Page 2 of Kingdom of Tomorrow
Subject: re: A potential problem
This is a job for the High Prince. My son lacks charm, but he never fails.
Chapter One
Fear isn’t an emotion but a force; it starts with a spark and grows until it torches your entire life.
—The Book of Soal1.18.3.25
249 AR (After Rebuild)
The waiting room smelled of clashing perfumes, nervous sweat, and old sandwiches. Too many people crammed inside the circular space, turning the midlevel of the high-rise silo into a pressure cooker.
Conversations crested and crashed with varying degrees of irritation as men, women, and children arrived and departed through a central bank of elevators. I shifted in the world’s most uncomfortable chair and studied my surroundings for the thousandth time. Green-and-gold posters decorated the drab, windowless walls.
Be Our Eyes and Ears.
All Before One.
We AreCured.
The same images hung in most buildings throughout the province. Comforting reminders that we weren’t alone. We had help against the Madness.
I stiffened with familiar tension as the most feared word in existence echoed inside my head.Madness, Madness, Madness.Perspiration dampened my skin, and I darted my gaze, searching for any signs of infection in the people around me. No one was exhibiting telltale symptoms. Still. The air seemed to thicken, making breathing more difficult for me.Stop!The others were fine; I was fine. There was no need to panic.Please don’t panic.Not today.
Inhale. Exhale. I lifted my hair, welcoming a fresh draft to my nape. But the hem of my dress inched up my thighs, and I hurried to smooth the soft but worn buttercup yellow material into place.Call my name. Please.
A baby cried, launching a new cycle of grumbles from the old woman at my left. I’d heard the nerve-shredding chorus for three hours straight and wasn’t sure how much more I could take.
I brushed my gaze over a guy across the room—someone who hadn’t been there minutes before. My attention zoomed back to him. He was peering at me thoughtfully. Didn’t hurt that he was super cute, with deep-set eyes, chiseled cheekbones, and a clean-shaven jaw.
He offered me a stunning grin, and my brain blipped, deleting my newest litany of complaints. I waved. What? I was single, and outside of panic attacks, I tended to fixate on random things.
He made a funny face, inspiring an unexpected smile. I couldn’t help but make a funny face right back.
Barking a charming laugh, he drew the attention of half the room’s occupants. Even as he ducked in his seat, his cheeks flushing, he presented me with another stunner.
“Arden Roosa,” a harried voice announced over the intercom.
Heart leaping, I jumped to my feet. “Present!” Embarrassment scorched me as soon as I comprehended what I’d done. I’d been waiting long enough to learn the drill. Hear your name, take the elevator up, and discover if your dreams were forever crushed.
My legs quaked as I trudged to the bank and stepped into an open stall. Mr. Smiles rose and started forward, erasing the distance betweenus. Anticipation sparked. Maybe, just maybe, I was about to score a dateandcelebrate a lifelong goal today. Fitting rewards for controlling my anxiety the past four hours.
“I’m—” he began, but the doors closed, cutting him off.
Or not.
My shoulders rolled in. Forget the boy. The entire fabric of my life hinged on the coming verdict. Inhale. Exhale. In, out.
The elevator came to a wobbly stop.Ding.The double doors slid apart.
Head high, I stepped into a hallway. Huh. The twenty-second floor wasn’t exactly the peaceful, professional oasis described in pamphlets. Small cubicles abounded, multiple phones rang at once, and two armed knights in body armor stood at the ready with their backs to a wall. Soldiers inCured’s army. Our royalty.
Their presence was a much-appreciated precaution, even though they watched me with cold, unwavering stares as I followed the instructions I’d received. Eighth block of cubicles down, third compartment on the right. It smelled better in here, at least, with hints of stale coffee and oversweet perfume.
Stopping at the correct entrance, I pasted a smile on my face. The only occupant was a fiftysomething woman with messy salt-and-pepper hair, wrinkled clothing, and strain etched into every line of her face.
Here she was, my level-two life adviser. The woman whose recommendation would decide the direction of my entire life. Currently, she read an air screen while clacking her blunt-tipped fingernails against her desk, striking a keyboard made of light. A green-and-goldCuredmug and various stacks of biodegradable flyers cluttered her workspace.
