“His father was your valet,” I plowed forward as calmly as I could manage. “Elliot performed some of his duties after he died, but he never fully took on the role.” We’d have to have been able to afford that, was what I didn’t say. Elliot was far more than an underling my father had ordered around. He’d left to make something of himself, after I’d broken off our engagement and refused to go with him.
White-hot embarrassment seared through me, the sip of coffee I’d just taken turning bitter on my tongue and my insides seizing as if caught in a vise. I couldn’t bear to think of my actions, even three years later. It was my greatest regret. I coughed to hide my situation.
Carina didn’t notice, anyway. “Valet, valet’s son, whatever. Elliot Wentworth, who we grew up with, back here! Apparently he’s filthy rich now.” Father perked up at that, and I could have thrown myself across the table to strangle him for it. Carina continued heedlessly. “He certainly behaves like a gentleman. Kissed my hand and everything.”
That got my attention. “You spoke with him?” I asked, amazed at how measured I sounded. Inside, the vise grip had seized again, giving way to a swirling in my stomach and palpitations in my chest.
“Of course! He came to the after-party. He told me all about the Saint Petersburg and how he knows the Orlovs. He said he had hoped he might see me again and marveled that he had barely recognized me.” Carina preened, checking her reflection in the silver coffeepot. Indeed, she was dark blond and beautiful, with large, deep brown eyes that had previously overpowered her face but now played perfectly against pouty pink lips and a fuller figure. I shared the figure and the big eyes, mine green to her brown, but only a fraction of the beauty. Father said my seriousness rendered me ordinary, where Carina’s carefree disposition transformed her.
Elliot had said he liked my seriousness, that he found me beautiful, but now . . .
“I’ve just remembered,” I said, pushing back from the table, “I promised Klara I’d meet her this morning. Thank you for breakfast, Carina. I’ll see you later, before the concert.”
Klara, of course, had requested no such meeting, but I hurried to my room regardless, making my face and hair presentable so that I had the excuse to leave. Anything to distract myself from tales of Elliot and Carina, him kissing her hand . . . only her hand, I reassured myself. Like a gentleman, as she said. Still, kissed and Elliot in relation to my sister turned my stomach. I had no right to hold any claim on him, but my heart refused to be rational.
* * *
I decided to take a long walk to decompress and channel my pent-up energy in a more productive direction. Last night’s interruption had rattled me. I wasn’t completely ignorant of the growing problems of the wider fleet—I’d heard whispers about overcrowding and implementation of strict rations on board certain ships. My mother had seen it and argued fruitlessly with my father and her sister to open up our respective ships for families in need. But then she died, and I’d gone back to living in my bubble.
Last night, it had burst. Our family was now precariously closer in circumstances to those people, to desperation and death, than were our wealthy cousins on the Scandinavian. If my aunt ever decided to withdraw her support, we would be destitute.
I made the walk nice and long, so as to distract myself. There was an entire promenade on the top level for that very purpose, but my favorite thing was to make my way through the royal private public quarters, which were as oxymoronic as they sounded. They were a series of ballrooms, libraries, drawing rooms, and other leisure spaces shared among the elite of the ship, “public” in the sense that anyone with bio-lock access to the forward and upper decks could use them, but essentially private for the same reason.
I wended my way through gallery after gallery, into the royal ballroom (half of it cordoned off due to fire damage), through to the library, one of my favorite spaces on board. No one read real books anymore, but the library kept hundreds of them carefully under glass, in addition to the digital stations where the residents could reload their tabs with more things to read. Plus, it was where the Scandinavian housed historical documents, cultural artifacts, and more from Earth’s history. I browsed the exhibits I’d looked at a hundred times.
This was where I’d found the idea for my water-filtration system, a home-improvement project I’d undertaken several years ago to help the Sofi extend precious resources. A thought slithered up my spine unbidden. If other ships were on rations, water rations especially, my system could offer some relief. It could save lives. And the license fees to use it would save my family.
I hated myself for thinking it, profiting off misery. But this presented a real opportunity. Perhaps I could appeal to other ships, get their buy-in first, then use the startup funds to get my patent. All it would take was one ship saying yes. I wouldn’t need to wait out the Valg to get the Orlovs’ rent. I wouldn’t need the Valg at all. The thought of escaping this barbaric marriage ritual filled me with such relief that it overpowered the guilt for just a moment.
I picked up one of the library’s public tab readers and wandered through a maze of glass-encased stacks to an overstuffed chair. I disappeared into the latest Jupiter Morrow mystery for several hours, but then a musical laugh pinged my ears. I rose, creeping through the stacks, following the sound until I spotted the source. Evgenia and Elliot were strolling through. I shot down into a crouch, ducking low behind a display case so they wouldn’t see me.
“This is no laughing matter, Evy,” I heard Elliot’s cutting response to whatever Evgenia had been laughing about. “They might execute her.”
“For a little interruption? They’re overreacting, don’t you think?”
My breath caught in my throat. They were talking about last night.
“You expect them to underreact? Someone crashed their special party and called them on their bullshit. Heads will roll.”
There was a long silence, and for a moment I wondered if they’d somehow snuck off without my hearing. I didn’t dare pop around the display case to check. But then Evgenia spoke, her voice low.
“Are you worried, then?”
Elliot’s response was tight. “I know what I’m doing.”
What by the moon was Elliot up to? He couldn’t be involved with Freiheit, could he? It was awfully convenient that he was outside the ballroom when everything happened, come to think of it. Father said they had hacked the system from the inside.
“Now, what are you going to wear tonight?” Evgenia abruptly changed tone, light and bright once more, and Elliot returned a low response I couldn’t hear. “Elliot Wentworth, I will not allow you to abandon me to those vultures. You are going. We have work to do.”
“They seemed to like you well enough. Hardly vultures,” Elliot said.
“Please,” Evgenia spat. “They’re happy enough to drink and laugh with us, but we both know we’re nothing to them but crude new money. Once they know how Max makes his fortune, they’ll devour us like jackals.”
“First vultures, now jackals . . . next you’ll be telling me they’re wolves.”
“Don’t tease me. You’re the one who wanted to come here. The Valg Season is the perfect opportunity, you said.”