Free Blood Crown by Ali Cross

if they have left. I learn nothing.
    Without knowing what else to do, I move into the hall, my feet taking me back to the ballroom. I pass through the grand gilded door and look inside. At first glance the room appears empty. It feels empty, as though nothing has stirred the air for years. Chairs are pushed out from the table, several lie on their sides. Food is scattered about and my stomach growls. I’m not sure when I last ate. I can’t remember why I didn’t eat breakfast this morning, though it’s been many hours since then anyway.
    I walk toward the table, drawn by the delicious smells and beautiful food that’s going to waste here—truth is, it was wasted to begin with. The Mind don’t have to eat, they only choose to. I’ve heard it is because they like to pretend they are evolved humans, they like to eat and drink and pretend to be grand men and women of some long ago royal court.
    My gaze falls upon a delicate cup with a long slender stem, golden liquid bubbling inside. Suddenly I’m thirsty beyond thirst and I reach out for the glass. My leg brushes against something soft and floppy. When I look down, I see an Elite sprawled on a chair. He is mostly under the table, just his upper body draped across the seat—it’s his hand I’ve bumped into. I jump back, but the android doesn’t move.
    His eyes are open and staring. I wave my hand in front of his face, but there’s no reaction. He’s . . . dead. Or something. Can androids die? I wonder. I’m certain that in a way they can, but this is an Elite, and they are supposed to last forever—that’s partly how they are purported to be superior to humans and andies alike.
    “Why have they left you here?” I don’t know why I’ve spoken aloud, but it doesn’t matter. No one is listening. I bend down to peer at the Elite’s ice-blue pupils. There are no metallic glints, no hint of life within him. Before I’ve even told it to move, my hand is rising, my finger reaching out, and I touch him right between the eyes.
    I discover two things immediately: One, his skin is surprisingly soft and squishy like a human’s, and two, there is no power, no life, in him. He is as empty as a cup drained of its liquid.
    “I suppose it seems strange to you.” I jump at the sound of a man’s voice—the leader’s voice. He has stepped through some hidden door close to the table and now stands very near me, near enough that if I were to try to run the way I came in he would likely be able to grab me—especially if he’s as fast as the Elites are rumored to be. His gaze follows my line of sight and the smile on his face tweaks higher.
    “You can try.” He smiles like a mother does when their little one is about to do something she knows will hurt him, but that he won’t learn without experiencing for himself. I won’t give this andie the satisfaction.
    He strolls toward me, his hands clasped behind his back. He is tall, but not overly so—the perfect height, I suppose. As he is the perfect weight, the perfect build, with perfect teeth and perfect skin. He wears his dark brown hair unpowdered and cut short, with just the right amount of shine. He is handsome, in a stern and inhuman way. He is dressed more simply than the others were, also. The only adornments to his red suit the shining orbs at his waist and finger.
    “Do you know how long I have searched for you?” He watches me and I sense that he is playing a game, one I don’t yet understand. I don’t respond. He chuckles and ducks his head in what would be an endearing, humble gesture on anyone else. “I thought you dead. Lost in the war all those years ago.”
    Inside, my mind is screaming. What happened in the war? He thought I was dead? Who does he think I am? Does he know who I am? And that thought is my undoing.
    “Oh.” His eyes, fixed on mine, light up as knowledge and awareness fills them. “You don’t know, do you?” He circles toward me, his gaze roving over me, though I’m certain