18 DAYS. 14 HOURS. 02 MINUTES.
Luckily for me and IoN, Meena was a princess and could get a hold of anything; apparently, even a steamer in an otherwise pretty technologically vacant muddle of villages. We set off into the desert in search of Vine Valley Prison, but I had no idea where I was going.
“IoN,” I asked, “do you know the way?”
“Yes.” He sat on the hood and held on using his claw-like hands. “My navigational system is up and running. You should head north for a farther ten miles.”
“Roger that.”
Meena chose to sit in the passenger seat next to me, rather than in one of the five seats available in the back, and even with her scarf wrapped around her head and mask covering her mouth and nose, features barely visible, her eyes glistened in the desert sun.
“What else do you know about Vine Valley Prison?” I asked when the desire to fill the silence overwhelmed me.
“It’s manned by over a hundred soldiers we don’t have a need for back home. It also has two dozen humans in upper management, making sure everything goes smoothly. Food is scarce out here, so the local villages provide whatever spare food items they have in exchange for other resources and money the capital provides.
“The kinds of people in Vine Valley have always made me shiver. Murderers, rapists, serial killers, terrorists... Do you remember that serial killer terrorizing women and children on floor four last year?”
The memory hit me. “Carmen Badaga, right? Rumor had it she used toxic steam to poison her victims in a trapped, air-tight room.”
Meena’s eyes darting ahead, scanning our environment. “How much farther, IoN?”
“Three miles, Princess Jemeena.”
Meena giggled, the sound muffled behind the mask. “You may call me Meena, IoN.”
“Very well, Princess.”
Now it was my time to chuckle. “IoN, you know she knows you’re...different. There’s no need to be so stiff and formal.”
“I am aware of the princess’s knowledge of our secret, El.” A crackly sound escaped his mouth. “But she is still the princess. She deserves some respect for her position.”
“Well,” Meena interjected, “it would be nice to be treated like a normal person for a change. Even if only for the next eighteen days.”
The reminder of the reason we were here struck my chest like lightning. I grabbed her hand, providing comfort. Though for her or myself, I was no longer sure.
Would it have been better never to have promised her this false hope? To have said no that day she stumbled into the garage and sent her back to floor twenty-one to live out her remaining days in luxury and peace? Looking at her distant eyes now, full of trepidation and hope burning like opposing flames, I wondered if this hadn’t been a huge mistake.
But I promised she wouldn’t die alone.
If that meant we had to drive to the ends of the earth to make sure she died full of hope and happiness, then that was what I would do.
A half hour later, a line of buildings and drifting smoke arose in the distance like a looming answer no one wanted. But I had to know. I had to find out what Dad was doing with Varissa and why he couldn’t save Mom. Or himself.
Why did he leave me?
We drove up to the front, where two bronze statues of humans jutted out of the sand and held up a steel gate thicker than the height of a person. After a long, tense look at the walls, I realized the entire prison was surrounded by a gate of the same thick metal.
There would be no escaping this compound.
“Drive up to the gates, please.” Jemeena’s demeanor had returned to its Princess Protocol, as I’d been calling it in my head: back straight, scarf pulled down, and a neutral expression on her face. “I’ll handle getting us in.”
I edged the steamer closer until I could take us no farther, and we waited for what felt like thirty whole minutes before someone came out of a small door within the left bronze statue, just above the feet.
Jemeena stayed seated, so I followed suit, allowing the guard to come to us, but when he did, he folded his arms across his chest and scowled. “What is your business here?”
Meena turned to face him, lowered the scarf covering her face, and smiled. “I wish to see Varissa, please.”
A smirk crossed his face and he harrumphed. “No one sees the prisoners here. That’s the rules.”
Meena looked unimpressed but simply turned to the man with a neutral set to her lips. “Yes, I am aware of the law, having sat with my father when he made plenty of them.” His eyes went wide as his skin paled, but she just repeated, “I am here to see Varissa.”
“Y-y-yes, Princess Jemeena.” He scurried back inside, and moments later a small door rose in the gates, just large enough for one of the bulkier steamer models, and IoN steered us through. Standing on the other side, the guard bowed. “Varissa is on level five. I will get you an escort.”
“Thank you. That would be most appreciated.”
He bowed and hurried off.
“Do you always get what you want, or is this just an on-the-road kind of thing?” I joked, nudging her shoulder with mine.
IoN sat quietly at the front, as still as a statue.
“One of the few benefits of being royal, I guess.” She sounded put out, which wasn’t what I meant to evoke. “But there are plenty of expectations I would rather not have to meet, if I’m being honest.”
“Like what?”
“I can’t be seen in public without dressing appropriately, I need to have perfect posture, I have to be able to give speeches and speak well in general, I have to be educated to the highest standard regardless of what I want to do with my life. I can never take a career or get drunk or fall in love. My life is paved for me.” She looked me in the eyes and smiled tightly. “But I never have to worry about money, food, or how to provide for my family. I always have access to the best technology, endless sunlight, and if I choose, I can just turn a blind eye to all of our city’s problems. So, I am blessed in many ways.”
“But cursed in many others.”
Just as Meena opened her mouth to respond, the steel door to our right opened, and the guard returned with another security guard—probably our escort—and another bow. “This is Beffel. She’ll escort you to Varissa, who is being escorted to a well-guarded meeting room.”
“Thank you.” Meena stood, dusting off her dress and readjusting her sleeves and cloth, then stepped out of the steamer.
I followed, grabbing IoN on the way.
The levels descended on a spiral hill, the cells themselves at an angle, but every now and then, a sign would appear hanging from the cement ceiling telling us what level we were on. There was no wind here, so the signs stayed stagnant, but there were unusual doors beside them. Each with a little window—as opposed to the windowless ones of the cells—with no handle, knob, or visible keyhole, and they had no frame, simply a hinge on one side.
It was only when we reached level four’s sign that I realized they were meeting rooms, because Beffel merely pulled on the door and it swung open into a dark space my eyes had trouble adjusting to.
A light hung from the ceiling, illuminating a concrete room with no windows, no furniture other than a single wooden chair, and dusty walls with marks on them I’d rather not think about. In that chair was a pale-skinned woman with hair that fell in two large plaits down to her elbows. Her expression seemed warm, genuine, but the handcuffs on her wrists and ankles bound her to a large metal loop on the floor, and the brown hemp jumpsuit hanging limp from her frame had clearly not been washed in months and were covered in stains. Maybe years.
“Varissa,” Meena said, standing in front of her with arms crossed over her chest. “I have some questions.”
The two guards in the room looked at us with boredom in their eyes.
“Of course, Your Majesty.” Her voice was frail, dry. Cracked from parching thirst, no doubt. “Anything I can help with.”
Meena turned to the guards with a scowl. “Leave us.”
They hesitated, glancing at each other then back to the princess. One of them said, “We are not supposed to leave you unguarded with the prisoner.”
“Leave us. I will take responsibility from here.”
They hesitated for another split second before bowing and exiting the room.
I flipped the bolt on both the top and bottom of the door, barring anyone from barging in.
Varissa looked at us with concern in her gaze. “What do you need from me?”
“Five years ago, someone visited you asking questions, didn’t they? And you gave him the answer: herbilore.”
Varissa’s eyes widened, then glanced as far back to the door as possible. “You can’t be here asking these questions, Princess.”
“Why not?” The question was out of my mouth before I could rein it in. “Why can’t we simply ask what he asked?”
“Because if it weren’t for that ass, I wouldn’t be here.” The calm, kind expression dropped from her face, and with it, a snarl ripped forth. “He asked, basically begged on his knees, so I answered. And when it went wrong, which I told him it would, he blamed me. So he got off scot-free after meddling with her lifeclock.”
“No way.” I stepped beside Meena, frustration bubbling. “He wouldn’t do that.”
“He was angry that I led him to the herbilore plant, that the plan went wrong. He said that if I had simply said nothing, his wife would have lived another four months. But she died in days.”
“No,” I whispered, stepping back. “He wouldn’t have...” Would he?
Jemeena looked at me with sympathy as IoN stayed in my hands. Her eyes dropped to him in confusion and then swept back to Varissa. “What did you tell him, specifically?”
She sighed. “I can’t refuse royalty without lengthening my sentence, can I?”
“No,” Jemeena said. But I got the feeling she would never follow through with that threat regardless. “And you’d be helping me more than you know.”
She looked at the floor and dragged in a deep, defeated breath. “I grew up at the Temple of Seren. I’ve seen what the priestesses do in that temple, the gifts and curses they enact. And I also happen to know that the herbilore plant grows at the foot of the temple, because I spent years spinning those very plants into a liquid the temple would vial up and ship off to Prago City.”
“They’d make...what? A potion?” If I sounded incredulous, it was because this was ridiculous. She was talking about some kind of spirit. Some kind of faith. Magic. “I doubt that.”
Jemeena held out a hand to silence me before questioning Varissa further. “What does the herbilore plant do?”
“I don’t know, but the legends say it can restore life.”