Just then, the doors to the Golden Citadel open. A hush descends over the plaza as a squadron of gray-uniformed guards file down the giltstone steps. They each wear a butterfly medal on their chest and have a ceremonial sword strapped around their waist. Even from here, I can see the silver glint of their irises. They’re carrying large steel kegs, like the kind they use in taverns, although I suspect these are filled with Wings instead of ale.
They step onto the stage and my heart freezes. Sebastian is at the far end of the row, to our left. There’s a gash down his cheek, perhaps an injury from the attack on the Sentry rebel stronghold, and his olive skin looks waxen, but he’s still disarmingly handsome, drawing admiring looks from the females in our row.
“Ash,” I say.
“Yeah, I’ve seen him,” he says.
Panic spills through me and my legs feel numb. If Sebastian recognizes us, then this is all over. Thankfully, we’re in the middle of the row and he hasn’t looked in our direction yet. His gaze is fixed on one of the large digital screens on the edge of the plaza. The cameras have all turned to focus on the center of the stage. He’s just out of shot. A scowl passes over his lips. He loves the limelight; he always has.
Ash grips my hand as a figure appears at the doors of the Golden Citadel, dressed in a long red robe and white gloves. Around his neck is a circle pendant. His black hair is swept neatly back, and his pale skin has a strange, waxy sheen to it. I realize now he must be wearing thick makeup to hide his burns.
Excited whispers spread through the crowd as Purian Rose walks down the steps, commanding everyone’s attention. The hairs on the back of my neck prickle; I can practically feel the millions of eyes across the nation watching him approach the stage. The guards salute Rose as he strolls over to the microphone at the front of the platform. When he speaks, his voice is amplified by the microphones hidden in the rigging around the stage. His face is projected on all the monitors around the plaza, and I know the live footage is also being broadcast in every city square across the country, as others attend their own Cleansing ceremony.
“Loyal Pilgrims, I am honored that you have joined me today to take part in this momentous event,” he says. “The Cleansing is not just about committing yourself to the Purity faith, or proving your devotion to the Sentry government.” I look at Ash. His lips are pressed together so hard, they’re white. “It is about cleansing your mind, body and spirit of sin. It has always been my dream to have a nation free from impurity, a world where we are all united, and today that dream will be fulfilled.”
“So sayeth us all,” the crowd chants in unison.
Purian Rose smiles, reveling in this moment. Victory is within his grasp. The gray-uniformed guards fill the white bowls with Wings. The opaque liquid shimmers in the sunlight as it is poured from the kegs.
“First row, step up,” says a guard from the stage, ushering us forward.
This is it. Ash’s hand tightens around mine. Evangeline takes his other hand as we walk up the steps leading onto the stage, along with the rest of the first row. When we reach the platform, we kneel down and bow our heads. I surreptitiously look to the left. Sebastian is gazing at the digital screens again. He seems frustrated.
Purian Rose heads to the right-hand side of the stage, and the ceremony begins. One of the guards hands Purian Rose a red bowl filled with water. Rose approaches the first person in the row—a middle-aged woman with a shaved head and a rose tattoo above her left ear. She picks up the white bowl in front of her and brings it to her lips. A cry bubbles up in my throat. I want to yell at her to stop, but I clamp my lips shut, forcing the words down as she drinks the Wings. The look of bliss that enters her face is instantaneous as it courses through her veins. Purian Rose dips his gloved hand into the red bowl and swipes his wet thumb across her forehead.
“You are Cleansed, my daughter,” he says.
Ash nudges my shoulder, then nods to the other side of the stage. I follow his gaze. Sebastian has left his position and is slowly walking toward us, his hands behind his back. He’s timing his footsteps so he’ll be in the middle of the platform at the same time as Rose, who is approaching us from the opposite direction, so they both will appear in the close-up camera shot. At this pace, he’ll reach me at the precise moment Purian Rose reaches Evangeline.
“What are we going to do?” I whisper, my mind racing. I could try tackling Sebastian when he nears us, but I’m not sure I’d be able to hold him back long enough for Evangeline to grab Purian Rose’s hand and activate his heart, before the other guards kill her.
I shoot a look to my right. Purian Rose is now fifteen people away, fourteen, thirteen, Sebastian is matching his stride, getting closer and closer to me, twelve, eleven, ten—oh God, oh God, what are we going to do?—nine, eight, seven—my palms start to sweat—six, five, four—Ash’s muscles coil, ready to strike, three, two, one—
Purian Rose reaches Evangeline just as Sebastian stops in front of me. He’s looking at Purian Rose—he hasn’t seen me yet. Evangeline picks up the white bowl and pretends to drink. My heart is beating so hard, I think it’s going to burst out of my chest. Evangeline lowers the bowl just as Sebastian’s head turns. His eyes snag on mine.
Purian Rose dips his hand into the red bowl . . .
Sebastian’s lips twist into a snarl . . .
Rose touches his thumb against Evangeline’s skin . . .
Sebastian draws his sword, and—
34.
EDMUND
I GASP, FALLING TO MY KNEES, as pain blooms inside my rib cage. Tremors rush through my body, surging toward a single point in my chest. There’s a burst of fire and then:
Ba-boom.
The boy Sebastian turns, alarmed, as confused murmurs spread throughout the crowd like wildfire, their voices muffled by the sound of my beating heart.
It can’t be . . .
“Your Excellency?” he says.
I ignore him as I stare at the girl in front of me.
How . . . ?
Beside her, the boy in the black coat stands up and lowers his hood, revealing an angular face with fierce ebony eyes, wide mouth and ink-black hair. There are stunned gasps from the crowd and the word Phoenix hisses across the city. The girl beside him gets to her feet and lowers her hood—blond curls, blue eyes, stubborn mouth. Undeniably Natalie Buchanan. Anger burns through me. No! They were supposed to be dead. I shoot a look at Sebastian. All the blood has drained out of his face. Flustered, the boy quickly raises his sword and swings it at the Darkling girl in front of me. Panic grips my heart.
“Stop!” I command.
The blade stops an inch from the Darkling girl’s neck. I stagger to my feet.
“Drop your sword,” I demand.
Sebastian’s brows draw together. “Your Excellency?”
“Do it!” I say.
The boy drops his sword, and it lands near my feet. My other bodyguards throw confused looks at each other, uncertain what to do as I stretch out my hand toward the Darkling girl. She takes it. The second our hands touch, a jolt of electricity darts up my arm and into my chest, and my heart clenches. I exhale, disbelieving. How is this possible?
I gently sweep a strand of hair away from her eyes, and my fingers linger on her cheek. A blush enters her pale skin. My eyes drink her in, tracing the contours of her face—glimmering black eyes, sharp cheekbones, rosy lips that are slightly parted to reveal her fangs. I can’t stop looking at those lips . . .
“Edmund,” she whispers. Her voice is like a siren’s call, wrapping itself around me, commanding me to listen. “I need you to do something for me.”
“What?” I say.
“Stop this war,” she says.
Darkness descends over my heart like a shroud. This is a trick! I release her hand.
“Why would I do that?” I snap.
“Because it’s over, Rose,” Ash
says. I turn toward him, fury burning through me. “We know about Wings and your plan to infect everyone with it at today’s Cleansing.” My stomach twists as he lifts the white bowl in his hands. “You’ve been making people drink it!”
There are confused murmurs from the audience. The Pilgrims kneeling at the foot of the stage stare at the white bowls in their hands, their brows furrowed.
“Lies,” I growl.
The Buchanan girl lifts her chin. “Samples of the retrovirus have been sent to news stations all across the country, along with evidence that it’s been killing people!”
“That’s not true,” Sebastian says uncertainly. His upper lip glistens with sweat. “Wings is a performance-enhancing drug to make us stronger, better, that’s all.”
Natalie looks at him. “He lied to you, Sebastian. He lied to all of you. It’s a retrovirus and a lethal one at that. Unexpected mutations have been occurring in some of the patients.”
“I don’t believe you,” he says.
At that moment, the digital screens around the plaza flicker and a new image appears on the monitors. It’s video footage taken inside a hospital. A female Sentry doctor with wavy brown hair walks down the ward, passing emaciated Darklings, Bastets and humans who are chained to the beds, their naked bodies dark with bruises and welts. The camera pauses on a girl, about twelve years old, her brown hair slick with sweat, her ulcerated skin oozing with yellow fluid. She stares fearfully up at the camera. Her eyes are an unnatural shade of silver. She coughs, spewing up blood, painting her face and chest in red. There are horrified gasps from the crowd.
“Patient seventy-six was injected with the F-09 Wings virus two weeks ago and is now displaying signs of liver failure,” the doctor says, turning back to the camera. She rolls her eyes. “That’s the tenth one this week. Back to the drawing board, huh?”
The man behind the camera chuckles.
The video footage cuts off and the live feed returns. The Pilgrims at the base of the stage drop the white bowls and stagger back in horror. Sebastian looks at me. The gash on his cheek is oozing, just like the girl’s in the video.
“You told me it was safe,” he says. “You promised me.”
“A new world cannot be built without sacrifices,” I reply harshly. “I felt it was an acceptable risk; most of the patients lived.”
There are outraged shouts from the crowd. Cries of “murderer” and “traitor” fill the air. I take a few steps back as people start throwing things at the stage, almost hitting me. I glare at them, furious. How dare they? Several groups of men surge toward the platform. They’re held back by the Sentry guards, but I’m not sure how long they can hold them off.
The Darkling girl turns to me. “Edmund, stop this! Our people have suffered enough!”
She grabs my arms and a strange sensation grips me, like a pathway opening between us and all her emotions flow into me. I feel every moment of heartbreak in this Darkling girl’s life, as if I were living it myself: the time her parents were murdered in front of her by a Tracker; her terror as her heart was torn out by a Sentry doctor; her grief at being trapped behind the Boundary Wall. Her life is full of suffering and sorrow; it consumes me until I’m drowning in it. And it’s my fault. I did this to her, just like my father did to me. It’s too much!
I strike the girl, knocking her off the stage into the crowd below. She hits the cobblestones with a thud. Ash turns, distracted by the Darkling girl’s fall, and I take my opportunity to attack. I swipe Sebastian’s sword off the ground and grab Ash by his hair, yanking his head back. He grunts in pain as I force him to his knees in front of me. His skin sizzles as I press the silver blade to the side of his throat.
“Get off him!” Natalie rushes forward, but she’s stopped by the boy Sebastian. She bites his arm and he grimaces, but doesn’t let her go. I turn my attention back to Ash. He stares up at me defiantly, a cold wind stirring his black hair.
“This has gone on long enough, Mr. Fisher,” I snarl. “I should have done this months ago, when I had the chance.”
“Go ahead.” Ash spits the words at me like bullets. “It doesn’t matter now. Everyone in the country knows you betrayed them. I did what I came here for, so I’m not afraid to die!”
“No fear, no power!” Natalie cries out.
Panic surges through me as the chant gets picked up by the rest of the crowd. Their words spread down the streets and alleyways, crawling through every door, every window, until the whole city is united in one furious, defiant voice:
“NO FEAR! NO POWER!”
There’s a clatter of swords as my bodyguards drop their weapons and run off the stage.
“Get back here!” I yell, but my command falls on deaf ears. I whip around to Sebastian. He’s still holding the Buchanan girl. “Control your men!”
A muscle twitches in his jaw. Without a word he releases her and calmly walks off the stage, following the rest of my bodyguards. The Buchanan girl snatches one of the abandoned swords off the stage and points it at me.
“Let him go!” she commands, her blue eyes blazing.
My heart clenches as it experiences something I’ve not felt since the night Theora died.
Fear.
And if I’m afraid . . .
I look down at Ash, and a hint of a smile spreads across his lips.
He has the power.
Terror wraps itself around my racing heart, squeezing it with a viselike grip. I’m unable to move, paralyzed by this new sensation, as Ash grabs my arm. I lose my grip on the sword, and it clatters to the ground. He holds my gaze as he stands up. As he does so, a gust of wind catches his black coat, flashing its vivid orange lining, so he looks like he has wings made of silken fire. I stumble back, falling to my knees. Phoenix towers over me, his body silhouetted against the golden sun, so all I can see are two glinting eyes staring down at me, hard and unforgiving.
“It’s over, Rose,” he says. “Surrender.”
“Never!” I spit.
He nods at Natalie, who presses something on her watch. Almost immediately, a shadow blocks out the sun. I glance up. A Transporter appears out of the clouds and rapidly descends. Air whips around my face as the aircraft approaches the stage, stopping a few feet above the platform. It’s hovering so close, I can see the teenage girl waving at me from the cockpit, a smirk on her lips.
The girl expertly turns the aircraft 180 degrees, and the back hatch hisses open. Standing in the cargo hold is Siobhan Buchanan, along with a Bastet woman and boy, a red-haired girl and a middle-aged Darkling woman. It takes a moment to register that this gaunt, broken woman is my cousin, Lucinda. They all point their guns at me. I’m trapped.
“Edmund Rose, you are under arrest!” Siobhan Buchanan says.
I shift my gaze to Lucinda.
“This has to end, Edmund,” Lucinda shouts over the roar of the aircraft’s rotors. “It’s not what Theora would have wanted, and you know it!”
I look back at the teenage Darkling girl, who is watching me from the foot of the stage. Her hands are clutched to her chest, and she looks pleadingly back at me. I close my eyes and listen to my heartbeat, remembering Theora’s words. It’s easy to hate. The true test of our hearts is to forgive. I should have listened to her.
Forgive me, Theora.
I open my eyes. “I surrender.”
35.
NATALIE
Two weeks later, Centrum
ROSE PLAZA IS BUSTLING with activity. I squeeze through the crowds, my head covered by my hooded jacket, as I make my way toward the Fracture—the shard-shaped building where the new coalition government headquarters is based, which was formed within hours of Purian Rose’s surrender. A few eyes slide toward me, and people begin to whisper excitedly to each other. I’m quite the celebrity these days, but I really don’t want the attention. Especially not today. My hand slips into my jacket pocket,
finding the yellow-handled knife concealed there. I trace my fingers over the word etched into the wood. Polly. We held a memorial service for my sister last week but it wasn’t the closure I needed. I still have one thing left to do.
Camera crews are placed around the plaza, and workmen dash about as they erect a large wooden cross in the city square. They’re preparing for Purian Rose’s execution in fifteen minutes, under my father’s watchful eye. Rose’s televised trial two weeks ago lasted just one day. It didn’t take long for the courts to come back with a verdict of guilty for his war crimes, and sentence him to death. Ash was dead set against the execution, saying it made us no better than the former tyrant, but he was outvoted by the rest of the coalition government. I’m against it too, but for a different reason. My stomach knots, my fingers tightening around the knife.
A middle-aged Darkling man with violet eyes and ebony hair bumps into me, knocking me out of my thoughts. He mumbles an apology and hurries toward the stage with a beautiful, flame-haired Dacian woman, their heads bowed. It’s obvious from their thin bodies and hard expressions that they were prisoners in the Tenth. They’ve traveled a long way to witness Purian Rose’s execution at noon. Before they can reach the stage, a group of tough-looking men with shaved heads and rose tattoos behind their left ears block their path.
“Go back to the ghetto, nipper,” one of the men says, spitting at the Darkling. “We don’t want your kind in our city.”
The Darkling flashes his fangs in response, and the people around them fearfully back away. Before a fight breaks out, several armed coalition guards in cerulean-blue uniforms race over to them and usher the tattooed men away. A few guards stay with the Darkling man and Dacian woman, their message clear: there will be no violence today . . . other than Rose’s execution, of course. I frown. It’s going to take a long time before the tensions between our races goes away. To be honest, I’m not sure they ever truly will, but we have to keep fighting for peace. Otherwise, what was the point of all this?
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