Page 29 of His Darkest Deceit


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Trying to tempt a man to ruin me wasverypersonal.

Were my lips too thin? My breasts had been problematic under my uniform, but in my dress, were they feminine enough?

Did men like brown hair? Or would they prefer bouncy blonde curls of the variety Maeve possessed?

There would be no song to tempt an unmated hybrid, and though General Cyderial had claimed I was genetically perfect, I did not know if that translated into attractiveness.

My eyes were hooded, my lashes thick and dark but short and straight. They did not extend and curl upward as Tamsyn’s did. I did not have Agnes’s dimples.

I was a bit smaller-boned than many of my sisters, but not nearly as petite as Maeve. She was tiny, with a whole lot of personality packed into her diminutive figure.

My features reflected my mother's ancestry. And though I had always loved that I resembled her, and it was true I did think she was beautiful, but was that just because she was my mother?

In honesty, my memory of her had faded over the years, and much of it may have been idealized. I had spent more time imagining her than I could remember actually spending in her presence.

Five years old was too young to be taken from one’s mother, and I had only been allowed to visit her once per year afterward. The highlight of my year, the reason I behaved as well as I could and followed every rule.

All for a precious thirty minutes of her presence, under the suspicious eyes of five watchers, of course.

But in her home, I had a chance to leave the confines of the academy and see the city through the windows of the transport vehicle.

False freedom that almost felt as good as the real thing.

General Cyderial eliminated such visits when he took command of the academy, the program terminated weeks before my scheduled trip into the city.

Ten years had passed since I saw her face. Since I had hugged her and smelled her hair.

It seemed sacrilegious that I was going into the city for any other reason.

Under my thoughts, the strangest guilt began to fester. As if I was doing something wrong by not rushing straight to her, my desire for the fog having outranked my desire for my mom.

But I was an adult now, and it had been ten long years of growing up.

A decade ago, my mother welcomed me and my armed guardians into her home. Weepy and excited, she showed me my newborn fully human brother. Her third child since I had been given to the academy. The husband she found after I’d been given away, Richard, was there as well. Though I did not share any genetic material with him, he treated me with gentle kindness. The human male was also funny.

And they were all so grateful for the wonderful things they imagined I did within the academy.

So honored I studied hard so I might keep them safe from the fog.

Extremely proud to show me all the treats she created at her bakery and sold to the humans in her neighborhood. A display across her huge table just for me! All of it tucked in waxed pink boxes that shone in the light, so tempting and pretty it was hard not to eat what was on offer.

Though I had not been allowed to hold the baby—my mother worried he might dirty my uniform—she did let me watch her rock him as he wiggled and cooed. Richard patting my shoulder as if I were an adult, though I was barely eleven.

My mother told me she loved me, kissing my cheek when the team of armed watchers explained the allowable length of my visit had concluded.

She made me promise I would always do my best, that I would continue to make them proud and keep them safe.

Told me I was lucky to have such a blessed life.

My niceparentsdid not understand what it was like growing up at the academy, where failure was not tolerated and loneliness for one’s home left children crying under their covers at night.

There was no room for weakness or personal wants when one's very life purpose was to ensure the survival of the human race. After all, she said how gratified both she and Richard were, and I could not bear to confess that only pain and solitude awaited me.

With many soft kisses, my birth mother gave me a box of sweets she had made herself, just for me. And I clutched it to my chest as I said my goodbyes, aware I would not be allowed to keep it once back at the academy.

Just as I had been scared to eat one of her treats with the watchers lurking at my back, I was scared to open her gift once tucked into the transport vehicle.

My diet was strictly regulated and health monitored to ensure no errant genetic abnormality arose before I reached maturity. Sugar was absolutely forbidden.

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