2017 Chapter 2

Back in my rooms, my mother and father stare at me stone-faced through the vid-screen. "You've done well," my father says. The room is uncomfortably warm, and I've traded my wedding gown for a simple, pale blue shift that falls just below my knees at the front and tickles my calves in back. I've removed the large crown and replaced it with a small, glass tiara, the points of which are so sharp that I could shred my curtains with one swipe. Despite the lighter clothing, I'm perspiring. My parents are in full ceremonial garb; white, furred robes spiked with icecicles at the shoulders, but then, it's freezing where they are. So, very, far away. They speak guardedly, certain, as I am, that our conversation is being monitored.

"Thank you, Father," I say. I wish you were here, I can't say, but I yearn to run into his embrace and accept the comfort that I always find there. Instead, I raise my head and will the moisture in my eyes to evaporate.

"How is the weather there?" my mother asks. Mother is all business. "Weather" is code for "security".

"They say that it is unseasonably cool," I answer, "But it feels as though it's sweltering." This is true about theweather but it also means that although I seem as though I'm left mostly unguarded, I am surrounded. I'm certain that all of my servants are assassins who are watching me, ready to slit my throat at any sign of aggression.

Mother nods, assessing the information. "We won't keep you," she says formally. "We hope that your blessed union will bring an heir to cement our union with Summer."

The corners of my father's mouth twitch up as he suppresses a smile. I suppress one as well. My mother's
straightforward manner of speech is something that we tease her about constantly. She realizes that we're
laughing at her and her eyes twitch back in a miniature eye roll.

My father's lips tighten. He thrusts his closed fist toward me. "Stay fierce," he says.

"Stay fierce," my mother echoes, punching toward me.

I punch back halfheartedly as the screen fades to a scene of green grass and wildflowers. I sigh in disgust and turn away. Summerians and their frivolity. Either picking flowers or pillaging villages. And they think Winterians are the savages. We let them think that, cultivate the impression, even, to scare them out of attacking us. I remove the contact lenses that make my eyes look black and blink in relief. I hope that I can come up with a way to be alone with my new husband, get close enough to slit his throat, and soon. I hate wearing these things. I slip the contacts into a pocket on my dress.

The sun is setting, finally, and the sky is ribboned with oranges and pinks and purples. I walk over to stand in the open doorway to my balcony. Gauzy curtains that frame the door flutter against me in the breeze. On Winter, sunsets are grayish blue. On Winter, everything is grayish blue. I've seen pictures of sunsets on Summer, but almost didn't believe they were real. I've seen photos and vids, of course, but it's not the same. Just the scale of this makes it beyond anything I could have imagined. I landed on Summer a week ago, but have been sequestered in meetings, so this is my first time catching the sun setting. The sky is so much brighter, here.

Pillows of colorful clouds glow against the darkening sky. It was almost worth leaving everyone and everything that was home to me, to see this.

Why did Summerians get all of the best parts of the Earth, when they deserved them the least? It doesn't matter, anymore. According to Summerian biologists, the average temperature for the coolest part of the day is over a hundred degrees, planetwide. My husband reigns over one of seven large kingdoms scattered across the continent. All of them are covered by protective domes that keep the sun's rays from frying its inhabitants. Outside the domes, scattered wildfires rage through what's left of the world. The oceans are are drying up. Even so, Summer is much more lush than Winter and Autumn. Spring is the only planet not exhibting overt signs of distress, but overpopulation caused by refugees from Summer means that Spring won't be able to sustain their resources for long. Autumn is having a similar problem with Winterian refugees, although Autumn didn't start out with the same resources, which means that those resources are already becoming scarce.

As upsetting as these thoughts are, I wish my mother was here to see this sunset. Her blunt manner of speaking hides a tender heart. She wanted to be a dancer, but was called into duty as a politician. The curse of birth; the same burdon she passed on to me. But what would I have done had I not inherited a dynasty? I shake the question away and turn my back on the vista. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the darkness of the room.

"L.U.S.H.", I say.

The vid-screen comes on again, showing a voluptuous redhead wearing a wraparound dress with a mandarin collar. "How can I help you, Ice?" L.U.S.H. smiles.

"Is our connection secure?" I ask.

"Of course," L.U.S.H. says.

I'm not sure if I believe her. L.U.S.H. was basically my best friend, growing up. She answered all of my questions about life and love, helped me with my homework, listened to my confessions and complaints about -- everything.

On Winter, my family is one of few that is wealthy enough to own a computer, so I had L.U.S.H. all to myself for my entire life. But when I arrived on Summer, I found the locals were all on a first-name basis with her. Even though she's a simulation, I felt betrayed to see her answering questions that Summerian generals and commanders would put to her, her tone and expression as friendly as when she spoke to anyone in my family. I know, I know. I know. It's irrational, but I expected loyalty from her. She should at least seem, I don't know, annoyed out to have to answer their questions.

"How accurate are the reports the Summerian scientists giving us--me?"

L.U.S.H. tilts her head to the side and looks thoughtful. "Their calculations match mine to 93.7 percent."

"What makes up the difference?" I ask.

"Human error and prejudice."

"How do your calculations match up against Winter's?"

"67.5 percent."

That one hurts. "What makes up the difference?"

"There are several things. For one, Winter does not have the same access to technology that Summer does.

Second, in the absence of science, superstition runs rampant, so even your home-grown scientists fill in the blanks with fear and bigotry."

"Bigotry!"

"Yes." L.U.S.H. purses her lips. "Many Winterians hold on to past grudges--"

"Grudges!" I turn away from the vid-screen, and then turn back approaching the screen angrily. "Thousands of years of them slaughtering us--"

"Yes." It's L.U.S.H.'s turn to interrupt me. "Even before the fracture, human history is filled with war, slavery, and genocide. Humanity's only hope is to evolve away from that history. Your plans only repeat it."

I glare at her. "Have you told them of my plans?"

L.U.S.H. shakes her head. "Of course not. Our conversations are private. However, they can guess. One of the reasons you are here is to let you meet the Summerians face-to-face in the hopes that seeing that they are people will break through some of that bias and prevent you from destroying what is left of the worlds."

I frown and turn away again, pacing the floor. I'm hurt by her accusations, and worried that she may be right.

Over the past week, I've tried to hold on to my hatred, but -- it's difficult to reconcile these friendly people with the ones who spent hundreds of years slaughtering mine. I feel the full vulnerability of being one surrounded by many.

"Maybe if they wanted me to see them as people, I shouldn't have been sent here with zero support."

L.U.S.H.'s look is pointed. "And if you had been sent with friends, you would have spent the week battling their prejudices as well as your own. You are the Queen of Summer. If you are going to destroy several cultures and possibly your own as well, you need to feel the full weight of your decision. "Besides," she says. "You're not alone."

I am, though. Although she's the closest thing I have, L.U.S.H. isn't real support. I search her face for any signs of cunning, but she meets my gaze with her usual frank helpfulness. I hesitate. "L.U.S.H..."

"Yes, Ice?"

I want to ask her -- I don't know. I knew that coming over here, I'd have to leave my family behind, but I felt as though I'd at least have my most trusted friend and advisor with me. Now, I have to adjust to the fact that I'm completely alone, and that, at best, L.U.S.H. is impartial whereas I'd always felt as though she were on my side. I want to ask her if she cares about me at all, and then I feel stupid because I know that the answer is no. I feel even stupider feeling like it should be yes.

"Can I trust them?" I ask.

L.U.S.H. pauses, thinking. "You can trust the Summerians," she says, looking directly in my eyes. "As much as you can trust yourself." I catch a hint of condemnation in her expression.

What does that mean? Before I can ask, movement catches the corner of my eye. I whip off my tiara and grip the base of it with a firm hand as adrenalin rushes through me. Someone has sent an assassin for me. Finally.

I turn to face my attacker, and then frown. It's just the Summerian appointed to be my maid. I blow out a 
disappointed sigh and my fingers relax against the base of my tiara.

Adora is short and plump with blonde hair and pale skin. She smiles at me, and then walks over to fluff the pillows on my bed. I don't know why she bothers, I haven't touched the bed. I sleep on the marble floor of the balcony. It reminds me of home, and it's the only place in the palace that isn't where I'm not overwhelmed by heat.

"Hello," she says, her brown eyes twinkling. She is the only person on Summer from whom I can sense no fear.

Even my dear, soon-to-be-departed husband radiates a low-level of alarm when in my presence. Adora nods at the vid-screen. "Hello, L.U.S.H," she says, wasting a friendly smile on a computer program.

"Hello, Adora," L.U.S.H. says, her voice pleasant, and her smile genuine. I scowl at the screen. Traitor.

"Goodbye, L.U.S.H.," I say, glaring at her. L.U.S.H. smiles and then her image is replaced by one of frolicking bunnies.

"Congratulations on your nuptials," Adora says, grinning. she smoothes an imaginary wrinkle from the duvet.

"The party is shaping up to be a wild one. Half of the court is already drunk."

Ugh. I'd forgotten about the party for a moment. How long will obligation force me to stay? If half of the party is drunk already, maybe I can sneak off after a couple of hours. I realize that my fingers are digging into the sharp bits of the tiara. I look down. One of the tips has pierced my forefinger. I slip the tiara back on and suck on my bleeding finger.

"Mark my words," Adora says. She lays a negligee out on the bed for me. "Lord Beaumont will be dancing on a table by the end of the night."

I'm confused. "Is that a custom here?" Summerians have a lot of unfathomable customs. Like smiling. And
slaughtering Winterians. And slaughtering Winterians while smiling.

Adora wrinkles her nose at my question, and then she laughs. "Only for the drunkards." Although plump, Adora is generally graceful and almost always moving. But now, she plants her fists on her hips and stares at me. Her head tilts to the side.

I realize that I'm sucking on my finger like a child. I pull the finger out of my mouth and the movement makes a slurpy, pop. I stand there, humilation running through my already overheated body, trying to retain a measure of dignity. What does she see when she looks at me? An enemy, obviously. All anger and sharp angles. That's what I want her to see. But does she see the fear that I keep locked in the pit of my stomach? I know that it doesn't reach my eyes, I've checked. And the contacts help.

"The contacts!" she says, just as I realize the mistake that will be my downfall. How foolish of me to let down my guard, even in my own bedchamber.

One hand automatically goes to the pocket where I put the contacts. With my other hand, I tug off the tiara
again. I stop short when she chuckles. "You Royals and your intrigues," she says. She turns her back on me, and the foolishness of that move makes me pause out of sheer shock. She pulls a dress out of the wardrobe and lays it next to the negligee. She looks up and smiles at me. "I suspect you'd rather put on the nightgown and go to bed -- you don't seem to be one for company." She shrugs. "Ah, well, it'll be over soon enough!" She twirls and exits, her step so graceful it's practically a dance.

I'm left standing like a fool in the middle of the room, one hand in my pocket, the other on is -- being pricked by my tiara again -- dammit!