Four Dead Queens(34)

“That is disgusting.”

“Can you please turn around?”

“Fine,” I huffed.

He should’ve known better. As soon as the suit’s clips clicked apart, I peeked.

His back was to me. Good. He’d learned I couldn’t be trusted. Then he began pulling his suit down, revealing perfect, unblemished tan shoulders. I sucked in a breath as he pushed the material toward his hips.

Turn back around, Keralie. Turn around. Do the right thing. For once.

But I’d had a hard day, to say the least. I ignored that little voice and what was left of good Keralie.

His shoulders were muscular, defined, and the opposite of Mackiel’s scarecrow frame. But Varin’s shoulders weren’t as square as Mackiel’s; they were less assured, as though his job, life or something had beaten him down. I shook that thought away. Eonists didn’t question their standing in life. Varin had made that clear.

I still couldn’t tear my eyes from his body. He was beautiful—no one would deny that—but a shell of a person. His eyes lacked fire, and that was something Mackiel had in spades. Perhaps too much.

Why couldn’t I stop comparing Varin to Mackiel? Even though I was free of Mackiel—for now at least—my thoughts remained tangled in him.

“I can feel you watching me,” Varin said, stilling his movements.

“What? No—I—” I stuttered, quickly turning to face the glass wall.

I thought he let out a soft laugh but couldn’t be certain. I stayed where I was; the reflection in the glass provided a good enough view.

“Okay,” he said. “I’m done.”

I bit my lip to hide my grin. “What now?”

My warm pinked cheeks probably gave me away, but he didn’t seem to care. He held out a small contraption. “It’s a recorder,” he explained at my blank look.

“Okay. Let’s get this over with.” Although I didn’t want to leave this striking, but cold, place. Not yet. But no Eonist would hire me; I wasn’t engineered for anything. Perhaps Ludia would take me in? While I didn’t know of anyone who’d relocated to another quadrant, it was possible. A few were permitted each year through a lottery system. But to enter the lottery, you had to meet the criteria of the quadrant you wished to relocate to. Eonia’s was pages and pages long, making it almost impossible to meet. The way they intended it.

“Where do you want me?” I asked.

He pointed to the one chair in the room.

“What if you have company?” I took the seat.

He fiddled with the machine, his tall frame towering over me. “I don’t.” The machine made a few beeps, then a soft whirring sound.

“No friends?”

“No.”

“Family?”

He pressed a few more buttons before replying, “No.”

“Everyone has a family. You didn’t spring from the ground like a mushroom.” I cocked my head. “Did you?”

“I’m just like you,” he replied, missing my joke entirely. “As hard as I might find that to believe.”

I ignored his jab. “So, your family . . . ?” I prompted. Talking about family was dangerous. He could easily turn the question back on me.

“Men and women are assigned multiple birthing partners throughout their lifetimes, matched for genetic excellence,” he said, gazing out the window. “Once the mother gives birth, the child is handed over to the schools to raise.”

I couldn’t reply. That was too cruel. How could the Eonist queen allow babies to be taken from their parents? What could they possibly gain from that?

He glanced back to me. “I suppose the children I grew up with are closest to a family.”

I let loose a breath. There was hope for him after all. “How often do you see them?”

“I haven’t seen them since I graduated school a year ago.”

Okay, maybe not.

“And your mother and father?” I almost choked on the words.

He shrugged. “I don’t know who they are. It doesn’t really matter anyway. They were genetic donors, nothing more.”

“That’s terrible.”

Something flickered behind his eyes—was it doubt? “If you have no personal connections, there is no reason for jealousy. We have no crime, no hatred, no sickness.” He sounded like the holographic lady on the commuter.

“No family, no friends, no love,” I said.

“Do you have all these things?”

“I have my memories. I had a happy childhood.” I swallowed roughly. “I had a family that cared for and protected me.” I’d thought I had Mackiel. Someone I loved. I guessed he was a fleeting part of my life, like my parents had been.

He blinked. “Had?”

I couldn’t talk to him about my past. How could he understand my pain when he felt nothing? “Having something, even if in the past, is better than nothing at all.”

“And you believe memories are enough to sustain us?” he asked. “Through the darkness?”

I’d known dark times; often I’d created them. Were happy memories enough, if you were never to experience it again? I hoped so.

When I didn’t reply, he pulled out a black container and lifted the lid. Inside lay hundreds of clear chips divided into two sides. I picked one up.