“Where are we going?” Day calls from the pilot’s seat.
“Centrum,” Mother says. “I have friends there who will hide us.”
This is met with a mixture of complaints and murmurs of assent.
“We should go to the Northern Territories,” Dr. Craven says. “There’s no reason for us to stay here and die, Siobhan.”
Beetle scowls, his brown eyes flaring with anger. “We still have a duty to bring down Purian Rose! This isn’t over yet.” He looks at Sigur. “Is it?”
I glance at him too, hoping for some guidance on the matter. I’m so out of my depth.
Sigur sighs, a heavy, defeated sound. “We do not have any weapons. The Sentry rebels are dead, my people are in the Tenth, and most of the Humans for Unity have been captured or killed,” he says. “I am struggling to see what the thirteen of us can do.”
My fangs pulse. That’s not what I expected him to say. I know the situation is dire, but I never in a million years thought he would suggest that we surrender!
Beetle looks challengingly at me. “Is that what you think too, mate?”
Natalie sits up. Everyone turns their attention to me, waiting to hear what I have to say; even Natalie’s mom seems eager to know, and it suddenly hits me: they’re expecting me to lead them. What I say next will change everything. So the question is, Do we stay and fight, even though in all likelihood we’ll die, or do we go to the Northern Territories and live?
There never was a choice.
“No, that’s not what I think,” I say fiercely. “Purian Rose has tortured us, killed our loved ones and torn our families apart, and now he’s infecting people with a deadly retrovirus. He needs to be stopped, and we’re the ones who are going to do it. He needs to learn we will never give up. We will never back down. We will not be governed by fear!”
“NO FEAR!” Beetle chants.
Roach pumps her fist. “NO POWER!”
Day punches in the coordinates for Centrum.
PART 3
THE GILDED CITY
26.
NATALIE
THE TRANSPORTER DIPS through the billowy white clouds and we emerge above the city of Centrum, the capital of the Dominion State. I gently move Ash’s arm from my shoulders, and get up. Everyone is asleep, all of us physically and emotionally exhausted. I stretch my legs, which are achy from the eight-hour flight, and join Day in the cockpit.
“I’m sorry about Martha,” she says.
“Thanks,” I murmur, too tired right now to feel anything but numb.
Day turns the control stick to the left and we swoop over the city. The soaring giltstone skyscrapers glimmer gold in the sunlight, and the streets and sidewalks sparkle like they’re coated in diamonds. An enormous turreted wall made from glossy marble and giltstone encases the whole city, topped with thousands of orange trees and rosebushes.
Built into the walls of the skyscrapers are vast digital screens, easily ten times bigger than the ones in Black City. Some stream the latest news from SBN with February Fields, others display advertisements for the upcoming public Cleansing ceremony on Tuesday, and the rest show a constant loop of government propaganda messages: ONE FAITH, ONE RACE, ONE NATION UNDER HIS MIGHTY! HIS MIGHTY SEES ALL SINNERS! We fly over the unmistakable gold dome of the Golden Citadel, where Purian Rose lives. Down in the enormous plaza outside the citadel, Workboots are busy erecting a large stage, similar to the one I saw being built in Gallium.
Footsteps approach the cockpit, and I turn to see my mother. Her hair tumbles in loose black waves around her narrow shoulders, and her normally flawless skin is scratched, her jumpsuit covered in soot. Even so, she looks beautiful. Slung around my mother’s narrow hips is a black leather gun belt. The handgun’s grip pokes out of the holster.
“Head toward Catherine Street,” Mother says, giving Day the coordinates. “You’ll see a round building with a Transporter pad on the roof.”
“But that’s where Emissary Bradshaw lives,” I say, and then my eyes widen. “Oh! He’s the Commander?”
Mother nods. I now understand why they had to keep his identity a closely guarded secret. Emissary Bradshaw is in charge of the Dominion State, which is the most coveted of all the emissary positions. He’s second only to Purian Rose in terms of importance in the government, and—I thought—a loyal supporter of the dictator. We stayed with him last year, after we were evacuated from Black City during the air raids.
“I can’t believe he’s been working against Purian Rose all this time,” I say.
Mother gives me a wry smile. She types something into the com-screen built into the control panel. A moment later a message appears on the screen. “The Commander says it’s safe to land.”
The others awaken as Day dips the Transporter to the left. It rapidly descends as we reach a familiar round tower, fifty stories high, each and every one of them belonging to Emissary Bradshaw. He has everything he needs at his disposal in the building: numerous apartments, offices, a spa and gymnasium, a fancy restaurant to wine and dine his guests, and even a private doctor’s office for any secret nips-and-tucks he wants done. This isn’t even the Sentry headquarters, which is an intimidating building shaped like a shard of glass, more than two hundred stories high, like a dagger piercing the heavens.
“Guys, I’ve never landed a Transporter before,” Day says nervously.
The Lupine, Garrick, grunts as he gets up from the metal bench nearby. He’s pale and sweating, his furlike mane matted from sleep. He staggers over to the copilot’s seat, gripping his injured side. He flicks a few switches and starts grunting instructions at Day. Her knuckles turn white as her hands tighten around the controls.
“This is going to be bumpy,” Garrick says as the building rushes toward us.
Ash grabs the jar with Theora’s heart while everyone else grips their seats. Day approaches the landing pad a little too fast, and we thump down on the roof. The aircraft judders, and I bump my head against the metal wall and let out a groan, my thoughts spinning. There are a few cries of panic from the others, followed by a smattering of nervous laughter when the aircraft doesn’t erupt into a ball of flames. Day turns off the engine and grins at me, pushing her glasses up her nose. I smile, rubbing my bruised head.
We head out of the aircraft, all of us a little shaky on our feet after the dramatic landing, and cross the breezy roof. The air is warm and fresh, and smells like roses. We enter the access stairwell, which leads us down to a wide corridor outside a penthouse apartment.
The plush white carpet is spongy underfoot, and the walls are gilded with gold leaf. Modern art hangs on the walls. They’re by some renowned artist and worth millions, but they just look like splashes of blue and red paint to me. Memories come flooding as I take in our surroundings. My mother, Polly, Sebastian and I lived in this building last year, although our apartment was on the thirty-eighth floor. It’s weird being back here.
Mother presses the bell outside the white double doors, making a tuneful ding-dong sound, and a moment later we’re buzzed inside the apartment. It’s decorated in a similar fashion to the hallway, with pristine white carpets and gold walls. We’re in an enormous living room, with curved windows that overlook the glimmering city. In the middle of the room is a circle of white leather chairs. On the opposite side of the room are a set of gold doors, which—if memory serves—leads to numerous bedrooms, a dining room, a bathroom, a library and a kitchen.
To our right is a marble fireplace. Hanging above the mantel is a huge portrait of Emissary Bradshaw—a bloated man with ruddy cheeks, thinning blond hair and pale blue eyes. He was probably a handsome man in his youth, but years of attending lavish state banquets have taken their toll on him. The gold doors open, and the real Emissary Bradshaw sweeps into the room, dressed in a midnight-blue frock coat, dark pants and a patterned waistcoat that stretches over his large belly. He spreads his arms wide and
smiles.
“Siobhan. So lovely to have you back in my home.”
Mother embraces him. “Thank you for having us.”
Father gives a curt nod. “It’s very generous of you, Commander.”
Emissary Bradshaw puts his hands on my shoulders, inspecting me up and down. “My dear, haven’t you grown up?”
“That tends to happen,” I say, a touch harsher than I meant. Emissary Bradshaw is a close friend of my parents, and I can’t help but shift the feeling that they were conspiring together to keep Ash away from me. He probably thought he was helping them, but he was hurting me in the process.
Emissary Bradshaw’s ever-smile wavers. “Well, yes, I suppose it does.” His blue eyes slide past me, and his grip tightens painfully on my shoulders. “What are you doing here?”
I turn, wondering who he’s talking to.
Lucinda snarls back at him, her black eyes burning with hostility. “Long time, no see.”
“You know Lucinda?” I ask Emissary Bradshaw.
He lets go of my shoulders. “Lucinda and I go way back, don’t we, sweetheart?” She looks daggers at him. “I don’t suppose there’s any point trying to hide it; I presume Lucinda’s already told you everything. When we were teenagers, we met in the woods outside Amber Hills.”
“Wait . . . what?” I say, putting two and two together. “You’re Patrick Langdon?”
He nods.
“Why did you change your surname to Bradshaw?” I ask, confused.
“Oh, Edmund insisted on it. The Langdon name brought back too many bad memories for him,” he says, strolling over to a cabinet near the fireplace. “Can I get you a drink? I would normally have my Darkling servants do this, but they were all sent to the Tenth last week. Edmund promised to send me some more Workboots, but they haven’t arrived yet. This war is so inconvenient.”
“That’s one way of describing it,” Ash growls.
Emissary Bradshaw casts his gaze toward Ash, properly noticing him for the first time. “Ah, and this must be the infamous Phoenix.”
“In the burnt flesh,” Ash quip. “How come you’re working against Purian Rose? I thought you two were best buddies after he saved your life in Amber Hills.”
Emissary Bradshaw makes a scoffing sound. “I owed Edmund a debt of gratitude and we shared the same thirst for power, but friends? No. I’ve never forgotten what he did to my sister. Catherine was my whole world.” A dark emotion flitters over his features, and for a brief moment I see the boy he was back then: angry, vengeful, hurt. “Besides, Edmund has no head for business. He’s running this country into the ground with these damned wars. It’s time we replaced him with someone else.”
“And that person’s you?” Ash says flatly.
“I’m the most qualified man for the position,” Emissary Bradshaw says.
I catch Ash’s eye and he frowns. I know what he’s thinking: Emissary Bradshaw might have the most experience, but that doesn’t mean he’s the right man for the post. Can we really trust a man who helped write the Book of Creation, which claims Darklings are demons? Is he honestly the best person to lead our new government? I don’t think so.
“Well, now that we’re all caught up, let me show you to your rooms,” Emissary Bradshaw says.
We find a room for Garrick and lay the injured man down on the bed. Dr. Craven changes his bandages while the rest of us find places to sleep. We’re not short of options—there are easily fifteen bedrooms in the lavish apartment. Ash and Beetle stay in the living room, and Emissary Bradshaw escorts me and Day to our bedrooms, which we’ll share with the boys. Tucked under my arm is the glass jar with Theora’s heart. Day smiles wistfully as we stroll down the wide corridor. She brushes her fingers over the expensive gilt wallpaper and antique furnishings.
“If Mama could see me now,” she mutters. Not so long ago, it was Day’s ambition to become the emissary of the Dominion State—a dream her mother, Sumrina, actively encouraged, as she wanted a better life for her daughter. “Well, at least I made it here, albeit as a wanted criminal hiding from the law.”
I laugh, nudging her with my hip, and she grins.
Emissary Bradshaw shows Day to one of the standard guest rooms and then leads me to the plush suites farther down the corridor. On the way to my room we pass a white door with a blue glass doorknob. The door is ajar, and I hear a girl crying inside the room. The sound is muffled, like she’s sobbing into a pillow. Emissary Bradshaw closes the door and gives me an apologetic smile.
“That’s my maid. The poor girl isn’t feeling well,” he explains.
“I thought your servants had gone,” I say.
“Just the Darkling ones. Don’t worry, my maid’s very loyal. She won’t tell anyone you’re here.” He places a hand on the base of my spine, a little too low for my liking, as he ushers me away from her room. We stop in front of a door with a red handle. “Here we are, sweetheart.” His hand skims over my left butt cheek, and anger flares through me.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I say.
He raises his hands in a placating gesture. “My dear, it was an accident.”
I narrow my eyes, not believing him for a second. “Well, accidents will happen. Just not twice,” I say firmly. The message is clear: don’t touch me again.
Emissary Bradshaw’s mouth tightens. “Enjoy your room.”
He turns on his heel and strides down the corridor.
I enter my bedroom and slam the door behind me. The jerk! I place the glass jar on the nightstand, then go to the bathroom and splash some cold water over my face, muttering curses under my breath. I debate whether to tell anyone about what happened, but decide against it. My parents would be furious, and let’s not get started on Ash. I’d hate to think what he’d do to Emissary Bradshaw if he knew he’d copped a feel, after everything that happened with Sebastian back in Black City. No, as much as it grieves me, we need Emissary Bradshaw’s help right now, so I’ll keep the incident to myself. But if he ever, ever tries a stunt like that again, I’ll rip his damn hand off.
Once I’ve calmed down, I pull out the items from my jumpsuit pocket—the black syringe case, a bottle of heart medication and the yellow-handled knife I stole from the UG—and place them carefully beside the sink.
I take my medication, then head back to the living room. Lucinda is curled up in one of the leather chairs by the fire, and Yolanda is in the seat beside her. Their faces have been scrubbed clean, but they’re both still wearing their dirty jumpsuits. Sitting by his mother’s feet is Elijah. Yolanda is stroking his russet hair while he plays with the single gold band around his left wrist. He lifts his topaz eyes when I enter the room, and there’s a deep, aching sadness in them. I give him a small smile and join Ash on the sofa, nuzzling up against him. I can hear his steady heartbeat beneath his jumpsuit. Ba-boom, ba-boom, ba-boom.
He plays with one of my curls. “You okay, blondie?”
“Mm-hmm,” I say noncommittally, still mad at Emissary Bradshaw.
I gaze about the room. Sigur and Roach are playing a game of chess at the small table nearby, bantering with each other, while Beetle and Day share one of the leather seats to our right. They giggle and whisper to each other.
The gold doors open and my mother, father, Dr. Craven and Emissary Bradshaw enter the room, deep in discussion. They sit down. The chair creaks slightly under Emissary Bradshaw’s weight. It’s hard to picture him as the handsome, ruthless hunter Lucinda described him as, but the steely look is still there in his blue eyes. We all turn toward him. It’s time to talk business.
“So here’s the situation. We have to bring down Purian Rose, but our soldiers are all dead and we have no weapons,” Emissary Bradshaw says. “Any ideas how we do it?”
Mother nods. “We’ll tell the world what Edmund really is. Under Sentry law, no nonhuman is allowed to take office; he’ll have to step down.
”
Lucinda lets out an impatient sound. “We already tried that. We don’t have any proof.”
“That’s not strictly true,” Emissary Bradshaw says, glancing at Mother.
She nods, and he hauls himself out of his chair and walks over to the self-portrait above the fireplace. He removes the painting to reveal a safe inset into the wall behind it. He opens it. Inside are numerous folders, wads of cash, and some jewelry. He passes a red folder to me.
Ash and I flip through the file, looking at the charts and photographs. It’s a file on my sister, Polly. Everything about her is here: her birth certificate, DNA reports, a lock of her hair in a vacuum-sealed bag, another lock of black hair in a second bag labeled EDMUND ROSE, photographs of Polly’s injuries after she was tortured the night my father faked his own death. My heart cramps. There’s a digital disc too.
“What’s on here?” I ask.
“Recordings of my . . . er, meetings . . . with Edmund.” Mother looks nervously at my father.
His head snaps up. “What? You recorded them?” His face turns bright red, and we all shift uncomfortably in our seats. “I don’t . . . I can’t . . . I have no words! How could you?”
“It was insurance!” Mother replies. “I was worried about my job, Jonathan. Office romances rarely end up well for the employee. I wanted to have a bargaining chip, in case he tried to fire me.”
Father shakes his head in disbelief.
“Oh, Mother,” I mutter, disappointed in her. It’s so typical of her to always be thinking about her career, even when it comes to having a torrid affair, but I guess we should be grateful for her scheming nature. It’s all the evidence we need to hang Purian Rose.
“I’m sorry, Jonathan,” she says.
Father turns his back on her and stares at the fire roaring in the hearth, his hands balling into fists. Lucinda and Roach read the file and their expressions harden.
“Did you know what Purian Rose was, when you were with him?” Day asks in her typically blunt fashion.
Wings (A Black City Novel) Page 25
