It wasn’t until they were inside the elevator, empty save the two of them, and slowly ascending—seriously, this airship was
ancient
and huge, and it was gonna take a hot sec for them to reach to the uppermost deck—that Olivier finally spoke.
“I’m not ashamed of my heritage, even if I know little of it.”
Examining him from the corner of her eye, Emilia took in the soft frustration of him, reading through it all the strands of her own frustration with a lack of solid identity. She was herself. She was a non-dev, a Starrberg, the child of one of the most important men in the world—a man who had talked their country out of wars with his silver tongue and lashing remarks and unending kindness. She was a silverstrain, likely given away at birth for that alone, but she would never know for sure.
Had her mother taken one look at her and decided she couldn’t raise a child so different? A child who would face discrimination and unhushed whispers for the entirety of her life? Had her parents thought her life would be better elsewhere? That some family would take her in within days of being given up? Had anyone even cared?
Did she have siblings? Was her affection for Malcolm as an older brother figure the result of how she was raised, a reaction to the role he had naturally—if often begrudgingly—taken with her and all his younger brothers’ friends? Or was her want of an older sibling, for her siblings—for the two souls with whom she shared a fake birthday because none of them had been given up with any information to tie them back to the families who had relinquished them—the result of some biological need? Some knowledge that the womb she had been born from had housed two more bodies within it, ripped away from her within moments of birth? That that womb had already brought a life into the world? One that should have been there to watch over her in Malcolm’s place?
It was highly unlikely she would ever know, nor that any of the similar questions she knew bounced around in Atticus and Indigo’s heads would ever be answered. They, and every other child who did not know their heritage, existed as questions to the world. They knew nothing of their beginnings, and while Olivier knew slightly more—had at least a place, a people, to tie his identity back to—that may have made it harder.
There was an answer out there for him, yet there wasn’t. A thousand questions likely existed within him as well, and even if he knew where to look for answers, it was unlikely he would find many.
It had been too long since his family left, questions of
why
they had left unlikely to find more than speculation.
The Grey Sands were too resistant to visitors, to its people returning to it after generations gone—with good reason, unfortunately. There had been a few cases of the Baalphorian government recruiting descendants of those who had left the Grey Sands generations earlier and sending them back, hoping to infiltrate their culture and learn how to dismantle it from the inside out.
What sort of people would willingly let people with a history of bad intentions—which tended to reach back to the reasons they had left in the first place as well, many descendants of the Grey Sands having utilized their lighter skin to leave in times of war and strife and assimilate into Baalphoria as a means of survival, something generally looked down upon by the Grey Sanders whose ancestors had risked their lives staying within a war torn nation, who had been forced to remain because they looked
too
Grey Sander—back into their homes?
Olivier might know where he came from, but he would never find a place amongst his father’s ancestors. In some ways, the knowledge that he would not be welcome back may be more hurtful than Emilia’s own lack of knowledge.
“Not being ashamed isn’t the same as not wanting to deal with how complicated it is,” Emilia said gently, trying to figure out how to even voice what she wanted without putting more strain on the man, his shoulders still tense, his posture impossibly straighter than it usually was, something that never failed to amuse her given virtually all sub-30s hailed from The Penns where everyone was just so… sloppy, some odd laziness having infiltrated their posture and manners and general way of life, leaving them all an odd mix of relaxed and always moving, always thinking.
“I’m not ashamed of being a non-dev,” she continued—when it doubt, use a relevant example, after all! “That doesn’t mean I want to be known as one—not until I have to be, anyways.” Rolling her eyes and releasing a long, pained sigh, she leaned further into her not-quite-teacher, who had yet to tug his arm away from her. “It’ll just be a pain when more people find out—which, thank you for never telling the class. I don’t know if I ever thanked you for that.”
Emilia had expected Olivier to tell his class exactly who she was and why she was there, when she started invading his classroom—it wasn’t like he had any obligation to keep her secrets, after all. He never had, instead stretching the truth to tell his students she was a friend of the dean who had asked to audit the class, as circumstances in her life had delayed her gap decade. The man had also made it exceedingly clear that he didn’t approve and didn’t want her there, but hey, she’d take what she could get!
“It isn’t my story to tell,” Olivier said softly, almost sadly, perhaps thinking back to his own, nonconsensual outing. “I am curious, however.”
A beat passed, Olivier saying nothing more. Finally, a floor away from their destination, Emilia peeked up, finding him smirking—actually fucking smirking!—down at her. “What?” she asked coldly. “What are you curious about?”
That stupid smirk twitched as he looked away. “How you’ll cover up who you are if you actually manage to convince me to take your case. I think it will be rather obvious to the class what happened.”
The elevator door opened just a second behind Olivier finally tugging free of her—a shame. He was already a few steps away when Emilia called after him, her voice definitely reaching most of the class, who were waiting nervously outside the expensive restaurant that had been reserved for them, “Bribery. Don’t you know how far some good pay and a favour owed can go? Some people will even cover up murder for you, for the right price. I have personal experience with that.”
Olivier spun on her, eyes wide and angry. “Emilia!” he hissed, stalking back and herding her back into the elevator, which snapped closed behind him—someone else was clearly in need of it and would be exceptionally confused when they were found in an elevator going down and either never got off as it went down or went back up with it. “You
cannot
talk about either bribery or murder! An actual murder, no less! You are supposed to be on good behaviour!”
Grinning up at him and letting her hand gently skim over his chest—the man really had come much too close—Emilia laughed softly, pushing every ounce of sexual energy she had into her voice and body as she whispered, “I hate to break it to you, Olivier~ but this is my best behaviour. It doesn’t get any better than this… not unless someone is bribing me with something very, very nice. If you want me to behave to your specifications, I am very amenable to—”
The elevator door slid open once more, Olivier—who had frozen due to either arousal and the desire to kill her—stumbled backwards, eyes blown wide. Emilia wanted to think it was arousal, but she had met enough killers to know that look could also be murderous intent… murderous arousal? Rudely, the man’s pants weren’t showing any evidence of, well, anything. Well, that was either disappointing—seriously, the man just had to ask, and she’d fall oh so willingly into his bed—or good—fucking someone who could get hard from the idea of killing someone didn’t seem like the best idea, and that was coming from someone who regularly fucked black knots.
Neither of them said anything as they awkwardly rode the elevator back up with the perplexed couple who had joined them. Fortunately, the pair got off the floor before the top, so they didn’t have to witness the confusion of all Olivier’s students when they exited once more, Olivier no longer teasing her but instead just pissy… or aroused. Emilia really, really, wanted to peek into the data her stalker function was sending back to her about the man’s vitals, but she would resist… she could so totally resist. Definitely.
The class chatted quietly amongst themselves as their teacher checked in with the hostess, and they were led to the private room he had booked for them—seriously, Emilia was gonna have to ask Dean Vickers about who was funding this operation and whether any of his other teachers took their students on such insane trips.
It was a nice room, despite the age of the ship. This time of year, the weather was nice enough that the windows had been opened to the world, offering a view of Jibur Bay as the ship slowly meandered over it. In a few hours, it would land in the Grey Sands to pick up more passengers—odd, given there was an underwater bubble line connecting the port side city of Inkatt’a with Roasalia, where they had boarded, on the northern side of the bay. As a strange, not-quite Free Colony, not-quite province of Baalphoria, maybe the laws about who could enter the Grey Sands were a little different—a little more lax—than it would be in Roasalia?
Afraid to ask Olivier—seriously, the energy he was emitting had her somewhat convinced that he might very well strangle her if she dared even open her mouth to eat, let along speak—Emilia contented herself to searching up an answer while she listened to the conversations rustling around her.
Just as she had expected, many of the students were already struggling to adapt to the lack of Censor integration on the ship. A few were still having fun, calling it a good experience and
so quaint,
an implication lingering in their words that they expected the Free Colonies they visited to be behind in the times and devoid of technology. They wouldn’t be. Sure, some Free Colonies definitely spurned technology more than others—the Northern Tribes in particular was known throughout the continent for its general disregard for technology in exchange for more traditional, core-based methods of communication and record keeping. Even in the Free Colonies, many of the nations regarded the Northern Colonies as a strange outlier—as a nation too set in their ways and behind in the times.
At the same time, it was impossible to deny that one of the greatest champions to come out of the Dread Coliseum in the last century was a young woman from one of the Northern Tribes, while the nation’s knowledge—passed down through some mysterious, core ability—was much more complete than any other nations’. Evidently, it was harder to wipe out an entire group of knowledge keepers than it was to erase data from the aethernet or any of the technology Free Colonies stored their data on.
Definitely, the class was in for quite a surprise when they realized where they were going would be different, but just advanced as Baalphoria. The question was, where in the world were they actually going? Olivier knew, and that was it.
Emilia, who had been forced to contact her father to get an answer to her question about why the ship would go to the Grey Sands, rather than require passengers to make their way across the bay—it was indeed due to some laws that allowed easier travel in and out of the southern Free Colonies through the Grey Sands—was rather surprised to learn even he didn’t know where they were going.
[
Daddy:
I dare say, I don’t think that boy trusts me not to tell you.
]
Great—just great.
[
Daddy:
It’s unfortunate for him. A real loss.
]
[
Emmie:
what
]
[
Emmie:
why?
]
[
Daddy:
Well, if he told me, I would arrange for babysitters for you in each location. It would make his life much easier to have a second pair of eyes on you.
]
Rude!
Absently, Emilia began grumbling to herself about rude old men as she looked over the menu. Honestly, she hadn’t even realized she started talking to herself until Olivier’s deep voice startled her, asking if something was wrong. Apparently he wasn’t upset with her anymore? Maybe?
“Ah~ I was just bemoaning how mean my father is~” she sighed, smiling at the man—she had learned long ago that if she was going to be perpetually pushing people’s buttons, she needed to get over their upsets at the same speed they themselves did and never take their frustration with her to heart. Without really thinking, she summarized her conversation with her father for Olivier, thinking to tease him with his misstep—he really should have accepted her father’s offer for help dealing with her!
Unfortunately, where most people would have blanched at the idea of going back to
the
Miles Starrberg and admitting they had made a mistake and really would like his help in dealing with his nuisance of a child, Olivier was not such a person.
Emilia saw it, the moment his eyes unfocused. It was so fast, so nearly flawless, that even she barely caught it. Had she not already known he was a non-dev, the graceful, secretive way he used his Censor to send messages would have been enough to tell her he was a low-dev.
“Thank you for the advice,” the asshole said softly, eyes turning back to the paper menu that was scandalizing the majority of his students as she gaped at him. “I look forward to having some help in dealing with you.”
Fuck.
.
!
Arc 9 | Chapter 297: Paper is so Scandalous
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