add, “Oh, and don’t forget to watch the show, Giffen. You earned it.”
“What show?” he calls as I fade to go back in time.
“My execution.”
I slam back into my body in a rush. The frigidity of it lets me know I stayed away just enough to feel like I’m dead, but not to actually be dead. It occurs to me that being dead is the preferable choice in this situation, now that I know what will happen to me. The bad part would be that if I die here, there might be no vengeance against Excelsior and that’s all I have left.
“Oscil!” I pant, when I return to my body. “Oscil!” I call for the automated intelligence that is always available, but I get no response. I knew there wouldn’t be, but for some reason I had to try.
I struggle to get up from my floor. When I did this moments ago, in the future, I moved as fast as my numb legs would carry me to the balcony. But because I just lived it, I know without looking that the river outside is solid in several places. Strikers run over the surface of it with frestons strapped to them. A handful of Strikers are on the side of the house. They’re rising on clear disks that act as lifts, bringing them up toward my balcony.
Instead of having them arrest me out there on the balcony, I turn and run to the lavare. Moving to the counter, I splay my hand over it. Toiletries of every type rise from the surface. Selecting a fat, sticky lip liner, I write on the mirror:
Kyon—
Stay away. Nothing you can do. They’ll kill you. I’ve got this. Finish my crown for me.
—Kricket
It’s a lie. I don’t really have this. They’re going to eviscerate me in the most painful way possible, but there’s really no reason for Kyon to die too. It would only serve to give Excelsior more pleasure, and I really don’t think that’s fair. I just need Kyon to get the crown to Excelsior. He can do that without dying. And a part of me very much wants him to live so that he can have the kind of vengeance he’s dreamed about his entire life. It frightens me that I want that too.
A sound at the door makes me turn around. It’s the Striker with the pirate smile. He sends a chill straight to my heart as he says, “Your father, Excelsior, is expecting you.”
“Thank you, Ceecil,” I reply, using his name just to freak him out. It works. He collars me with a restraint and has me on my knees as he pushes the button and chokes me until I see spots. I drop the fat lip liner.
“What is this gibberish you’ve scribbled on your mirror, eh?” he asks.
“It’s a secret message to my consort. It says that I’ll kill Excelsior and see him soon and to make sure he has my empress crown ready for me when I get back.”
“Does it really say that?” he asks, and I realize that he can’t read English.
“It actually really does. I’m going to kill my father-in-law.” That earns me another push from his button, but this time I don’t just see spots—everything goes black.
My throat aches as I attempt to swallow. I open my eyes. Soft sheets slide beneath my fingertips instead of sterile, course fabric. Lifting my head from my pillow, I try to figure out where I am. I’m alone in a small but elegant bedroom. I’ve never seen it before. This is a new experience! I’ve never been in this room in my life or at any time in the future!
I shiver because I know I’m no longer on the same predictable path of time as I once was. I’m experiencing a new set of events. I’ve changed the future by at least a small degree. Last time, the Strikers brought me to Freming House. I had been conscious. Another very notable difference from this time versus last time is that I’m not having my ovaries removed in an operating room. This is a much better path so far.
I try to move my arm from the bed and find that it’s strapped to a railing. I lay my hand back down on the sheet. It’s a relief that I’m still wearing my own clothes, but it looks as if I’ve been in them for days. I’m rumpled and messy.
The door swings open and a technician enters the room. I