David Farland - Lords of the Seventh Swarm

Yet she didn’t entirely trust Zeus, either. She’d been warned that he was more than he seemed. She knew she couldn’t trust appearances.

Maggie lay on her bed most of the afternoon, unable to rest. She wished Gallen were here, or that she’d gone with him. She craved the security of his presence.

At the same time, she recognized that this would give her an opportunity to get to know Felph’s children. It might be necessary to rescue them from their father. Such an operation would be messy, if Felph refused to let them go.

Maggie imagined various confrontations with the old man. He was moody, unpredictable. He kept a gun in his pocket.

Gallen might have to kill him. But what would that accomplish? The Controller in Felph’s head kept contact with the artificial intelligence in Felph’s revivification chamber. If Gallen killed Felph, the Al would download his memories into a clone, resurrecting the man. Security droids could secrete Felph in hidden wings of his palace, where Gallen wouldn’t be able to strike.

Maggie might have to dismantle the Al in the revivification chamber. If Gallen had to kill Felph, it would be better to leave the man dead.

But killing Felph would not be enough. Certainly, Felph had formidable resources. As they’d flown the florafeems, she’d seen silver torsos of security droids roving the perimeter of Felph’s grounds. While Felph might reasonably claim that these droids kept predators off his grounds, those droids could also keep his children on his property. So if Felph’s children were to escape, those droids would have to be neutralized.

Maggie knew her thoughts were traveling down dangerous paths. Sabotaging the ground’s droids, murdering Felph. The ideas seemed paranoid. Yet defeating the killer droids, murdering Felph-both were jobs that would require certain technical knowledge only Maggie could access. The mantle she wore held the key to freedom.

So much for searching for a safe place to have her baby. Felph’s palace, as luxurious as it seemed, might be nothing more than a glorified prison. Certainly, Felph’s children were virtual slaves. The stone walls suddenly seemed suffocating.

Yet even now, Maggie couldn’t be certain Felph was the Monster she imagined.

Was Zeus merely trying to play on Maggie’s sympathies for his own reasons?

Maggie found herself in a quandary. She wanted to question Felph’s children, yet Zeus’s hints made her feel insecure talking to anyone. Zeus had said that Hera was certainly Felph’s spy. Then there was Herm; Maggie did not trust the winged man. He always wore a slight smile which said, “I know more than you. I have secrets.”

So, Maggie was in a turbulent frame of mind as she made her way to the North Garden.

The evening came peacefully, Darksun dipping over the west hills in a blaze of gold that painted high clouds in shades of saffron. Almost immediately, even before the sun fell, Brightstar began to blaze, gaping like a hole in the night.

Maggie walked down the stone paths, along hedges that carried rose blooms in a hundred shades of blue. The scent of freshly tilled earth, of grass trampled under the wheels of gardener droids, all mixed with the scent of myriad roses.

Felph’s roses were exotic. Some had been genetically altered to exude a bouquet of natural scents, like lemon, ginger, or tangerine. Other blooms had odd-shaped petals. Maggie had seen frilled roses on Tangor, roses that looked more like carnations. But Felph’s collection included tufted roses with cottony petals. Others had enlarged stamens and small silky petals, like orchids.

The climbing roses scaled elaborate arbors carved from white marble, which arched over her head, forming extravagant walls around her, until she came to the center of the garden, secreted deep within the hedges. There, on a small hillock, an onyx statue of a huge peacock, his tail in full display, stood regally near a rocky pool while statues of peahens seemed to delicately feed in the grass around the pool.

The waters of the pool did not have a fountain, as she’d expected. Instead, the water merely burbled up from below ground, adding small liquid sounds to the scene. A few sparrows winged over the pool, dipping into the water. As Maggie watched, a nereid splashed, swimming on her back, breasts bobbing in the water as her tail flapped lazily. Maggie stood watching the thing, unsure. If it were some genetically altered creature or merely a viviform. Whatever she was, the nereid was lovely. She had a creamy complexion, sweet face, hair of a sea green, blue eyes filled with delight. The nereid splashed about, as if unaware of Maggie’s presence, and Maggie decided that the creature must be a viviform, a work of art that only mimicked life.

Maggie waited on a stone bench for twenty minutes, till Darksun set. Then Zeus appeared with a basket. Maggie could smell sweet scents within-fresh bread and fruits. Zeus hardly said hello before he opened the basket, brought out a bottle of wine and two cups, filled them. He set the plates, then began opening silver containers of food.

“Grilled skog in raspberry sauce with fresh mint,” he said, not at all enthusiastically. The next plate contained rye bread, covered with cheese and poppy seeds, followed by vegetable dishes and a compote of mixed tropical fruits, cooked in brandy.

All these Zeus served with a singular lack of energy, a self-absorbed air, so Maggie wondered what sort of inner storm might be brewing in him.

After he’d set the first bowl on the stone bench and became so brooding he forgot to remove the lid, Maggie took his hand. “What’s troubling you?” she asked. “What are you thinking?”

Zeus hung his head. Here in the dark, with only moon and starlight shining on him, she could not see his eyes. They were lost beneath lanky hair. But when he startled, glanced up, starlight gleamed in his dark eyes. It surprised her. She had not been prepared for the intensity, the passion in his eyes. “I … I feel guilty,” he whispered. “My problems aren’t yours. I should not have tried to involve you in this. Forgive me. It was … so thoughtless.” Zeus uncovered two platters. The only sound to pierce the night was the ringing of silver.

“It wasn’t thoughtless,” Maggie said. “I know you wouldn’t do it lightly. Are you frightened?”

Zeus gave a laugh. “Frightened, of my father? No. The man loves me-he says. He loves me so much, he will never let me go. But I am not frightened of him.

“Forgive me, Maggie, this is none of your affair. You should not become … embroiled.”

He fell silent again. She said softly, “Let me judge that. I understand your pain. I was imprisoned by a Guide once. I know what it is to be a slave.”

Zeus looked up at her; hope kindled in his dark eyes. “Then you know how it feels, year after year, longing for release! I think, I think this morning some mad fit took me. I swear, I ran naked out into the sunlight for the first time, and I wanted to throw myself from the citadel in joy, to feel perfect liberty, to be unencumbered.”

Zeus got up, stalked to the edge of the fountain, and looked out over the gardens to a line of stars that lay heavy on the hills. “What a fool I must appear. I thought that because Felph removed my Guide, he would let me go free.”

He stood, hands clasped behind his back, staring up.

“I could help you,” Maggie said. Thinking furiously. She had determined earlier to reserve judgment, to let him reveal himself slowly. But now, here in his presence, hearing the intensity behind his words, she didn’t doubt that he fervently wanted to be free. She’d been imprisoned by a Guide for only a few days. What would it be like to remain imprisoned for years, craving freedom, in the way that Zeus had been genetically engineered to crave?