Page 172 of Carousel

“Thank you. We will move on. Ara, please could you tell us when your childhood ended?”

Did I even have a childhood?

From what I’ve understood, it wasn’t a childhood so much as an extended training.

But I can’t talk about that here.

I say instead, “It ended when I moved to Hevalla. Your Provision system is tough.”

“Tough, yes,” Dezeeves comments. “But just. No?” He smiles. “To get back from the world exactly what you have given it. Is that not the ultimate ideal?”

I’m floundering.

Integration will mess with your head. Drake warned me of that.

“Drake,” Dezeeves says, turning to him. “We will ask you the same question we posed to Ara. How would you describe her character?”

I flinch. But keep on staring straight ahead.

It’s as if his answer is already planned. It falls smoothly from his lips.

“Ara is wiser than her nineteen years. She prefers to do things alone. She believes she knows what’s right and what’s wrong. When presented with a choice between them, generally she chooses well.”

“An excellent analysis,” Dezeeves declares with a clap of his hands. “Although perhaps you could elaborate on why she only generally chooses well?”

“She can let her heart rule her head.”

My eyes find his profile – his structured nose and jaw. I can’t detect a single thought he might be thinking.

“Yes,” Dezeeves is saying, face ruddy. “As can we all.” He scratches his face. “And what would your advice be to Ara? In those moments of weakness, she may have?”

“She needs to slow down. Think things through.”

Drake looks right at me.

“Every decision you make offers you something, and what’s best for you is rarely what’s best for the world. You need to think, hard, about what you want. What you could give,” he adds, so slowly the words creep over my skull, “And what you could have.”

“Perfect,” Dezeeves says. “I couldn’t have phrased it better myself.” Dezeeves cocks his head at me, birdlike. “We will break here. We have certainly covered much this morning.”

Things happen fragmentedly. Officers are standing and dispersing. Dezeeves is back over at the control table.

I’m still beside Drake, watching him, while he stares back. It’s like we can’t untangle ourselves.

“I know what I want,” I finally tell him, firmly, in Rhavnan. “And I know I don’t want your power. Or any power.”

He bends forwards in his chair. Speaks just above a whisper.

“Even though, together, we could end the war? Perhaps even topple the Queen?”

I don’t move. Barely even blink. “What?”

“Anything beyond the dome, which was built by her father, is dying, while her court’s magic feeds the dome – and only the dome. I believed you had learned that by now. And I won’t even mention the fact she destroyed both of our lives, chasing prophecies.”

“Yours wasn’t destroyed,” I snap.

“Wasn’t it?” His mouth cripples. “I grew up in a military compound, for my safety, and to get me stronger. I lived in a cell. I was trained rigorously. Lions probably fare better in circuses. I was tortured, for months at a time, in the dark.”

The dark. He’s afraid of the dark.