Page 2 of Kingdom of Tomorrow (Book of Arden #1)

Fear isn’t an emotion but a force; it starts with a spark and grows until it torches your entire life.

The waiting room smelled of clashing perfumes, nervous sweat, and old sandwiches. Too many people crammed inside the circular space, turning the midlevel of the high-rise silo into a pressure cooker.

Conversations crested and crashed with varying degrees of irritation as men, women, and children arrived and departed through a central bank of elevators.

I shifted in the world’s most uncomfortable chair and studied my surroundings for the thousandth time.

Green-and-gold posters decorated the drab, windowless walls.

Be Our Eyes and Ears.

All Before One.

We Are Cured .

The same images hung in most buildings throughout the province. Comforting reminders that we weren’t alone. We had help against the Madness.

I stiffened with familiar tension as the most feared word in existence echoed inside my head.

Madness, Madness, Madness. Perspiration dampened my skin, and I darted my gaze, searching for any signs of infection in the people around me.

No one was exhibiting telltale symptoms. Still.

The air seemed to thicken, making breathing more difficult for me.

Stop! The others were fine; I was fine. There was no need to panic. Please don’t panic. Not today.

Inhale. Exhale. I lifted my hair, welcoming a fresh draft to my nape. But the hem of my dress inched up my thighs, and I hurried to smooth the soft but worn buttercup yellow material into place. Call my name. Please.

A baby cried, launching a new cycle of grumbles from the old woman at my left. I’d heard the nerve-shredding chorus for three hours straight and wasn’t sure how much more I could take.

I brushed my gaze over a guy across the room—someone who hadn’t been there minutes before. My attention zoomed back to him. He was peering at me thoughtfully. Didn’t hurt that he was super cute, with deep-set eyes, chiseled cheekbones, and a clean-shaven jaw.

He offered me a stunning grin, and my brain blipped, deleting my newest litany of complaints. I waved. What? I was single, and outside of panic attacks, I tended to fixate on random things.

He made a funny face, inspiring an unexpected smile. I couldn’t help but make a funny face right back.

Barking a charming laugh, he drew the attention of half the room’s occupants. Even as he ducked in his seat, his cheeks flushing, he presented me with another stunner.

“Arden Roosa,” a harried voice announced over the intercom.

Heart leaping, I jumped to my feet. “Present!” Embarrassment scorched me as soon as I comprehended what I’d done. I’d been waiting long enough to learn the drill. Hear your name, take the elevator up, and discover if your dreams were forever crushed.

My legs quaked as I trudged to the bank and stepped into an open stall.

Mr. Smiles rose and started forward, erasing the distance between us.

Anticipation sparked. Maybe, just maybe, I was about to score a date and celebrate a lifelong goal today.

Fitting rewards for controlling my anxiety the past four hours.

“I’m—” he began, but the doors closed, cutting him off.

Or not.

My shoulders rolled in. Forget the boy. The entire fabric of my life hinged on the coming verdict. Inhale. Exhale. In, out.

The elevator came to a wobbly stop. Ding. The double doors slid apart.

Head high, I stepped into a hallway. Huh.

The twenty-second floor wasn’t exactly the peaceful, professional oasis described in pamphlets.

Small cubicles abounded, multiple phones rang at once, and two armed knights in body armor stood at the ready with their backs to a wall. Soldiers in Cured ’s army. Our royalty.

Their presence was a much-appreciated precaution, even though they watched me with cold, unwavering stares as I followed the instructions I’d received.

Eighth block of cubicles down, third compartment on the right.

It smelled better in here, at least, with hints of stale coffee and oversweet perfume.

Stopping at the correct entrance, I pasted a smile on my face. The only occupant was a fiftysomething woman with messy salt-and-pepper hair, wrinkled clothing, and strain etched into every line of her face.

Here she was, my level-two life adviser.

The woman whose recommendation would decide the direction of my entire life.

Currently, she read an air screen while clacking her blunt-tipped fingernails against her desk, striking a keyboard made of light.

A green-and-gold Cured mug and various stacks of biodegradable flyers cluttered her workspace.

In a matter of minutes, mere seconds, she would tell me if all the special classes, holiday camps, and expensive tutors my mom had worked night and day to afford had been enough to earn a spot at Cured ’s most prestigious agricultural school.

I squared my shoulders and cleared my throat to let her know I’d arrived. “Ms. Butler? Hi. I’m Arden Roosa.”

“Have a seat,” she said without glancing my way. “I’m still processing your records.”

My carefully practiced cheerfulness slipped, preshredded nerves fraying further.

I’d been assured the upgrade from a level-one to a level-two adviser exponentially increased the odds of my success.

The only reason I’d paid double the tax to meet with someone of her prominence.

And yet, she’d done zero homework on my situation.

Pressing my tongue to the roof of my mouth, I eased into the chair beside her desk. Minutes bled together as she read aloud.

“Exemplary student. Extreme anxiety disorder, blah, blah. Standard stuff. No known association with Soalians.”

“Of course not!” Even the thought brought shudders.

“Tested high in the sciences, creativity, and language. Why is there a two-year gap in your schooling—ah. Okay.” Clack, clack, clack. “You worked odd jobs to pay your mother’s bills while she underwent treatment for the Madness.”

Yes, and the memories of Mom’s wellness journey still haunted me. The medications and therapies had so depleted her, she’d needed another year to facilitate a full recovery. Although she wasn’t fully recovered. Mom might never be herself again. “I’ve never tested positive.”

“That’s good, but the delay is a major hurdle.” The clacking resumed, and I started perspiring again. “The paper you submitted to the Center for Agriculture was a nice touch. Very well received.”

“Thank you.” Pleasure bloomed, and I sat up straighter. I’d poured my heart and soul into that paper, doing my best to depict my driving passion for the Great Soil and Seed Anomaly.

“Hmm.” Ms. Butler frowned. Typing, typing. “This is interesting. You qualified for—hmm,” she repeated.

I tried not to scream. “Please tell me there’s no problem.”

Heartbeat. Heartbeat, heartbeat.

Her chair whined as she swiveled to face me.

The slightest hint of sympathy emanated from her.

“Look. I have a quota to meet, so I’ll jump right in.

Despite those ill-advised gap years, you were selected to attend the Center.

Congrats. They only accept the best and brightest. You report to class on Monday. ”

Joy like I’d never known exploded inside me, and I laughed. I’d done it! Soon I would be experimenting with soil and seeds, doing my best to grow food as abundantly as the people who’d lived before the Fall of Nations.

“Unless,” Ms. Butler added with a pointed look, breaking into my thoughts and happiness.

My breath hitched. How quickly I tumbled from the highest of highs to the lowest of lows. “Unless,” I squeaked, and shook my head. “No unless .”

“Your mother owes a significant amount in back taxes, and someone has to pay.”

“But that can’t be right,” I replied, confused. I’d paid everything off. “You must have misread the file. There’s no debt. We filed for medical clemency both years.”

“And she received it—for the first year. Her last filing for disability relief was denied. She no longer tested positive; therefore she should’ve been at work, doing her part, paying her fair share.”

No. No! I shook my head with more force. “She was nothing but a skeleton with hair, barely able to crawl out of bed. I handled her bills, and I never received a rejection for our request. Whatever was due, I submitted.”

Ms. Butler lowered her chin, any trace of sympathy evaporating. “I can help you lodge an official complaint with Cured , Miss Roosa. In fact, I can summon the knights on duty and get the process started right now.”

Acid filled my churning stomach. “No, no complaints,” I rasped. Like any rational person, I valued Cured . Also, making waves never ended well.

“Your mother will be moved into Gradon next week,” the adviser said, hurrying us along. “The good news is, she’ll pay less in taxes, allowing her yearly allotment to slowly but surely reduce her debt.”

“No!” Not Gradon, the province with the most outbreaks. What’s more, Mom would be too far away for me to visit. There was no way I could afford a pass to leave Lucrea, much less a round-trip bus ride.

“However,” Ms. Butler announced, and I went still, even my heart seeming to stop.

“If you agree to attend Fort Bala Royal Academy, become a lady-in-training, and serve for three years, your mother will be allowed to stay where she is, without incurring further penalties, and her past due balance will be paid in full. This is a onetime offer, void the moment you leave this office.”

A protest brewed at the edge of my tongue, stayed only by my clenched jaw. “I know little about Theirland, nothing about military service, and less than nothing about interrealm travel and combat.”

“That’s why you’ll be taught and trained.”

Unlike the more daring kids in my class, I’d never entertained a desire to visit the realm fused to ours. Couldn’t imagine being outside in the dark in either world, going head to head with hordes of maddened too far gone for treatment.

I tried again to make her understand. “I’m not—”

“Look. Judging by your transcript, I’m guessing your mom spent multiple paychecks on furthering your education rather than saving in case of an emergency.”

Blood drained from my head, igniting a dull ring in my ears. Ms. Butler wasn’t wrong. I’d attended expensive lectures and purchased the necessary tools to grow my own indoor minigarden. A pricey endeavor.

“Think of it this way,” she added. “Three years is a blip. When your term ends, we can revisit your desire to attend the Center.”

“But you just said the two-year gap is a major hurdle.” Think of the trouble a five-year gap would cause!

Again, she continued. “If you rack up enough honors, you’ll probably earn special privileges within your desired field. This is a win-win situation for you, Miss Roosa. I suggest you take it.”

The idea of me, Panic Girl, becoming a hardened soldier who traversed between two realms to protect civilians from an otherworldly sickness was nothing but laughable.

“So what’s it gonna be? Agriculture or family?” Ms. Butler demanded. “I need an answer. Not that there’s really anything to think about. This is a no-brainer to me.”

No, this was a nightmare. I mean, I’d heard of this happening to others. Kids who’d been drafted to pay a loved one’s debt. But I’d never thought it could happen to me.

“I’ll do it,” I croaked. “I’ll sign up.” Mom was my person; I’d do anything for her, even put my life on hold again.

“Excellent.” Satisfaction danced in the adviser’s eyes, as if my decision affected her future as much as my mother’s.

“You’ll report to 1984 Minitrue Street at ten tomorrow morning.

Don’t be late. The bus waits for no one, and it’s your sole transport to Fort Bala.

You’re allowed to bring a single bag. No weapons, food, or mementos. They’ll only slow your progress.”

I struggled to catch my breath. Fort Bala, where a doorway between worlds was said to exist.

“Due to the intricacies of your training, you’ll be forbidden from seeing or contacting family and friends.

Be sure to say your goodbyes tonight.” Ms. Butler swiveled in her chair, refocusing on the screen and typing.

“I’m sending instructions to your data bank.

You can access it at home. Have a nice day, Miss Roosa, and be Cured . ” A certain dismissal.

“Be Cured ,” I echoed out of habit.

Numb, I stood and stumbled from the cubicle. The knights hadn’t moved from their posts. Again, they watched me unflinchingly, almost as if they hoped I’d do something. Anything.

Tears stung my eyes. I wouldn’t see my mother, my best friend, for three years. If I even survived the academy.