“No,” I gasp, tears actively rolling down my face now. “Adria, no. You’re better than this. If you felt it, too …”
But my voice trails off into awful, racking sobs. By the time they cease, it’s only me and the memory-moving mutant, abandoned in a solitary cell, swallowed up by the untamed night.
Once upon a time,
the queen of shadow called all her demons,
and they were not enough to hide her away.
CHAPTER
20
ADRIA
Idon’t look back when I seal Kori inside Neo’s isolated cell. I don’t even offer assurance that one of my soldiers will bring safe rations, though I obviously need her alive. I let her wonder if I’ve abandoned any intent of protecting her altogether. I let Neo be the one to attend to her broken, desperate sobs.
Nevertheless, I do promptly pay a visit to Kori’s originally assigned quarters, where Aspect will inevitably be awaiting her return. So I suppose she was right about one thing: I’m not a monster. And if even Neo can’t pry out the anguish of my parents’ deaths—or the cutting, deadly hope of Kori’s crash into my shattered world—I don’t know how I’ll ever become the monster the Shadowlands need.
It would be easier if Aspect were powered down when I dropped by. I could leave them deactivated until reuniting with Kori, then send them both back to the Daylands and begin the slow, awful process of forgetting they were ever here. But nothing is easy for me lately, so I of course find Aspect sitting, bright-eyed, on Kori’s bed, with my three-headed dog sprawled contentedly across their legs, all three heads snoring away.
My kingdom’s best technologists were able to repair Aspect’s better leg, preserving their last knee joint, but somehow, despite generations of advancing machinery and even supernaturally empowered telekinetics among my engineers, they didn’t have enough parts to replace the peg leg. So, even now, brought back from mechanical amputation, the mech remains lopsided and utterly unconcerned. The jointed leg simply crosses over the stiff one, my (freshly showered) dog utterly unbothered by his uneven metallic pillow.
The first robot Russ has ever met, and did he bare his teeth in my defense? Did he growl or snarl? Tackle the intruder to restrain any threat? Try to take a bite out of the crudely drawn face? First and foremost, Russ was always intended as my guard dog. And yet it seems, from the very first moment they bumped into each other, Aspect and Russ have been fast friends, the robot sneaking their way into my pet’s heart as surely as Kori invaded mine.
I don’t think I even retain the right to be angry about it.
Aspect is stroking each of Russ’s foreheads in succession, humming a little tune I don’t recognize, and so caught up in their idle self-entertainment, they almost don’t notice my presence until I deliberately clear my throat.
“Adria!” My name emerges from their simulated vocal cords as a startled squeak. Russ stirs. Six heavy-lidded eyes open just enough to see me, determine I’m perfectly fine, and then close again, the snores resuming in earnest. “Adria’s triple dog—was triple tired—from playing—many games—with Aspect. So triple dog went—to sleep. And Aspect does not need—to sleep. Aspect needs—company!”
“You’re welcome, I suppose,” I sigh, running a hand through my hair. It’s grown longer and wilder with every passing sleep cycle. And I’ve always fidgeted with it when I’m anxious, which is not what I am now. I’m determined; I’m dutiful; I exist to carry forward my people’s purpose and nothing more. “I considered it only appropriate to inform you that it may be … a short stretch … before you see Kori again.”
If Aspect had eyebrows to lift, they’d be stuck to the ceiling. “Is Kori—in trouble?”
Kori’s been in ever-increasing trouble since her ship first went down in my territory, but I don’t want to feed the machine’s neuroticism. I suppose I’d be a bit of a wreck, too, if I’d gotten my entire personality from imitating Kori’s anxiety and a random assortment of memories—so I can’t entirely blame Aspect.
“Kori is perfectly fine,” I offer, which is more untrue than true; but I follow it up with “I need to be alone for a while, to focus on crushing this rebellion and stabilizing the Shadowlands,” which is more true than not.
Aspect nods. “So Adria can—keep Kori—safe.”
“Yes,” I agree, hating the honest force behind the word. “So I can keep her safe.”
“Can Aspect—help—keep Kori safe?”
“I think you’ve helped enough, don’t you?”
“Aspect was built—to help,” they proclaim, carefully sliding their legs out from beneath Russ, then moving to rise from the bed. They land unevenly with a sharppopof their peg leg meeting the floor. “There is—no such thing—as too much help.”
I can’t help but smile at the foolish confidence. Given that Aspect’s idea of help left them missing one leg and separated from their maker, I’d say there’s definitely such a thing as an excess of that. “No such thing as too much help … That sounds like you read it somewhere.”
“Aspect does not—read, as Adria—reads. They do not—consume, only—receive.”
“Memories, you mean.”
This conversation I can handle; frankly, it may be theonlyconversation I can handle right now. No emotional weight, no verbal sparring, merely straightforward points assembling themselves into a predetermined whole. When Kori is finally gone from the Shadowlands, I may nevertheless miss Aspect. It’s so much easier to talk to someone(or something) that won’t suddenly see you differently, even in the moments you can hardly bear to see yourself.
I ask, “And which memory programmed you with the value of help?”
