Every Lüshanian city that had been forged by descendants of the First Lowdouran—which, admittedly, was most of them—had a spire. Glistening with opalescent minerals of black and purple, they were each unique and beautiful, reaching from the city’s lowest point back to the ceiling.
Allegedly, the spires were remnants of the irregular deviations the descendants of the First Lowdouran had possessed—as far as anyone knew, no descendants of the First Lowdouran remained to confirm what they had actually been capable of. Now, the spires existed as either useless—if pretty—reminders of the city’s history, or had been converted into structures of various uses. The one in Falmíer held a number of public buildings, including a theatre, library and museum, with branches for various governmental organizations located either inside or at the base of it, while several dozen homes occupied by various officials were splattered across the ceiling and accessible only via the spire’s central elevator, their deep black setting them off from the colourful stalactites that spread over the rest of the cavern’s ceiling.
Emilia had been in a few of them, during visits with her father. Some of the other cities had homes built into their ceilings as well, although not usually so close to the spire, which tended to be the weakest point in the city’s defences. In other cities, those houses were usually privately owned. The ones spread over their heads now, each of her not-quite-classmates’ eyes wide as they took in the towering spire and discussed how ominous it must be to live, sleep, breathe in homes that seemed liable to fall at any moment, belonged to the government. Their residents changed as the nation’s leadership did, although occasionally ousted officials would refuse to move out, causing turmoil. Other times, a residence would be taken over during coups, the ability to launch attacks from the buildings, while also avoiding return attacks—lest some attack connect badly and take down the entire cavern—seen as instrumental in several successful coups.
Currently, Cameron’s father lived in the Drinarna’s chief residence, having risen to be the police organization’s leader several years previous. His promotion
may
have been largely thanks to his part in Emilia’s accidental takedown of a local sex-trafficking group, although that wasn’t to say the man didn’t deserve it in his own right! The man had always been kind and motivated, as well as someone who stuck to the laws, but also knew that sometimes they needed to be bent for the greater good—that was part of why Emilia had gone to him with what she’d stumbled across, knowing there was no way he was part of the corrupt faction of Drinarna aiding the traffickers.
Despite knowing that taking down members of his organization—including several he had considered friends—could negatively affect his career, Wander Fulbrun had down everything in his power to help her and several other people with valuable irregular deviations take the traffickers down—and when that power hadn’t been enough, he had been willing to step outside of his role and keep pushing.
To Wander, doing the right thing was more important than his career. Somehow, Emilia found it hard to imagine Cameron doing anything that would take her outside of the Drinarna’s rules and regulations, even knowing it had worked out well for her father—even knowing the man himself might shirk the same rules she insisted on following, were he in her position. Probably, part of it was simply her age—Wander was like Emilia’s own father and on the older side of parenthood, and although Emilia had heard stories of a wild youth very much unlike his daughter’s strict, rule-abiding one, it did take a sort of inner strength to go against the authority you had been raised to respect… for some people.
Emilia and most of her friends had never been good children like that, respecting their teachers, parents and various other adults. No, they had always been little shits, getting into trouble. Thankfully, in most of their cases, their parents had always been there to support them, even when they massively fucked up. That sort of support had helped turn them into monsters, and while Emilia liked to hope they had learned from their mistakes and would go into adulthood knowing their limits and understanding right and wrong a little better, she knew they would continue to fuck up occasionally. Emilia also knew that even when they did mess up for decades to come, the adults who had supported them for the last few decades would still be there to support them, unendingly.
While she was sure Wander would support his daughter in her own fuck-ups, Emilia was also sure that Cameron didn’t want to cause problems for him—didn’t want to be a stain on his reputation the way Emilia had occasionally been on her own father’s. That was nice, but at the same time, it wasn’t fair. They might be their fathers’ children, but they were their own people; being their own people shouldn’t reflect onto their parents—that was her father’s opinion on the matter, as well, and while he had certainly asked her on occasion to try and behave, it had generally been more based on how her behaviour would affect Baalphoria as a whole, rather than he himself. Even that reflection onto Baalphoria wasn’t something he thought fair, but they had both accepted it was unavoidable when she was travelling with him as he worked. The worst that was likely to happen to him, were she to misbehave too terribly, was he’d be banned from bringing her along again, or he’d be fired. Baalphoria, on the other hand, could end up in a war because of her. Emilia still maintained that the one time she’d almost caused a war for Baalphoria hadn’t actually been her fault—how was she supposed to know the Emperor Augun was so fucking insane!?
Still, Emilia could understand the pressure Cameron was putting on herself, complicated and contradictory as it could be—Emilia was sure the girl realized that following the rules to the letter might one day place her against her father’s moral compass and pleasing her father definitely ranked higher on Cameron’s list of priorities. All that contradiction made trying to figure out
why
the girl was her babysitter and what the girl would do in a handful of situations incredibly difficult; one day, Cameron might grow an opinion of her own—or, find the confidence to follow what opinions she had—and surprise Emilia, after all.
Emilia didn’t think the current Cameron would go against other Drinarna officers, no matter what terrible thing they were doing, but she might.
Cameron would definitely give chase if Emilia ran off, but what she would do if she caught her—arrest her, deport her, kill her, listen to her explanation of what was going on—was a giant unknown.
If whatever was happening in the city fell into their path, Cameron might continue babysitting her, might protect Lüshanians, might protect their group. The woman might let Emilia help. The woman might kill Emilia for trying to help—for risking getting in the way of other Drinarna officers.
Annoying. The woman and her contradictions of wanting to be like her father—someone steadfast and confident in his beliefs—of wanting to be a good Drinarna officer—someone who followed the rules to the letter—was annoying, and Loren was right: Emilia really needed to find out how Cameron had been the one assigned to her, so she could understand more of the moving parts of a supremely unknown situation.
Unfortunately, her father really was busy in an important meeting, and while Malcolm was still trying to figure out how to get them out of the city without altering anyone that The Black Knot knew anything about this mysterious situation, Loren was left to wait for her father to have a moment of freedom. If things got bad, then Loren would burst in and demand answers, until then…
Until then, they were left to continue on with the tour, their next stop the museum within the spire.
In the background, the clones had finally stopped yelling at Malcolm for not letting them know about the undercover operation happening in Falmíer, and the discussion had instead shifting to one of the logistics of getting them at least out of the city. With their ship docked for the rest of the day, there was little they could do to leave the Free Colony itself in anything less than an ostentatious manner, but Malcolm was adamant that Olivier needed to get his class out of the city.
The problem was how.
As much as they could turn around and just head back to the ship, with how unknown the situation was, it was impossible to tell what that sort of evacuation would result in. They could go practically unnoticed, or whoever was behind the situation brewing in the city might just let them go. They might also take their leaving as a sign that their entire plan was blown, setting off the incident early or even dragging the class into it. It wouldn’t be the first time The Black Knot had discovered something happening in a Free Colony and had Baalphorians removed from it before it bubbled over. With Baalphoria and Dion currently sharing relatively good relations, leaks of information and advice to
get out now
were sometimes exchanged between them as well, but only sometimes.
That was the hard part of knowing anything, Emilia thought: the need to decide whether sharing the information and getting people to safety would do more harm than good. It was part of why black knots were good at the job: they could look at the entire situation through far more logical, clinical eyes than a more
normal
person. Black knots looked at the situation—at all the lives that could be lost depending on the decisions made—and they wouldn’t feel bad for having to choose who lived and who died. Even when it came to themselves, it was the same: some of the clones loved each other, but most would leave those clones they had little attachment to behind to die, if that were the better option.
At least, that was how it was supposed to be. It had been about twenty years since the majority of the clones, as well as the highest-ranking members of the rest of The Black Knot, had been capable of making such cold-hearted decisions. The problem was her—
she
loved almost all the clones and mourned for each one who died, and as a result, the clones now hesitated to let themselves and other clones die.
They loved her, so they would avoid causing her pain—and if that avoidance cost other lives? Then… then it was a mess because she would also mourn the people who died so the clones could live. Emilia imagined that, inside most of the clones’ minds, there lived a little mathematical equation, used to determine what would cause her the least hurt—after all, it wasn’t like she wouldn’t hurt, knowing her love for the clones had cost lives. It was just a hard, messy situation with no good answers—so messy that she always tried her best not to judge any Black Knot agent for their decisions these days; they didn’t deserve to suffer her annoyance when she knew perfectly well that her love for them, returned a thousand-fold by those clones who loved her back, was the problem.
All that meant that the situation was also impossibly more complicated by the fact that she was in the city. With her in the city, every clone who knew enough about the situation would be on edge. Stars knew Malcolm was on edge, his love for her compromising him enough that he was calling in someone else to at least give him a more outside opinion on what to do.
If it had been virtually anyone else, Malcolm wouldn’t have even bothered telling them something was happening in Lüshan. As it was, Emilia knew what Malcolm wanted to do: insist she piss off Cameron enough that the Drinarna officer would remove her from the city. If her childhood friend thought she wouldn’t be upset at the suggestion she leave Olivier and his class behind, he probably would have.
Any one of them leaving the city might change the situation, as paranoia swept through whoever was hiding behind the whatever was brewing. Even without that risk, there was no way she could leave them undefended; Emilia knew well enough that none of these people would be able to fight off assailants, if some sort of conflict suddenly broke out. How could she leave them? Put her safety above theirs? Malcolm didn’t care—he would willingly let the city and every person in it burn to keep her safe. He loved her, so he wouldn’t say it—wouldn’t ask her to do something so counter to her unending desire to keep everyone she came across safe. She loved him, so she knew he wanted to prioritize her safety over all else.
Emilia wouldn’t hold it against him, just like she could never hold the clones prioritizing her happiness against them. To be loved by a black knot was to know they would always put you first. Sometimes, they would mess up and make things worse, but with black knots, there were only two opinions: forever be forgiving them for fucking up their attempts to make you happy—to keep you physically and mentally safe—or run.
Run, and never let them catch you because the only thing that could keep a person safe from a black knot’s overwhelming, all-consuming love was the distance of a thousand miles or death itself.
.
!
Arc 9 | Chapter 367: To Be Loved by a Black Knot
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