Perfect Ruin

“Yes. Lovely.”



There’s darkness, the weight of the cloth covering me completely.



We’re taken a bit farther, and then a voice says, “Your mother has asked that you not hunt in your best clothes.”



“We’re sorry,” the prince says. “We’ve caught a deer this time, though. We’ll send it to the food factory once Celeste has sawed the antlers for her jewelry collection.”



Meat is a rare delicacy, mostly reserved for the festival of stars, and hunting is restricted to those who work in the food factories, but apparently those rules don’t apply to the king’s family.



There are the sounds of doors closing. I can feel Pen’s limp body jostling against mine as the wagon is steered through a series of turns, and then I think we’re being hoisted down a flight of stairs. I try to open my eyes, but my eyelids are heavy. The prince and princess are whispering now, and their words are lost to the throb of blood in my ears. I’m still fighting for consciousness when the wagon goes still. There’s the smell much like the one underground when Judas led me outside from the metal bird.



“Do you think it would be too mean of me to steal that dress?” the princess says. “It’s so lovely.”



“You’re ridiculous,” the prince says. “You can’t leave her naked.”



“You should be thanking me for the opportunity,” she says.



He says something in return, but it’s as though they’re talking underwater. The words make no sense. The blackness takes over.



It’s the chime that wakes me, so close that the sound is caught between my teeth. Internment feels as though it’s shaking.



Another chime. Another.



“It’s three o’clock,” Pen says.



I open my eyes to the light of a single candle flickering in a sconce on the stone wall. Pen is slumped under it, arms behind her back, staring where the light doesn’t reach.



“We’re in the clock tower,” she adds. “In case you haven’t guessed.”



She doesn’t sound angry or frightened, just exhausted.



I realize my hands are tied behind my back with twine, but I manage to push myself up against the wall.



“Can you reach against my hip?” I say. “There’s a knife. I don’t know if it’ll be enough to cut through the twine, but it’s something.”



“Oh, good,” Pen says, attempting to reach it. “If Princess Whatsit unbuttons a single button of this dress, I’ll cut her face.”



“You heard them talking as they dragged us in here, too?” I ask.



“Yes, but I couldn’t move.” She manages to dislodge the knife from my waistband. There’s a clatter as it hits the floor when it falls from the cloth. “Hold still.”



“I’m sorry about all this,” I say.



“We’re both having a bad night,” she says. “And now the king’s freak children are probably going to try to murder us and hang our heads on their walls. What else could we expect from a girl who collects deer antlers?”



I think of Basil, warm and asleep in the metal bird. It seems an act of insanity that I left him. I’d give anything to crawl back under that blanket.



Footsteps echo somewhere in the blackness. Pen drops the knife, and she isn’t able to hide it before there’s the creaking of a door.



“I knew we should have checked for weapons,” the princess whispers angrily. “See that? They’ve got a knife.”



“How was I supposed to know schoolgirls walk around with hidden knives?” the prince says.



“No matter,” the princess says, swishing her hair behind her shoulders. She strides over to us, stomps her glittering white slipper onto the knife, and slides the knife toward her. “I’ll be keeping this,” she says to us. “Can’t have you trying to kill us.”



“You wouldn’t have to worry,” Pen snaps, “if you hadn’t kidnapped us and tied us up like wild animals.”



“You aren’t fooling me,” the princess says, walking backward toward her brother. She gestures to me with the knife. “You threatened to kill our father.”



“We heard you,” the prince says. “You said you’d cut his throat.”



They’re both nodding importantly.



“Your father killed my parents,” I say, unaware until I’ve spoken them that I have the bravery for words. I always thought that if I ever spoke to the famous duo, I’d be nervous. They seemed so unattainable on the broadcasts and in their images. But up close, they’re only people. Dressed in frilly pajamas with lace at the cuffs and collars, but people nonetheless. I can’t remember why I thought there was anything to fuss over.



“Your family committed treason,” the prince says.



“How would you know?” I say. “How would you know anything that happens on Internment? You never come down from your clock tower. Do you know what treason even is?”



“Of course they don’t,” Pen says, trying to soothe me. “They’re idiotic, Morgan; you can’t expect them to understand what they’ve done.”



“Fancy words,” the princess says, “considering we’ve got weapons and you’ve got your hands behind your backs. We were going to bring you something to eat, but forget it now.”



“Just kill us if that’s what you’re going to do,” Pen says.



The princess seems to be considering it. But she lowers the knife and smoothes her nightgown against her hips. “We’re still deciding whether or not to tell our father we’ve captured you, Morgan Stockhour. He’s got patrolmen out looking for you, you know, and they’ve been ordered to bring you to him. Alive or dead.” She sings those last three words, twirling her long hair around the knife.



“And it never occurred to you that that’s insane?” Pen says. “The king giving orders to kill a harmless girl your own age? Killing her family and then chasing after her—that’s good leadership to you?”



The princess is looking at my eyes, and maybe Pen’s words have reached her, but then she blinks them away and covers her mouth with her hair as she murmurs something to her brother. He stares at us. Despite his round face, there’s fierceness in his eyes that are framed by brows a shade too dark for his hair.



It’s too much, that stare. I feel everything crashing down, as though Internment has fallen from the sky and broken into pieces on top of me.



I’ll never see my parents again. I’ll never go home again. Instead I’m staring at the eyes of this heartless boy. He is a symbol of the city that has betrayed me.



Pen sees the change in me. She brings her mouth close to my ear. “Don’t do it,” she whispers. “Don’t you cry in front of them. Dig your nails into your palm. Hold your breath.”



I do what she says, and it helps.



The prince covers his mouth and says something to his sister. I focus on the pain in my palms.



“We’ve decided to let you live,” the princess says. “For now. If we killed you tonight, it would be an awful lot of blood; we’d be up until dawn with the cleaning, and we have lessons in the morning.”



“But we aren’t going to untie you,” the prince says. “It’s in your interest to be quiet.”



“You don’t want someone else to find you,” the princess says.



“They won’t be as generous as us,” the prince says.



It makes my mind spin, the way they together seem to be speaking one long sentence.



They back into the darkness until I can’t see them, and then there’s the sound of a door closing and latches being latched.



I unclench my fists.



“You were very brave,” Pen says, allowing me to drop my head in her lap. I’m free at last to cry, but the tears won’t come.



“What a mess I’ve made of things,” I say. “For both of us.”



“I’ve spent the entire day thinking you were dead,” she says. “If the price of having you alive is being locked in the clock tower, I cheerfully accept. I didn’t have anything better to do with my night.”



And despite that, I can smell no trace of tonic. She endured the news of my supposed death while sober. I’m proud of her for that.



“Maybe they’ll let you go when they realize you have nothing to do with all of this,” I say.



“You don’t have anything to do with this either,” Pen says. “They’re warped. You don’t deserve this any more than I do.”



I close my eyes.



“Was that true?” she asks. “What you said about the king killing your parents?”



“He had a hand in it,” I say. “My parents and Lex—they knew things they weren’t supposed to know. They were planning something he didn’t like.”



“Whatever it was, it can’t have been worth murdering them over,” Pen says.



Struggling without the use of my hands, I sit up and look at her. “They were planning to leave Internment. I don’t mean jumping over the edge, but actually flying away properly.”



She stares at me, trying to decide what to make of this, and then she laughs with uncertainty. “And the king believed them? Lots of people fantasize about that.”



“They built a machine,” I say. “It’s hidden where the king can’t find it, so he’s tried to stop the plans they laid out. Those deaths today weren’t because of tainted pharmaceuticals.”



I wasn’t going to tell her all of this, but now that she’s trapped here with me, she deserves to know what for.



“It’s like Micah and the boat of stars,” she says, speaking of a chapter in The History of Internment. “When he saw a constellation in the shape of a boat, he thought the sky god was speaking to him, so he built one just like it.”



Pen knows all of the chapters. She can make them a parable for any situation, she’s so adamant about her faith.



“You remember how that story ended,” she says.



I do. Micah took his boat to the edge of Internment, and when he tried to sail into the sky, the boat splintered apart, impaling him. He became the first jumper. “I don’t think this is like that,” I say.



“Nobody can leave,” Pen says. “The sky god won’t allow it. The king knows that. I don’t understand why he would kill anyone for trying when they’ll only see for themselves.”



“Maybe that’s wrong,” I say. “Maybe there is a way off Internment, and we’re right on the verge of discovering it, and it frightens him.”