Wings (A Black City Novel)

by Elizabeth Richards

  Mother flushes, but to her credit she answers. “Not at that time, no. It was only during the pregnancy that Dr. Craven and I figured it out. There were a few rather obvious signs that Polly wasn’t human.”

  Before I can push her to give details, Roach slams the file on the table.

  “Why the hell didn’t you release this years ago?” Roach demands.

  “Because I didn’t want the world to know that my eldest daughter was . . .” Mother cuts herself short and takes a shaky breath.

  “What? A nipper?” Ash says.

  “No,” Mother replies tersely. “I didn’t want the world to know she was Purian Rose’s child. Don’t you see, either way, she was at risk? If the Sentry won the war, they would crucify her for having mixed blood. And if the Darklings won, she’d be killed for being his daughter. I was trying to protect her.”

  I don’t doubt she was trying to protect Polly, but I suspect she was protecting herself too. If the truth ever came out that she had borne a child with a man who had Darkling blood in him, she would’ve been labeled a race traitor by the Sentry government and executed. Mother takes the file from them and lightly traces her fingers over a photo of Polly.

  “When I joined the Sentry rebels last year, I realized there was no need to make this information public, since we had so many weapons at our disposal. We could take down Purian Rose through force, and I could protect my family and my reputation in the process.” She shuts the file. “It doesn’t matter now. Polly’s dead and my career is in tatters anyway.”

  “If this fails, the Sentry will hang you for being a race traitor,” I say quietly.

  She laughs. “If this fails, we’ll all be executed. We have nothing to lose.”

  Except our lives, I think grimly.

  My parents and Emissary Bradshaw discuss how they’re going to release the information to various news outlets across the United Sentry States. Once it’s released, as the most senior emissary in the government, Emissary Bradshaw would automatically be put into power. As they speak, Roach’s foot keeps bobbing up and down irritably, while Sigur quietly takes it all in. Lucinda and Yolanda share a disapproving look with each other.

  “What about the Wings plot?” I say. “When are we releasing that information?”

  Emissary Bradshaw smiles patronizingly at me. “I think it’s best we sit on that information for now, sweetheart. The evidence on Polly is enough to remove Edmund from office and put me in power.” He folds his hands over his large stomach. “It’s not going to be easy winning over the existing cabinet—things would’ve been much simpler if we’d seized power by force and replaced the cabinet with men loyal to me, like we originally planned—but since that’s not an option now, we have to play this very carefully.”

  Ash stiffens beside me.

  Mother nods. “If we release the Wings evidence, it’ll cause a lot of unrest in the cabinet and with the people of this country,” she adds. “We want a smooth transition into power. Once Patrick’s in office and has won the trust of both the cabinet and our citizens, he can start making preparations to end the war. It might just take a few more months than we originally planned.”

  “Months!” Roach says, her freckled face turning red. “That’s not good enough!”

  I glance at Day and she frowns at me, shaking her head slightly in despair. I rub the Cinder Rose tattoo on my wrist. Ash was right; this isn’t what we’ve been fighting for. I don’t want to replace one Sentry government for another, but what choice do we have? Ash looks down at me and nods toward the hallway door.

  “I need a break,” I say, getting up. Mother lowers her lashes. Father is still by the fireplace, refusing to look at her.

  Day, Beetle and Elijah follow us without needing to be asked. We head to Ash’s and my bedroom. Once we’re all in the room, Ash furiously slams the door, making the glass jar on the nightstand rattle. We find places to sit on the plush carpet or king-sized bed, except Ash, who paces up and down the sizable room.

  “I don’t trust that guy,” Ash says. “He only cares about ending this war because of the damage it’s doing to the economy. He doesn’t give a fragg about making things better for the Darklings.”

  “Then what do we do?” I say.

  Ash slumps down on the bed. “I don’t know.”

  Elijah slides a look at the jar on the table. “There is one thing we could try.”

  “Lucinda’s plan,” I say, catching on. “You think it could work?”

  Elijah shrugs. “It’s worth a shot, pretty girl. Rose made a Blood Mate connection with Theora’s heart once. It could work again.”

  “Dr. Craven could perform the operation on Ash,” Day says.

  “Whoa! Wait! I’m not doing it,” Ash says. “There is no way in hell you’re ripping out my heart so I can become Purian Rose’s boy toy.”

  “You said you wanted us to take down Purian Rose, whatever the cost,” Elijah says.

  “That’s not what I meant!” Ash looks pleadingly at Beetle. “Back me up here, mate.”

  “It is pretty fragged up, bro,” Beetle admits. “But if we could end the war, shouldn’t we try? It’s what we’ve been fighting for.”

  Ash turns to me. “Natalie?”

  “It won’t be forever,” I say gently. “We can implant your heart back into you afterward . . .”

  Hurt flashes across his face. “And what if that doesn’t work? I thought you of all people would understand why I can’t do this.”

  Before I can say another word, he storms out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

  27.

  ASH

  BLOOD POUNDS IN my ears as I march down the corridor and head out a set of glass doors leading onto the balcony, needing some fresh air. The balcony is massive—easily thirty feet deep and loops around the entire circumference of the tower like a ring. You could walk around the whole building if you wanted to. Giltstone tiles line the floor, and ornate trees grow in terra-cotta pots and rosebushes climb up the balustrade.

  I walk around the balcony, trying to let off steam. Natalie knows how long I craved a heartbeat, so how can she consider letting someone take that away from me? I know we can implant my heart back into me, but there’s no guarantee it’ll work again. Our Blood Mate connection will be severed, and I won’t be hers anymore, and she won’t be mine.

  And it’s not just that. I’m really not comfortable with being Theora’s vessel. I don’t want Purian Rose making a Blood Mate connection with me, no matter how brief a time it’s for. How can they even suggest this? I’d rather die! I furiously kick over one of the potted plants, and the terra-cotta pot smashes against the ground. A door slides open behind me.

  “Is everything all right, son?” Sigur says.

  I turn. I realize I’m in clear view of the living room.

  “How are the discussions?” I say with a note of bitterness.

  Sigur sighs deeply. “I do not believe that Emissary Bradshaw is the answer we’ve been looking for. My gut tells me we cannot trust him, and I sense Roach feels the same way.”

  “That makes three of us then.”

  We wander over to the balustrade and stare across the city. In the distance, church bells chime, letting the Pilgrims know it’s time for the day’s Cleansing. The city is joyous and at peace. The war hasn’t touched the lives of anyone here. It’s a different world. I can see how the Sentry citizens could easily turn a blind eye to the suffering of others, as long as they continue living their happy lives in their golden city.

  “Beetle and the others want me to try out Lucinda’s plan,” I mumble. “They want me to be the vessel. Natalie agreed with them.”

  “Ah. That explains the broken pot,” Sigur says.

  I rub the back of my neck, sighing. “What if they put my heart back in me and it doesn’t work? How can Natalie be so willing to risk everything we have togeth
er?”

  “What you and Natalie share is more powerful than any Blood Mate connection,” he says. “Love does not vanish once a heart stops beating. I will forever love your mother, and Natalie will always love you. And Purian Rose clearly still cares for Theora, or he wouldn’t be trying to transform people into her image,” he continues. “But you already know your love for Natalie isn’t just based on your Blood Mate connection. So what is really bothering you?”

  “What if I lose my heartbeat forever?” I gaze at the Golden Citadel in the distance. “They don’t understand what it’s like not to have a heartbeat. I was a ghost walking among the living, never really part of this world,” I say. “It was hell. I can’t go through it again.”

  Sigur puts a hand on my shoulder. “We’ll figure something out.”

  With that, he heads back inside. I lean against the balustrade and shut my eyes briefly, listening to my heart beating rhythmically inside my chest. Am I willing to lose that sound, when I spent a whole lifetime searching for it? It would destroy me.

  So imagine what it would feel like to get it back.

  I open my eyes. Returning Purian Rose’s heartbeat is the most powerful weapon we have at our disposal. So I’m going to do it. I’m going to let them take my heart.

  28.

  NATALIE

  “WE SHOULD NEVER HAVE ASKED Ash to do it,” I say, warily eyeing the glass jar on the bedside table, like it’s a coiled snake. “It’s the worst thing anyone could do to him. It was cruel of us to even suggest it.” It was cruel of me.

  “Yeah, you’re right.” Beetle sighs, scratching his scarred cheek. “I remember how Ash was before he met you. He was in a pretty dark place. If there’s even a small chance he won’t get his heartbeat back, I’m not sure I can do that to him.”

  “We should apologize,” Day says.

  “What are we going to do, though?” Elijah says. “We still don’t have a plan to bring down Purian Rose.”

  “We’ll think of something. I’m going to look for Ash.” I stand up and Beetle gets up too. “Can I talk to him alone first?” I suspect it’s going to require a lot of groveling on my part to get him to forgive me.

  “Let him know I’m sorry, okay?” Beetle says.

  “We should probably find out what the ‘grown-ups’ have been plotting,” Day says, rolling her brown eyes.

  We go into the hallway. Elijah, Day and Beetle head toward the living room while I stalk the corridors in search of Ash. I pass the white door with the blue glass doorknob. It’s open. I peer inside the bedroom, curious to know if the maid who was crying earlier is feeling any better.

  A teenage girl is sitting by the window, wearing an elegant yellow bustle gown with an orange sash around her waist that matches the color of her flame-red hair. She has pale, freckled skin and sky-blue eyes that are heavily rimmed with Cinderstone powder. Her lips have been painted the color of copper, like the Dacian girls in Thrace.

  I let out a startled breath. “Amy!”

  She looks up. “Natalie! Oh my God, is it really you?” Amy rushes over to me and flings her arms around my neck. She smells of expensive floral perfume.

  “I thought you were dead,” I say, releasing her.

  Amy shakes her head. “After Juno and Nick were killed, Stuart and I ran away. We tried to escape over the border,” she explains. “We got as far as the Steel Sea before we were caught. They shot Stuart, and I was brought up to one of the Destroyer Ships. They were intending to send me to the Tenth.”

  “Then how did you get here?” I ask.

  Amy lowers her lashes. “One of the Sentry guards sent me here. A man named Victor.”

  My heart seizes. I know Victor. During our failed mission to rescue Polly a few weeks ago, we boarded a Destroyer Ship, which was holding hundreds of people captive, ready to send them off to the Tenth. While on that airship, I met Victor—a vicious man who threw a hysterical woman out of the Destroyer Ship’s air lock, letting her plunge hundreds of feet to her death. I discovered he was selling young boys and girls to businessmen in Centrum, who wanted the children to satisfy their own deviant desires. The man running the operation in Centrum was called . . .

  Patrick.

  “Oh God,” I gasp. “Oh, Amy . . .”

  She falls against me and starts crying. “I wish they’d sent me to the Tenth.”

  I hold on to her for a long time, letting her cry. I can only imagine the horrors she’s had to endure these past weeks, under Emissary Bradshaw’s “guardianship.” There’s no way we can allow that man to take power. He’s a monster, worse than Purian Rose in many ways.

  I tuck a strand of auburn hair behind Amy’s ear. “I’m going to get you out of here.”

  She timidly takes my hand, and we head toward the living room. When we get there, my mother and Roach are in the midst of a heated debate. Like everyone else, Mother is still wearing her jumpsuit, the gun belt slung around her boyish hips, where her hands are angrily placed now.

  To my relief, Ash is by the fireplace, talking to Beetle. Everyone else is there, including Dr. Craven, having dealt with Garrick. He’s sitting in one of the leather chairs. Emissary Bradshaw occupies the seat next to him. Amy’s hand tightens fearfully around mine as her eyes flitter toward him.

  “We’re leaving,” I say. “Right now.”

  “Amy!” Day exclaims when she sees us.

  Mother stares curiously at me. “What are you talking about? We can’t leave.”

  “That monster,” I say, pointing toward Emissary Bradshaw, my hand shaking with rage, “has been selling children to the highest bidder. He’s been holding Amy hostage, for himself.”

  Father spins around on Emissary Bradshaw. His scarred face is twisted with fury. “Is this true?”

  A hard expression enters his eyes. “I needed to make a profit somehow. How did you think we were paying for all those Transporters and weapons?”

  Mother blanches. “You were selling children?”

  Before I realize what’s happening, Amy rushes forward and grabs the gun from Mother’s holster. There’s a pop of gunfire and Emissary Bradshaw’s head snaps back. Blood splashes on the gilt wall behind him.

  Everyone is too stunned to move, too stunned to speak. Amy’s hands shake as she continues to hold the gun out in front of her, clearly in shock. I know how she feels, my mind flashing with images of the scientist I shot in the Tenth. I rub my clammy hands against my pants, trying to wipe off the imaginary blood on them. Ash strides over to her and takes the gun, placing the weapon on the mantel, before gently pulling her into an embrace. She stiffens at first and then collapses against him, sobbing. He cradles her head with his hand, whispering soothing things in her ear. Lucinda covers her nose and hurries out of the room, the scent of blood clearly overwhelming to her. Yolanda chases after her.

  “What are we going to do now?” Mother mutters as she paces around the room. “Our plan won’t work without him.”

  I turn my gaze back at Emissary Bradshaw’s body. His lips have started to turn a grisly shade of gray. There’s a neat bullet hole below his left eye. A lucky shot—well, not so much for Emissary Bradshaw. The living room doors creak open and Garrick enters the room, looking pale and exhausted, his hand clutching his wounded stomach. He’s still wearing his bloodstained jumpsuit, but he’s lowered the top to reveal the white vest underneath, which clings to his lean, muscular frame.

  “You should be in bed,” Mother says.

  “I heard gunshots. What’s going—oh,” he says as he spots the slumped body in the leather chair. “He was an ass anyway.” Garrick staggers over to one of the other chairs and sits down, grunting. “Do we need to worry about security hearing those shots?”

  “I don’t think so,” Mother replies. “The guards are placed at the main entrance, fifty floors below us. They don’t start their rounds for another”—she quickly chec
ks her watch—“twenty minutes.”

  I remember walking past the security guards each morning when we used to live here. If I recall correctly, there were four men posted in the foyer and that’s it. Every three hours one of them would patrol the floors, but they were so lazy they rarely went beyond level twenty, where Emissary Bradshaw’s private restaurant is located to entertain VIP guests, before stealing a beer from the kitchen and heading back down again.

  “We’ll have to deal with them,” Father says quietly to Mother, who nods. I don’t like the sound of that. He goes over to Emissary Bradshaw’s body. “Would someone help me get him out of here?”

  Sigur, Dr. Craven and Roach join my father. They each take one of Emissary Bradshaw’s fat limbs and heave his bloated body out of the room, leaving a red stain on the leather chair. I don’t know where they’re taking him, and frankly I don’t care. I hope it’s to the trash compactor. It’s where garbage like him belongs.

  I go to the kitchen and retrieve a cloth and bowl of water, and head back to the living room. Ash and Elijah help me as we silently wash the wall. The red water drips down the gold leaf like tears. Beetle mops up the stains on the leather chair and white carpet, trying to scrub away the last traces of Patrick Bradshaw from this earth, but it’s no good—his blood has already stained the furniture. Day and Amy are kneeling by the fireplace, staring at the flames, their hands clasped together. All the time my mother is muttering to herself: “What are we going to do now?”

  “I’m going to do it,” Ash says quietly to me and Elijah. “I’ll be the vessel.”

  I stop scrubbing. “No, Ash. You don’t have to; it was wrong of us to ask.”

  “There’s no one else,” he says. “We don’t have any other option.”

  “I don’t want you to,” I say.

  Ash tucks a finger under my chin, tilting my face so I’m looking up at him.

  “I love you,” he whispers. “That isn’t going to change, you know that?”

  “I know,” I say. “But this is your heartbeat we’re talking about; I couldn’t live with myself if you lost it again. And it’s not just that. The more I think about it, the more messed up it is. You’ll be his Blood Mate.” I shudder.