Unraveled (16 page)

“Alixandra and I will deal with those issues,” Cormac says. “It’s time to take decisive
action.”

“The last time you took decisive action it cost Arras an entire sector,” I seethe.

“This time my action will be about unity,” he says, “not destruction.”

I don’t like the sound of that.

“I’m moving our wedding up,” Cormac says.

“Okay. Why?” I ask. It’s honestly the last thing I expected to hear, and the last
thing I think we should be worried about.

“To send a clear message to Arras that these are joyful times.”

“Oh, definitely,” I say in a flat voice. “Why not just alter everyone?”

“It’s not merely a message to our citizens.”

“It’s a warning to the terrorists, too?” I guess.

“Exactly. I want them to know they can’t scare me.”

And yet these are clearly the actions of a desperate man. Surely the revolutionaries
will see that.

“So when?” I ask.

“I was thinking next week, once Alixandra has confirmed the new security measures
are stable.”

“Next week?” I struggle to wrap my head around this. Marrying Cormac will give me
access to his home, his office, his life. Everything I need and all that I hate.

“You will stay within the Coventry until security has prepared to transfer you here,”
he informs me. “Say goodbye to Amie while you’re there.”

“She’ll be at the wedding, though?” My throat constricts on the question.

“Absolutely not,” he snarls.

“Why punish her? She has nothing to do with this.” My words are thick, coated in a
mixture of fear and anger and disappointment.

“Someone tried to kill you tonight,” he reminds me. “I won’t put Amie in harm’s way.
End of discussion.”

I’m frozen to the spot, trying to understand why Cormac Patton cares about what happens
to my sister. I know there’s something missing, but I can’t quite add it up. “She’s
not in danger.”

Cormac’s fist slams against his chair. “I will decide that. Amie will not be risked.”

“So you can use her against me?” I guess, glaring at him as my fingers twitch inside
my gloves.

“Not everything is about you, Adelice.”

“What reason do you have to care about my sister?”

He presses his index finger to his temple. “You think I’m heartless, but perhaps you’ll
finally understand me once we’re married. Thankfully, we’ll be married within the
week.”

I gasp at this further change of plans. “I’m not ready.”

“It’s time to grow up, Adelice.”

“I don’t expect you to understand,” I say in a quiet voice, not to be argumentative,
but because it’s the truth. I thought I would have more time. Time to forget Erik.
Or at least time to find another way to stop Cormac.

“Why? Because of your
destiny
?” he mocks. “Because you’re the Whorl?”

“I didn’t ask to be.”

“You think because some madman gave you a nickname it makes you special?” he demands.
He grabs me and shoves me against the wall. “I determine who is special in this world.”

“What you do is far worse than a simple determination.” I brace myself against the
plaster behind me. I can no longer keep it from spilling out. “You twist, Cormac.
You twist the truth, nature, and worst of all, people. Especially yourself.”

“And now the Whorl will stop me, right?”

I consider this. I want to stop him. I need to. “I’m not sure anything could stop
you.”

Except one thing.

My fingers lash out and grab for his strands. If I can catch them correctly, I can
control him.

The only thing left is to manipulate him. Once he’s under my command, I can even unwind
him. The possibilities are endless. All it took was realizing that he would never
redeem himself—that he doesn’t want to.

But my fingers catch on his shirt.

Instead of ripping through it and down into the very matter that composes him, my
fingers catch, fire bursting through them. I fall back as the flames dance inside
my skin. I try to pull off the satin gloves, but Cormac grabs my wrists, pinning them
in his strong grip.

“Do you think I would be stupid enough to remain unprotected around you?” he asks.

“They’re gages?” I say, and Cormac nods. “So much for trust.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Adelice. This is not a relationship based on trust. It never
will be,” he says. “More gloves await you at the Coventry. You will always wear them
in my presence until a more permanent arrangement can be reached.”

A tremble races through me at his threat. “And if I don’t?”

“I’m protected. Remember that,” he warns me.

“You have no idea what I’m capable of.”

“What is your plan? Are you going to kill me? Take my face? Alter my memory?” he asks
with a laugh, stumbling back toward the mantel.

So he’s known all along that I planned to alter him. I showed my hand when I attacked
Kincaid, and Cormac was smart enough to protect himself even after our arrangement.
“You still want to continue this charade?”

“You cannot possibly understand how far I would go for Arras.” Squatting down, he
reaches past the grate and places his hand in the fire, withdrawing a remnant of wood
as I stare, unable to move.

He stands to face me, crushing the smoldering wood between his hands. It turns to
ash, blackening his burned palms. He’s beyond anything mortal, like pain. He’s evolved
past it.

Instead of staying pressed to the wall, I saunter toward him and jab a finger at his
chest. “There will come a day, Cormac, when no amount of technology will save you,
and not only will I be there, I’ll feel your life in my hands.”

“You have no idea who you’re dealing with,” Cormac growls, but he doesn’t touch me
again. Instead, he calls for his valet to bring him renewal patches. Security arrives
shortly after to escort me to the rebound station. Before I leave, Cormac looks up
from his wounds and smiles at me.

“Good night, Adelice. I’ll see you in the morning.”

The farewell is almost sweet, so I nod, confusion churning inside me. As I climb the
stairs, trailed by a guard, the emotion inside me shifts to fear.

If I was truly the Whorl, I could hold things together. Instead, everything is unraveling.
Even Cormac.

SIXTEEN

A
MIE MILLS ABOUT MY QUARTERS WHILE SERVANTS
bustle in and out, packing my trunks in preparation for the wedding, which will take
place in the Northern Sector. She does a good job of looking excited, but the joy
doesn’t reach her eyes. Immediately after I returned from the engagement gala, Cormac
sent her a telebound with the news that she wouldn’t be coming to the wedding, leaving
me to deal with her disappointment for the past two days. His message explained she
was too young to attend a political function.

For once, he’s calling something as it is. Our engagement
is
politics, after all.

“You aren’t missing anything,” I tell her. “A bunch of snooty ministers and their
wives, each vying to be the biggest suck-up.”

“Oh, I know,” she says, but her words are punctuated with sighs. “I can watch on the
Stream. You’ll be on the purple carpet. Cormac promised the whole event will be filmed.”

Admiration colors her words and I cringe. I’m no longer the girl who watched the purple
carpet with glee in her living room. Now I know about balancing on heels and fending
off drunk ministers with grabby hands. But one look at Amie’s face, and I suddenly
wish I could enjoy it. I pretend to be giddy—if only to cheer her up for a moment.

“What if I trip?” I ask, dropping onto my bed and widening my eyes for effect.

“You should practice.” Amie plucks a pair of heels from a loaded rack and tosses them
next to me. “Show me how it’s done.”

I slip them onto my feet, left foot first. I watch for some sign that Amie has noticed
this old ritual of our mother and grandmothers, but there’s no recognition on her
face.

“Gloves?” She holds up a pair of petite white gloves.

“They’re back in fashion,” I say in a tight voice.

“I’ll have to get some,” she says as she lays them back on my bed.

I bite my lip so hard I taste iron on my tongue. Cormac’s orders were clear. As soon
as I leave the walls of the Coventry, I am to wear them. There’s been no more mention
of the permanent solution that will forever cripple my abilities, and for now I can
only hope the gloves will pacify him. Either way, after I leave here, I will never
touch again. Not really. He’ll rob me of my strongest sense—with a pair of gloves
or an alteration. All I will have is the memory of the weave tingling across my fingertips
and of the hot pressure of Erik’s fingers threaded through mine.

“Will you return here?” she asks, drawing me back to this moment.

“Cormac expects me to live with him in the Northern Sector,” I tell her as I blink
back tears.

“Oh.” Amie deflates a bit in front of me and I grab her hand.

“You can stay with us as soon as this wedding nonsense is over.”

“Promise?”

“I do.” I mean it. If I go through with this, maybe I can rebuild my family a little,
but still when Pryana enters the room, I look to her, hopeful she’s come to pass along
a message from the Agenda. They must know of Cormac’s plans, but she shakes her head
slightly as though she can read my mind. No one is coming to help me.

“Pryana!” Amie jumps up and rushes to greet her. “Adelice says I can live with her
and Cormac in the Northern Sector.”

“Good for you.” Pryana’s words are forced and when our eyes meet, recrimination burns
behind her irises, although she does her best to hide it. I’m taking another sister
from her.

“Come with marital advice?” I ask in an attempt to keep the mood light. “Speak now
or forever hold your peace.”

“No, I came with a gift.” Pryana hands me a small wrapped box. “Open it in private.
I don’t want to
embarrass
your sister.”

Amie pretends to cover her ears, but I swat her hands away and fake a laugh.

“Thank you,” I say to Pryana, who gives me a tight smile.

They stay until Amie’s eyelids droop, and then Pryana forces her onto her feet. I
wrap my arms around my sister, who’s as tall as me, and try to find a way to say goodbye.

In the end the words were there all along. “I love you, Ames.”

She nods through her tears, releasing me after a few minutes and stepping away, but
her eyes stay locked on me as though I might vanish. She doesn’t remember what happened
the night of my retrieval, but the wounds are still there.

Pryana gives me a short, awkward hug. “Open the present somewhere safe.”

I nod, wide-eyed as my pulse begins to race. I walk them to the door, torn between
sadness and hope, and as soon as it locks behind them I retrieve the box. My fingers
tremble as I carry it to the bathroom. I rip into it, discovering another box tucked
inside the first—like a toy I had as a child. When I pull it out, the only thing inside
is a crystal cube with a delicate, shimmering strand of silver frozen inside.

*   *   *

The next morning I find myself crammed into a tiny rebound lounge with a party of
twenty security personnel and assistants. Despite the large number of people, no one
speaks to me. My aesthetician for the trip is bubbly and bright, mindlessly chatting
with the other girls who’ve come along to assist her. Alixandra watches from the corner
of the room, aloof as usual. Not only from me, it turns out, but from everyone. The
guards whisper and stay alert. Tension cuts through the room, needling everyone’s
nerves. It’s only been a few days since the attack at the gala, making it feel as
though there could be another attack at any time.

The Western Coventry’s rebound station is prepped for our departure and there’s not
much waiting around. Half of the security team is going in advance, with the other
half following behind. I’ve been briefed a dozen times on the schedule and on contingencies
to the schedule and on contingencies to the contingencies.

I don’t even pretend to care. I am going to marry Cormac. I will never use my gift
again. These words echo through my empty mind, threatening to destroy what little
I have left. All my energy is spent on staying sane.

We wait for the first set of rebounds to finish and I sit alone, hoping to catch bits
of news from careless lips. This is what I’ve become. A wisp. A nothing. Forced to
latch on to gossip—as if it will ever do any good.

“Can you imagine sending any other Spinster with this entourage?” a girl says in a
lowered voice. She’s not quite whispering—she clearly wants to be heard. Her words
are tainted with a listen-to-me tone.

“I thought we were in a state of austerity, but I guess not if you’re the prime minister’s
wife.”

“Future wife,” a girl corrects her in an almost hopeful voice.

“I heard Patton’s gone crazy,” the girl says. “I think this whole thing proves how
paranoid he’s become.”

“Oh, I heard that, too! But they’re saying he’s a shoo-in for the next election.”

I want to ask who they are hearing these things from, but I keep silent.

“I think something strange is going on,” a girl says. “Patton isn’t just going crazy.
It’s like he’s a different person.”

“Well, that person is going to win reelection,” chirps another.

“And I assume you are all on such familiar terms with
Minister
Patton that you’re comfortable sharing such factual accounts,” Alixandra says, stepping
out from behind the group. Her face is blank and I want to know what she thinks about
what the girls are saying. But as usual, she’s removed and professional—and utterly
unreadable.

“No harm in a little gossip,” one of the girls says, tacking on a nervous giggle as
if to imply they were only being silly.

Alixandra leans in and sizes her up before shifting back onto the heels of her boots.
“There’s a lot of harm in it, but not for the person being gossiped about, if you
catch my drift.”