Page 12 of Light Locked
His replica slid from the bed, and was soon standing at his side.
What?
He’d tolerated Clea’s sympathy for the trapped human mind. That had been bothersome enough, but then he’d seen her look at the market when she was watching the play. He’d only toyed with the thought of turning her in until he saw that look, watching the play of their history as if it had been a source of inspiration. That had been the push he’d needed to sell her out to the guards.
There were more practical ways to figure out the truth she was hiding. The way that you’re going about this is almost playful. It’s either that or you’re punishing the girl for being hopeful, which is surprisingly petty. That’s a lot, coming from me.
“You are me,” Ryson snapped back, reaching to rub his face and instantly regretting the sound the metal glove made against the base of the helmet. “What is she getting out of all this?Does she really think she’s changing the world?”
She’s a fool. We’ve established that.
“Still.”
Ryson walked past his likeness to the end table near the bed. He examined what remained of Clea’s personal effects. Candle. Hairbrush. Picture frame.
That’s interesting. I didn’t know Loda had developed the technology to take photographs yet.His copy said from over his shoulder as Ryson picked up the frame.
“It must have been a gift from the city of Ruedom. They’ve been trying to civilize Loda for years. I can’t tell which of them is more deserving of pity.” He inspected the faces of Clea’s family, from her mother’s sharp eyes and long hair to her husband’s hard, sullen expression. Ryson’s eyes drifted to six children. No one was smiling, as was the Lodain practice, thinking false smiles in some ways as deceptive as the forest’s charms.
“Alina said she was the lone princess of Loda,” Ryson pointed out, looking over the family. Clea appeared to be the youngest with three older brothers and two older sisters.
She is now. An illness ravaged the family several years ago. None of the Veilin could heal them. Slow deaths. Painful. Living rot.
“I imagine that didn’t go over well with the king. An illness Veilin can’t heal? Sounds like a curse, an extremely powerful and sinister one. Do you know anything about it?”
I am you.
“Exactly my point.”
No. I don’t know. Most thought it claimed the whole family. Clea was quarantined in such prolonged isolation that people thought she’d died too. Oh, I so wish I could have witnessed the breakdown of Loda’s royal family for myself.
“So she is the only heir now? Strange.”
Why cast their only daughter so far afield instead of keeping her home to bear the multitude of children they are so determined to produce? Why did she come here in the first place?
“She must have been in a rush to have left the photo behind,” he said, looking around. “She left everything behind.” He paced through the room again, allowing himself a final perusal as he picked up one of several books on a nearby dresser and leafed through it. The books were much like the bottles, arranged by size and color.
“There is no mirror,” he said, scanning over the pages absentmindedly. “I know Lodain Veilin like to despise anything they can claim is vanity, but there are plenty of practical uses for a mirror.”
You don’t like mirrors either.
“Why do you keep comparing us?” He asked, stopping to review a page Clea had marked related to theories of exchange and economics. He snapped the book closed and threw it onto the bed. His gaze returned to the hanging parchment. “I don’t understand it,” he whispered again.
The princess or economics?
Ryson raised an eyebrow at his cien who sat on the bed with the book.
His cien flipped through a page.
What? You used to be quite good at understanding society, if only for the sake of breaking it down, but I certainly can’t make that claim about you now.
His cien flipped a page, reading the content as if with genuine interest.
I suppose she’s royalty so it makes sense she’d be well versed in trade and finances. No use for it out in the woods, really, but useful for starting programs like that I suppose.
“You’re supposed to be a bit more divisive and a bit less thoughtful, aren’t you?” He scolded.
I am you.
