Chapter 35
THIRTY-FIVE
NICOLE
Calm down, Nicole. It’s just an award ceremony. Nothing to freak out about.
The fabric of my new wrap dress floats over me like a cloud. I chose black and gold to match Arture, the material of my gown lighter than it looks and shimmering under the bright lights of my room. It clings to my body in all the right places, structured yet fluid, like armor disguised as elegance.
I’m going to need all of that today. Bringing down a wannabe dictator was supposed to be scarier, even though all I did was react and not think about it, but this is standing in public with literally thousands of eyes on me. I’m not as kinky as Laura, I don’t enjoy that sort of thing.
But it’s for a good cause. Arture’s a hero after all, his face plastered all over the world. As the females watched the culmination of the first mating games for the clones, they got two attempted murders then a plot blown wide open by the perpetrator herself instead. Pretty big deal.
Blood Feather prances on the table, nickering.
“You're a hero too,” I reassure the Equeleus stallion, picking him up.
He stands on my shoulder, preening around the splint I set on his wing. It'll heal with time, thank goodness.
“Ready?” I ask the tiny horse.
He nibbles my earlobe, then gets wisps of my hair caught in his mouth. Chuckling, I free him. There's no more room for delay, or we'll be late. With a deep breath, I leave the room the All-Mother gave me and enter her apartment.
It's a hive of activity. As I ride the elevator to the top, the screens replay pictures of Samara in whatever passes for house arrest here. There’s no defense for what she did and Oloria has seen her true nature.
It’s left her stranded, abandoned even by the Samarastocks.
She’ll be imprisoned for now, until the Voice and their justice system can figure out what to do with a woman who was so insecure she thought the only path to peace was war.
The Samarastocks surrendered, and while Shara figures out what to do with them, they're under watch but not in jail. They're like Arture, arrogant but confused, confronting their darkness and trying not to let it win.
I take a deep breath, forcing myself to focus on where we are now as the elevator arrives at the very top floor.
The ceremony to celebrate clones is held high atop one of the city’s tallest skyscrapers.
We arrived yesterday, and as I climb the final staircase, I try to distract myself with the gleaming building, its glass panels reflecting pastel hues of sunset.
Below, the city pulses with life, crowds of clones gathering in the streets, celebrating.
Mini festivals spill through the streets in vibrant colors, music, and laughter.
The clones have all seen the footage too, seen Arture outsmart his cruel creator, then plunge his fist into his own chest to save a human female.
They’ve seen a Samarastock refuse to be a tool of destruction and instead fight for a life of his own choosing.
A clone, sacrificing himself for a female.
I press my hand to my chest, feeling the steady thrum of my heart—his heart, the one he gave me.
He’s part of me now, in more ways than one.
I can’t wait to see him recognized and rewarded for everything he’s done.
Although, now he really will have a big head.
When I reach the top, there are so many people, I nearly faint. “Give me a paddock full of horses any day,” I mutter.
Shara comes to stand next to me, radiant in silver. Her wrap dress flows like liquid moonlight, cascading around her figure in delicate waves, the fabric smooth against my arm when she threads hers around my elbow.
“Breathe,” she advises.
I do so, a gulp of superheated air. “Good idea.”
The All-Mother moves ahead of me, head high. I follow closely, my black and gold dress clinging to me in the cool breeze. I keep my chin up, matching the All-Mother's stride, but my new heart is galloping like a spooked horse.
Around me, women clap and smile, some reaching out to touch my arm or murmur congratulations.
The energy is electric, and I wonder how many of them truly understand what this moment means.
High above the city, with the celebration in full swing and the clones' cheers echoing from the streets below, it feels like standing on the edge of a new world.
And then he appears.
Arture strides along the stage ahead of us.
His scales gleam in the sun, broad shoulders buffed to a golden glow, while the black scales on his chest shimmer with an obsidian shine.
He wears tighter than usual pants, as if they’ve been sprayed on, and every muscle of his thighs stand proud and bulge as he walks.
When he sees me, his grin widens, so utterly satisfied that I can’t help the blush heating my cheeks.
He has that maddeningly smug look, like he’s just spent hours pleasuring me and knows he’s done an exceptional job.
Behind him, Juran and Ezla follow with far more modest expressions, their eyes darting nervously over all the females nearby and the massive crowd below, clearly as unused to this kind of attention as I am. They stick close to Arture like a pair of awkward brothers.
As he gets closer, Arture’s grin fades. I wonder what's the matter, when he breaks formation and comes right up to me, not even acknowledging the All-Mother.
“What's wrong? You’re terrified.” He puts a soothing hand on the center of my chest. Can he feel what I'm feeling, or is he just learning my tells?
I throw my arms around his waist. “Too many people, not enough animals.”
He kisses the top of my head. “I'll protect you from them.”
I swat his arm, but my cheeks warm at his words. He means everyone.
“Blood Feather, here, boy.” Arture holds out his hand for the tiny Equeleus.
Blood Feather trots across, nosing along Arture's scales as if for treats.
Arture pulls out a piece of seedcake. “Some for you.” He drops a crumb on his palm, and Blood Feather eagerly chomps it up. “And some for you,” he says, passing me the rest of the slice.
I nudge him, but I eat a bite of his delicious seedcake. “Get back into place, you reprobate.”
Giving me a lingering look, Arture slides his metal palm down my arm until our fingers tangle together. There we stand, and his presence fills me with courage.
Shara raises her hands for silence, and the cacophony of cheers and murmurs softens into a hushed reverence. Crowds of clones—leaders, engineers, cooks, cleaners, pilots, healers, farmers—stare up at us from below, their faces glowing with anticipation and pride.
“It is my great honor,” Shara begins, her voice steady despite the emotion clear in her eyes, “to finally welcome the clones into our society as sentient beings.”
The cheers from the crowd below explode into thunderous applause, so deafening it's a single sound I can feel vibrating in my chest. I glance over at Arture, whose smug grin softens into true happiness. Juran rolls his shoulders but can’t help smiling, and Ezla’s crossed arms relax ever so slightly.
Tears roll silently down Shara’s cheeks as she steps forward, holding a small syringe. She takes Arture’s forearm in her hands with the tenderness of a mother, pressing the needle into the skin of his left arm and injecting its contents.
The crowd falls silent once more, as if they can sense the gravity of this moment.
“This chip,” Shara announces, her voice cracking with emotion, “is the first to be administered. It grants all clones new rights to their own justice court, where they will be judged by their peers as well as the Voice of women. It gives them a right to choose new homes and new vocations, and to live the lives of their choice.”
She smiles as she adds, “And yes, the right to participate in the mating games.”
The crowd erupts again, cheers swelling into a force of its own. Shara steps back, her hand lingering on Arture’s arm for just a moment before letting go.
Arture stands under the spotlight like he belongs there, the crowd chanting his name. A man who once believed he was nothing more than a tool, now celebrated.
“And for the human Nic-coal—”
“Fuck,” I hiss, glaring at Arture.
He squeezes my hand even as he slaps his free hand to his cheek. “Oops, did I not mention you'd also be celebrated today?”
I back away, but while his grip doesn't tighten, he doesn't let go, either.
“Whoa, Nic-coal—”
“Don't whoa Nic-coal me, I'm not doing it.”
He turns my shoulders to face him, getting down to my level.
“Look, I'm sorry I lied to you. Again. Got you here on false pretenses.
But I knew you wouldn't come if I warned you, and you deserve some celebrating.” He kisses my cheek, murmuring in my ear, “On top of how we're going to celebrate tonight, of course.”
My face sets ablaze.
He puts his arms around my waist. “I swear, Nic-coal, I'll always protect you. You'll be fine here.”
And with that reassurance, he leads me back to the All-Mother. She doesn't miss a beat, giving me a warm smile and handing me a flat disc.
It's as heavy as a pebble but smooth, clearly manufactured. “What is it?”
“A tablet of the ancients,” Shara says. “It's a treasure of Oloria, given now to you in recognition of the strong bond forged between humans and Olorian clones.”
“Uhh… thanks. It's lovely.”
I look up at Arture to see if this means anything to him, when his golden eyes catch the light, and there it is again—his maddening, self-satisfied grin.
The noise fades into nothing. His grin expands, becomes a true smile of happiness, and the way his focus is entirely on me makes my heart thump in an entirely different way.
A Parthiastock's voice cuts through the revelry. “Warning! Alert all stations! Incoming ship, heading straight for us.”
A ripple of tension cuts through the joy, clones surrounding us to protect us.