“And the underclass live in the arcologies,” I say. I’m starting to understand.
The sondi swoops lower, and an entire section of the palatial towers hinges open, revealing a docking bay. The sondi balloon deflates and floats in, and the carriage gently touches down on the dock. Alberich leads us down the boarding ramp.
“The other scions will arrive shortly,” he says.
My mother nods. She holds her chin high as another sondi enters the bay.
“Mother,” I whisper, “what are other scions?”
This next sondi is much larger and more ornately painted than the one we traveled in. The carriage’s silver hull shines like some sort of bullet shark of the deep. The ramp lowers, and a pair of uniformed guards exit. They take up positions at the bottom of the ramp. A man wearing a frilly kimono follows and plants himself between them. His hair has outrageous curls above a puckered face with lips too large. “The concubine Lady Zabeth Tandor of the Tao-Trans Corporation and her daughter, Lady Lavinia Leontes,” he announces with a flourish.
Lady Lavinia Leontes?
The delicate and porcelain-skinned Lady Tandor daintily steps to the bottom of the ramp, adorned in a lacy, lavender gown. A small girl in identical dress stands at her side. She has her mother’s pale, flawless skin and eyes the most entrancing shade of violet I’ve ever seen. Her hair is raven dark, which is highly unusual for the uniformly blond-haired Nightsiders. The color is even deeper than that of the islanders, but her skin has never touched the sun of the Dayside—I’d bet my life on it. She would be beautiful but for the extreme sense of superiority that rolls off her in waves. She curtsies alongside her mother.
Everyone is dressed so ornately. Our island linens stick out like tillyfish in a pack of makos.
Humiliation sends blood to my cheeks.
Alberich bows, and Lady Tandor extends her hand. The grizzled man kisses it. She pulls it away as if she would rather it be touched by a soiled rag. “My lady,” he grunts.
“Where’s my husband?”
“Lord Edric is preparing for the ritual.”
Lady Tandor lets out a sigh of exasperation.
Edric is her husband? I thought my mother was the only woman who belonged to him, but that can’t be true if this painted lady claims to be his wife, too.
Lady Tandor does not look at my mother. “I see Edric has invited all his whores to the proceedings then.”
“Whores are paid, Zabeth. Therefore, theirs is the mark of pomp and finery.” My mother’s eyes skim Lady Tandor’s ostentatious gown. “Wives are those that bear heirs. That’s a lovely dress, though.” Her voice drips sarcasm.
Lady Tandor scoffs. “It appears that after this ceremony, both of us will be little more than old laundry.”
What does she mean, old laundry?
I steal a glance at the little girl with the violet eyes. Lavinia looks back at me with the curiosity of a predatory bird, then turns away as if I’m a speck of dust not worth her gaze.
Another sondi enters the chamber. It’s the color of burnished copper. The boarding ramp extends, and a curvaceous woman with auburn hair exits. Holding her hand is a toddler—a girl, maybe three years old. The child’s undoubtedly beautiful, even at this young age. Her face, however, is covered with so much paint that she looks like a clown to me.
Alberich bows and kisses the auburn-haired woman’s hand. “Lady Tamara Calay, welcome.”
The woman smiles broadly, and so does the toddler by her side. Lady Calay turns to the others. “Cleopatra. Lady Zabeth.”
My mother smiles stiffly. Lady Tandor doesn’t even acknowledge the newcomers.
“Now that you’re all here”—Alberich breaks the discomfort—“you’re to follow me to the main hall for the christening.”
The christening?
Moments later, we are packed into a pneumovator car that rockets us to the apex of the tower.
I will see my father for the first time, I realize. I must look brave. I must look strong. I must make him and my mother proud.
Lavinia catches me balling my fists and puffing out my chest. She snorts. My face turns bright red.
I’m ignoring you! I think.
The giant double doors open. The imperial throne room is huge, packed with people dressed in finery. They flank a lavish red carpet with gold embroidery that has been laid upon the marmoreal floor. I’m shoved forward next to Lavinia. Our procession remains in tight formation as we walk down the carpet toward the giant sea-ape throne raised upon a dais. The shades of the room have been opened to let the orange light of the half-lidded sun spill in.
“Edric’s children. Look at them!” I hear whispers from the sea of blond-haired nobles. “He’s just an island blackhead, see!” One points.
My skin may be light, but my hair is like a Daysider’s, thick and dark. They think I’m disgusting, I realize. They think I’m different.
“Pay them no heed,” Lavinia whispers next to me without turning. Her violet gaze remains ever forward. “They know that we are their betters, no matter the color of our hair.”
I nod, taking courage from her words. “Right,” I say.
“Well, at least I am their better,” she adds, undercutting me.
My father stands at the foot of the dais. I recognize him from the aquagraphics—Edric Leontes, the leviathan. I swallow, feeling like I have a rock in my throat when his ice-cold eyes pass over me. He looks so handsome and stern. His silvery hair is pulled back and braided around his shoulders. His granite face glows with pride.
A wizened old man in green and gold robes sits upon the throne behind him. His wispy hair is covered by a pointed cap, and his eyes are narrowed slits. The tails of a gray mustache flow down to his chest. In a gnarled hand, he holds a cane of darkest cocolao wood. It’s capped by a silver dancing monkey, the sea ape, sigil of House Wusong. His eyes turn to us, and I feel my pulse quicken with fear.
“Don’t be frightened,” Lavinia hisses. “Old Wusong isn’t like the emperors of the past. The Great Song, Tao’s founder, may be his ancestor, but the emperors ceded their authority to the High Synod in 815 P.F.C. when the Empress Boudika was forced to abdicate. This emperor never even entered the Combat! You probably didn’t know that, stupid.”
“I’m not frightened,” I lie. “And I’m not stupid.” Still, I’m thankful for the uneasy ally. Lavinia might think the emperor does not have the power of the emperors of old, but as Alberich stops the procession, I can’t help but feel that we’re in the presence of a threat.
We reach the foot of the great throne, and the seneschal bows deeply. My mother has her hand on the small of my back directing me, so I follow suit and bow along with everyone else. I feel dreadfully out of place and ill prepared.
“Concubines and scions of House Leontes,” Alberich announces, then joins the ranks of the Leontes guard flanking the hall.