Burning Kingdoms. Lauren DeStefano
through the front door.
“I didn’t realize you’d gone outside,” Birdie says, looking up from her mathematics sheet.
He’s tucking a cloth into his pocket. “There was a smudge on the seat of the car that was nagging me.”
“You risked your safety going outside for that? After a bombing? Sometimes I think you value that car more than you do us.”
“Don’t be silly, Birds,” he says, and flicks her hair. “Of course I care more about the car.”
She rolls her eyes, blows at a bit of eraser dust on the page.
That car is his only haven, I realize. The Piper children live in this very large home, and yet every corner belongs to their father, and every move they make is scrutinized. That small place belongs only to Nimble, though, and it can take him anywhere he may ever wish to go.
Some phantom part of me keeps expecting a patrolman to come around and turn on the screen so there can be a broadcast with some news. But there are no patrolmen. There are no screens. There’s only something called a transistor radio, the knobs of which are arranged to make a permanently startled face. And it isn’t giving us any news right now. It’s only playing some sort of jaunty music that reminds me that this is not my home.
Celeste and Nimble sit by the fireplace, stacks of books between them. The pages are open in their laps, but they’re looking at each other. I catch bits of what they’re saying. Kings. Death. Something called a biplane. She is fascinated and excited.
Basil, Pen, Thomas, and I sit together on the lush floor. A carpet, they call it; it’s nothing at all like the tiny rugs my mother and Lex used to weave from old clothing scraps. “You know what this reminds me of?” Pen says.
“Don’t tell me you can liken a passage from our history book to this,” Thomas says.
“Of course I can.” She raises her chin. “This is like the story of the dark time. Hundreds of years ago, Phinneas Hart discovered a way to store the sun’s energy and use it as fuel. He knew it would revolutionize the way Internment worked, but his greedy brother, the banker, advised him to charge money for the new technology. The god of the sky was so displeased by this display of greed that the sky filled with clouds, and the clouds covered the sun completely. Crops wilted. Children and the elderly grew ill first, but slowly the illness began to overtake everyone.
“Phinneas recognized what was happening, and he abandoned his brother’s ideas, and he toiled for months laying the groundwork for the glasslands, and he wouldn’t take a page of money for it.”
“Yes, I’ve always found that story a bit hard to believe,” Thomas says.
“Because you’re a heathen,” Pen says. “In any case, the god of the sky returned the sunlight with a warning about charging for what should be free. If people were going to be greedy, he could take the source of that greed away. That’s why it’s against the law for any king to pass a bill that would charge for wind or solar energy.”
“Why does this remind you of the dark time?” Basil asks.
Pen stares at her betrothal band, twisting it round and round her finger. “Because,” she says. “This is what happens when there’s greed. Everything gets destroyed until there’s nothing left to take.”
Thomas puts his arm around her shoulders, and in a rare display of fondness she leans against him.
“It isn’t as bad as all that,” I tell her, though I don’t entirely believe it. “The ground is much bigger than Internment. These bombs couldn’t possibly end it all.”
“Don’t you see it?” she says. “All this space has made them cocky. Look at how big their houses are. Look at how many children they have. A cloud of smoke and a few explosions are only the start, Morgan. These people are doomed, and it doesn’t matter where we’re from. We’re along for the ride now, all of us.”
“I’m so fortunate to be betrothed to an optimist,” Thomas says.
She sighs, irritated. “Don’t take me seriously, then. You’ll see.”
“I do take you seriously, Pen. I just worry you’ll go spiraling if you talk like this.”
She opens her mouth to argue, but I say, “Let’s see if the others will let us join their game.”
For me, Pen relinquishes her side of the argument.
The board games are all simple, quick, and mindless. Birdie often forgets it’s her turn because she’s staring worriedly at the door. When it finally opens, she about jumps from her skin. She rushes to take her father’s coat.
Nimble looks up from his book. “What did you find out?”
“The banks are gone,” Jack says.
“The hospital?”
“No, though it may only be a matter of time.”
Marjorie, Riles, and Annette are wide-eyed, and Jack smiles at them. “Nothing to be alarmed about, children,” he says. “It’s all just a game that our King Ingram is playing with King Erasmus.”
“What will the winner get?” Annette asks.
“Something very precious,” Jack says. “A very important place.” He nods to Celeste, who is rising to her feet from across the room. “Princess, if I may speak with you privately,” he says.
“Certainly,” she says. She follows him from the room, Nimble at her heels. Birdie rushes after them, only to have the door closed in her face.
She scowls and presses her ear to the door, nearly stumbling when it opens and Nimble pokes his head out at her. “Father says to go on and have dinner without us.”
“But—”
The door closes again.
“Riles,” Birdie whispers. He has already read her mind. He scales the back of the couch and climbs onto her shoulders. He’s just high enough now to reach a crack in the plaster wall. He presses his ear to his drinking glass to amplify the sound, and listens. Clearly the two of them have this down to a science.
“Anything?” she asks.
“Not if you keep yapping.”
He listens a few seconds more, and Birdie arches her back uncomfortably. And just when I think she can carry his weight no longer, he climbs down.
“No one died,” Riles says. “That’s all I could get. That’s good, isn’t it?”
Birdie looks worried. “I don’t know,” she says, and then she blinks away her melancholy. “I owe you some ice cream after dinner, but don’t tell your sisters.”
“Pleasure doing business,” he says.
5
“I don’t like this one bit,” Pen says, scouring her face with a wet cloth. “Her Duplicitous Highness has been at conference with Jack Piper for hours now.”
I lie back in the drained tub, letting my legs dangle over the edge. “What do you suppose they’re talking about?” I say.
“If she’s smart, she isn’t telling him all about the way Internment is run. But she’s as dumb as a rock, and she loves to hear her own voice.” Pen begins furiously braiding her hair. “When I think of my mother and all those people up there, I just—I can’t stand it.”
“What?”
“How powerless they’d all be against something like what I saw today. One bomb, and it would all be gone. And down here they fire them off like it’s nothing.”
She drops her braid and struggles to fix it, but she can’t seem to steady her hands.
“Pen.” I reach for her.