“Well.You’re here now.Sit down.You look ready to collapse, and if you faint, that enormous shadow of yours will break the furniture trying to catch you.”She waved a hand toward Raaevik and took a sip of her wine.
Emily stayed on her feet—sitting felt like giving in, and right now, anger was the only thing keeping her upright.
“I don’t want to sit, Mother.I want to know how.”
Miranda sighed, long-suffering, like Emily had asked her to solve world hunger before lunch.Crossing to the table, she set the glass down with a neat little click.
“How what, darling?How did I get here?A lovely little shuttle.Private transport.Much better than that cattle car they put you on, I assume.”
“How you signed me up to the mate program without my knowledge or consent.”
Miranda’s fingers went to the diamond ring on her right hand, turning it so it flashed.
“It was a lottery.You won.”Her voice was smooth.“You should be grateful.Most women would kill for that kind of opportunity.Literally, in some cases, if the news reports about the riots are true.”
“I didn’t enter a lottery.”Emily took a step forward.“I saw the file, Mom.I saw the source code.Clinical Sample 44-B.Reference: Dr.Allinson.”
Miranda’s fingers stilled on the ring.
“Three weeks ago,” Emily said.Her voice didn’t shake, and that was something.“That ‘preventative screening’ you were so insistent about.You said genetic disease ran in the family.You said to do it for your peace of mind.”
Her mother picked up the glass again, not looking at her.
“I thought six vials were a lot for a cholesterol check,” Emily said, quieter.“But I did it.Becauseyouasked.”
Miranda shrugged as she took a sip.“Dr.Allinson is a dear friend.He owed me a favor.”
The room tilted sideways.She'd suspected it the second the LMP administrator pulled up her record, but hearing Miranda say it like it was nothing made bile crawl up her throat.
“You stole my DNA.”
“Oh, stop being so dramatic.”Miranda waved a hand.“I didn’t steal anything.I’m your mother.I made an executive decision for your future because you were clearly incapable of doing it yourself.”
Her eyes narrowed over the rim of the glass.
“Look at you.Really look at yourself.Twenty-nine years old, working in a shelter for drug addicts, wearing thrift-store clothes, and living in an apartment the size of my walk-in closet.You were wasting your life.”
“I was helping people!I was happy.”
“You wereinvisible,” Miranda snapped.“You’re an Evans, and there you were… living like a peasant.It was embarrassing.I gave you a way out.I gave you a throne, for god’s sake.”
“I don’twanta throne.I wanted my life.”
“Your life was a dead end!”Miranda snarled, showing teeth.“Do you think Ienjoyedtelling my friends my daughter was a social worker?”Her voice rose, sharp with anger.“Do you think Ilikedexplaining why you weren’t at the gala or the fundraiser?You were an anchor, Emily.Dragging us both down into mediocrity.”
Turning back to the window, she stared out at Earth.
“When the Lathar announced the program,” she said, voice lowering again, controlled now, “when I saw the criteria, I knew.I just knew you’d be a match for someone important.You’ve always been… sturdy.Resilient.The kind of stock they were looking for.”
Emily flinched.Sturdy.Stock.Like she was a horse with good teeth.
“And when the match came back,” Miranda continued, softer now, “and it was him.TheEmperor himself.”She smiled at the window.“Well.That was fate intervening.”
“Bullshit!It wasn’t fate,” Emily hissed, a fine tremor rolling through all her limbs.“It wasyou.It was a transaction.”
Her mother turned.The smile stayed, but it didn’t touch her eyes.
“Of course.Everything is a transaction, darling,” she said.“That’s the first rule of survival.You give something to get something.”
