The Lotus Effect (Rise Of The Ardent) Page 2

  “But Mother . . . please!” I began to cry. So many questions I wanted to ask—but the words to only one trespassed into speech. “Why do you despise me so?” I whispered, tasting a salty tear reach the corner of my mouth.

  Mother opened the door. She stepped through the frame and I thought she wouldn’t answer, but she paused, turning her head slightly.

  “Because you’re just like her.”

  Part One

  Time—an empty existence. Knowing only the bite of steel, the stretch of muscle to conceal the despair of loss, the barren hours, years, sitting alone. Watching. Waiting. Learning. Knowing what I know and yet cannot move forward.

  These are the absolute thoughts that plague my every second. I have been patient to my word. Declarations of my own making. And now that I have grown: I have proven ready.

  The Council—shaded and driven by their own desire, fabrications, and hidden evils—had stripped away my only life.

  My time has run out—and so too, has theirs.

  -Xander

  Chapter 1

  Wait No More ~ Abandon Nothing

  The corset dug just below the tender place under my arm, rubbing the skin raw as I waited. Ignoring it, I stared through the graying glass pane, watching as the children ran and dodged the steam carriages that passed below. Since my father was the Head of Council, we had no choice but to reside among the fumes of the inner city. Vapors that no one seemed to notice anymore. White smoke, black smoke, they all carried the same stench now. For many, it’s the indication of home. For me? I cannot be so sure.

  I closed my eyes, listening to the sounds of Prosper—the scraping and clanking of metal against metal, the exhalation of steam, the shouting and laughing of the children excited for the days to come. It was all too familiar and becoming exceedingly . . . .

  Suffocating.

  I shifted upon hearing the door open behind me, resisting the urge to reach up to my hair with its intricately placed braids and knots which were also digging painfully into my scalp.

  It’s not my place to have such thoughts, I reminded myself.

  “Lily, my dear,” Mrs. Fawnsworth’s voice called softly from behind me. “You know the Mistress wouldn’t approve of you gawkin’ about such as you do.”

  I turned and smiled apologetically. “I know, I’m sorry. It’s just that—”

  “—you’re nervous?”

  I nodded. “Yes, very.”

  Mrs. Fawnsworth pursed her lips in thought, placing the armful of linens she’d been carrying onto the rocker, making it sway backwards. She approached and placed her wrinkled hand upon my cheek, looking at me warmly, though with some concern lacing her brow.

  “Lily, I haven’t heard you utter one word . . . not one curse, not one worry . . . this entire moonspell. I know you’re nervous, but this simply isn’t you.”

  Reaching up, I brought her hand away from my face, though not in a way to hurt her feelings. Not that anyone could ever hurt Mrs. Fawnsworth’s feelings.

  I swallowed and backed my way to the bed, reveling in the way it took some pressure off my aching thighs. “You’re wrong,” I said evenly. “This is me. This is how I’m to act. This is what’s proper.” It sounded like a mantra.

  Mrs. Fawnsworth made a gruff sound and approached, making the mattress dip as she sat at my side. “Lily . . .” She reached across, taking both my hands into hers.

  I didn’t look at her.

  “Tonight, you’re to become the next Mistress of Science. Intelligence, Ingenuity, Integrity, Logic and Prosperity bein’ the five founding principles of the Ladies of Science and contrary to what your mother would have you believe, vapidness has never been a part of such.” She squeezed my hand, urging me to look at her finally. “Your mother has turned this privilege into a social affair and a gatherin’ of gossip. You cannot allow these principles to remain a ghost of their former selves. You mustn’t conform to what you never were, Lily. A pretty, lifeless, vapid doll.”

  I frowned at her stark words, pulling my hands from hers.

  “Do not pretend you know of such things,” I responded brashly, though hating myself for sounding so harsh. Sounding so much like my mother.

  If Mrs. Fawnsworth was affected, her face didn’t show it. “We’ll see,” she said, patting my hand which I had placed respectively across my lap. “We’ll see which Lily comes forth tonight. I know my Lily is still in there, fight’n to break loose them chains.” She stood, brushing the wrinkles from her custodian skirt. “We’ll see . . . and then I’ll know. I’ll know I did good all these years.”

  I forced back the angry tears through flitting lashes, not acknowledging her as she retrieved the bundle of linens and silently left the room.

  Releasing the breath I had been holding, I stared at the empty rocking chair as it teetered back and forth, feeling that I too was indeed empty.

  Barren and uninhabited.

  And yet, the longer I looked, the more I realized she was wrong.

  That to be a proper Mistress, this was how it had to be.

  ~

  My palms were starting to gather sweat inside the long formal gloves that spanned half the length of my arm. The air, too, was already ripe and stale with the gathering of people as they lined the corridors below, awaiting my approach. The air never flowed freely through these halls, and to my opinion was much like the decaying insides of perfectly looking fruit. A musty, acrid staleness always lingered amid the grandeur of the Estate.

  I glanced to the warped window to my right, the night clouds already passing by. The breeze outside was not entirely free of the foul smoke that continually permeated through it either, yet—I would’ve preferred to hide away in that smog than to face the appraising stares that I knew waited below and beyond the banquet hall’s doors—to escape the melancholy piano piece that now swarmed and sat heavily upon my skin like clammy fingers.

  Staring down from the topmost step of the grand stairwell that curved dramatically into the crowd of expectant faces, I was overcome with the sudden urge to run outside and breathe the cool night air, rip off these irksome gloves and throw them to the wind.

  I smiled at the thought, thinking of how furious Mrs. Fawnsworth would be if she happened upon a pair of soiled gloves, lying torn in the street during one of her visits to the Warehouse.

  No, I reprimanded myself, stealing away my own smile. Such thoughts are of a child.

  I sobered when I caught sight of those who waited eagerly, eyes somewhat judging, beneath the stairwell—a mass of faceless ghosts gliding across the room. The wallpaper looked just as tired and stretched thin as those faces. Even the wealthy and prosperous seemed to be lacking something these days: a vital nutrient taken from them without their knowledge. I watched as they chatted quietly to each other so not to over speak the soft piano ballad that lilted throughout the corridor. Its low, drawn out tones, were meant to sound calming, pleasant. To me? They sounded more like a dirge.

  A flash of pink made me look down again. It was a familiar face, one that brought a slight smile to my lips. Discreetly, I waggled my fingers near my hip towards Mrs. Birkshire who had looked up from her obnoxiously pink feathered hat. The fuchsia lip paint she applied had seeped through the cracks on her mouth.

  “You look lovely my dear girl,” she rasped, her voice craggy from years of abusing the pipe. A voice that had been rough since the very day I first met her as my Phase Transition and Thermodynamics teacher. She was a great advisor. Too great, I supposed—I was told her lessons had me asking too many questions. Loaded questions coming even from an Initiate Mistress were frowned upon. That they clouded the mind away from the directive of Prosperity.

  Why Mother called off the lessons soon after our third semester and had Mrs. Birkshire transferred to be my household activities facilitator instead, I may never know. Knitting, Quilting, Sewing. Though Sewing had somewhat become a science in itself. I had no idea such simplistic activities could involve so many mathematical statistics. When Mrs. Bir
kshire was involved, they most certainly did. Being a former Lady of Science during my grandmother’s time—it was difficult for her to break such . . . habits.

  I breathed a sigh of relief, knowing I had at least one friendly face to look upon tonight. Swallowing back the nervousness that threatened its way up my throat, I remained determined to not make a fool of myself. No doubt I would have plenty of opportunity to make up for that later. I was ready for this, or at least, I could only hope that I was.

  —Suddenly and without warning, my eyes were drawn to the far end of the corridor, to the empty shadows that lingered just beyond the lantern’s golden flickering. For the briefest of moments, another, darker shadow, intertwined with the others. Another blink however, and it was gone. A raw shrill note of warning shivered up my neck. Even with all the attention, I couldn’t abandon the feeling that I was being watched—observed by someone who shouldn’t be here.

  Turning in my gown, I searched for Mrs. Fawnsworth. “Who’s stationed down the eastern—” I started to ask when I caught sight of her, but was suddenly interrupted when the brass trumpets sounded, uprighting and reminding me to stand tall in my heavy skirts.

  “Stop yer dawdlin’ and git your britches a movin’,” Mrs. Fawnsworth’s urgent whisper appeared over my shoulder.

  With a none too gentle shove from behind—thanks to Mrs. Fawnsworth—I shook my head of the odd feeling and vacantly made my way down the iron staircase, through the crowded and stale corridor, and finally stood before the entrance to the banquet hall.

  The ornate doors opened slowly before me, exposing a room full of people. In a wave, all heads turned as I stepped to the door’s frame. And like those lining the walls of the corridor, they too stood silently examining, searching coldly for their newest bit of gossip.

  Breathe. Just breathe.

  I smiled demurely, remembering the persona I was to be exuding.

  Holding my head high, I ignored the pretentiousness of those around me, drawing my attention to the illuminated gas lanterns that both charmed the walls and hug from loops beneath the massive chandeliers spaced evenly throughout the room. The dancing cylindrical flames—which seemed to war against one another—created a golden aura that spiraled from the intricately carved ceiling, offering, despite the chaos within the lanterns, a rather whimsical effect to the room.

  The chaotic nature of things . . . sometimes the purest form of beauty. An Aurora Borealis. A rare and unexpected beauty. Though with time, one realizes this gift, this privilege, was never what they truly wanted nor asked for. I continued forward, trying to not think of the responsibilities I would soon be shouldering.

  The banquet hall itself was not as stifling as I had expected. Its pleasant ornamentation however, didn’t help make me feel any less nervous.

  “The Initiate Mistress, Lady Lily of House Emerson!” the Herald suddenly announced at my side.

  Polite claps echoed throughout the banquet hall. No one cheered. Cheering was a common folk practice best left for the Barrage.

  There would be plenty of cheering soon enough for that.

  Picking up my heavy skirts, I slowly and respectively made my way to the end of the dining table and was seated by an elderly male custodian. My stomach coiled with dread as I sat, making me grimace.

  “Are you ill, Ma’lady? Shall I have some chilled water brought to you?” the balding male custodian inquired after seeing my face.

  I shook my head slightly. “No, I’m fine. Thank you. Only just a stomach flutter.”

  The custodian inclined his head my way, his expression unreadable. The servants knew of my condition. It had been years since my last episode, but that didn’t keep them from remaining wary.

  Having to bluff my way around polite dinner conversation didn’t worry me. It was my acceptance speech to become the next Mistress of City Prosper that troubled me so. Like an animal claiming their territory, this first speech must be brilliant, must prove to every soul who witnessed tonight that I was worthy.

  Worthy of leading the Ladies of Science—the most powerful of all women. The Architects of Prosper’s future.

  Many, like my mother, crave such attention. I would rather feel like I had done something to deserve it.

  I took a deep breath. That would come later. Stop worrying about it. I wouldn’t be able to keep my appetite if I didn’t.

  “Lily, why you look as radiant as the sun in the sky. May we take these seats for a moment?”

  Mr. Briggins. Splendid. I wasn’t sure why my stomach knotted tightly again. This was only our second meeting since I was a child and yet I couldn’t help notice that behind his wooden smile, his eyes seemed lifeless, dead—an ailment that if I wasn’t careful, would spread and latch on quickly.

  Remembering my manners, though which seemed to scream against my every instinct, I nodded for him to sit.

  “May I also introduce my son, Scottie Briggins,” he announced with a flourish, placing his plump hand upon the shoulder of a young man, drawing him to his side.

  Scottie was big of build and blond, much unlike his father with his starkly contrasting mutton chops against his pink skin and plumping figure. Scottie’s face was clean-shaven and his rosy flushed cheeks instilled a babyish look about him. Though, when I looked closer I noticed they didn’t quite share the same eyes either. Scottie’s were hard, yes, but not exactly barren like his father’s.

  I smiled and nodded. “Do please be seated,” I said, indicating chairs to both of them.

  Looking past the two Briggins as they sat, I spotted my mother and father chatting amongst the Council member’s table. Both had aged well I realized just then. My father stern, all hard angles. And my mother . . . well my mother looked like she always did: firm, cold eyes. Powerful.

  Large purple and black centerpieces loomed over the dignitaries making them look like mere shades in the otherwise lit room. I wasn’t allowed to sit with them. Not yet at least. Not until I accepted my title. My mother caught me staring and instead of smiling, she arched her eyebrow, assessing me slowly. I looked away, returning my attention to both Briggins before me.

  I hate when she does that.

  Scottie was already speaking to his father. I was only partially listening, discreetly scanning the room and noticing Cousin Annette heading my way. Her pink frilly dress formed around her in bunches, and to my luck, her progress was halted by another girl from Sector 8 who blocked her path in greeting.

  I turned to Scottie. His jaw was tense as he nodded to his father. “Yes, they’ve been . . . dealt with. There won’t be any more problems.” His face lifted when his father clapped his meaty hand to the side of his cheek in approval.

  I shouldn’t ask. It was rude of me—but I was curious. “Problems from whom?”

  Both Briggins turned to look at me. Scottie held suspicion in his eyes, while Mr. Briggins smiled and chuckled deep from within his belly. “It concerns you not, little one,” he said in a tone that lost its endearment, leaning back in his chair. With a second look he decided to indulge me. “My son, with permission, did away with a few petty thieves—who, I must say, have been quite the blight upon 7 for the past few months.”

  “What did they steal?” I inquired further, not caring as much about my manners after being called ‘little one’. I was practically just as tall as he.

  “Does it matter?” Scottie replied evenly. “They were stealing food if it makes you feel better.”

  I frowned, shocked. “Why were they stealing food?” I asked without thought, but then felt daft.

  They stole food because they were hungry.

  “They stole food because they’re thieves,” Scottie replied.

  I narrowed my eyes and swallowed thickly, but was startled when I felt a hand fall lightly upon my shoulder.

  “May I join you? Dear cousin of mine.”

  I breathed out in a rush and forced a smile, ignoring the slight condescending tone of her request. “Of course, Annette. Please, join me.”

  She
sat at my side, her poufy skirt barely fitting beneath the table. After Mr. Briggins had nodded his farewell and rejoined the delegates of the Council member’s table, the same elderly custodian who greeted me earlier announced that the evening meal was to soon commence.

  Roasted duck, scalloped potatoes, and greens were served shortly after everyone had found their seats. Presumably the Warehouse, the overseers of Prosper’s food allowance, worked months in preparation for tonight; months, I have no doubt, of neglecting the needs of the rest of the city.

  Mr. Briggins certainly just confirmed so.

  All hope of an appetite immediately fled thinking of the injustice of such. Though, before I even had the chance to reach for my copperware, Mr. Briggins stood from across the room, eager for the chance to make the night’s first toast.

  “Tonight is indeed a momentous occasion!” he said boastfully, taking a moment to gather everyone’s attention. “Tonight our Lily Emerson, the once meek, awkward little girl, becomes a woman. Not only just a woman, but a Lady . . .” he emphasized the last word for effect, bringing about another round of polite clapping.

  Oh do get on with it, I thought, feeling my face turn hot and my insides cringe.

  “And not only,” he continued, raising his finger into the air, “will she be considered a Lady, she will also become a Mistress.” He drawled out the word, making me frown slightly from the way he used it.

  Mr. Briggins grinned, but then his face sobered. “Alas, we are proud of the strict upbringing that only House Emerson could bestow upon their child. For everyone knows that a firm path leads to prosperity. We expect great things from you Lady Emerson.” He raised his glass towards the Council member’s table and towards my parents. “Long prosper House Emerson!”

  A third round of clapping commenced and my mother lifted her gaze to meet mine. I held her stare, not willing to shy away again.

  Something shattered within me at Mr. Briggin’s declarations. That no matter how hard I tried to squelch the inner voice that screamed at me to resist . . . some larger part was pushing me to be more than just the vapid doll everyone expected me to be—to simply accept that citizens were starving? To shrug indifferently, not caring that these poor souls were being punished for only wanting to survive?