Chapter 7
Maryn
Iopened my eyes, staring up at the crack in my bedroom ceiling. It was comforting, a reminder I was in my home. I rubbed my eyes, my gaze catching on blue silk, and held my arm up to the beam of light peeking between the blinds.
I turned my wrist left and right. A flash of Elias’s soft fingers trailing my wrist after he tied the bow assaulted me, forcing me to sit up.
I needed tea.
I stopped in the doorway of our small living room, frozen as the screen replayed the moment again and again.
“That’s right, our most eligible bachelor is officially off the market. Sorry ladies. Elias Hale is taken.”
My mom spun to stare at me. Her face said everything she was thinking. She had never been good at hiding anything.
“Mama.”
Behind her, the TV continued to blare.
“What does it mean?”
“You know Elias, he never does the bare minimum. Watch out, bachelors, your matches are going to expect you to take a knee from here on out.”
“No.”
“Yep. I’m calling it. The future of matching has just been stepped up by none other than Elias Hale.”
I moved into the room. “Mama.”
Faster than a woman her age should have been able, she bolted from her seat, rushing to the kitchen. She opened a lower cabinet, pulling out a towel and sack.
“Please talk to me,” I tried again, watching her crash around the kitchen.
She reached for great grandma’s teapot, the last piece of our family legacy, and dumped its contents into the sink.
Carefully, she wrapped the towel around it, then placed it in the sack.
Yanking open another cabinet door, she tossed out glass and metal containers.
When it was empty, she squatted, sliding the bag inside.
I moved to help her, reaching into the back of the cabinet, and my fingers found something that wasn't a dish. A folded slip of paper, worn at the edges. I tugged it free, catching three words in unfamiliar handwriting before my mother's hand shot out.
To my bestie.
She took it from me.
“Natsukashii naa,” she whispered.
Then she tucked it under the wrapping and began restacking dishes in front of it.
I knelt beside her, wrapping my hands over hers. They were age-worn and frail, trembling in my grasp.
“I’ll be okay.”
She looked up, meeting my eyes for the first time.
The door buzzed, and we both looked toward it.
“Who is it?” Dad yelled.
Mom stood. "Get the door,” she said, disappearing into the bedroom before I could say anything.
I twisted my hands together. I was an unmarried daughter. I wasn’t supposed to answer the door.
A wisp of blue caught my eye.
That wasn’t entirely true anymore. I wasn’t married, but I wasn’t unmarried either. It was a gray area, and I was pretty sure it was afforded a lot of leeway.
Three years of balls and reports and white dresses, and it still caught me off guard—how fast everything could change. How little warning they gave you.
For a moment, I stared at the closed door. What if I didn’t answer? What if I never answered the door again?
I stood, brushing my hands down the folds of my skirts, and marched to the entry.
I tugged the door open just enough to peer into the hall.
“Miss Veil?”
I searched the face of the stranger. “Yes?”
“I’m just going to call you Twelve, okay?”
“What?”
A man pushed past me, barreling into our entryway, and a buzz of drones followed.
“Oh, this is perfect.” The man tapped rapidly on a tablet, and the drones zoomed away, flitting around the living room.
“Excuse me, you can’t—”
“This has to be a joke.” A second voice cut me off as a woman stepped through the door, looking me over. “I’m so screwed.”
The man’s sharp gaze shot to the woman. “Vera! I’m filming. Keep your commentary to yourself.”
“I’m sorry. But—”
“Twelve, can you get in here? I need a few stills.” The man looked me up and down. “Actually, no. Vera, fix this.” He waved in my general direction.
“Come on.” Vera, the woman who had followed the first stranger in, grabbed my hand and dragged me through the living room. “Where is your powder room?”
I raised a brow. “Who are you?”
Her responding smile was painfully fake, and I tugged my hand from her grip. “I have work in an hour.”
She let out a bellowing laugh. “Honey, your only job now is to win.”
“What? No. I have files. Cases.”
Vera spun around, her long ponytail whipping me in the face. “I’m not your handler. My job is to make you look good for the camera. A task I’m sure I’ll fail miserably at, but I’ll try. If you have an issue with the schedule, take it up with Paul.”
“Paul?”
The man in the living room waved a hand. “Paul.” He typed furiously on his tablet again before looking up. “I’m your producer. I’m going to be watching you from every angle. My job is to ensure the nation loves you. Trust me?” He winked.
I crossed my arms over my chest. “I know people who have been through the Rite. They don’t have to quit their jobs this soon.”
Paul and Vera laughed in unison this time. “Do you know people who matched with an Elite?”
Vera slapped Paul’s arm. “Wait, maybe she doesn’t remember that Elias Hale, the only son of the President of the Covenant States, matched with her last night.” She looked me over again. “She’s still in shock. Paul. Get her a shot.”
Paul reached into his fanny pack and pulled out a water bottle. “Here, Babe. Drink this.”
The drones in the room went dark, tiny red lights flicking off.
I watched the trio that no longer watched me back.
“Better safe than sorry,” Paul said, shrugging.
I tipped the water bottle to my lips and gulped. Sour liquid hit my tongue and burned all the way down my throat. The buzz was heady, and I sank into it. Lifting it to my lips, I drank again.
“Okay, Bubbles, that’s enough of that.”
He yanked the bottle from my hand.
“That wasn’t water.”
“Shit,” Vera swore. Paul arched a brow at her. “She’s an idiot. We’re fucked.”
I laced my hands together.
“Oh no no no. These won’t do.” Vera yanked my hands apart and stared at my rough nails. “She’s a biter.”
“Just fix her, Vera. You have thirty minutes.”
Vera rolled her eyes and dragged me into my tiny, cramped bathroom. She glanced around, grimacing. “I hate your life.”
“Thanks.”
Thirty minutes later, the room was no longer spinning, and I didn’t recognize the girl in the mirror.
Dark, smoky eyelids blinked several times, and somehow my eyes looked more purple than gray.
My hair was expertly styled, twisted into a feminine knot, and resting gently over one shoulder.
The dress she had selected was a creamy pearl rather than the stark white that girls usually wore in the Middle.
And the low collar made my neck look impossibly long.
She slid a pair of sparkling purple gems onto my earlobes, and they glittered when they caught the light.
I rubbed my thumb over my nails, but they were smooth, and the lack of friction made my right eye twitch.
Vera stepped back. “Spin.”
I did, having given up on getting any answers out of them a while ago.
“It's as good as it gets. Go get ‘em, tiger.”
I slipped past her, stepping into a living room that had been transformed.
My couch was covered in a tan blanket I’d never seen before, and my rug was gone.
A vase of flowers—real flowers—was set at the center of our scuffed old coffee table.
Two lamps sat on either side of the couch, and…
had they painted the walls? In thirty minutes?
I searched the room for any sign of my parents. Their door was firmly shut. I moved toward it.
“Mama and Papa are gonna sit this one out, okay, honey? They aren’t feeling camera-ready this morning.”
I swallowed, staring again at the door.
Moving quietly on the dainty slippers Vera had given me, I sat, straight-backed, on the couch.
“Okay, Twelve, I’ll put up a script right here.” He pointed to the air beside him. “And you just read. Try not to sound stiff, alright?”
He didn’t wait for my reply as green letters appeared in the air.
“I’ll say three, two, one, and you just read. Look at the camera, got it?”
I opened my mouth.
“And three, two, one.”
I stared at the words; they were blurry and out of focus.
“Is she crying? Vera. Vera! Fix this.”
Vera appeared, squatting in front of me. “Hey,” she snapped her fingers in my face. “Why do they do this to Middles?” she muttered to herself. “I know you know how this works, Maryn.”
My name was a bucket of cold water splashed over my overheated skin. I did. I did know how this worked. It was different with the cameras and the stylist and the producer, but the trials were the trials. I had to give my statement.
I nodded.
“Okay? She’s good?”
Vera shrugged and disappeared.
“Here we go. Three. Two. One.”
I stared at the red dot on the drone. “I’m Maryn Veil, daughter of Joel Veil. I enter this Rite of sound mind and body and look forward to serving my country in this, as in everything.”