The Favorite (5 page)

I hadn't been alive the last time the crown was handed over to a new king. This seemed like such a natural change for the country. Maybe because I'd always been happy to follow Maxon anyway. And, of course, the work Carter and I needed to do around the palace didn't slow, so there wasn't much time to stop and think about a new ruler.

I was preparing lunch when a guard came into the kitchen and called my new name. The last time an escort came for me, America had been bleeding, so I was instantly on edge. And I wasn't sure what it meant that Carter was already standing next to the guard, covered in sweat from being outside.

“Do you know what this is about?” I whispered to Carter
as the guard took us upstairs.

“No. I can't imagine we're in trouble for anything, but the formality of being escorted by a guard is . . . off-putting.”

I laced my hand in his, my wedding band twisting a bit in the process and lodging the knot between our fingers.

The guard led us to the Throne Room, which was typically reserved for greeting guests or special ceremonies related to the crown. Maxon was sitting at the far end of the room, his crown affixed on his head. He looked so wise. My heart swelled to see America sitting on a smaller throne to his right, her hands folded in her lap. There was no crown for her yet—that would come on her wedding day—but she wore a comb in her hair that looked like a sunburst, and she was already so queenly.

Off to one side, a group of advisers sat at a table, reviewing stacks of papers and furiously scribbling notes.

We followed the guard down a blue carpet. He stopped right before King Maxon and bowed, then stepped aside, leaving Carter and me facing the thrones.

Carter quickly dipped his head. “Your Majesty.”

I followed with a curtsy.

“Carter and Marlee Woodwork,” he began with a smile. My heart wanted to burst from hearing my full, true married name. “In light of your service to the crown, I, your king, am taking the liberty of undoing past punishments inflicted upon you.”

Carter and I peeked at each other, unsure of what this meant.

“Of course, your physical punishment cannot be changed, but other stipulations may. Am I correct that you were both sentenced to be Eights?”

It was bizarre to hear him speak like this, but I supposed there were rules to follow. Carter spoke for both of us.

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“And is it also correct that you have been living in the palace, doing the work of Sixes for the past two months?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Is it also true that you, Mrs. Woodwork, served the future queen when she was physically unwell?”

I smiled at America. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Is it also true that you, Mr. Woodwork, have loved and cherished Mrs. Woodwork, a former Elite, and therefore precious Daughter of Illéa, giving her the best she can possibly have under your circumstances?”

Carter looked down. It was as if I could see him questioning whether he'd given me enough.

I piped up again. “Yes, Your Majesty!”

I watched my husband as he blinked back tears. He was the one who told me that the life we had now wasn't forever, the one who encouraged me when the days were too long. How could he ever think he wasn't enough?

“In accordance with your service, I, King Maxon Schreave, am relieving you of your caste assignments. You
are no longer Eights. Carter and Marlee Woodwork, you are the first citizens in Illéa to be casteless.”

I squinted at him. “Casteless, Your Majesty?” I chanced a look at America and saw her beaming at me, tears glistening in her eyes.

“Correct. You are now at liberty to make two choices. First, you must decide whether you would like to continue to call the palace your home. Second, you can tell me what profession you would like to have. Whatever you decide, my fiancée and I will happily provide you with lodging and assistance. But, even after that, you will still have no caste. You will simply be yourselves.”

I turned to Carter, completely gobsmacked.

“What do you think?” he asked.

“We owe him everything.”

“Agreed.” Carter drew himself up and turned to Maxon. “Your Majesty, my wife and I would be happy to stay in your home and serve you. I can't speak for her, but I love my position as a groundskeeper. I'm happy to work outside, and I would do that for as long as I'm able. If the head position ever opens, I'd like to be considered for it, but I am otherwise content.”

Maxon nodded. “Very well. And Mrs. Woodwork?”

I looked at America. “If the future queen would have me, I'd love to be one of her ladies-in-waiting.”

America bounced in her seat a little and pulled her hands up to her heart.

Maxon looked at her as if she was the most adorable thing
on the planet. “You might be able to tell that's what she was hoping for.” He cleared his throat and sat up straighter, calling out to the men at the table. “Let it be recorded that Carter and Marlee Woodwork have been forgiven of their past crimes and now live under the protection of the palace. Let it further say that they have no caste and are above any such segregation.”

“So recorded!” one man shouted back.

As soon as he had finished speaking, Maxon stood and took off his crown, while America positively leaped out of her seat and ran down to throw her arms around me. “I hoped you would stay!” she sang. “I can't do this without you!”

“Are you kidding? How lucky am I to serve the queen?”

Maxon joined us and gave Carter a firm handshake. “Are you sure about the groundskeeping? You could go back to guarding or even be an adviser if you like.”

“I'm sure. I've never had a head for that kind of thing. I was always good with my hands, and that kind of work makes me happy.”

“All right,” Maxon said. “If you ever change your mind, let me know.”

Carter nodded, wrapping an arm around me.

“Oh!” America galloped back to her throne. “I almost forgot!” Picking up a small box, she returned to us, beaming.

“What's that?” I asked.

She smiled at Maxon. “I'd promised you I'd be at your
wedding, and I wasn't. And even though it's a little late, I thought I could make up for it with a little present.”

America held out the box to us, and I bit my lip in anticipation. All the things I thought I'd have at my wedding—a beautiful dress, a fantastic party, a room full of flowers—had been missing. The only thing I did have on that day was an absolutely perfect groom, and I was happy enough about that to let everything else pass.

Still, it was nice to receive a gift. It made things feel real.

I cracked open the box and resting inside were two simple, beautiful gold bands.

I covered my mouth. “America!”

“We did our best at guessing your sizes,” Maxon said. “And if you'd prefer a different metal, we'd be happy to exchange them.”

“I think your strings are sweet,” America said. “I hope you put the ones you're wearing now away somewhere and keep them forever. But we thought you deserved something a bit more permanent.”

I stared at them, not able to believe they were real. It was funny. They were such small things, but they were absolutely priceless. I was close to tears with joy.

Carter took the rings out of my hand and handed them to Maxon, removing the smaller one from the box.

“Let's see how it looks.” He slowly rolled my string down my finger, holding on to it as he slid the gold one on in its place.

“A little loose,” I said, fiddling with it. “But it's perfect.”

Excited, I reached for Carter's ring, and he tugged off his old one, keeping it with mine. His fit wonderfully, and I sat my hand on top of his, fanning out my fingers.

“This is too much!” I said. “It's too many good things in one day.”

America came up behind me and wrapped her arms around me. “I have a feeling lots of good things are coming.”

I hugged her as Carter went to shake Maxon's hand again. “I'm so glad to have you back,” I whispered.

“Me, too.”

“And you'll need someone to stop you from going overboard,” I teased.

“Are you kidding? I need an army of people to stop me from going overboard.”

I giggled. “I'll never be able to thank you enough. You know that, right? I'll always be here for you.”

“Then that will be thanks enough.”

She will risk everything for love.

Read on for a sneak peek at this

sweeping fantasy romance from Kiera Cass!

I
T
'
S FUNNY WHAT YOU HOLD
on to, the things you remember when everything ends. I can still picture the paneling on the walls of our stateroom and recall precisely how plush the carpet was. I remember the saltwater smell, permeating the air and sticking to my skin, and the sound of my brothers' laughter in the other room, like the storm was an exciting adventure instead of a nightmare.

More than any sense of fear or worry, there was an air of irritation hanging in the room. The storm was throwing off our evening's plans; there would be no dancing on the upper deck tonight. These were the woes that plagued my life, so insignificant they're almost shameful to own up to. But that was my once upon a time, back when my reality felt like a story for how good it was.

“If this rocking doesn't stop soon, I won't have time to fix my hair before dinner,” Mama complained. I peeked at her from where I was lying on the floor, trying desperately not to throw up. Mama looked as glamorous as a movie star, and her finger waves seemed perfect to me. But she was never satisfied. “You ought to get up,” she continued, glancing down at me. “What if the help comes in?”

I hobbled over to one of the chaise lounges, doing—as always—what I was told, though I didn't think this position was necessarily any more ladylike. Our journey up until that final day was utterly ordinary, just a family trip from point A to point B. I can't remember now where we were heading.
What I do recall is that we were, as per usual, traveling in style. We were one of the few lucky families who had survived the Crash with our wealth intact—and Mama liked to make sure people knew it. So we were situated in a beautiful suite with decent-sized windows and personal stewards at our beck and call. I was entertaining the idea of ringing for one and asking for a bucket.

It was then, in that bleary haze of sickness, that I heard something. It sounded like a far-off lullaby that made me curious and, somehow, thirsty. I lifted my head and saw Mama's head turn as well, searching for the sound. The music was intoxicatingly beautiful, like a hymn to the devout.

Papa leaned into the room. “Is that the band?” he asked. His tone was calm, but the desperation in his eyes was haunting.

“Maybe. It sounds like it's coming from outside, doesn't it?” Mama was suddenly breathless and eager. “Let's go see.” She hopped up and grabbed her sweater. I was shocked. She hated being in the rain.

“But Mama, your makeup. You just said—”

“Oh, that,” she said, brushing me off and shrugging her arms into an ivory cardigan. “We'll only be gone a moment. I'll have time to fix it when we get back.”

“I think I'll stay.” I was just as drawn to the music as the rest of them, but the clammy feeling on my face reminded me how close I was to being sick. I curled up a little tighter, resisting the overwhelming urge to stand up and follow.

Mama turned back and met my eyes. “I'd feel better with
you by my side,” she said with a smile.

Those were my mother's last words to me.

Even as I opened my mouth to protest, I found myself standing up and crossing the cabin to follow her. It wasn't just about obeying anymore. I had to get up on deck. I had to be closer to the song. If I had stayed in our room, I probably would have been trapped and gone down with the ship. Then I could have joined my family. In heaven or hell, or in nowhere, if it was all a lie. But no.

We went up the stairs, joined along the way by scores of other passengers. It was then I knew something was wrong. Some were rushing, fighting their way through the masses while others looked like they were sleepwalking.

I stepped out into the thrashing rain, pausing just beyond the threshold to take in the scene. I pressed my hands over my ears to shut out the crashing thunder and hypnotic music, trying to get my bearings. Two men shot past me and jumped overboard without even pausing. But the storm wasn't so bad we needed to abandon ship, was it?

I looked to my youngest brother and saw him lapping up the rain, like a wildcat clawing at raw meat. When someone near him tried to do the same, they scrapped with each other, fighting over the drops. I backed away, turning to search for my middle brother. I never found him. He was lost in the crowd surging toward the railings, gone before I could make sense of what I was witnessing.

Then I saw my parents, hand in hand, their backs against
the railing, casually tipping themselves overboard. They smiled. I screamed.

What was happening? Had the world gone mad?

A note caught my ear and I dropped my hands. The song was suddenly the only thing I cared about. My worries faded away. It did seem like it would be better to be in the water, embraced by the waves instead of pelted by rain. It sounded delicious. I needed to drink it. I needed to fill my stomach, my heart, my lungs with it.

With that sole desire pulsing through me, I walked toward the rail. It would be a pleasure to drink myself full until every last piece of me was sated. I was barely aware of hoisting myself over the side, barely aware of anything, until the hard smack of water on my face brought me back to my senses.

I was going to die.

No!
I thought as I fought to get back to the surface.
I'm not ready! I want to live!
Nineteen years was not enough. There were still so many foods to taste and places to visit. A husband, I hoped, and a family. All of it, everything, gone in an instant.

Really?

I didn't have time to doubt the reality of the voice I was hearing.
Yes!

What would you give to stay alive?

Anything!

In an instant, I was dragged out of the fray. It was as if an arm was looped around my waist, pulling with precision as I shot past body after body until I was free of them. I soon
found myself lying on a hard surface and staring up at three inhumanly lovely girls.

For a moment, all the horror and confusion disappeared. There was no storm, no family, no fear. All that ever had been or ever would be were these beautiful, perfect faces. I squinted, studying them.

“Are you angels?” I asked. “Am I dead?”

The closest girl, who had eyes greener than anything I'd seen before and brilliant red hair billowing around her face, bent down. “No. You're very much alive,” she promised.

I gaped at her. If I was still alive, wouldn't I be feeling the scratch of salt down my throat? Wouldn't my eyes be burning from the water? Wouldn't I still be feeling the sting on my face from where I fell? Yet I felt perfect, complete.

In the distance, I could hear screams. I lifted my head, and just over the waves I spotted the tail of our ship as it bobbed surreally out of the water.

I took several ragged breaths, too confused to grasp how I was still breathing, all the while listening to others drown around me.

“What do you remember?” she asked.

I shook my head. “The carpet.” I searched my memories, already feeling them becoming distant and blurry. “And my mother's hair,” I said, my voice cracking. “Then I was in the water.”

“Did you ask to live?”

“I did,” I sputtered, wondering if she could read my mind or if everyone else had thought it, too. “Who are you?”

“I'm Marilyn,” she replied sweetly. “This is Aisling.” She pointed to a blond girl who gave me a small, warm smile. “And that is Nombeko.” Nombeko was as dark as the night sky and appeared to have nearly no hair at all.

“We're singers. Sirens. Servants to the Ocean,” Marilyn explained. “We help Her. We . . . feed Her.”

I squinted. “What would the ocean eat?”

Marilyn glanced in the direction of the sinking ship, and I followed her gaze. Almost all the voices were quiet now.

Oh.

“It is our duty, and soon it could be yours as well. If you give your time to Her, She will give you life. From this day forward, for the next hundred years, you won't get sick or hurt, and you won't grow a day older. When your time is up, you'll get your voice and your freedom back. You'll get to live.”

“I—I'm sorry,” I stammered. “I don't understand.”

The others smiled, but their eyes looked sad. “It would be impossible to understand now,” Marilyn said. She ran her hand over my hair, already treating me as if I was one of her own. “I assure you, none of us did. But you will.”

Carefully, I got to my feet, shocked to see that I was standing on water. There were still a few people afloat in the distance, flapping at the current like they might be able to save themselves.

“My mother is there,” I pleaded. Nombeko sighed, her eyes wistful.

Marilyn wrapped her arm around me, looking toward the wreckage. She whispered in my ear. “You have two choices:
you may remain with us or you may join your mother.
Join
her. Not save her.”

I stayed silent. Could there be truth to her words? Could I choose to die? If this was real, could I do what she was suggesting?

“You said you'd give anything to live,” she reminded me. “Please mean it.”

I saw the hope in her eyes. She didn't want me to go. Perhaps she'd seen enough death for one day.

I nodded. I'd stay.

She pulled me close and breathed into my ear. “Welcome to the sisterhood of sirens.”

I was whipped underwater, something cold forced into my veins. And, though it frightened me, it hardly hurt at all.