn’t you?” He doesn’t sound sympathetic.

“The thing about beatings, Firstborn Houser,” I reply conspiratorially, “is that if you have to take one, it’s best to take a severe one. That way, you don’t remember it.”

He chortles. “I’ll have to remember that, Roselle.”

“Do,” I reply with a forced smile.

Clifton presses his lips to the shell of my ear. “You are masterful at this, Roselle.” His breath is warm against my skin.

“Roselle!” Gabriel’s voice resonates in the domed room. Voices around us quiet as he cuts through the crowd. He’s dressed in formal evening wear, with a midnight-blue cape styled exactly like Clifton’s. When he reaches me, it’s plain that something is not right about him. He has a feverish look. He throws his arms around me and lifts me off my feet in a tight hug. “I’ve been so worried about you. How are you feeling?”

He leans down and drops me to my feet. “I’m well, Gabriel. How are you?” I have to brace his forearms to keep him from swaying.

“Why are you in line with all of the common people?”

I try not to let my embarrassment show. “Because I’m common people,” I reply, trying to calm him. “What are you doing down here with us?”