Page 15 of Kingdom of Today
Heta marched past the double doors. “There’s been a change of plans today,” the archduke called as soon as the bell quieted. “We’re taking a tour. Some of you need a reminder of what we’re fighting against.” He didn’t glance at me, yet I felt singled out.
I shifted from one boot to the other and tried not to worry. Deviating from schedule didn’t strike me as a good thing.
The archduke led us through the winding hallways and down different flights of stairs, into a windowless basement more heavily guarded than any other part of the building I’d visited. We scanned our ID chips at the final door and entered a sleek chamber illuminatedby soft white and blue lighting. There, we were given protective gear: a mask and a papery neck-to-foot body suit that zipped over our clothing. Garments we were required to don while fastened together, an impossible task made possible only with creative alterations.
I looked ahead. Transparent screens projected vitals and diagnostics. Doctors and technicians clad in lab coats embossed with CURED’s emblem moved about. The air vibrated with quiet efficiency, coated with the same chemical scent found in the locker room.
“This,” Heta said, leading us down a long series of intersecting corridors with small, glass-walled rooms on either side, each housing a patient, “is where we treat soldiers infected with Madness.”
What! I lagged behind Roman and Merlot at the rear of the line, forcing Miller to slow his steps as I looked over every patient. Many paced. Some sat upon a cot, the only piece of furniture, but all exhibited signs of great physical and emotional distress. From vomiting to slamming their fists into their temples to banging their heads against the walls.
Many moved their mouths, as if they were talking, but the words remained trapped with them inside the rooms.
Compassion gripped me, a soft, aching pressure against my heart. I recalled my mom’s recovery. How she’d grown weaker, becoming a shell of her former self. How she’d been unable to keep down food and required daily handfuls of medication just to survive. The worst part—no one needed to suffer this way. Soal’s cure was painless, instant, and lifelong. And yes, okay, that did sound kind of cult-y, exactly as CURED claimed. Even I could see that. But I’d lived it, and truth was truth.
“Everyone you see here has a greater chance of recovery because we struck hard and fast at the first suspicion of illness,” Heta said from the head of the line.
“That’s how you work best, eh, Roosa?” Miller quipped, earning chuckles from other teammates. “Hard and fast.”
I bit my tongue again, and this time I tasted blood.
Heta continued as if the lord-in-training hadn’t spoken, but the muscles between his shoulders bunched, a clear sign Miller’s name wasjust scribbled on the archduke’s naughty list. “This is why we travel to Theirland, risking our lives to gather the resources and medications that were used by the civilization before us. Why we show no mercy to Soalians, who work to exacerbate the spread of the illness.”
Okay, the last statement irritated me more than Miller’s taunt. Heta might believe what he said, but that didn’t make it true. The Madness came from Astan. A poison intended to turn mortals into controllable immortals. Lesser gods on a string. The problem was, the formula wasn’t perfected. To retain power and ensure people willingly participated in their experiences, CURED continued to stoke fear of the true cure.
“This isawful,” someone at the middle groused.
“Have you listened to nothing I’ve said?” Heta snapped. “This isnecessary. Suffering now facilitates recovery later.” He waved to a cell on his left. “Like this poor girl, a former trainee. She would’ve died without our interference.”
As we motored forward, I searched every face until I identified the individual Heta singled out. My heart nearly stopped. I did a double take. Rapid blinked. The horrifying sight never improved.
Reeling, I stepped out of line, dragging Miller with me. “Mykal.” I flattened my palm against the glass. “Mykal!”
“Hey,” my partner grated, trying to jerk me into motion.
I dug in my heels, refusing to budge. My former roommate and forever friend perched at the foot of her cot, staring at the floor. Draped in a paper-thin hospital gown, she appeared weak and fragile, with uneven tufts of hair sticking out at odd angles, as if she’d given herself a trim with a rusty axe. The already slender girl had lost much-needed weight. Cuts and bruises marred her face and hands.
Tears blurred my vision before streaking down my cheeks. “Mykal,” I breathed out.
“This is unfortunate.” Roman crowded in at my side and winced. “Poor kid.” He and Mykal had grown up in the same apartment complex and were as close as blood siblings.
“We have to help her,” I said, and I didn’t care if it got me into trouble.
“She’s being helped right now, getting treatment. A shame she got infected, though.” Clicking his tongue, Roman turned on his heel and motored on, as if there were no need for further discussion.
“Let’s go,” Miller growled, clamping my wrist and tugging.
Still I resisted, knocking on the glass until an angry voice bellowed, “No touching.”
Mykal never looked up.
Thoughts hit me with the force of punches as Miller dragged me away. Forget chain of command. I’d go straight to the top. Surely Cyrus could do something. When Mykal was freed, and she would be, I’d tell her about Soal, and she would listen, then eat my piece of the Rock. What she wouldn’t do? Turn me in at a critical point in the war with CURED. A time when the lives of my loved ones hung in the balance.
Unless she did.
In my worried daze, I almost overlooked the person imprisoned in a cell near hers. The second my mind caught up with my eyes, I ground to a halt. John Victors, the formidable glower who’d allowed himself to be captured to help me see a truth I’d denied my entire life. Now, he lay motionless on his back, his eyes swollen shut, his wrists cuffed to metal rails, his skin pallid, and his body hooked to multiple machines. Tubes protruded here, there, everywhere. A thin blanket draped his lower half.
A ragged cry lodged in my throat, releasing a bitter burn.
