“If the system is mostly good,” said Daphne, “then it will survive us taking a look at it, right?”
“Is that what you want to do?” Zada said. “Take a look at it?”
“I don’t know,” said Daphne. “The stakes are so much higher than—anything we ever did in school. Dyeing Professor Lawerence’s toupee green. Hacking the VR system so that Helper Hugh only spoke in riddles.”
“There must be a way,” said Zada slowly, “to prove that it’s not how it all looks. That the Core is basically correct, and that Heartsong pairs people with their match most of the time.”
“But not all of the time,” said Daphne.
“Right.”
“Then it’s like you always used to say, right? We need more data.”
“I didn’t say it that much,” Zada protested.
“Constantly,” said Daphne. “It was your catchphrase.”
Zada wasn’t sure she liked the idea of having a catchphrase, of being so easy to know and predict.Oh, don’t mind her, that’s just Zada. But Daphne didn’t sound at all contemptuous. Daphne was smiling at a small clump of zinnias like they were a prized and lovely secret. It was a very particular look, oneZada hadn’t seen lately. She missed it, she realized.
Daphne turned. She’d caught Zada looking and looking for much too long. “What?”
“What?” Zada countered.
Daphne grinned. “What?” she said again, knocking their shoulders together. The sun, refracted through the dome, had sunk low enough to illuminate Daphne from behind, as if she was giving off a warm, steady glow. And even though looking at Daphne’s smile eased something in Zada’s chest, she was suddenly conscious of a pain there, too. It was everything Zada had been too afraid to admit that she had been missing; Daphne was there and grinning and talking to Zada like they were old friends again, but Zada wanted to be closer somehow. It made no sense; they were already touching, but Zada was still left craving, left with a powerful urge to close the gap between them, to make Daphne smile again and again.
The longing burned, a feeling so sharp and distinct it was as if Zada’s very soul itself had been—well.
“I am half agony, half hope,” Austen had written, and that wasn’t even true in Zada’s case, because if Daphne loved Flora then Zada’s true Heartsong match had to be someone else, some other person, and there was no reason to harbor even half a hope that all would be well. The agony was coming through with some clarity, and yet in this moment there was still nowhere else Zada would have rather been but standing in the tranquil garden surrounded by extravagant flowers, squinting through the sunshine at her friend’s even brighter smile. Trying desperately to think of something, anything to say because Daphne was still waiting.
“Mozelle Drogace,” said Zada finally.
Daphne raised her eyebrows. “Can you give me a verb, too, please?”
“The Heartsong administrator,” said Zada. “If we can find some way to get our hands on what she knows, then we can see once and for all what’s going on here. She’d have access to every match and all related info. If anyone’s match has been changed, has been overwritten or edited, she’d have that in her files. And if that’s been altered on any significant scale, we’ll know the Core’s been compromised, too. If it hasn’t, then we’ll know it’s probably safe,” she added in a rush. “We’d just need a way to get past her security long enough to make a clone of her SmartGem.”
“We wouldn’t even have to steal it,” Daphne agreed. “Look at you, talking like an outlaw, I really am the worst of influences.”
“Don’t sound so proud,” said Zada.
“So,” said Daphne with relish, “we break into her house. We smash a window, maybe two, and—”
“This again? What do you have against windows?” said Zada. “And no, I was thinking our best chance of getting close without getting noticed would be a big celebration. What do you suppose are the chances that Mozelle is holding some sort of party for the Centennial?”
“Holy shit,” Daphne said, reaching for her SmartGem. “Let me just check her calendar on the feed.” She fiddled with the stone on her ring until it brought up a glowing, hovering screen of Mozelle’s list of public appearances. She scrolled downward. “Well, what do you know?” Daphne crowed. “A masquerade ball at her estate. This is perfect! Masquerades are the one time everyone’s allowed to flirt with someonebesides their match. They’ll be way too busy to notice our little mission.”
“It’s in a week,” said Zada. Her mind was already frantically listing out all the things they would need to do leading up to the dance. “We’ll have a lot to do to prepare. It’ll be tight.”
“We’ll pull it off with our usual boundless style and charm,” said Daphne.
“We’d have to do it all at the ball,” Zada warned her. “I can copy her Gem, but if we try to open the copy off her grounds, it’ll trigger a lengthy security protocol. We’d lose too much time.”
“It’s a ball,” said Daphne breezily. “There’ll be plenty of hidden little alcoves we can use. You really are a genius, Zades.”
She pulled Zada into a quick hug. Zada leaned into it, her face flushing at the close contact, and thought, clearly and distinctly,oh no.
Chapter SixteenIn Which an Illegal Concert Is Attended
Honestly,” said Zada, “joining the Sisters of Perpetual Reflection is sounding better and better each day.”
