“Who else knows?”
“I … I’m not sure. There’s one other man, Sage Darnel, who worked in bioengineering. He was beginning to act suspicious of me before I left. Asking questions that hinged too close to the truth, but … I don’t know if he figured anything out, or was only guessing. Or maybe I’m being paranoid.”
“If he does know, would he … is he an ally, or…”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. We’re all so caught up in the mind games of Artemisia, I can never tell who’s happy under the regime and who hates Levana as much as I do.” He released a frustrated breath. “There’s nothing I can do about it now. They’ll no doubt be suspicious that I disappeared, but I couldn’t stay there. She couldn’t stay there.” The tank made a low gurgling noise, as if in agreement.
“What if they come looking for you?” Michelle’s heart was starting to pound. The burden of it was settling over her shoulders. Queen Levana was the most powerful woman in the galaxy. If Logan’s theories were true, then she wouldn’t stop looking for the princess. And anyone who helped the princess was in danger.
“I don’t think they can trace me here,” Logan said, though his expression was unconvincing. “I’ve changed spaceships and hover cars six times since arriving on Earth and manipulated everyone I’ve seen so that they wouldn’t be able to recognize me.”
“But what about our…” She stumbled over the word relationship. “… connection? We weren’t discreet before.”
“It was a long time ago, and affairs happen so frequently on Luna, I doubt anyone was paying attention to us.”
Affairs. He said the word too casually, and Michelle was surprised at the sting of hurt it caused.
Logan’s expression softened. He looked exhausted and too gaunt, but he was still handsome to her. Maybe even more handsome now than when they were young. “You’re the only person I trust, Michelle. I don’t know where else to take her.”
It was the right thing to say. Her pain diffused. She inhaled deeply and looked down at the child again. “My house is small,” she said. “I couldn’t hide her if I—”
She hesitated. The house had been built in the second era. It had survived the Fourth World War. She swallowed.
“The bomb shelter,” she said. “There’s a bomb shelter under the hangar, wired for a generator and everything.”
Logan pressed his lips together until they turned white. There was regret etched into his face, but also hope. It took him a while, but eventually he nodded. “You understand the danger you’ll be in if you keep her here? She is the most valuable person on this planet.”
For some reason, this comment made Michelle think of Scarlet, her granddaughter. Only a couple of years older than the princess before her.
Scarlet—Logan’s granddaughter.
She opened her mouth, but shut it again.
“I’m sorry,” said Logan, misinterpreting her hesitation. “I’m sorry to ask this of you.”
“What are you going to do?” she said.
“I will help you until I know the princess is stable and you’re confident in caring for her. Then I’ll go into hiding until … until she’s old enough to be removed from stasis.”
She wanted to ask him where he would hide, and how, and when he would return. But she didn’t say any of those things. Instinct told her that it was better not to know. Safer not to know.
“And once she’s awoken from stasis?”
His gaze became distant, like he was trying to peer into the future. Trying to imagine the woman this child might become.
“Then I will tell her the truth,” he said, “and help her reclaim her throne.”
* * *
Though Scarlet had taken the maglev train between Paris and Toulouse a dozen times before, she’d underestimated how different it would be traveling by herself. Her body had been wound tight from the moment she’d boarded the train. She hadn’t had much money for her ticket, so she was in the cheapest car and the seats were uncomfortable, especially for such a long trip. She dreaded the idea that someone would sit next to her and ask where she was going and where were her parents and did she need help. She already had a speech rehearsed in case it happened. She was going to visit her grandmother, who would be picking her up from the station. Of course her parents knew where she was. Of course she was expected.
But of course she wasn’t.
The train entered a new station and she squeezed her backpack against her side and tried to look grouchy as new passengers boarded. She exuded her best “leave me alone” vibes.
It worked. No one sat next to her, and she exhaled in relief as the train rose on its magnets again.
Unzipping the top pocket of her pack, she pulled out her portscreen and stuck a pair of wireless headphones into her ears. Maybe some music would help her forget about what she was doing.
She had left Paris. She was never going back again. She was going to live with her grand-mère and no one could stop her.
She wondered if her father had even realized she was gone yet. Probably not. He was probably still drunk and unconscious.
She shut her eyes and tried to relax as the music blasted into her ears, but it was no use. She was hyperaware of the movements of the train, the chatting of passengers, the announcements of upcoming stops. She was waiting for the chime of her portscreen—a comm from her father demanding to know where she was. Or a nervous, worried comm, begging her to come home. Or even a missing child alert from the police.