The carriage halted, and Soren forced his leaden legs up the steps to his apartment. Even the sweet smells and brilliant colors inside brought him no comfort. He opened the icebox, pulled out a covered dish Krystal had left there. He took a few cold bites. Then his stomach revolted. A beer. He popped the cap and drank.
The bedroom door opened, and Krystal came out in a bathrobe. “You’re home.” Questions filled her eyes. “I didn’t know when …” She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him close. “I’m so sorry about your father.”
Soren leaned into her, his arms barely holding on. “Me too.”
“Wait just a minute,” she said, releasing him. She returned to the bedroom, closing the door. He finished his beer.
When she emerged, Jan was with her. He’d met Jan before. Not here, though. “Soren, your father was a great man. He will be remembered for generations. Bless his cycle’s end.”
He nodded to her. “Thank you.”
Turning to Krystal, Jan said, “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Then she hurried out.
“Come with me, husband,” Krystal said, devotion in her gaze. “Let me comfort you.”
He truly wished she could. Still, he followed, undressed, and stood in the shower, letting the water pour over him. The power went out. Rolling blackouts were routine. Krystal came to him with a candle.
“At least you had hot water,” she said.
“Warm.”
She led him to bed, tucked him in, and lay down beside him. The scent of Krystal and Jan’s passion clung to the sheets. He didn’t care.
“Talk to me.” Krystal’s fingers sifted through his damp hair.
“Do you believe in the Oracle, the teachings of the Core Cult?” he asked.
Her walnut eyes returned a soft gaze. “I believe in the power of suggestion and the Ministry’s brilliance in concocting a religion to keep the populace in line. But no, I don’t think it’s an all-knowing, all-powerful entity deserving of worship. It’s a tool. A machine.” Then she touched a finger to his lips and quirked a brow. “But if you repeat that outside this room, I’ll deny it, and you’ll be sorry.”
He stroked her cheek with affection. “That’s what I thought.”
“Do you believe?” she asked.
Instead of answering, he posed another question. “What do you think happens to us when we die?”
“We return to earth, dust to dust. I’ve seen what happens to animals when they die. All we have is now, this moment. Then, nothingness. But Soren, your father lives on in you and your sister, in the contributions he made to society. Don’t be sad.”
Where the AI’s voice had soaked him in artificial silk, Krystal’s radiated human warmth. Both his wife and Sovereign were confident, commanding, and manipulative, but Krystal cared about him—something the Core wasn’t capable of.
“Nathan said there was more.”
“Does it matter?”
Soren studied her face, cradled her chin, rubbed his thumb through its shallow cleft. He wanted to tell her what the AI had done—ask for her help, her strength. He felt himself being swallowed whole, with no lifeline in sight.
“You’re right,” he said. “The Oracle isn’t a god. It’s just a really smart toaster.”
Chapter thirty-four
Grit and Guile
Nelanta, the same day
Azaleen took the podium beneath the shadow of Stone Mountain before tens of thousands gathered to hear their queen speak. She didn’t don a flowing gown, comfortable capris, or an airy kaftan. Instead, Azaleen wore a military uniform, boots, and an officer’s cap pulled low over her platinum-blonde tresses. A hush fell over the crowd, hope and expectation shining in their eyes. Mothers held small children close. Elders leaned on canes or walkers. Even the sky cooperated, its white clouds shading the sun’s heat.
She and Sabine had perfected the speech, making one last adjustment just minutes ago. Azaleen’s words must inspire and reassure without sugarcoating the gravity of their situation. Generator engines powering the loudspeakers whined behind sound-repressing shields so all could hear her rallying cry. Though unaccustomed to the microphone, she stepped to it with regal bearing and purpose.
“People of Verdancia, today we face a threat unlike any our generation has known. But we will face it the way our ancestors faced every trial: together, unafraid, and unbroken. A foreign foe has invaded our land, as you may have heard from New Charleston, Marchland, or Stonevale.Ourfields.Ourrivers.Ourhomes. These are not prizes to be taken. They are the inheritance of a free people. A proud people. A resilient people.”