Page 7 of Taking Jenny
My heart jolted. Without thinking, I stepped in front of Jenny, shielding her with my body. I felt her press into my back, her hands catching my uniform, and that small point of contact grounded me just enough to keep my smile from slipping.
I pasted on a calm expression and turned slowly toward the threat.
“Hello, Boundless.”
CHAPTER 3
Malice
“Another day at court. Hoorah.”
The royal palace had been my home during my formative years, and as such, had long since lost its luster. I no longer saw the glorious stained-glass windows or the ornate statuary, only the cracks in the pale gray stone walls.
Playing court games was the last bit of amusement left to me. It was the only thing that brought a smile to my face during the ride to the palace. As much as I loathed being there, I relished making the courtiers and classed members uncomfortable. Petty of me? Absolutely. That only made it more satisfying.
“If you’re so miserable, why are you here?” Longshot asked.
Fair question. One I’d asked myself countless times. He always asked fair questions, and infuriatingly, he was almost always right. Longshot Griel had been my first ally at court. A true friend and mentor, he trained me in combat—both physical and political.
The youngest son of a classed landowner, he was the product of his mother’s unwanted pregnancy. She had tried a variety of abortifacients to be rid of him, believing their family of eight children was the sacred limit. In the forbidden religion, eight was an auspicious number. Nine was a curse.
But Longshot was not so easily denied. His mother died in labor, cursing him with her final breath—at least, that’s what his family liked to say.
His family was insufferably cruel to him, locking him in a closet for the first year of his life before they finally figured out a maid had been caring for him. Longshot came out of the closet only half-wild. After the maid was executed for her poor choices, he was sent away to the academy. His father had hoped he wouldn’t survive it. Instead, Longshot excelled in every field, infuriating his family further.
When I came to court, he was the first to reach out to me. He had a soft spot for the unloved and the odd. Maybe that was why I did, too. In spite of my guardian’s opinions regarding the matter, I had a habit of aligning myself with those who had been discarded by everyone else. Unfailingly, the discarded were the most interesting people in any room.
I huffed a sigh at Longshot. “You know as well as I, if I don’t show my face at court every now and then, Justice becomes an insufferable prick.”
Lady Piven, within earshot, gasped at my impropriety.
I turned to her, unapologetic. “Perhaps a lady shouldn’t be eavesdropping if she doesn’t want to hear the truth.”
She hissed back, “Perhaps a tailless disgrace such as yourself should be more grateful to his royal guardian.”
Tailless.One of the nicer things I’d been called at court. My condition was a visible reminder of the separation between me and them. I had grown up as Justice Bateen’s ward, an orphan of the war. To the surprise of his court, he had taken pityon me, after hearing of a strong twelve-year-old with memory loss. Justice’s own father had suffered memory loss before his mysterious illness placed him in a coma, so he felt a special connection to me before he ever met me. It was dumb luck that I was raised at the palace and given classed status. I was fortunate to be alive at all. No one would have thought Justice would have taken in a war orphan, much less ataillesschild. I was the only tailless classed person on Orhon, raised among royalty.
Longshot came to my defense. “How is your cooking instructor, Lady Piven? Still giving you thosespecialprivate lessons? You know, the ones your companion doesn’t know about?” He tilted his head. “Still managing to burn your aliubock, or have your lessons finally started to include actual cooking?”
She gasped, then turned around and wedged her way to the front of the tittering crowd and away from us.
I snickered. “You never miss, do you?”
“I earned my Honored Courtier title for a reason, Malice.”
I rolled my eyes then noted Justice approaching his golden throne. “You’re up.”
“Indeed.”
Longshot made his way up to Justice’s dais. At thirty-five, he looked older—taller than anyone else on the platform, lean-muscled, skin tinged green. He refused to tan like fashionable Ladrians. Said it dulled his sheen. Camouflage, he once told me. Back when he was a sniper.
Now? Court was his battleground.
As the rest of court settled down, an excitement filled the air at the dais. Justice was happy about something. Murmurs of Illiapol and the associated festivities overcame the crowd. I didn’t see what all the fuss was about.
Ruler Justice Bateen, my former guardian and current employer, smiled as his dark eyes glazed over. His smiles werenever actual smiles, only different kinds of sneers. Richly tanned to the point of being bronzed, his purple tunic and trousers were the finest silk and even still, I had thought the color combination never suited him. He insisted that purple was the color of royalty, so he would always wear it. Years ago, he had decreed no one on Orhon could wear the color, unless they were associated with the royal palace. Then, we were all to wear various shades of purple.
So, naturally, I wore black. I preferred Earth-style suit ensembles—black suit, black shirt, black tie. Stylish for Orhon, annoying for Justice. My black suits blended with my skin, so from a distance, I appeared nearly nude. Close up, I was well-dressed. I enjoyed the confused looks from strangers.
