Impact Velocity (The Physics of Falling) Page 6

  Pete.

  A sob wracked through me with the force of a gravity well, a black hole. I huddled over my knees, crying in great heaves as if I could retch up the past twenty-four hours, everything that was rank and horrible and rotten inside me. Someone touched me and, for a disoriented moment, I believed it was Pete and I reached for him, only to find I was clutching Jonathan’s shoulders instead. But his grip was hard and sure and grounding.

  “I’m sorry,” he rasped. “I didn’t mean—You must understand, I’ve spent years preparing this place for you, hoping with everything in me that you would never come, that I would never see you again, because of what it would mean. But this is—”

  I wanted to stop him. I wanted to beg him not to say any more. And yet I’d spent all the years we were together begging him to do this very thing. To talk to me, to acknowledge that we were friends, not just master and servant. He looked at me, raw emotion on his face as I’d never seen it. Begging me in return to ask him to stop, to not have to say any more.

  I couldn’t have spoken if my life depended on it.

  A spasm of pain crossed his face and he dropped my gaze. “It’s lonely here. And—and I have many regrets, and a lot of time to think about them. This,” he said, gesturing around us, “was an expiation of sorts, an apology. It was a way to have the spirit of you here. A way to know your daughter somehow. This was—” He sighed, shaking his head at himself. “This was as much for me as for you. Probably more so, since I didn’t think you’d ever see it.”

  To my horror I heard myself say, “Pete would have loved it.”

  He shivered once, all over. And then I saw him do it, pull the cloak of servant over himself, the careful and proper distance. “I had hoped so. And not. Your Highness.”

  “Don’t call me that,” I said, scrambling to my feet, backing away as if running from the words. “That’s not what I am anymore.” I shook my head. “I’m not sure I ever was.”

  He answered, very soft, still on his knees in front of me. “I think you’re wrong about that.” When I had no reply he continued. “What would you have me call you?”

  It was incredibly hard to say, and not for the reason I would have thought. “Jake.”

  He paled. For a long moment he just stared at me. “I can’t. Only your friends call you that.”

  I laughed, so harsh and unexpected. “And who are they now? Am I even alive outside this place?” My throat tightened. When I could find my voice again I said, “You asked, and that’s my answer.”

  His lips tightened and he looked away.

  “Think of it as a punishment,” I said, rough and strained. “You’ll hate it every time you have to say it.” He didn’t acknowledge that. I sighed.

  “Call me Jake. There are few enough people left who do. And, anyway, you’re—” I looked around, pain stabbing through my middle, the ache of loss as massive as the nebula. I wasn’t even sure what I was thinking, much less how to say it. I shrugged.

  “You’re you.”

  What time did you get up this morning?

  I never went to bed.

  You know, your work will still be there in the morning.

  The secrets of the universe wait for no man.

  iv14

  The bright light from the windows woke me. I glanced at the time and realized I’d slept half the morning away. I jumped up, snatching at the patch Dr. Heinriksen had put on me and jerking it off. I’d forgotten about that. Dr. Heinriksen and her stupid medicines.

  Pain tightened my throat. Would I ever see her again? She was the second person I’d met at the palace. She’d been kind to me from the moment we met, back when I thought everyone would always hate me on sight.

  The first person I’d met had been Jonathan, of course.

  Jonathan. Here. Which explained how I’d slept so long without the children waking me. Jonathan would have seen to that. Confusion and conflict swelled within me. The children didn’t know they shouldn’t trust him.

  Except that they should. Shouldn’t they? Shouldn’t I? Could I? I rubbed hard at my forehead. I couldn’t deal with this now. It was too much.

  I made my way out of the bedroom, following the soft noises of activity and found myself in the kitchen.

  Owen and Molly were perched on tall stools at one of the counters, eating something that smelled very good. My stomach rumbled. Molly slid from her chair and barreled into me, squeezing me around the waist, which was about as far as she could reach. I lifted her up so she could wrap her legs around me and drop her head on my shoulder.

  “Jonathan said you were just sleeping. He let me look but we had to be quiet. He said we shouldn’t wake you.”

  I petted her hair, kissing the top of her head absently, avoiding looking at Jonathan as I took in the ridiculously homey sight. “Are you OK?” I asked. She nodded, popping her head back up.

  “He cooks too,” she said, scrambling down and back up onto her chair. “It’s really good.”

  Owen was watching me with an oddly mature intensity. I ruffled his hair, hugging him where he sat. “How are you, buddy?”

  He just nodded, glancing at Jonathan, who was pretending to ignore us, before he turned wide, frightened eyes up at me. “I think it’s my fault,” he whispered.

  I blinked, unsure what we were talking about for a moment until I saw the tears begin to well in his eyes and I understood. “No,” I said firmly. “No, it’s not your fault. Not ever, in any way.”

  He shook his head. “I think it was my grandfather,” he insisted. I went very still, glancing at Jonathan. He too was motionless, waiting.

  “Why do you think that?”

  Molly interjected without looking away from her food. “Because he’s a mean man,” she mumbled around scrambled eggs. Owen wouldn’t look away from me, as if doing so was dangerous.

  “Molly, he’s...” I couldn’t defend him. He probably was behind it. He was a mean man. But how could I say that in front of Owen who already carried the burden of a father who had committed terrible crimes against the emperor Owen had called Papa?

  Owen glanced once more at Jonathan and I took his hand. “Let’s talk somewhere else, OK? Are you finished with your food?”

  He nodded, though whether he had eaten enough or was just too frightened to eat anymore I didn’t ask. His hand was sweaty in mine as we found a small sun room off the kitchen. I sat down, pulling Owen around to stand in front of me so I could hold both of his hands and meet his eye.

  “No matter who did this, it was not your fault.”

  “He said I should be emperor,” he forced out in a whisper I almost couldn’t hear. “He said that Molly shouldn’t be, because something was wrong with her, because of you, and that I should be emperor, not her.” Tears ran down his cheeks. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to say those awful things to you, and I didn’t tell Papa and I should have. If I’d told Papa maybe he would have been safe and then—”

  I grabbed his arms and shook him once to stop the hysterical rush of words, pulling him into a hug so tight he could probably barely breathe, certainly not spew self-condemnation anymore.

  “No,” I said again, this time soft against his cheek. “No. Papa knew to be careful, and he was as safe as we could make him. No one’s at fault except the person who did this. Do you understand?”

  He nodded reluctantly against my head. “Did my grandfather do it?” He was trembling.

  I sighed. “I don’t know, Owen. I don’t know, but it has nothing to do with you. Papa loved you and I love you and Molly loves you and I’m keeping you with me and not letting anything happen to you.”

  At first I thought he was nodding before I realized he was shaking with quiet sobs. I pulled him into my lap and held him like I hadn’t since he was much smaller, and let him cry until he couldn’t cry anymore.

  ***

 
; With breakfast forgotten, Jonathan showed Owen and me to a sunny playroom with a view of the wide-leaved trees shading the lawn. Molly stood at an easel, glopping wide streaks of paint on what appeared to be actual canvas. When she saw me, she ran over to Owen and squeezed him tight, glaring at me as if it were my fault he was upset.

  He hugged her back, kissing her cheek just like Pete would, and smoothly redirected her attention. “What are you painting?” he said, his voice raw, breathing hitched, but doing his best to sound level and calm for Molly. My heart hurt a little to see it.

  Jonathan stepped up to my side. “You have a message waiting,” he said low enough not to distract the children. I frowned at him, puzzled, following his gaze to one of the comm units the servants always carried. The indicator showed new mail in my inbox.

  “I’m still getting my mails?”

  He shook his head slowly. “Not from outside. This must be a message that was stored here and has been triggered by your arrival.”

  “Oh,” I said quietly, turning away, my stomach heavy and giddy all at once. Back in my room I sank into the chair at the desk, staring at the blinking light in the corner that promised a message I wasn’t sure I could handle. I opened it.

  “Hi, Jake.”

  He looked younger. I glanced at the time stamp. Five years ago, before Molly was born.

  “So, if this is the message you got, then I’m dead,” Pete said, “but you’ve made it to the safe house. I hope I got to say goodbye.” He glanced down, as if the words were difficult for him. I couldn’t breathe.

  “You’ll already know by now that Jonathan is the caretaker. I just wanted to explain. I arranged for him to be sent there. He doesn’t know that, and you can tell him or not, however you want. I couldn’t just let him go, the way you said. Sam knew he was a security concern and he came to me. He was prepared to quietly execute Jonathan if I gave the order, though he was clearly relieved when I didn’t.

  “I hoped there would never be any need for you to know he was there, and I hope, now that you’ve found him, it hasn’t upset you. I know isolation is a painful issue for you.”

  I honestly hadn’t thought of that yet, how Jonathan had essentially been in permanent solitary confinement. Trust Pete to remember why that might be hard for me.

  “I don’t know how much time has passed since I recorded this, if you’ve had enough time to deal with how you feel about him and what he did. But I’m not the only one bad at holding grudges. You get too angry to really stay mad at people you love. You burn out fast and then you just feel guilty. So I hope seeing Jonathan again will be some healing and comfort for you both.”

  He sighed. “If you’re at the safehouse that means things have gone badly for us. I hope—” he hesitated. “The surrogate’s pregnant right now, and I think finally it’s going to work, and we’ll have a child soon. But maybe Aliana is still my heir.” He looked frustrated. “I have no way of knowing what’s happened to put you here. It’s a last-resort measure, and that means something has gone terribly wrong. If there’s a way to put things right, a way back for you—and our child, if we have one—Jonathan is the one who could find it.” He grimaced. “Don’t take that the wrong way.”

  I huffed a laugh then remembered he couldn’t hear me and my gut bottomed out .

  “Listen to him,” he said, “please. You don’t have a lot of options now, though I know you’re going to do everything you can to see that whatever happened to me is dealt with, and that my heir takes the throne. But please, Jake, please be careful. You’re safe now, as safe as you can be anywhere in the empire.” He smiled sadly. “I know you won’t accept that as the final word on anything, but be careful. If I’ve been captured or killed, you’re in as much danger as you think you are, probably more. Listen to Jonathan. Even if you can’t forgive him yet. He’ll keep you safe, and I want you to be safe.”

  His expression twisted. “I’m sorry I’m not there for you anymore. But I love you, I always did. Don’t ever doubt that. You were the best part of my life and I’ll never be sorry I fell in love with you, no matter how it ended for me.” He reached forward and pressed his palm to the screen. Without conscious thought I placed mine against it. “Goodbye, my love. Thank you for marrying me. Thank you for everything.”

  There’s been a measurable increase in the density of the central cloud of the nebula. You picked a good one, Emperor.

  Well, I had to find something that would impress you.

  iv15

  It was quite some time before I could compose myself and rejoin Jonathan and the children. I found the three of them as I’d left them, the children conferring over their art and Jonathan standing aside. He made no attempt to hide the fact that he was watching them, something like hunger in his expression. Suddenly I realized why.

  “Where is your daughter?” I blurted.

  He looked up at me, an expression of mild surprise on his face. “The last I heard, she and her mother were still on your estate in Mexico.”

  That shocked all the words right out of me. “My estate?”

  A puzzled line appeared between his eyes. “Were you not aware of that?”

  “I—No. No one saw fit to tell me,” I grumbled, feeling both wounded and sad that they’d been there all that time and I hadn’t known. Why not tell me? Did they think I would mind? Why put them there in the first place? And yet it was so like Pete, to put them under my protection but wait to tell me, when it would hurt less.

  I looked at my children helplessly, watching Owen at his own easel beside Molly and wondering what in the galaxy I was going to do.

  As if reading my mind Jonathan gestured to the sun room where I’d sat with Owen. “If you like, I can update you on what I know.” I gave the children another long look, realizing with a sort of startled surprise that I was hesitating about leaving them alone. I didn’t think they had ever been alone. “We’ll be in the next room; we can hear them.”

  I scowled at myself, feeling stupid for worrying. I’d spent most of my early years without much supervision, taking care of my sister and mother while I was still younger than Owen. Sometimes it struck me how incomparably different these children’s lives were from mine. From anyone’s, really. I wondered what would become of them now.

  I shook my head and followed Jonathan. Like every other room I’d seen in this place, the windows were wide and plentiful, offering expansive views of what I guessed was tropical rain forest. On a table set between two chairs, a tray held tea and coffee and a plate of the food the children had been eating.

  “Do you really cook?” I said.

  “I do now.”

  I huffed in amusement, startled to realize that between the message from Pete, and the simple familiarity of Jonathan’s presence, I’d lost my wariness of him somewhere. It was probably stupid of me. Except that I didn’t have the strength to maintain it anymore. And Pete had put him here. Pete, who always knew better than I did and who would never have done anything to hurt me. I dropped into the chair and picked up a cup of tea, the weight of despair settling over me again.

  “Oh, Jonathan. What am I going to do?”

  “Right now you’re going to eat something.”

  The practical, straightforward answer startled a laugh out of me and I found myself reaching for the plate without even thinking about it. The moment died quickly. The food may have been good, but it felt like sawdust in my mouth.

  “Do we even know what’s going on? What are the news broadcasts saying?”

  “What the news broadcasts are saying and what’s actually going on are two different questions.”

  I grimaced. “Yes, I know that. But we’re not getting status reports here or anything.”

  “Of course we are.”

  I sat up, startled. “But I thought...” I trailed off, trying to piece together what Pete’s message had said with what I knew of this pl
ace—which was nothing. “Well aren’t we stuck here now? Even if we did know what was going on, it’s not like we can do anything.”

  His smile held a hint of amusement. “With all the planning that’s gone into this place, do you think it’s just a fancy retirement facility? It’s a defensive position. Now we work on getting you back where you belong. Princess Marquilla can hardly inherit the throne if she’s stuck out here.”

  “Molly,” I corrected absently. “How are we going to do that? You said you can’t contact anyone except for requisitions or whatever.”

  “I said no provisions were made, not that I couldn’t do it. There aren’t many who know as much as I do about these things.”

  “Not all of it obtained honestly.”

  He didn’t look away or flinch. “No. Not all of it. Maybe not even most.”

  I couldn’t face his raw honesty. How was it possible that he could do this to me after all this time? That after all he’d done, I could look him in the face and still feel like the lesser man.

  I scrubbed my face hard with my hands. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that. I don’t even know where this is coming from.”

  He gave me a faint smile. “Don’t be too hard on yourself. You’re going through a lot right now. I’d be surprised if anyone could handle it well. You especially.”

  I looked up at him in shock. His smile was faint but teasing. It drew a startled laugh out of me. A long moment passed in which we just stared at each other, and it felt like something changed, though I didn’t know what. I had to look away.

  “Anyway,” he continued, as if we hadn’t deviated from the conversation at all, “it’s an entirely different matter now that you are here. There are automatic processes that have already begun that are designed to help me coordinate with whatever allies we have now. I’ve also separately established contact with the head of the Resistance. I know him as TG.”