Chapter Six In Which a Door Is Opened
Several streets away from the catering district, near the processing plants where the hydroponic crops were converted to more useable ingredients, a muddy rut stretched out for the length of a block or two.
At some point, it had been a healthy creek with a charming little footbridge built over it.
The water had long ago been used up. Nowadays, the bridge was in poor repair, the stonework crumbling and worn away by time.
It also hosted an ever-changing display of motion graffiti.
Every week, unflattering caricatures of city officials and unsettling sentiments sprang up on its underside like a writhing, Technicolor fungus.
On any given day, you might find ROTTEN TO THE CORE or ADMIN ERSKINE CAN EAT SHIT!
or the full preamble to the New Ionian charter sprayed across the span of the bridge.
Daphne called it “the Gallery.” She’d swung by every weekend she could and even some when she couldn’t.
More than once, Zada had covered for Daphne while she bypassed the dorm controls and disappeared into the early dawn, hopping onto the back of any hyper-carriage that might take her in the right direction.
Zada herself had been to the Gallery with Daphne a handful of times.
Zada had no eye for visual art, but standing together beneath the bridge, Zada had studied her friend’s face, just as Daphne studied this piece of urban decay, and that was its own experience.
Daphne had been different here—quieter, less edgy, less likely to deflect an honest question with a barb or a joke.
Maybe the only way to navigate out of the storm of Zada’s longing for the past was to steer into the middle of it, to remind herself that Daphne’s Gallery was nothing but a sad little bridge leading from nowhere to nowhere, covered in ugly scribbles.
She had a bright future ahead of her, and she wouldn’t be facing it alone.
She would have Buford. She was lucky to have found her soulmate so soon.
She was lucky to be a citizen of New Ionia.
She was lucky for so many reasons, and she should be happy.
Zada told herself this all the way across the warehouse district until she reached the bridge.
It looked the same as always: like a neglected stretch of road that had gone moldy.
She hesitated a moment, trying to decide if riding this impulse to face the past was more important than keeping her boots clean, when she heard a voice behind her.
“Think you might be lost, madam,” said Daphne. “The ‘giggle and twirl your hair while you contemplate your perfectly romantic life with your perfectly romantic spouse’ district is three streets over, I’m afraid.”
Zada turned. Daphne was wearing a loose white blouse tucked into very fitted trousers, which were tucked into soft-looking black boots.
The cooling fibers were so fine on the blouse, it really did look like linen.
A slight shimmer at the crown of her hair was the only hint of a sunshade.
Well, that and the fact that she wasn’t squinting in the high noon glare. Her gaze was cool and direct.
Zada had skipped her coffee that morning, but all of a sudden, her blood seemed to be half espresso.
“Oh dear,” Zada said, rocking back on her heels. “You’re right, I’ve gone too far. I made it all the way to ‘act like an utter ass’ alley.”
Daphne snorted, then caught herself. “A common mistake.” She bowed and gestured for Zada to pass her on the path. “I’ll leave you to your prewedded bliss, then. I’ll just—”
“Why did you try to ruin Flora’s wedding?”
Daphne tilted her head. “A respectable young lady such as yourself would never understand.”
“Oh, get over yourself,” Zada shot back. “Just tell me. Why would you steal the Applicator? Even if we’re not friends anymore, I know that you still care about Flora. I can’t believe you would do something like that just to be cruel.”
“Can’t you?” Daphne countered, eyes flashing. “It’s been over a year. People change.”
Had Daphne really changed? She was certainly more weary, more sharp-edged and sharp-tongued than before. But of course, she had every reason to be, given how Zada had walked away from her.
Zada thought back to her Dalrymple days, to Daphne buying her jewelry in town.
Daphne protecting the first-years from Venetia’s caustic comments and Hubert’s bullying.
Daphne climbing the tree outside their dorm so that she could syringe-feed formula to a nest of abandoned baby sparrows.
The sparrows had been malformed, too weak to hold up their little sleek heads, the product of a flock of gen-mod birds brought in for some fancy celebration.
When the admin found out about the nest, they ordered the hatchlings removed. Daphne had gone a full day without saying a word to anyone after that.
“Yes, people change,” Zada said quietly. “But not that much.”
Daphne swallowed, the elegant line of her throat working.
“It’s a long story,” she said finally.
“I’ve got time,” said Zada.
“I highly doubt that.” Daphne raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you have a wedding to plan?”
“I do,” Zada said. And before she could think better of it, she added, “And I need someone to accompany me. If you came along, you could explain yourself, and I’d have some entertainment while I go around comparing five identical shades of buttercream.”
Daphne gasped. “Do you mean to imply you still can’t tell the difference between off-white and alabaster? What the shitting hell was our fancy-ass education even for?”
“Says the lady who still can’t tell the key of C from G,” Zada put in.
“Music,” said Daphne, shaking her head. “All this talk of keys and yet nothing ever gets unlocked.”
“So you’ll come with me?” Zada asked.
“I didn’t say that.” Daphne’s eyes narrowed. “First you want to be friends, then you don’t, now you do again. It’s dizzying, Zada.”
“Friendship has nothing to do with it. Consider this a transaction, plain and simple. You have information, and I have something you want, too.”
“Oh?” said Daphne. “What’s in it for me?”
“A beetle,” said Zada.
“What?” Daphne’s eyes widened. She’d always harbored an interest in the creatures that had come before New Ionia—dinosaurs, whales, insects other than crickets or butterflies.
Anything that creeped or crawled in particular fascinated her, and she had scoured every science feed she could find hoping to learn more about ants or beetles or bees.
(Plants nowadays were pollinated by drone, and objectively, Zada understood this was better.
Drones didn’t sting. But Daphne had always spoken about the animal life before the city like it was something that had been taken from her personally.)
“For your collection,” Zada added. “One that you absolutely don’t have yet.”
“There are no beetles in New Ionia,” Daphne said. “They failed to justify their own existence.”
“And yet, I have one on offer,” said Zada. “Take it or leave it.”
Daphne regarded her for a moment, then extended a hand to shake. “Those wing cases had better be magnificent.”
Zada took the offered hand, feeling the usual shock at bare skin touching bare skin. Daphne’s palm was warm and dry, her grip surprisingly tentative. For a full four-count, they simply stood there, hand in hand. Then Daphne tugged at her hand and Zada let go.
“Well,” said Daphne. “Shall we?”
They took the pedestrian path west, back toward the heart of the city. As the rumble of the factories gave way to the rush of trains, Daphne said, “You’ll have to take my word for it, but neither of them wanted it.”
“Wanted what?” Zada asked.
“Any of it. Flora and Aiden had no real interest in getting married.”
“But—” Zada hesitated, her mind racing. That was impossible, unimaginable.
She and Flora had spent so many hours together, daydreaming about who their soulmates might be and debating their favorite romance novel tropes, the relative merits of enemies to lovers versus love at first sight and so on.
Flora had maintained a feed of wedding style tips since she was thirteen.
She had even burst into tears when she’d been matched with Aiden.
Surely, Flora had been more than ready to be a bride.
Then again, every time Zada had seen Flora in the run-up to the wedding, Flora had been exhausted, snappish, and stressed.
There had been too many details to oversee, too many last-minute logistical fires to extinguish.
She’d only relaxed the week before the wedding, when she’d gone in for Counseling, and thank the Founders for that.
She seemed so serene, almost ethereal in her joy after her sessions.
True, Flora and Aiden had never so much as noticed each other at school. Zada had thought it all very romantic at the time, that love could bloom between two complete strangers.
But now, after being matched with Buford, it didn’t seem all that romantic anymore.
And if Zada felt so little for Buford, someone she’d known previously and even liked well enough, what must Flora have felt?
What if she, like Zada, had gone home after the ball and realized that she didn’t love Aiden?
Had she been hiding the pain and disappointment of it all this time?
“Continue,” said Zada finally.
Daphne glanced at her. “You believe me?”
They’d crossed over to the shopping district now, and crowds of people swarmed around them. No one would pay attention to their strange, almost blasphemous conversation. But stopping in the middle of the walkway was sure to draw attention.
Zada pulled at Daphne’s sleeve, urging her onward. “Let’s say I do.”
“Well, then, it’s simple,” said Daphne. “Flora doesn’t love Aiden, and Aiden loves someone else entirely. They wished to escape, they told me, and I offered to help them make their exit.”
“From City Hall?” said Zada. “It’s a maze, sure, but it’s not that bad.”
“From New Ionia,” Daphne said, and Zada felt her jaw drop open.