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  “But Khaya’s not here,” I said. “No automatons can be brought to life without her, right?” Cruithear, the Word of Shaping, had built the automatons, but without Khaya they were just empty shells.

  “That’s correct,” Swanson acknowledged quietly. “But as you know, we have a few remaining of those who were brought to life—‘activated,’ if you will. We didn’t keep many after testing them, because, well, most of our tests destroyed them, and those that survived were costly to maintain. But there are a few more like the one you met.”

  He meant the one I’d killed in the Alps. The automaton had accompanied Swanson and Herio to help bring me and Khaya in, but then everything had gone to hell and Herio had given me the Word of Death. The automaton had still tried to capture Khaya … before I stopped it by death-touching it.

  “These prototypes aren’t ideal vessels for the Words,” Swanson said. “They’re only to be used as a last resort. They’re adults, designed to be soldiers; we have no child-aged automatons activated for the Words’ transferral. We were planning to have Khaya awaken the child vessels directly before we made the shift, but then she escaped. With only adult prototypes, which lack the ability to grow into the Words, we don’t know if the power will overwhelm their bodies like it did yours. You, at least, could eventually be reasoned with. An out-of-control automaton driven by Death would be an even greater disaster. So this alternative is risky, riskier than keeping you as the Word of Death … thus far. But it’s a possibility that’s under discussion.”

  “How long do I have before … before this becomes more than a possibility?” It was the last thing I wanted to ask, but I’d heard it in his voice: the fatalism of a likely eventuality. And I had to know.

  He didn’t answer me immediately, and for a minute I thought he wasn’t going to tell me. Until he exhaled and said, “You have a month to make drastic improvements, or else the possibility becomes more a plan of action.”

  “So I’m screwed either way,” I said, horrified. “Either I cooperate and lose my mind, or the City Council kills me to replace me.”

  Swanson took a step closer to me. “Or you cooperate and maintain your sanity. You’ve managed so far—you pulled yourself back from the brink. Stay that way.”

  “I don’t know if I can, especially now that they’re asking more of me. What comes after rabbits, huh?” I gestured wildly at him. “Baby seals? Children? And I have a month to get used to it? I … I can’t do this.”

  My hands flew to Swanson’s shoulders before I could stop them. Swanson gasped, but he didn’t pull away. I had my gloves on, after all.

  “You could get me out of here,” I whispered. “You’ve done it before, so you could—”

  Swanson extricated himself from my grip. He might have squeezed my wrists ever-so-slightly before he dropped them. “No, Tavin. You’re not mine anymore, now that you’re a Word. You belong to Eden City.”

  “Please,” I said, begging for what felt like the tenth time that day. Except now I meant it more than ever before. “You can’t let them have me. You can’t do this to me. Please.”

  “I tried, Tavin, to save you. But Herio”—he half-growled the name—“ruined my efforts.” He took a step back from me. “Now, I’m afraid, the answer is no. But you can stay alive if you heed my warning.”

  “Swanson!”

  He shook his head, then punched the green button near the doorframe. The door slid open, blinding me with light. He stepped through before I could try to stop him, hitting another button on his way out. I debated whether or not to shout after him, call him “Father” or “Dad” to make him care more about what he was doing to me.

  But I couldn’t stomach it, not even to save myself.

  three

  It took standing there a minute, blinking against the glare and trying to swallow the bile in my throat, to realize that Swanson had turned on the lights on his way out. In a sense. Shutters were rising in a gliding whisper, letting natural light stream in all around a high-ceilinged room far bigger than the multi-truck garage I’d lived in while working with Drey. Vents began circulating fresh air, and water started trickling nearby. I looked around.

  I was in an indoor garden that took up a large portion of the building’s top floor. And yet it looked and felt more like outside than any place in the Athenaeum, and even more than most places in the open air of Eden City. It was magical, almost, after the Death Factory—a paradise of living things. Some plants were wilting, leaves dropping to the ground and flower petals browning at the edges, but even after a week without attention, this garden still contained more life than I’d seen in my two months as the Word of Death. It was green, fragrant, beautiful, a maze of trees and bushes and vines towering all around me, twisting up and around each other to reach for the sun.

  I fell to my knees in a patch of grass, staring. Some vines caught my eye, woven in a complex pattern that would have been impossible in nature. And then I saw the trunks of three trees, braided together in a perfect wooden rope that was thicker than me.

  I knew only one person who could grow things like that.

  This had been Khaya’s garden—her training ground. It was her equivalent to the Death Factory, and yet so vastly different. I wasn’t sure why Swanson had brought me here. It had to be for reasons other than the deactivated surveillance equipment, but I couldn’t guess as the whole picture blurred in my vision.

  It took a while for me to wipe my eyes, as if the garden was an illusion and moving would break the spell. Khaya felt so near, closer than I’d ever let myself daydream in the past weeks. I could see her rich dark hair and eyes, feel her warm honey skin, smell her sweet, spicy scent. She was everywhere here, in the trees and flowers breathing and growing all around me. And what was better, nothing recoiled from me in horror.

  Maybe I’d only imagined the awful look in her eyes the last time I saw her. She knew what I had become, but maybe she only ran because she had to, in order to escape—not from me, but from Eden City.

  She’d hated Herio as the Word of Death, but so had I. I’d still hated him even after I found out that he was my half-brother and that he probably had reason to be the inhuman sociopath he was. Knowing who he was hadn’t changed anything—the guy was a murderer to the core.

  I wasn’t a murderer, and maybe I could keep myself from becoming one. Maybe Khaya could still love me in spite of my being the new Word of Death. Because I was still Tavin. She’d loved me as Tavin first.

  Mostly I see you, she’d said, looking into my eyes on that crisp sunny afternoon that felt like years ago. And you’re good.

  I’m Tavin, I said to myself, taking a deep, fragrant breath. And I’m good.

  I didn’t know if that part was true anymore, but I could hope. Hope. Hah. Not so long ago, I’d hoped that Khaya and I could hide away together, just the two of us—anonymous, isolated, and peaceful. That hope hadn’t gotten me very far.

  And now, if I didn’t start killing, and soon, I might end up being killed. That just about put the death-touch on any hope I may have had.

  What would be worse? Becoming a murderer or nothing at all?

  It wasn’t a thought I could dwell on for long, because neither outcome worked for me. I didn’t know how, but I had to find another option. And yet, all I could do at the moment was close my eyes.

  Soon my boots and gloves came off. I sprawled on the lawn in a patch of sun and spread my fingers and toes in the grass, enjoying the fact that nothing died when it touched my skin—now that no one was forcing me to speak the Word of Death.

  I must have dozed, since whole hours seemed to be passing, the sun moving across the sky. A distant part of my brain was surprised they were letting me be for so long. It wasn’t like they didn’t know where I was, of course. Never mind the monitor bracelets; the surveillance cameras had to be back on now that the shutters, air vents, and water pumps were running—and now th
at I was in here. So I took as much time as I could, even to the point of skipping my late afternoon reading lesson.

  It was approaching twilight when someone finally came for me. I assumed it would be a pair of guards, armed with tranquilizer guns in case of my noncooperation. Or worse, Ryse. The thought of her in my new sanctuary made me shudder, and I jumped up as soon as I heard the door hum open.

  I wasn’t expecting to see who actually stood in the doorway.

  He was as tall as me, but wirier and ebony-skinned, wearing a fitted silver tracksuit and white sneakers like he’d been jogging. The sheen of sweat on his forehead told me that he probably had been. I hadn’t spoken to him much before, but I knew who he was. I knew most of the Words by sight. He was Brehan, the Word of Light.

  He smiled without showing his teeth—gently, not standoffishly. “Hey,” he said, taking a slow step into the room like I was an aggressive dog or something.

  I sighed and dropped back onto the grass to put on my boots. “I won’t bite, you know.”

  “I know,” he said. “I’m just not sure if you want me in here. Is it all right?”

  I wasn’t sure either, but to be polite I waved a hand. “Come on in.”

  He moved farther into the dusky garden until he was standing right over me, putting his hands on his hips as he looked around. A few colorfully woven bracelets encircled each wrist along with the monitors. These bracelets made the black bands look less severe, more like any other decorative accessory.

  “Man,” he said. “I haven’t been in here in a while. It’s not looking so hot, without Khaya.”

  “It’s looking pretty good to me.” That came off sounding surly, so I added, “But there hasn’t been enough sunlight in here.”

  Brehan’s teeth came out in a brilliant white smile. “You called?”

  Then he spoke in a language I’d never heard. What he said had power, substance, gathering into a glowing fog that condensed and grew brighter until I had to shield my eyes. When I could see again, several radiant orbs were floating in front of him. At another of his Words, they shot skyward like flares from flare guns, scattering across the high ceiling like huge sunlamps, or even miniature suns. They illuminated the entire room, burning especially bright now that night was falling. I even felt sunnier, as if the light was shining on the darkness inside of me.

  “Hey,” I said, blinking up at him. “Thanks.”

  “No problem,” Brehan said, offering me his hand. “Those should last for a while, and provide enough light even when the power is off in here. I can redo them when they start to fade.”

  I took his hand without thinking. My Necron gloves were still off, and my skin touched his. He pulled me to my feet before I could rip my hand away from him.

  “Shit!” I said. “Sorry.”

  Brehan looked surprised. “What?”

  “My gloves,” I said, leaning over to swipe them up from the grass. “I could have … you know.”

  He shrugged his lanky shoulders. “I know. But I figured you wouldn’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “As far as I know, you don’t have any reason to kill me.” He chuckled. “But the Gods know I’ve been wrong before. Anyway, they thought I was safe enough,” he said with a nod at a surveillance camera. “They didn’t stop me from coming up here.”

  “I’m a defective Word of Death, after all,” I said with bitterness.

  Brehan laughed outright. Even his laughter sounded sunny, somehow. “I wouldn’t call you defective for not ending my life on first contact.”

  “You’re about the only one.”

  “Not quite,” he said, his words airy and vague. He abruptly turned and headed for the door.

  “What are you doing here, anyway?” I asked.

  “It’s dinnertime.” He tossed his head as he reached the doorway. “Come on. Let’s go.”

  Bemused, I followed him. “Uh, I usually eat in my room.” I didn’t specify that it was a room in the hospital.

  “Then it’s about time you checked out the mess hall,” he said, starting off down the hallway with a rangy, easy gait.

  The Athenaeum spread out beneath the windows alongside us, lights now twinkling around the complex and reflecting in the glass sky of the pyramid above.

  “And I have permission to do that?” I asked, lengthening my stride to keep up. Brehan might have looked languid as he walked, but the guy covered a lot of ground.

  “I never really ask permission to do anything. I just try until someone stops me. That’s how I learn where the boundaries are.”

  I respected that approach. It had been my own, growing up with Drey. “All right,” I said, following him into the elevator.

  We looked oddly complementary in the elevator mirrors: his dark skin and silver tracksuit, my lighter skin and black Necron suit. Like a yin-yang. I wasn’t quite his opposite, like the Word of Darkness was, but close. I couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be filled with light instead of death … how much nicer that would be.

  “You like to run?” I asked to make conversation, nodding at his white sneakers.

  “Yep.” A smile twitched the corner of his mouth. Brehan nodded at my black boots. “You like to kick people?”

  I glared at him, since I’d been forced to do a whole lot of hurting just a few hours ago against my will. “Trust me, I didn’t pick these clothes.”

  “I’m just kidding, man.” Brehan punched my shoulder and I teetered sideways, more imbalanced by the casual contact than the force of his mock-blow. “You need to lighten up.”

  “Lighten?” I said, straightening and stepping a safer distance from him. “Har har. Is that why you’re here, Word of Light? To lighten me up?”

  “So suspicious of other people’s motives,” he said in his breezy tone, without really answering me. “Why on earth would you be that way, in this place?”

  Why, indeed?

  Brehan stepped out of the elevator as it opened and grinned at me over his shoulder. “Here, we can make a deal: I’ll try not to brighten your day if you try not to kill me. How’s that?” He held out his hand to shake on it.

  I scowled and batted it away. “You like to push the boundaries more than is good for your health.” I brushed past him out of the elevator. “You really don’t need to make me feel normal with all the hand-holding. I’m not normal.”

  “Is that what I’m doing? Who knows, maybe I just like you.” He snickered at my expression after I jerked to halt and stared at him. “Gods, you’re too easy to mess with. Relax! I’m not trying to give you any extra-special attention. You’re just used to being treated like a leper.” He hesitated, a sly grin on his face. “But Luft does swing that way, so he might give you some.”

  A noise of exasperation escaped me. “Luft has tried to kill me a few times, so I’m not anticipating any awkward moments.”

  “You might want to prepare yourself for some of those in here,” Brehan muttered out of the corner of his mouth, nodding ahead. “This place breeds drama.”

  I looked around, only then realizing that I hadn’t recognized where we’d gotten off the elevator. We were one level underground: one floor above the Death Factory and two above the vast pool, where the Word of Water had once trained. She was missing now, along with the Word of Earth—and the Word of Life, of course. I’d never stopped on this floor before, always going from the ground floor down two stories to the lab, or occasionally deeper to the pool for a swim.

  After drowning in a mountain lake while on the run with Khaya, it’d taken me a couple of weeks—even after being strapped to a hospital bed for a month—to want to get near water again. But I couldn’t resist swimming a few laps in that mind-blowing pool. And I figured if I practiced once in a while, maybe next time I wouldn’t drown.

  On this first level down, the floor was sleek with mirrors and metallic accents, but i
n a stylish way, unlike the lab. The floors were pieced together in intricate patterns of dark wood, weaving a path through low dividing walls and tables to a long, curving glass counter that glowed red. A team of white-suited chefs worked in the background.

  “Wow,” I said. “So this is the mess hall.” I’d pictured something more sparse and functional, like a military mess hall, not a massive five-star restaurant. But this was the Athenaeum, so I shouldn’t have been surprised. The room’s capacity wasn’t even close to filled. Only a few groups of people were scattered here and there at tables lit by red cylindrical lamps, talking in low voices or eating.

  Brehan followed my gaze. “We’re too early for the evening rush. Still, it’s not usually packed,” he added, as if in answer to a question. “A lot of higher-ups, the Words included, often have their meals delivered to their rooms—like you, but I figured you needed to get out more.”

  It was a shame that a different part of the training center counted as out for me. Brehan, at least, and the other Words probably got to take walks in the park once in a while, or go to a restaurant—all still within the Athenaeum, of course, but it was more than I got. I didn’t complain, though, since it was nice not eating in my room for once. I wondered how the food in this place would compare to the hospital’s fare. It wouldn’t have to try hard to be better than bland steamed broccoli, rice, and chicken breast.

  We worked our way through the mess hall, skirting a couple of tables of people who fell silent as we passed. At one table sat a team of young Godspeakers who all stopped eating to watch us—me in particular. Brehan nodded politely at them, our captors-in-training, but I didn’t. The sight of them made me lose my appetite. Thank the Gods Ryse wasn’t here.

  “Order whatever you want,” Brehan said as we reached the red glass counter. “They stock just about everything.”

  “Filet mignon,” I said, just to be a shit. “And lobster.” It was the most expensive thing I could think of. I’d never eaten it before.