Soft music trickled into his ears, blending with subtle harmony of a waterfall. The fragrance of flowers thrummed through the air. Beneath him, the velvet cushion of moss.
He took a deep breath—and felt no pain.
Remnants of nightmares flickered through his mind, but he blocked them off. They had no place here, in this paradise.
I'll have to make do with nightmares for a long time…but eventually, her love will wash them all away… if only all the darkness already faded, and I could just stay with her forever….
He rolled over, reaching for Connie; his body was somewhat stiff. Even moss probably gets hard to lie on after a while.
He opened his eyes.
A bed beneath him. Red silk covers over his legs. Velvet pillows beneath his back and shoulders. Beyond, a misty film of gold… vague silhouettes past that…
Rainbows tilted, flashing bright against the filmy curtain, then disappearing. The nearest silhouette was partly visible in the gap of the curtains—a golden stand, piled with grapes, pears, peaches, pomegranates, dragon fruit. In the center was a bottle of champagne and a delicate, gold-rimmed champagne glass.
He felt sick and turned over. He didn't want anything to do with their games, their bribes, or whatever.
He lay there for a while, hoping to go back to sleep. When he realized he couldn't, not now that he knew (sort of) where he was, he felt the back of his head. There was a bandage there, the hair just beyond its edges shaved. A tenderness met his fingers.
A flash of phantom pain hit him, and he winced away.
At least here…he wasn't being assaulted.
He could breathe.
He moved to sit up, and his vision tilted. He sat hunched over for a few moments, gathering his strength. Shoved away the building panic.
I have to think rationally. Not panic, not act impulsively—at least, when I don't have something to fight off. Take stock of the situation. What can I use. What weapons available.
He crawled to the foot of the bed and parted the gauzy curtain. A golden fountain stood in the middle of the room beneath a chandelier, its light glancing off of the water spilling from the top and splashing around the room in a random pattern. The walls spun with shifting images—gentle forest scenes, rushing rivers, a profusion of pink cherry blossoms. All glinting and scintillating with gold and iridescent sparkles.
On the floor beside the bed was a large, white rug. A polar bear rug! On the other side of the bed, past the fountain, was another stand with more champagne, and cakes, chocolates, mini tarts. His stomach rumbled. He realized he hadn't had supper last night and had no idea what time it was.
But he didn't want to play their game. At least not look too eager and gobble up the food.
Control. Some semblance of it, anyway. In the face of their manipulations.
He looked at what had happened last night, obliquely, because he didn't want it to overwhelm him. From a distant vantage point, leeched of the fear that distorted everthing, he could see what they were doing. A brutal guard, and a sympathetic one. One of the same old tricks.
With my…condition…how can I think clearly. Especially in this place. I have to find a solution, or I'm lost….
I might shatter. I have to escape. Or at least… tear this place down with me.
He didn't like the second prospect. He had to get home.
Best would be to escape and bring this place down…
A shuffling noise. He froze.
He realized some of the rushing sound he'd thought was from the fountain had stopped. Soft light glowed beyond the elaborately painted wall, which he realized was just a red and gold screen, painted with a tiger and women with parasols beneath cherry trees. It parted.
In stepped Elena, wearing a red towel twined with gold. The towel draped over her stomach, revealing how heavily pregnant she was. Her golden hair was bound up in another towel. She snatched a chocolate truffle absently from the stand and sauntered over to him.
"Good morning, Jason," she said. She picked up another truffle from the stand. "Would you like one?"
He shook his head. Shifted back, sliding away from her slightly.
She laughed, that particular musical laugh she had that seemed completely guileless. She strode over to the fountain, dipped her hand into it, then licked her finger. "Beautiful place, isn't it."
"Where are we."
"My bed room. My magnificent suite. How do you like it?"
"I'd rather be in my own room."
She laughed again, this time a hint of derision in it. To his chagrin, she lowered to the rug, not taking particular care to conceal her body, and he turned away to avoid seeing too much.
She untwisted her hair towel and shook it out gently, then laid it on the red and gold carpet. She slipped the truffle into her mouth and ate it, her eyes closed. "Are you sure you don't want one? They're divine. We offer the very best here. And I have the very best of each thing I can get." Her eyes flickered over him.
Heat flooded his face. He felt a strange sort of weakness, as if his limbs were out of joint and rubbery. And a hollowness inside, as if he was merely an object and could do nothing to change that. What use was resisting? He was a mere possession anyway.
"How is your head?" she asked.
"Fine."
"Our state-of-the-art medicine has basically healed you as good as new. It wasn't a particularly serious concussion, but it could have given you trouble for several days if we hadn't intervened. Now you won't even have a headache." She slid her hand through the fur of the rug and stopped, letting it peek through her fingers.
"Why am I here?" He wasn't sure if he wanted to know the answer, or if she'd give it to him, but he was tired of beating around the bush.
"Last night, you got a small taste of what would happen if you resisted. We allowed you to be unbound, at least at first, so you could have the illusion of autonomy. Now—you get a taste of what you will have if you join."
"I'll never join you."
"That remains to be seen."
"If you know my profile, you'll know this kind of thing won't tempt me. Empty luxury has nothing to compare with the ones I love."
She arched an eyebrow. "It may take time to get there. More, if you're as good as I think you are. But this luxury is just one of the rewards you will gain when you're finally on our side."
"I can't imagine anything else would work, either."
"Every man has a weakness." She smiled slyly. "Besides, luxury has more of an effect on you than you let on. Oh, it won't be enough to turn you, but it will play a role. At the very least, it'll show you there is beauty and glory on the other side of the pain you'll experience." She uncurled her legs and slid to her feet—more gracefully than he'd have thought possible, with the burden she carried.
Holding the towel to her, thankfully, she picked up a few grapes and popped them into her mouth. "Baby sure makes me hungry. But then, I've done this before."
"You've…had other children?" Somehow he hadn't considered that. He hadn't seen evidence of them.
"Oh, yes. Several. They were all sold as slaves. Beautiful creatures, but not quite what I was looking for."
He couldn't even be shocked—he had seen enough of her evil. And this was beyond shock, just...horror. "You sold your own children?"
"If not good enough to be an heir, they would only slow me down. My mistake was taking just any man. When I needed a partner—the best I could find. I thought that was Elliot…and my child may still have more of me than Elliot in him. Now…" Her eyes strayed to him, subtly appraising him with glinting interest.
He bore her gaze for a moment then looked away. It was true, perhaps… men weren't used to this… they didn't know how to act—too shocked to recover their own self-esteem in time in the face of such blatant disrespect of humanity. This sort of hollow feeling as if you were only worth the body you were part of, and your soul was just an extraneous appendage. Excised if it gave too much trouble.
A thump onto the bed. To his chagrin she was sitting beside him, cross-legged, the towel barely concealing her. She laid her hand on her stomach.
"Even though my children have been disappointments, it is empowering to be pregnant. To have another little being inside of you. It's a power that men can never experience. I can not only take life, I can cradle it, can nurture it inside of me. Here, feel." She grasped his wrist and laid his hand on her stomach.
A subtle stirring within her. Jason concentrated on the little innocent life, not the almost inhuman being who had helped bring it into existence.
If he is too much like her, perhaps he should not exist—
No.
I can never entertain such thoughts—those are akin to hers.
We have to get him away, give him a chance to have a normal life…. With a real father…perhaps mother... His heart wrenched with this purpose, impossible though it seemed.
"I'm seven months along today, actually," she said. "As accurately as we can be, at least. He'll be due October 27. What a delightful month—a golden month, here in Muldavia. I hope it's a good omen. It is such an exciting thing—not to know how he'll turn out. All this potential, thrumming inside of me."
"You're talking as if this baby were a—loaf of bread. Not a living human being." He wondered, fleetingly, if he'd be able to get to her. She was worse than Gray, but… in the scheme of things, was anyone irredeemable?
Or at least…be able to influence her… manipulate her as she's trying to manipulate me… I do… 'dazzle her', as Kell said. Revulsion hit him at this, and he hid from the implications.
And yet… I need to get all the intel I can. And she's the one that knows everything…. Really, according to the mission, I should be in her presence as much as possible….
It'll be unpleasant, but at least I know she won't be able to turn me.
Probably more pleasant than being tortured, he admitted.
"I can't afford not to be practical," she said. "But at least I can enjoy the process. It does get a bit tedious sometimes, the more so closer to the birth. No matter what happens, I'll pass him off to a nurse so I can actually get things done. I'll keep him with me quite a bit, though, if he's an heir. The birth isn't fun, and then there's the recovery. But there are other advantages, and, of course, conceiving the child is fun. Seven months ago, Elliot was in this very bed." She touched Jason's shoulder.
A jolt rammed through him.
Although gravity tried to drag him down, he rolled off the bed and stood shakily, close enough to the fountain it misted him with its stray droplets.
Slowly, Elena unfolded herself and sauntered up to him. Laid her finger on his chest, where the silk pajama shirt was open at the collar, a quarter of it unbuttoned. She twined her finger downward, swirling it on his chest, then sliding her hand beneath the fabric and rubbing gently.
He gasped, a cold shock flashing through him, then waves of heat flooding him. He couldn't believe this was happening.
"Please," he said.
"You like this, don't you."
NO! his mind screamed. It hit him dully how he was betraying the one he loved by not moving. At the same time, he realized, it would have been pleasant if he hadn't known who was touching him. That overruled any other sensation. Revulsion.
She slid her hand lower, caressing his stomach softly, looking up at him as if she thought he would love this. As if he was melting to her touch.
Instead, it was pure shock. Horror. Shame that he could not move.
Finally, he weakly grasped her wrist, pushed it away.
She smirked. Lightly wrested her arm away from his hand. "You have to stay loyal, of course. But in time, you'll come around. What glory I can give you. It'll blaze everything from your mind."
"I'll never submit to that."
"You will eventually. But I don't need your consent. You may not want it at first, but eventually, you won't be able to resist me."
He felt sick. He would always resist her, he knew that. Even if—no. It could never become pleasant, because it would mean he had given in, and he could never betray the one he loved. But she wouldn't take no for an answer.
"Even our marriage could be one-sided, in the beginning. All marriages here are under my authority, and so I don't need any other permission. But then, when you're on our side, you'll be my partner. The father of my children. Although not quite equal, you will enjoy great privileges that none other enjoys. I have a feeling that long before that, you'll begin to enjoy our time together. Even if you won't admit it to yourself." She chuckled.
His mind wavered.
This cannot be.
Her conviction means nothing… I won't give in… but at the same time… I'm trapped—
"Just imagine! No other man will have what you have. No other man will be my own, with no chance he'll be discarded. The main focus of my delights and all the wonder I can give. Because how can I help but worship your beauty."
He turned away, wishing he were anywhere else, even in a torture chamber.
"In the meantime, we'll get to know each other," she said, sliding the closet open—more painted screens. She disappeared inside, and said, her voice slightly muffled as fabric rustled, "I want to savor this, take it slow, experience romance! You're not just any man —not a guard, or a slave. All of the best for my love!"
She came out in a long, silk kimono, embroidered with elaborate scenes. Then she actually held out her arm as if she expected him to take it. As if she thought this pretense would get to him and he'd actually fall for the illusion! Just because it was what he was trapped in didn't mean he'd give up everything that mattered to him.
She disappeared into the other room, and he searched the bedroom for a way out. The bathroom, which had a shower, a large pink hot tub…no other doors.
The door to this suite must be in the other room, he thought, with a sinking feeling. He searched for a weapon but found none he could slip into a pocket without her noticing, because it turned out the pajamas had no pockets. He could threaten her, tie her up perhaps, but…for the moment, he needed to see if he could get intel from her.
I've got to keep a clear head for that! Somehow. With all these curve balls she's throwing. I'm too off balance all the time to do anything but react.
She probably would see through any threat, anyway. She already knew him too well. While he…only knew a little. Too much. But not enough. I could use a weapon against the guards… perhaps keep it for later…
Or have one in case she tries something…
But for now. It's best for the mission I stay with her. I'm thinking clearly enough to do what I don't like, for the greater good. Perhaps learning not to be impulsive…. The only way I'll get out of here is to plan. Still…I will probably need to improvise some…but I won't be able to escape such a labyrinth on a whim.
He stepped through the door to a room with round windows streaking brilliant sunlight onto the floor. The randomly divided windowpanes were tinted faintly different colors. On the walls were subtle designs which, when you looked closer, were various scenes, some of them…a little too intimate. Beside the window was a divan; at the opposite wall was a polished mahogany bookshelf, two chairs, and a coffee table. In the center of the room, a cage was cradled, almost consumed with leaves. In the cage a bird trilled a haunting song.
At first, Jason didn't see Elena, and hope leaped in his chest that she had disappeared and left him alone. But then, he saw her gesturing from beyond the fronds, her red kimono sheened in the morning light. He longed to look out the windows, but figured he'd better obey, for now. If he played his cards right, he'd be able to see more of this place.
Sickened that his mission would keep him close to her and accommodate their wishes, he walked a little unsteadily to the little alcove where vines twined around each other, arching up to the ceiling. Plants curved over him, creating splashes of flickering shadow.
A small table for two was set beside the cage. On the golden plates were omelets and buns, steam rising in a ray of light.
She gestured elegantly for him to sit, and as she did, the bird flitted up to a higher perch. The bird was grayish-brown with a long, elaborate tail, curving feathers in roughly the shape of a lyre.
A lyrebird! He'd never seen one in real life. But it hurt his heart to see it in such a small cage, where it could only hop from one perch to the next. And he felt a sort of instinctive kinship with it.
"I see you're admiring Rhapsody! He is beautiful, isn't he."
Jason nodded, happy to be speaking of something wonderful, yet the keen tang of the horror behind the beauty was cloying. His throat tightened. "Where did you get him."
"I got him as a chick in Australia on a business trip. He's been with me for six years."
Indignance built in him that she could trap such a creature in a cage. "Why don't you set him free?"
"Oh, I let him out quite a bit. He can't always be out. Especially if there are cats roaming around."
"Are there cats in here?"
"Not at the moment. Sometimes I bring one in. But they're too troublesome to keep in my suite, and besides, they scare Rhap. Don't they, sweety." She slid her finger into the cage. The bird tilted his head, looking down with his dark eyes. Jason wasn't sure, but he looked wary. He didn't blame him.
"I can show you my cats after this. I'll have to get to work, but I can spare some time to show you around."
Jason swallowed his reservations and pride and said, "I'd like that."
She smiled. "You'd better eat, though, or the omelet will get cold. Cold omelets are no good."
Reluctantly, not feeling especially hungry at the moment, he took his fork and cut into the eggs filled with cheese and vegetables and meat. Slid the little triangle into his mouth.
A harmony of flavors assaulted his tongue. A bright tang of some kind of spice, different vegetables complementing each other in a savory splendor, rich saltiness of the meat and the decadent creaminess of the cheese.
Elena took a bite then indicated a dark piece in the omelet. "This is a truffle. The cheese is one of our great Muldavian specialties. And the meat—it's ostrich, like the omelet."
He almost spit it out but managed to swallow.
"Just a taste of the luxuries you'll experience here when you join us. We can get things here no one else can." She gestured to the glass beside his plate. "Try the juice."
A vague alarm built in him—perhaps the drink was drugged. Perhaps the food was, for that matter. But he'd already been drugged…. What would be the point of making him unconscious again.
He sipped the juice—a brilliant sweetness burst over his tongue, a blend of lovely fresh fruit.
"That's passion fruit and our very own oranges. Some pineapple thrown in. How do you like it?"
"Very good."
"I knew it." She beamed as if she'd squeezed the juice herself. "We have a home-grown operation here and grow a lot of our own food. Hey, I'll show you the greenhouse after this."
"Who makes the food?"
"Our kitchen staff and farmers. We outsource to our own farmers outside, too—ones that have no idea who's really employing them."
"So—you don't enslave them."
"Not the farmers. Some of the kitchen staff are slaves. The head chef isn't. Don't look at me like that. We have to be very careful in our staff—they have to be true believers, or people who can never leave here. Few would willingly agree to that. This way, we can get the best people without paying them."
"That's—sick." There was no other word for it.
"We need absolute loyalty here. It's not as crucial with the cells. We wouldn't have enough staff without slaves."
"Have you tried—just—stopping this operation?"
"Why would I do that?"
"This is—the worst thing I've ever found out about." It was probably futile to argue with her; someone who had made such a thing, built it from the ground up, could have no qualms about it, or it wouldn't exist.
"It's incredible. It works like a well-oiled machine. Its purpose remains ironclad while the system is near-perfect."
His fist tightened on the fork. "You're hurting people. How can that not matter to you."
"People are hurt all the time. Here, it has a purpose."
"That purpose is just—more pain. It's a cannibalistic thing. It can't survive, existing on negative things."
"Pain isn't the purpose, just the collateral. A side effect, not the actual drug, which will be a remedy of so much."
"So—it's not just about making money?"
"Making money is a purpose and also a means to an end."
"What end?"
She smiled cryptically. "That would be telling."
"It must be power, then."
"It's true, money is best used as simply a means to power. Simply being a miser does no one any good. It's what money and power can get you."
"So you do want to rule."
"I already rule. It's true that…I would like to gain more influence than I have. Yavesh is just in its nascent form, really. Now is the time to launch its real self. Secrecy is power, but we do want to show that we are not to be trifled with. That no one, not even the king, can do anything against us."
"That's why you were going to kidnap James."
"We do intend a lot more with Roderick—his weakness is his family. If he were to choose between his family and his nation—he'd choose his family. We will probably threaten him again. His extended family perhaps… take another of his Gypsy friends. The boy this time – he is an exquisite yet arrogant thing."
"Don't you dare."
"If you protest, perhaps I will do it just to show I can."
He took another bite; its taste had dulled. He had found out some things—but what did it matter? Besides, it was still vague what the purpose was. If there really was one.
He took another drink, acknowledging he had to keep up his strength and keep hydrated as much as possible. "So—you want to take over Muldavia?"
"Muldavia is home base. But there is a whole wide world out there. We will simmer underneath its fabric, molding it as we see fit, making it suit us, not the other way around. Because we are a much better version of the real world. Just looking around here, you see that."
He supposed he meant the luxury, but that was hollow when you considered how much suffering resided here. He didn't see how she could ever hope to change him so much he actually cheered on torture. "Slavery is the worst of humanity."
She shrugged. "The world was built on slavery. It's the most efficient system. The slaves get food and lodging; the people at the top don't get dragged down by petty demands."
"Like basic human rights." Even if it was futile, it was a sort of power to retain his independence by challenging her.
"Where do human rights come from?"
"God."
She smirked. "There is no god. I am goddess here. Perhaps that's my goal."
"That pride will be your undoing."
"My pride has led me to this unparalleled success."
"You're a psychopath."
"Maybe. But I'm also one of the most stable people you'll ever meet. Nothing can shake me. I have immense self-discipline, honed over years of hardship and hard work. I've earned my place. I've earned everything I have here."
"No one can really own people."
The lyrebird screeched, and Elena looked fondly at it. It warbled a gorgeous song and then the song morphed into a kookaburra's. She laughed, slid a strand of damp hair back. It muttered some unintelligible words, and then opened its mouth.
The bloodcurdling scream of a human being flooding the air.
"Please stop," said a broken voice.
Elliot's.
Jason shut his ears, but he could still hear muffled pleading.
He couldn't stand it—he stood, almost tipping the table over. The chair fell with a crash, but he dashed into the next room. Shut the door.
Either the bird had stopped, or the door had blocked the horrific sounds.
How often it had to happen for the bird to begin to imitate it….
There was a large, floor-to-ceiling window and he stepped over to it. To his disappointment, it was frosted glass. He couldn't see beyond, only a powerful glow. He pressed his hand to the window, willing it to feel the outside—perhaps press through
Perhaps break it.
He searched for a hard object, perhaps a weapon. Right by the window were comfy chairs and couches, chartreuse and mauve. In the center was a profusion of flowers, a miniature garden. He felt like tearing it up just to spite her, but then thought, no more destruction of life. That is an evil thing—it's what they do. They can't own these things, just imprison them.
There was a screen on the wall on the far side of the room, opposite the door and a couch and two chairs. Opposite the window there were several vases of flowers on either side of a purple divan in front of a grand fireplace. Above the fireplace was a horrifying portrait of Elena in a flowing purple and golden gown. It was a display of power, completely confident in her superiority, gazing down with brilliant blue eyes. Her lips a ravishing red, a wry tilt to them, a dimple in her cheek. Her golden hair flowing majestically down her back, a stray coil in front of her ear, enhancing her beauty.
It was awful—in both senses of the word. It inspired awe. It made you feel like she was the inexorable, the Supreme. Beyond regal. An empress.
And this was how she saw herself. He wondered if the painter had been a slave. If he'd been punished until he got it right.
He was just about to turn from it, rejecting any mesmerizing qualities, when the door opened, and Elena stepped in. She was dressed in yellow, a light, low-cut dress that flowed just beneath her knees. She was still barefoot, her hair now dry and poofy, haloing her face in the light suffusing the room.
"I see you're admiring my portrait."
He shook his head.
She laughed. "It is a gorgeous thing. Except… it can't quite capture that indefinable something that's uniquely me. Oh, well. I don't want a double—besides, no one can compete with me. I'm sure you'll agree."
He narrowed his eyes, not dignifying it with an answer. She was incomparable all right—in all the wrong ways.
She showed him around the room, and he followed her numbly. The screams still ringing in his ears, even though the lyrebird had fallen silent.
"This is the movie screen. I'll have to invite you up to watch one with me sometime. I've got some rare gems few people have seen."
A song bolted out of somewhere near
He jumped.
"Hello," said Elena, after lifting the phone to her ear. "Thank you for that. It's always very appreciated—yes." She leaned her hand against the wall. "I see." She looked a little annoyed. "Well, I suppose…. I don't want a repeat of last time. I don't care if you're a valuable player—there have to be rules. Disruption of those is – well good. I'm glad you learned your lesson. You will be grown up, after all. More responsibility…. I suppose. Fun is important. Yeah—this is the best place. You're sure you wouldn't rather go out with your friends…. Security is of the utmost importance. If you can't take it seriously—you know I can take away any of your slaves. Not all, no…. Well…perhaps. But only to a certain point. You know he's mine." She glanced at Jason. "We're partners—but—without what I offer, without this place—imagine what would happen if it all collapsed! No more complete freedom…. Yes, well, no one has complete freedom. But you have as close as you can get…. Well, we all have our crosses to bear. Your father is a great partner, and you should emulate some of his restraint…. No—doesn't mean you have to be a carbon copy." She laughed. "No, I'm not laughing at you. You do have a lot to learn. And yes, you are owed this." She frowned. "And we'll make it a night to remember. Just don't forget the security protocols. They're all necessary or else—yes. They'll be waiting for you. See you soon."
She slid the phone into her pocket. "Good news!"
"What."
"We're having a party tonight! Want to come?"
"Do I have a choice?"
"Well… you always have a choice. But isn't it better to enjoy yourself? I want to show you all we have to offer."
He supposed he could learn more this way, rather than being punished…. Which would probably happen sooner or later. Best to at least get something out of it before everything fell apart.
But he doubted he would have fun at this party, especially with what Elena seemed to have implied.
"It's Zar's Golden Birthday. He wants to celebrate here." A note of disdain appeared in her voice.
"You'd rather he didn't?"
"He does make a mess sometimes. But he is an important player—he ferries people here, with great risk to himself. So we lavish him with rewards. And his father is an important partner."
"Who is he?"
"You may find out, in time. But tonight, you will find out more about Zar. He's taken a fancy to you." She pursed her lips. "Don't worry. I won't let him hurt you. Since you'll be at the party, we'll need to find you some elegant clothes. I'll have some for you by the evening. In the meantime, I'll show you around."
She showed him the grand ballroom, where the party would be held. It had a black and white checkered floor, golden walls, a chandelier, gold-plated tables along the edge, fountains, flowers. He was only vaguely impressed, because he knew what the heart of this place was, and dread filled him for the party. Elena had said he wouldn't get hurt, but what did that mean? Zar seemed like a loose cannon—in fact, that's how Rick had described him. And little Tim was scared of him. He belonged to this place and seemed entitled. What might a birthday party for someone like that be like?
His heart pounded in spite of himself, and he barely registered what she showed him, even when it was the menagerie filled with tigers, bears, fish, alligators. He did feel a wrenching kinship with the animals, trapped here. At least they were treated well, it seemed, beyond being caged…. no threat of the sort of torture slaves experienced.
We're lower than the animals, he thought, despair seizing him.
The greenhouse was resplendent with foliage, brilliant flowers, cacti, palm trees, raised beds of strawberries and other fruits.
A lemon hung just in front of his face, tempting him, but he remembered the rules—you couldn't pick fruit here.
"Go ahead," said Elena. "Unless you don't like lemons."
He looked at her with disbelief then realized that she could break her own rules. Perhaps the rules didn't even apply up here.
Just another way to control.
He thought about not taking it, because it was what she wanted, but he grabbed it and twisted it off, wanting some reward. He bit into it, right through the rind, the tangy sourness spilling over his tongue, smothering all other feeling.
He reveled in it, even though he hadn't been a particular fan of lemons before. He even managed to tune out Elena's musical, deadly laugh.
She laid a hand on his shoulder, and he flinched. "Hey," she said, "It's time I get back to work. It's been wonderful, but I have a lot to do today. Especially with the party tonight. Have fun! We'll summon you when it's time to get ready."
She strolled away, absently gliding her fingers over fruit, leaves, flowers, then plucking a few red petals before letting them fall like drops of blood.
He wandered among the plants for a while, immersing in the heat and humidity. Letting it fog his mind, dampen his body with sweat.
He sat under an orange tree for a while, then picked an orange. Peeled it slowly, hoping he could draw out time, linger here, perhaps until the dark palace melted and all that was left was paradise. The animals would be free and bound out onto the grass, and the lyrebird would fly, a glorious flight back to Australia, and all the slaves would be free and be able to finally heal. He was immersed in this vision, so he almost didn't notice the figure approaching.
Jason intended to ignore whoever it was, and the man almost passed by without seeing him among the leaves.
Then the man stopped.
It was Gray.