I was able to tune out as Savona himself took the stage to blather on about his regrets and his reformation. I didn’t allow myself to wonder how anyone could overlook the obvious insanity dancing in his eyes, and I didn’t allow myself to watch Auden, who was listening from the other side of the central podium. I hadn’t seen him since the explosion at the temple, when I’d pulled him out of the burning wreckage. The security-operations guys had dragged him away for questioning while the building still burned, while I was still flailing in a secop’s arms and screaming Riley’s name.
I’d spent a long time begging Auden’s forgiveness and hating myself for what I’d done to him—blaming myself for what he’d become. That was over now. It was his choice to stand by Savona’s side, embracing his former mentor with open arms, just as it was his choice to dive into the frigid water and try to rescue me. I didn’t ask to be saved.
Auden, who knew better than anyone what Savona had been up to at that temple, and had to know exactly how sincere these pledges of tolerance and shared destiny could be, chose to let Savona speak, and let the world believe him. He pretended that he could stay in charge of the Brotherhood, keep Savona in the wings, even though Savona was the pro, the one with the words and the voice, the adult with the gravitas and the credit and the power. All Auden had was the pity vote, and if he thought that would be enough, that was his choice, his mistake. He’d picked his side of the stage. I was done apologizing—to him and for him.
When the speechifying finally wound down, I shook Auden’s hand, and I did it without looking away. Then I shook Savona’s, pleased again that the sensations received through my artificial nerves were so thin and colorless. I didn’t want the pressure of his palm to feel real; I didn’t want to know if it was clammy and sweaty or warm and dry. But I squeezed tight, knowing he was just as repulsed by my touch, and wanting his hell to last as long as it could.
Zo grabbed me as I stepped off the dais, pulling me off to the side. “I can do this part,” she said. “If you don’t want to.”
It was tempting. “You can’t. He’d never believe it, coming from you.”
“And he’ll believe it from you?” she asked. “After what he did to you?”
I didn’t want to say it. And even more, I didn’t want to watch her face as I did. “But he didn’t mean to do it to me. He meant to do it to you.”
Zo didn’t flinch.
“When I tell him that makes all the difference, he’ll believe me,” I said.
“How do you know?”
“Because he wants to believe me. That’s how it works.”
He was avoiding me. I threaded my way through the crowd, catching glimpses of him over shoulders, through a knot of people, but he was always one step ahead. Maybe I wasn’t trying very hard to catch him. The crowd was a bizarre mixture of BioMax execs and the occasional Brother still draped in one of those iridescent robes that had surely been designed for maximal creep factor. There were also a few mechs scattered through the crowd, though none I recognized, probably because no one who’d ever crossed paths with Jude would be naive enough to come within ten miles of this minefield. Even Ani—an obvious invitee—had apparently stayed away, though I suspected that had as much to do with my presence as Savona’s. But as I neared the bar, I spotted a vaguely familiar face: Elton Kravis, a mech who’d always been a bit of a moron, so his presence made sense. He was deep in conversation with some blank-faced corp exec, but, fulfilling his moron destiny, abruptly cut it off and veered to his right in pursuit of a gorgeous girl with long black hair and a Brotherhood robe who would have been out of his league even if she didn’t believe he had about as much sex appeal as a vacuum cleaner. In his wake he left an empty space in the crowd, affording me a perfect view of my father.
He stood alone in a corner, his face buried in his glass—probably downers mixed with tea, his blend of choice.
I’d thought this part would be easy.
Because what could be easier for me than pretending to be a person I despised? I’d been rehearsing for this moment all year. But once I was standing before him, forcing myself to look up into his unlined face, the eyes that had once been exactly the same shade as mine, I couldn’t do it. He would see through it, I was certain. He would know I was more likely to attack than swap small talk. I let myself indulge the fantasy for a moment, imagining a jagged edge of glass raking his skin.
Zo was watching from across the room. She caught my eye and flashed me her cheesiest thumbs-up.
“Hi, Dad.” I smiled.
There was a flicker of surprise, then it was gone. He nodded, casually, like he’d expected nothing less than an affable greeting from his beloved daughter. “Lia. Good to see you.”
“And you.” He couldn’t see into my head, I reminded myself. He couldn’t see anything unless I let him. “How have you been?”
“Well. Very well. And you?”
We went back and forth, saying nothing, for endless minutes. He was putting on a show for whoever was watching, although almost surely no one was. I waited it out, letting him squirm, because my next move would be less suspicious if he made it for me, thinking it was his own idea. Finally, success: “Would you like to go somewhere more private?” he asked. “Perhaps somewhere we could talk?”
“That would be nice.” Formal and proper. I smiled again, letting a dash of pain filter into it, so he would understand I was struggling with the decision, overcoming my own natural inclinations to run. He led me into a private office—our father never attended events like this without lining up a private sanctum to which he could retreat in time of need—and settled at one end of a small couch.
The thought of joining him made my skin crawl. I did it anyway.
“Lia.” He stopped, swallowed hard, looked down, then, thinking better of it, forced himself to face me. I stared at the door, watching him out of the corner of my eye. “I didn’t expect you’d want to talk to me.”
“I don’t.” It couldn’t be too easy, or he’d never believe it, no matter how much he wanted to.
“But…”
“But I’m here,” I said. “You’re my father, whatever happened. So… I’m here.” I sat flagpole straight, facing forward, hands gripping the edge of the cushion like I was priming myself to run.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t know what else to say. I never meant to hurt you.”
After all this time, he hadn’t managed to come up with anything better than the world’s oldest, lamest excuse? Sorry I had you murdered. Who knew it would hurt?
“I know,” I said.
“You do?”
I closed my eyes for a long moment, let him think I was grappling with a decision, opening a door. I turned and met his gaze. “I know,” I said again. “It must have been an impossible situation for you. I can’t even imagine, having to pick between two children, but…” I reminded myself that Zo would never have to hear what I said next. That they were just words. “You picked me. You wanted me to live. And in a twisted way, I guess… that proves how much you love me.”
This was the tricky part. My father wasn’t the touchy-feely type. I let my shoulders slump and tried to make myself look smaller. Weak. “I thought it would be easy to run away. From everything. From you. But now I’m… I’m so alone. I don’t know who I am, if I’m not your daughter.” I lowered my head. Let my voice shake. “I don’t know how to forgive you. But I don’t know how not to forgive you.”
I hugged my arms over my chest and waited, closing my eyes so that I wouldn’t have to look at him. A moment later I felt his weight shift on the couch, and then his arms were around me. “I’m here,” he said. His hug was as stiff and awkward as ever. “I’m your father, nothing will ever change that. You are my daughter. And I’ve never been so proud of you.”