Chapter Two In Which Chaos Ensues #2
But Daphne had never cared about any of that.
She was always starting a tussle with Zada over something ridiculous.
Seizing the last buttery-light pastry at lunch, for instance, or holding Zada’s secondhand data pad just out of reach.
They’d learned the geography of the surrounding country their first year—the soaring mountains of Michigan, the swamps of New York, the endless toxic wasteland just outside their borders—and at the same time, Zada had committed to memory a topographical map of Daphne’s ticklish spots.
Daphne knew all of Zada’s, too. More than one tickle fight had ended with both of them laughing too hard to speak and gasping, “Truce! Truce!”
Daphne had reached the atomizer, her gaze gone dark and distant. She was brooding, Zada realized. She was brooding over something or other, and this was Zada’s chance to salvage Flora’s happily ever after. Nothing was going to ruin today for her friend.
“Give it to me,” said Zada in a loud, clear voice.
Daphne opened her mouth, no doubt to deliver a blistering retort, and that’s when Zada pounced.
The reasonable thing to do would have been to go for the Applicator, which is why Zada instead aimed a light jab at Daphne’s ticklish left side. This sent Daphne scrambling out of the way—and beyond the range of the disposal.
Daphne’s next move, Zada knew from years of experience, would be to use their height difference to her advantage and hold the Applicator out of reach, so while Daphne struggled for her breath back, Zada grabbed for Daphne’s arms. Daphne fought harder than they had in school, but Zada had adrenaline on her side—adrenaline and a growing frustration over how impossible it had become to have one simple conversation with the person she’d once known best.
“What are you—” Daphne began, but Zada shoved Daphne against the wall of the control room with a burst of strength, grabbing hold of Daphne’s wrists and pinning them to the wall, bracketing either side of her head.
The momentum of it brought their bodies flush.
Zada froze. Daphne was breathing hard, face unreadable.
They were so close that every warm exhale stirred Zada’s eyelashes.
Something about the slight rise and fall of Daphne’s chest in that stylish, perfectly tailored waistcoat was hard to look away from, but that wasn’t the worst of it.
In the scuffle, Daphne’s sleeves had rucked up just enough that Zada’s left hand was wrapped around not only expensive cloth but also a sliver of Daphne’s bare wrist, smooth and warm, her pulse kicking like a frightened animal.
For a long, tense moment, neither of them spoke. Truce, thought Zada nonsensically.
Then, Daphne began to laugh. It was a bitter, mocking sound, violins with an edge of scorn.
“What,” said Daphne, “were you expecting music?”
Zada hadn’t expected it. Of course, she hadn’t.
It wasn’t statistically likely, for one.
Heartsong didn’t always pair women with men or men with women, but it happened more often than not.
(Any nonbinary young people could apply to choose the gender of their partner.
Applications were usually, but not always, approved.)
It was all for the good of New Ionia—there were birth rates to think of, for one thing.
And anyway, it wasn’t as if she wanted to discover that Daphne was her soulmate, and that she was destined to spend her life married to a fascinating and difficult person who now hated her.
But her face burned all the same.
“Oh, shut up,” Zada said with feeling. “Give me the Applicator.”
Daphne attempted to jerk away but Zada only tightened her hold on Daphne’s wrists. Daphne tipped her head forward and clenched her jaw, staring down the short distance between their faces.
“Or what?” Daphne murmured. “What are you going to do? Will you have me killed? Extricated?”
Zada gritted out, “I’ll call for help.”
“Nobody will hear you over the din of Dobson’s search party.”
Zada’s eyes cast around the room, which was safer territory than Daphne’s face anyway.
“I’ll wave a hand at one of the motion detectors,” said Zada. “They’re monitored in real time. Someone will come running.”
The slightest flicker of doubt flitted across Daphne’s features before her mouth curved into a sly grin.
“Oh, but you might get in trouble,” said Daphne softly. “You don’t have the guts for that anymore, do you?”
Daphne’s gaze darted away to the pitch-dark ceiling above them, and then, unaccountably, down to Zada’s lips, as if checking the truth of Zada’s words.
“As if you’ve ever faced a minute of repercussions for anything in your entire life,” said Zada, feeling suddenly very tired.
“Can’t face repercussions if you don’t get caught,” said Daphne. “You used to know that.”
Zada shook her head. “Daphne, just hand it over,” she said at last. “Even if they never find the Applicator, they’ll just program another one. At best, you can put off this marriage for a week. But it’s still going to happen. And what’s a week compared to the rest of their lives?”
A shudder went through Daphne’s body. Zada was crowding her close enough to feel the reverberations.
“Daphne, are you okay?” Zada asked again.
“No,” said Daphne, low and hollow, her face so close that Zada could count every dark eyelash. “I’m not okay. I haven’t been, for as long as I can remember.”
“Hey,” said Zada. “Deep breaths, remember?” She didn’t realize she’d loosened her grip until Daphne broke free, darting away.
Zada tensed at the sudden loss of warmth.
She expected Daphne to run or toss the Applicator down the chute or make a snide remark about boring little rule followers who couldn’t even maintain their guard.
What Daphne actually did was let out a huge, defeated sigh. “No amount of breathing will untangle this knot, Zada. I suppose you’re right,” she said, with a trace of a sad smile. “There’s no hope for me. I’ve lost.”
“I didn’t say—” Zada interjected, but Daphne was on a roll now.
“It’s too late,” she went on. “I’ve been outmaneuvered.”
“In your quest to ruin Flora and Aiden’s happiness,” put in Zada.
“Sure,” said Daphne with a shrug. “Let’s call it that.” She handed over the Applicator with a sarcastic bow, their fingers just barely brushing.
For a split second, Zada hesitated. She’d never seen Daphne give up without a struggle. Zada felt like an untuned instrument, incapable of producing a single worthwhile sound. She watched wordlessly as Daphne turned to go.
“Give my regards to the rest of the celebrants,” said Daphne, not looking back. “I’m afraid I’ve lost my appetite.” She paused, the line of her shoulders tense through the jacket. “I suppose you’re going to snitch on me?”
Zada wet her lips. “I haven’t decided yet,” she said to the back of Daphne’s dark head.
“Right,” Daphne said, shoving her hands into her pockets. “Right.” She ducked out of the room, and then she was gone.
Zada stood in the middle of the sea of blinking lights, carefully inhaling and exhaling. Daphne was right about this much: Breathing alone did not suffice.
But none of that mattered. She had a wedding to save.