LEGACY RISING (8 page)

Liam was holding his hand out to her in the gesture of silence. “Stop,” he ordered. “I don’t have time for this.” He turned on his heel and strode back down the corridor, toward the studio where Dyna and Taliko waited. “You should seriously go out the back,” he informed her, not turning to look as he spoke. “As soon as they realize who you are, they’re going to want to keep you here, and you don’t want Dyna’s hooks in you. Trust me.”

With that, the door shuttered open and closed, and he was gone.

Flywheel wiggled out of Legacy’s braids. “
Blood pressure is slightly elevated,
” he informed her helpfully, fluttering away.

“You’re telling me,” she murmured, considering the nifty free drink cart again. Snatching the Victrola horn, she ordered, “Calm the nerves,” and another glass shot from one arm, the other twisting the valve, then delivering the mossy substance to her hand. Legacy poured the concoction down her throat whole, swallowed with a cringe, and tossed the glass into the sink, wishing again that they worked faster than immediately.

Finding the back door of
CIN-3
would be harder than it looked, because it required Legacy to first locate the stairwell.

Meanwhile, the drink wove its tentacles around her, through her, making everything so pleasant and meaningless; it was harder and harder to focus on where each door led, harder and harder to focus on
why
it might be unfavorable for the security of the building to apprehend her . . . What did it matter, anyway? What could they do to her? Steal her wings?

Legacy smiled dreamily and kind of forgot the whole thing, playfully rustling the wig of a dormant, very formal-looking automaton as she passed.

              Kaizen supped at a cigarette, taking the toxic fibers into himself and then expelling them in a mindless rhythm, much like the automata which bustled about the castle would have done. He welcomed the burn. Anyone affected by numbness welcomes a bit of pain, don’t they? The silky coil of smoke unfolded before him, and Kaizen attempted to loosen his shoulders, to let his neck fell back and just . . . let it . . . go.

              His father was going to kill him. He’d taken out Newton-2’s key for a moment of peace, and Johannes had been commanded to go take a stroll around the block, and here Kaizen was, alone, finally alone, stretched out at the foot of yet another stairwell, smoking one of his cigarettes. Not one of
his
cigarettes, one of his
father’s
cigarettes. There were only two handfuls left in the whole castle, and he’d smuggled three onto the carriage in recompense for being forced to attend this banal interview. Malthus had it in mind that Kaizen needed the exposure, the experience, and in his heart of hearts, he was vindictive about the night before. When Dyna Logan suggested that Kaizen attend the public image salvage, Malthus seized upon it.

              But his father didn’t know where he was. His father was busy preserving the social order of Icarus, and Kaizen, for a few more minutes, was just like a real boy.

              He pulled another drag deep into his lungs. It burned all the way down.

The door in front of him gave way to a low-lidded, smirking girl with silvery dreadlocks—except the cluster of black there, at her ear—and a pinwheeling mechanical assistant, a brass insect with slender, stained glass wings. The smoking boy coughed and sat up straight.

              “Kaizen,” she greeted, as if this was often how they met—which it was. There was something different about her today. She wasn’t quite the Legacy of before, tentative, discerning, and she also wasn’t like anyone from Kaizen’s daily life. Gone was all stiffness and formality, replaced with a languid state of presence and a casual, slouching gait. For God’s sake, she was a woman in trouser suspenders with a single, fraying sleeve wrapped around her neck.

              “Legacy,” he replied.

              “What’s that smell?” she asked, taking her seat beside him. “What have you got there?”

              “Oh, a—a cigarette,” he answered, brandishing the dwindling cylinder. “Have you never?”
Well, of course she hasn’t, you idiot,
he thought. There were less than two dozen in the entire castle; his father had purchased them as a novelty from a rare antiques auction in Heliopolis the year before.
“You should try some of this one. They’re really marvelous, you just . . . pull it in from the other end. It’s called a
drag.
”

              Legacy’s fingers slid over his to claim the cigarette between hers, and she took the slender vessel to her lips. His heart stuttered at the way her eyelashes kissed closed in welcome to the smoke, the way her mouth closed so readily upon an invention wholly unknown . . .

But it was only a second before she convulsed and spewed its runoff back into the air.

“It’s just like the smog!” she cried. “Poisonous!”

“It’s not a poison.” Kaizen delicately took possession of the thing, ashing it onto the stairs. “You just have to get used to it.” He took another draw.

“Yeah, well. That’s true of all poisons.”

Kaizen considered. “All right, then,” he allowed. “All I know is that it helps me unwind when I’ve been wound up. So, what are you doing here?”

“Oh . . .” Her eyes shifted as she scoured her memory for exactly why she was here. “I needed to speak with my Compatible Companion.”

Of course.
Kaizen’s eyes panned away.
Of course she’s got a Companion; look at her. Good stock, as Dad would say. It probably took all day for the difference engines to find someone even close, but they did. They would have to. Of course she’s been matched. Of course. Couldn’t let her slip through their steel fingers.

“Your Companion,” he repeated, eyes trained on the ground between his feet. “That must be nice.”

“Must be,” she echoed him.

“Weren’t you the one asking about the repeal of the Companion Law at the annual?” Kaizen looked at Legacy and found her with her chin between her knees, staring at a dent in the wall.

“Yeah,” she answered, offering nothing more. “Did you know there are amendments to the Companion law which state that I’ll officially become ineligible if I refuse to marry in ten years’ time? Or if anything should happen to me before then that would render me incapable of bearing children?”

Oh,
Kaizen realized, experiencing a wicked little squeeze to his heart.
She has a Companion . . . but they’re not together. That’s why she wants the laws repealed. So she can be free to meet someone else!

“I didn’t know that,” he answered honestly, brightening up.

“I suppose you wouldn’t. Men never become ineligible, unless there’s something ‘wrong’ with them, or they’ve already been with their Companion and had their one kid. Otherwise, you just get reassigned another Companion until your fertility comes into question. So you never have to worry about it, probably.” She rolled her eyes half-heartedly. “Let me have another drag.”

He held the cigarette toward her and she leaned forward, pursing her lips again around its unfiltered tip, then yanking away with a spasmodic sputter.

“Not for me, I guess,” she deduced, eyes watering. “It’s too intense.”

“Yes . . . I’ve been told that there are cigarettes which filter some of the toxins out, but this doesn’t have one.” Kaizen considered the cigarette, then glanced back to Legacy and said, “Here. Let me help you. Just . . . hold on.”

He pulled the smoke into his own lungs, willing the harmful chemicals to bind there and stay, then shifted toward the girl and braced her chin gently between his thumb and forefinger. Most people might find such a gesture alarming, but Legacy’s eyes remained even and receptive, as if he couldn’t possibly hurt her, not in her mind. He leaned into her space—until he could feel the heat of her skin radiating onto his own—and applied the slightest pressure with his thumb, opening her mouth. His lashes tilted up and down as he examined her features, but he didn’t dare close his eyes.

The smoke coursed between them, tying them together, and Legacy inhaled the dizzying vapor. Her own eyes were shut.

Kaizen had never been this close to a girl before. Even touching one. Even sharing a breath together. It was almost too much, and he worried he might just burst.

Flywheel hummed overhead, forgotten by both parties.

Legacy exhaled luxuriantly, a cloudy sigh escaping into the space between them, buffeting off of Kaizen and dissipating. Her eyes opened, still so even, still so receptive.

Kaizen’s fingers skated lightly along her jaw, trailing down her throat, over the makeshift scarf, and then lingering on her solar plexus, half-spellbound, half-hesitant. Her heartbeat pulsed under his fingers.

“It kind of hurts, but at the same time, it feels good,” he said, unable to break from her eyes. “Kind of . . . bittersweet.”
Like being so close to someone you couldn’t possibly ever have, but feeling, at the same time, like . . . maybe you could.
“I’m sorry,” he told her in advance, crossing the line between them and pressing his mouth to hers.

She yielded with warmth, almost calmly submissive, as if accepting the motion of the lead in a dance.

But this was Kaizen’s first kiss, and behind it the pent-up pressure of years. He couldn’t have ‘calm.’ He couldn’t have ‘warm.’ He pushed his tongue into her mouth, his free hand into her hair, and her back against the stairs. Incredibly, her fingers clung to his lower back, her legs curled around his in welcome, and Kaizen groaned under the sudden, acute agony of their separation. Friction contributed to their velocity, and he felt like he was on an airship with broken levers and madly throttling pistons, shooting sparks, threads of electricity incidentally being discovered along every joint.

“Ow,” Legacy murmured, glancing down. “Something is really . . . hard.”

Kaizen was about to apologize when he remembered Newton-2’s key and grinned. “Sorry,” he said, pulling the large brass key out of his pocket. He tossed it, with a tinny clatter, to the foot of the steps, and went back to losing himself in her. The outside world blurred around them and the hand he’d been using for support, the same one holding the forgotten cigarette, changed positions and went to peel down one of Legacy’s suspenders.

Is this what I’ve been missing? It’s narcotic!

Then the girl yelped and shoved Kaizen away, leaping to her feet after an ember had brushed against her bare arm.

“Okay, I’m sorry!” Kaizen reiterated reflexively, still having forgotten about the cigarette and certain that his advance had repulsed her. “I just—I’ve never—”

“It’s all right,” Legacy told him, pressing her burnt arm with her hand. “It was just an accident.”

“Yeah, kind of,” he said, looking away in embarrassment. His eyes fell across the dwindling cigarette. “Oh! This!” He stubbed it out, equally regretful that the kiss was over and high-spirited that it had happened. “Right! I’m sorry!”

Legacy’s lip quirked with amusement. “You’ve never?” she had to ask. Although such things were technically illegal, most kids—particularly those too young to have taken their Companion tests—had kissed someone at some point. It was like exiting a store with a drop of candy in their pocket. It was mostly just for fun, and understood that it didn’t mean anything, and yes, Legacy had kissed before. Of course, most of them were part of some silly game, and none of them had been anything like the one she’d received the night before.

Kaizen nodded, running his fingers through his hair. “Yeah, never . . . kissed anyone before,” he admitted. “The difference machines can’t match me at all, and girls never visit the castle grounds, you know. No one does. It’s just me . . . and the servants . . . and Sophie, of course, and our—”
Shit!
No one could know about Sophie’s existence! Particularly a suspected rebel! “—our other horses,” he finished lamely.

“I imagine Taliko would probably put us in jail if he knew,” Legacy noted thoughtfully, seeming otherwise unperturbed.

“Well, not me,” Kaizen said. “I’m sorry. I guess we really shouldn’t have.” Now that she wasn’t within an inch of his lips, now that he was breathing evenly, he could view the situation with some clarity, and it was incredibly stupid. He couldn’t even honestly imagine his father’s reaction, but he knew that it had put Legacy’s safety even more at risk. “It won’t happen again,” he told her. “I won’t tell anyone.”

“If only Dyna Logan knew what she’d just missed on her very own stairwell,” Legacy replied.

Kaizen winced and stood, glancing around as if they could be discovered at any moment. “You should get out of here; I should have told you sooner,” he said. “They’re going to want to interview me, and Johannes will be here any minute, and you—you got a star next to your name on the blacklist.”

He’d never seen someone so impervious. She hardly reacted. “Really. Well, that’s good to know. Certainly does escalate the circumstances, then, doesn’t it? I suppose I should probably go.”

“Look,” Kaizen said, compelled to help her escape the notice of the
CIN-3
sentries. “If you follow this stairwell all the way down, it’ll dump out right next to the back exit. But it’s guarded by an automaton who’s going to want to scan your clearance. If they’ve figured out you’re
Exa
Legacy—which they probably have—the automaton’s gonna detain you. But . . . here.” Kaizen fished in his pockets and produced a thin card of solid gold, a series of unreadable symbols hammered into it. “This is mine.”