by Mary Fan
“I won’t pretend to be the hero anymore. I was as eager for power as Adlai and Wotan, and I am as much to blame for what happened as they are. My death should not be considered a sacrifice but a price I will be paying for the decades of power I enjoyed. Forgive me, whoever you are, and remember the truth I have spoken.”
The gaunt figure unraveled into strings of colored lights, which turned gold and returned to the Orb in Calhoun’s hands.
Silence. Furious, shocked silence.
How could they? Flynn had never imagined the Triumvirate’s secret would be so vile, that the Triumvirs had been behind the Lord of the Underworld’s release in the first place. He recalled all the images he’d seen of shattered cities, the stories he’d heard of devastating attacks. All those nightmares that haunted the woods—the fangbeast that killed Tamerlane, the shifterskins that murdered Kylie’s parents, the wraiths that had nearly drained Aurelia’s life—had been unleashed not by an unfortunate twist of fate, but by three men willing to do anything to seize power. All those empty, destroyed towns and hastily dug, unmarked graves—monuments to the Lord’s horrifying reign a century ago—were due to three Sentinels, two of whom continued to rule over the nation.
And they had the audacity to portray themselves as saviors for undoing what they’d started in the first place.
Flynn clenched his fists, shaking with rage. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to take action. He wanted to run to the Capital and rip the Triumvirs apart for what they’d done. He wanted to shout about the outrage and hear others shout in agreement, but Calhoun’s fierce gaze, staring at the audience from the platform, said that he wasn’t finished. The leader’s authoritative presence had the power to silence a room, and at the moment, that seemed to be the only thing keeping Flynn still.
Calhoun looked into the Eye Stone with a grim expression. “My friends, the Triumvirate you serve was built on a lie. They have taken your freedoms, taken your futures, taken the very core of who you are in the name of protection. But they’re only protecting you from an evil they unleashed in the first place. I say it’s time to end their tyrannous reign.
“Who am I? My name is Frank Calhoun, and I am the leader of the Rising. If you’ve heard of us, it’s probably because the Triumvirate said we’re violent enemies of the state. But look around you. Look at the violence they’ve created. They’re the ones responsible for the horror that nearly destroyed the earth and for the monsters that stalk you at night. And what was it for? So they could take power for themselves and leave none for the rest of us. This revelation is only the latest in a long list of their atrocities. Destroying the lives of people who say the wrong things, using creatures of the Underworld to coerce confessions, and lying—always lying! The atrocities must end.
“In one week, at the crack of dawn, Risers across the nation will gather before the Palace of Concord and demand that the Triumvirs step down. If you’ve had enough of their corruption, if you’re as infuriated by their lies as we are, then join us. Join us, and show them that we, the people, will stand for them no longer. Gold Triumvir Adlai Salvator. Blue Triumvir Wotan Moreau. White Triumvir Crispin Janik. Your people are coming for you.”
Flynn’s blood crackled with rage and the powerful, ravenous need for action. Every word Calhoun had spoken was true. The atrocities had to end—they would end. He’d always felt it, but since learning the truth behind the Triumvirs’ rise, he’d lost any doubts he might have had. The time for change was now. He could practically taste the reckoning that was to come.
The heat of wrath churned through the room, palpable in every breath he took. Every Riser present and every citizen of the Triumvirate watching from Procul Mirrors across the nation must have felt it too.
One week more. The Triumvirate would fall, and he would be at the vanguard.
Chapter 28
Wildcard
The skyscrapers of the Capital loomed menacingly under night’s heavy veil. Though Aurelia hadn’t been in the Fourth Ring in ages, its dimly lit streets felt all too familiar. She glanced at the flyer she’d taken earlier that evening, double-checking the location of the Riser meeting she was heading to. She wasn’t sure if hearing what the Risers had to say would help her decide which side to take, but her mind seemed incapable of making a decision. Maybe listening to her former teammates would help.
At the same time, she didn’t want anyone to recognize her. If they did, they’d try to convince her to return to the Rising, and she was torn enough as it was. She didn’t need someone else’s nagging muddying her thoughts further. After tucking her hair into her hood, she pulled it forward to make sure its shadow concealed her face. With her plain gray sweatshirt and dark denim pants, she wore nothing that would make her stand out in a crowd. That was how she wanted it. She’d tucked her swords, which were easily identifiable by anyone who’d known her, into the large bag slung on her shoulder.
As she headed for the underground Riser meeting, she found it kind of funny how she’d been the one handing out the flyers at the last one in Salvator City, but now she was just another attendee. It didn’t take long for her to find the narrow metal door, nearly invisible against a plain concrete residential building.
Despite the door’s decrepit, rust-stained appearance, it didn’t make a sound as she pulled it open. She rushed downstairs, her bag banging against the cracked wall. The foul smells of mold and rotten garbage told her that this space was seldom used. Just the kind of place she would have picked for a Riser meeting… back when she’d been a Riser.
By the time Aurelia reached the basement, the wide, dim room—lit only by a pair of flickering bulbs dangling from rusted chains—was already full. Most attendees were Norms, but a fair number held wands. Awesome turnout.
Not so long ago, the sight of so many potential new Risers would have filled her with excitement. But now, she wasn’t sure what to think. She’d spent the past several days trying to figure out what was what, even though she hated mulling over things. She’d always been so confident in her decisions. In fact, she used to be the one who made fun of people who waffled. Now, she was the one who couldn’t make up her mind, even though she’d spent days and days thinking about whether to believe what Tamerlane had suspected. Just because he was dead didn’t mean he was right. Then again, he’d spent his last breath trying to convince her to listen to him. Screw you, Tamerlane! Why’d you have to die and make my head all screwy?
Her eyes stung, and she blinked rapidly. She hated crying. She hated, hated, hated it. Growing up a fighter, she’d always been told that sorrow was weak. Uncertainty was weak. Everything except total aggressiveness was freaking weak. Maybe that was why she hadn’t listened to Tamerlane before. She’d feared weakness too much, and she hadn’t wanted doubt to shake her. She’d thought she’d been acting strong by standing up for her beliefs. But if he’d been right, all she’d done was act like an idiot.
She’d seen her beliefs shatter once before—when she’d first recognized the government she’d once served as the monster it really was. She’d never imagined it could happen again. Unlike with the Triumvirate, which had instilled its mantras into her from the moment she was born, she’d chosen the Rising. She’d trusted with all her heart that fighting with them was the right thing to do—not just for her but for millions suffering under tyranny.
Tamerlane alone wouldn’t have been enough to make her turn away from that. But compounded with what Connor had said…
As if Aurelia’s head hadn’t been chaotic enough, the Rising had released the Orb’s secret yesterday. She’d heard news of what the ghostly projection of the first White Triumvir had said, but she needed to see it herself—another reason she’d come to the meeting tonight.
The Triumvirate’s reaction to Calhoun’s broadcast had been predictable: they’d denied the truth. She’d seen several official announcements in newspapers and on Procul Mirrors saying that the Risers had faked the
White Triumvir’s memory. But from conversations she’d picked up during her daytime wanderings, the people weren’t buying the Triumvirate’s crap anymore. Aurelia didn’t doubt the memory’s truth. Memory Orbs were made from a rare form of magic that ensured they were indestructible and unchangeable.
Earlier that day, the Triumvirs, via Procul Mirror, had announced that anyone who showed up at the gates of the Palace with Calhoun and the Risers would be declared an enemy of the state and arrested on the spot. Judging by how crowded the room was getting, the people were done with being afraid. That would have made her glad if it weren’t for the doubts storming her mind. Now, it made her antsy.
At the front of the room, a barrel-chested man with a golden-brown complexion and dark, cropped hair stood before a rectangular Procul Mirror. Aurelia recognized him as Whitaker, an Enchanter with the Rising who’d accompanied her on a handful of missions. Not wanting him to see her face, she ducked behind a tall woman.
“Attention!” Whitaker clapped his hands. “I’m sure that by now, most of you have heard about the first White Triumvir’s deathbed confession. For those of you who didn’t have a Procul Mirror nearby, here’s your chance to witness it with your own eyes.”
Whitaker turned to the Procul Mirror, raised his pale-gray wand, and mumbled some enchantment. The glass glowed blue within its simple black frame. Aurelia peered out from the tall woman’s shadow for a better look at it. A moment later, an image of Calhoun, standing at the front of the assembly room she’d sat in so many times, appeared.
“People of the Triumvirate, I have a message for you, one that was left by White Triumvir Everett before he died.”
There he was, the revolutionary leader she would once have followed to the Underworld and back. He didn’t seem any different from the freedom fighter she’d trusted. Despite what she’d been told, she couldn’t believe she could be so wrong about him.
On the Procul Mirror, the first White Triumvir appeared. His body was all old and withered, but his voice was as fierce as fire. As Aurelia watched the replay of the Memory Orb’s contents, heated rage churned within her. The more she learned, the hotter it burned until she could barely restrain herself. She wanted to seize her swords, run to the Palace, and behead the Triumvirs that very night.
Salvator, you murdering tyrant! She’d never wanted the Triumvirate gone so much. As if their day-to-day abuses weren’t enough, they’d built their entire evil empire out of the ashes of a fire they’d set in the first place.
By the time the replay finished, concluding with Calhoun’s call for action, her muscles were so tight from restraining herself that they were practically strangling her bones. His message rang clear in her head, and every instinct screamed at her to listen. Screw her doubts—she would show up for the Palace invasion, and she would bring down the Triumvirs. From the shouts of the people around her, they felt the same. Their words jumbled together in her ears, forming a wall of angry cries.
She opened her mouth to join them, ready to let herself get swept up in the revolutionary fever again. But a powerful tugging in her heart stilled her tongue. It reminded her of what Tamerlane had said, what Connor had said. She might be dead wrong about the Rising’s purpose, and if she were, then bad as things were under the Triumvirs, they would get much, much worse if the Triumvirate fell. But which side to believe? She’d never been tenser in her whole life, and she feared she might snap in half.
“Attention!” Whitaker’s deep, magically amplified voice cut through the noise. “If you’ve had enough of the Triumvirate’s tyranny, if this latest revelation is but the last in a string of examples of the government’s wickedness, join us at the gates of the Palace. The Rising shall prevail!”
“The Rising shall prevail!” Aurelia instinctively raised her voice to join the chorus of impassioned shouts. A familiar fervor swelled in her heart—the fervor that had driven her to leave the Academy in the first place then fight, day after day, to bring down the Triumvirs. That fervor had told her that she couldn’t have been mistaken about Calhoun, the man who’d dedicated his life to righting the Triumvirate’s wrongs. After all that, how could she have left on the eve of triumph?
The Risers were the best group of people she’d ever known, dedicated fighters who’d risked everything for what had once seemed like a lost cause. Leaving them had torn her up inside, especially since she’d had to abandon Flynn. He was in the Triumvirate’s crosshairs, and without her to protect him, he was a goner for sure.
Maybe I should go back. The Rising wouldn’t hold her temporary absence against her. Plenty of Risers who’d quit years earlier had turned up again because of some renewed sense of purpose. And after what the Orb revealed, plenty more would be returning to the cause. For once, a true victory seemed near.
But too many doubts plagued her.
While Whitaker shushed the crowd and echoed Calhoun’s words, Aurelia slipped out the door, holding her bag tight against her to keep it from knocking into anyone. To her disappointment, attending the meeting hadn’t swayed her one way or the other. She remained split right down the middle, and the feeling was driving her insane.
She walked down a narrow road, and the electric streetlights gave off a dim yellow glow. Where am I even going?
Nowhere, it seemed. She walked past shop windows and apartment buildings in no particular direction, trying to pick between the two halves of her mind. She shoved her hands into her pockets and looked around at the concrete metropolis. Can’t believe I used to call this place home.
It seemed each time she felt like she belonged somewhere, something happened to remind her that she really didn’t. The training house she’d been raised in—no one there had seen her as anything but a weapon. The Academy of Supernatural Defense—same problem, except worse because they’d treated her as a champion and fooled her into thinking they cared about her. The Scarlet Citadel—even worse if Tamerlane had been right. But if he’d been wrong, she was betraying a cause she still believed in.
Her ears picked up the sound of quiet footsteps following her, and a sense of unease gripped her. The Capital was a populous city, so hearing another person on the streets didn’t mean anything. Could be some random person heading in the same direction. Or it could be something more sinister—a Triumvirate agent tracking her, perhaps. She tried to picture the person those footsteps belonged to, but nothing seemed distinctive about them. They were neither especially light nor particularly heavy, and the gait sounded steady. Also, whoever it was followed from a considerable distance—almost an entire block. She wouldn’t catch a face even if she turned around.
She kept her pace steady. If that person were following her, they wouldn’t know she was aware of them. Seeing an intersection ahead, she turned left then glanced around for a hiding spot. An archway lay a few yards ahead, leading to the concrete courtyard of a residential building. Seems like as good a spot as any.
She ducked up against the side of the archway, pressing her back into the red tiles and making sure to stay within the shadows. Quietly, she set her bag down beside her. The footsteps drew closer, and the person rounded the corner. They are following me!
A shadowy figure of a man crossed the archway. Whoever they were, she had to make the first move. She grabbed the man’s arm from behind and kicked the back of his knees, forcing him to the ground. Though she only caught a few glimpses of his face, she knew those small dark eyes and bulbous nose belonged to no one she knew. Keeping her grip on his wrist with one hand, she reached across his neck with her other and pressed her forearm against his throat. “Who are you?”
“Aurie, it’s me!” The man, instead of trying to pry her arm off his throat, reached for his pocket.
Recognizing his voice, Aurelia let him pull out his wand. Besides, only one person in the world called her “Aurie.” Connor? What’s he doing here?
The man aimed the wand at his own face. “Reveal.” A blinding whit
e light enveloped his head. When it faded, a pair of familiar, friendly eyes gazed up at her. Though they were brown instead of the dark blue she was familiar with, she recognized them at once.
She released him. “Why are you following me?”
Connor picked himself up. His forest-green T-shirt and baggy black pants were a far cry from the prim outfits he’d worn back when he was a Scholar, and Aurelia was sure Isabel Salvator, his empty-headed beauty queen of a mother, would throw a fit if she saw how messy he’d let his hair get. With it back to its natural dark-brown shade, rather than the auburn he’d maintained for the past several years, Connor’s resemblance to Gold Triumvir Salvator became much more apparent. Unnervingly so—Aurelia had never noticed before how similar Connor’s eyes were to his father’s. Though she’d learned a while ago that Connor used magic to mimic his mom’s coloring, she’d never seen him without his usual enchantments. Though she’d found it weird at first, she couldn’t blame him for not wanting to look like his evil tyrant of a father.
She cocked her head. “You look… different.”
“I look like my dad.” Connor grimaced. Glancing away, he aimed his wand at his face. The tip glowed blue, and his hair brightened into the reddish-brown Aurelia was accustomed to. He must have been super familiar with the spell to cast it without words. When he looked back up, his eyes were back to dark blue—like his mom’s. “That’s better.”
“What are you doing here? You shouldn’t be anywhere near the Capital!”
“I was worried about you.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“Of course.” He curved his lips, and the sight made her relax a little. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed seeing her best friend smile. “I’m not worried about your… survival or anything. It’s just… I know things haven’t been easy for you, especially since Tamerlane died.”
