Sighing, she tugged her reeking shirt over her head and tossed it aside. She felt the Off watching her as she took off her pants, then bent down to retrieve the uniform. She snuck a glance at his face. There was no desire there, not even a flicker of arousal.
The shirt and pants were a couple of sizes too large, but the shoes fit like a glove. When Terra had finished adjusting her sagging garments, the Off tossed a pair of heavy manacles at her. She caught them to her chest with a whoosh of breath. “Put those on.”
“I get it,” she muttered as she clamped the cold cuffs around her already bruised wrists.
The Off sheathed his stinger and took her by the arm. He yanked her from the cell, her handcuffs rattling as she stumbled. “Easy, I can walk on my own,” Terra complained.
He ignored her staunchly, dragging her along down the hallway.
“Do you have a name?”
“Thomas.”
“You took me to meet Maxwell.”
Thomas looked down at her with empty gray eyes. “I am aware of this.”
“Why have you been assigned to babysit me, Thomas?” Terra inquired as he tugged her around a sharp bend. They passed a pair of guards, one male, one female, clomping along like robots with their hands on their hulking machine guns. They did not even steal a glance at the prisoner. “Is this really what you want to be doing with your Saturday?”
“The Conductor has tasked me to guard you, in case you try to double-cross us, and it is Wednesday.”
“Huh,” Terra said vaguely. She scanned his body discreetly. He was fit, but not particularly muscular, and she was at least an inch taller than him. She had certainly fought more formidable opponents in the past. Hell, even Ronja had been able to give her a black eye despite her utter lack of technique. Still, between her cuffs and his dead nerves, taking him down would not be easy.
“Here,” Thomas intoned. Terra looked up. They had come to the end of the corridor, which was marked by a large iron door with a heavy deadbolt. The Off released her and slid it back with a grunt of effort. Cold air rushed in as he opened the door, stirring her blonde hair. She breathed in deeply, savoring the sharp taste.
Thomas took her by the arm again, leading her through the exit into a stairwell. It was clearly a new addition to the prison, made of concrete rather than stone. The Off mounted the steps, still dragging her along behind him like a rag doll. “Let me go, it’ll be faster,” Terra suggested.
He did not respond at first. Then he released her and continued to climb. She smirked at the little victory, marching after him obediently.
They traversed five flights of steps in total. By the time Terra crested the landing, she was panting. Being trapped in a tiny cell for weeks on end did not allow for much cardio. Thomas went to open the door at the back of the landing, his breathing perfectly even. Fresh air washed over them, sharp and cold as a blade. “Go,” he commanded, holding open the door for her.
“How quaint,” Terra said, stepping through. She stood at the edge of an aeroplane hangar buzzing with military activity. Dozens of red and black fighter jets stood in long rows. Large autos with hulking trailers were parked in a line opposite them. Men and women in grease-spotted jumpsuits rushed around like drones. Despite their lack of expression, it was clear they were overworked. Their eyelids were bruised, their spines curved forward. The hanger doors were wide open, allowing winter light to spill in. Outside was a runway sandwiched between mounds of snow turned brown slush. Beyond that, roughly a mile away, was Revinia. It surrounded them, a gray beast choking on its own smog.
Even from far away it seemed too still.
“Thomas,” a familiar voice called. Terra rounded on it, dread filling her stomach. Henry stood beside a sleek obsidian auto, dressed for the cold in a long woolen coat and leather gloves. He was undeniably handsome, even with his void eyes and the crimson badge on his lapel.
“Sir,” Thomas addressed him with a sharp salute.
“You’ll be driving today,” Henry told him, adjusting one of his gloves. “Get the engine running.”
“Sir.” The Off stepped around Terra and popped the front door, slipping in behind the wheel. She watched carefully as he selected a small silver key from the ring at his hip and plugged it into the ignition. The engine revved smoothly.
Henry opened the back door. “Get in,” he ordered Terra.
“You people are so bossy,” she muttered as she climbed inside. The interior of the auto was upholstered with slick, dark brown leather. Terra scooted across the backseat, the engine rumbling beneath her. Henry followed swiftly, slamming the door behind him. He settled in, then looked to her expectantly. She checked over her shoulder, as if someone were pressed up against the tinted window. “What?”
“Where are we going?” Henry snapped.
Terra considered him with her head cocked to the side. Interesting.
“Vahl.”
“Hmmm?”
“Where are we going?” he repeated slowly, as if she were a bit dense.
Panic shot through Terra. She had not expected to get this far. Think, you idiot, think. “719 Winthrop Avenue between 52nd and 53rd.” What the hell am I doing?
Henry locked eyes with Thomas in the rearview mirror. The young Off dipped his head in assent. The engine growled, and they began to roll forward. They coasted past the rows of planes and trucks, the workers scurrying through the aisles like hungry rats. Terra winced as they passed into the muted sunlight, but forced herself to keep her eyes open. Her lips twitched into a pale smile, her assumption confirmed. They were on the palace grounds.
The palace was situated near the core, just south of the clock tower. The magnificent building was huge, five stories high and looked to be a quarter mile long at ground level. White as ocean surf, the palace boasted gold-plated double doors at its front. The structure was enveloped by a high white wall with at least dozen guard towers. From what she had seen, the basement was far more vast than the palace itself. Perhaps it even dumped out beyond the wall.
“Huh,” Terra said, squinting out at the behemoth estate. “Not as impressive as I thought it would be.” Henry did not react, staring at the back of the front seat. She turned toward him with a loaded sigh. “So,” she opened. “Tell me, what do you remember about your life before all this?”
“I remember enough.”
“Want to elaborate? We have a long drive ahead of us, and it’ll be a lot more interesting if one of us is talking.” Somewhere in the back of her mind, Terra registered the irony of the situation. Not long ago, she and Samson had sat in a similar position while he pestered her about her past. Back then, she had not been keen to open up. Now she was the one digging for information. Her intentions, though, were not as pure as his had been.
Henry only answered after a lengthy pause. “Silence,” he said, his fingers caressing his Singer absentmindedly. “I remember silence.” For a split second, Terra thought he was going to say more. The moment passed.
“Can I ask you something?” she prodded him again. Henry did not respond, which she took as an invitation. “You were pissed when I insulted Maxwell in The Amp. Want to tell me how that is possible with The New Music in your ear?”
“I was not angry,” Henry shot back without missing a beat. “I was protecting the honor of The Conductor.”
“Mmhmm, interesting.” Terra tapped her fingers to her chin in mock consideration. “What, are you his knight in shining armor, or something?”
“No.”
“You sure?”
“If you continue to speak to me this way, I will gag you.”
“Not really into that, but thanks.” Terra chuckled to herself as Henry shifted away from her, crossing one leg over the other and looking out the window. She scooted toward him and leaned in, puncturing his personal space. “One more question. What do you remember about Ronja?”
“The Siren,” he corrected her automatically.
“She was Ronja to you.�
�
“She’s a traitor, and now she belongs to The Conductor.”
“Well, if you’ll recall, she was also your best friend,” Terra said. “She was a subtrain driver, I think. Roark whacked off her Singer. You lot went to Red Bay on a bloody suicide mission to get her cousins back. Stupid as hell. Brave, though.”
Terra kicked herself internally, knowing Ronja would never let her forget it if she heard about what she was going to say next. “Yeah, you know, Ronja was brave, hardheaded, reckless, emotional—and she loved you. She still does. I know for a fact that she would rather see you dead than a slave to The Conductor.”
Faster than she could track, Henry jerked around and snatched her by the throat. He slammed her head into the window and drove his knee into her stomach to pinning her. Terra grinned through the sharp pain in her head, her eyes shifting across the twisted plains of his face. “You sure you’re not angry?” she wheezed.
“Keep quiet or I’ll cut out your tongue,” he replied, the words hot against the skin of her face. “The Henry you knew is long gone. Keep trying to draw him out, and you’ll face the consequences.”
“Funny,” Terra hissed, straining to speak around the thick hand compressing her windpipe. “You didn’t hit me nearly as hard as you could have.”
Henry recoiled slowly, withdrawing his restraining hand. Terra sucked in a breath, her lungs expanding gratefully. The boy sank back into his seat, straightening his suit. Terra massaged her throat tenderly. Her head throbbed with the rhythm of her pulse.
“I remember you.”
Terra looked at Henry sidelong. He was staring at the back of the front seat, all traces of emotion wiped clean from his face. “I remember you betrayed the Siren. I remember you are not to be trusted.” He met her gaze levelly. “Which is why I do not believe a single word you say.”
36: Luminous
By the time Ronja was finished talking, the weathered silver watch Darius wore read 12:31. She assumed it was after midnight and not midday, but she would have believed either. Time had bled out of existence while she told her story. The king listened attentively the whole time, only cutting in to ask the occasional question. When Ronja finally settled into silence, he watched her for a long time. She in turn kept her eyes on her knees, feeling his eyes drilling into the side of her face.
She had spared almost no detail, only glossing over a few private moments with Roark that she figured he would rather not hear about. The rest of her story she documented with glaring precision. Her life with Layla under a mutt Singer. Her introduction to the Anthem, the violent removal of her Singer. Cosmin, Georgie, and Layla’s kidnapping. The discovery of The New Music and her voice at Red Bay. Layla’s death. Henry’s demise. The creation of the radio station, of the Siren. How her voice worked to counteract The Music. Lastly, the fall of Revinia, of Samson, and her weeks in the mirrored cell.
The silence in the library grew heavier. Ronja felt her stomach begin to work itself into knots. “That was a lot,” she said with a wince. “Sorry, I—”
“Thank you for telling me,” Darius said over her. She peered over at him, surprised. He regarded her with oddly bright eyes, the tip of his nose blushing red. “To say I am sorry would never be enough.”
Ronja shook her head slowly. “I’m not sorry.” Darius raised his eyebrows at her, clearly questioning her sanity. “I mean,” she amended. “Yeah, I could have done without the torture and murder. But the people I have loved, even the ones I have lost, they’ve made it all worthwhile.” She straightened her spine, nearly bringing herself to eye level with him. “That’s why I have to go back, to save them and to make Maxwell pay for what he has done.”
Darius sighed, a melancholy smile dusting his lips. “You have so much of Layla in you. She was always putting herself in danger to protect others. I swear she enjoyed it. It drove me mad.”
Ronja could not help but smile back at him. “It’s so strange to imagine her as human, as a rebel.” Her face crumpled. “Why did no one tell me? Ito must have known, or Wilcox.”
“Roark told me that she had her last name changed to Zipse. I assume that happened after—”
“She became a mutt,” the girl finished quietly. She bobbed her head in affirmation, more to herself than to Darius. “She did that to protect me. Actually, she did a lot to protect me. She begged a woman to delay the conversion procedure until after I was born and to alter her last name on the records so that no one could find us. That way I could be born safe, and human.” Ronja bit the inside of her cheek to distract from the sudden ache in her chest. “She gave up everything to give me a shot at a decent life, even her name.”
“I can promise you, she wouldn’t have regretted it for a moment,” Darius said. He laid a strong hand on her shoulder. She did not look at him, nor did she pull away. “Her real name was Layla Maradici.”
“Maradici,” Ronja repeated. Her names rolled around in her head like boulders. Ronja Zipse. Ronja Alezandri. Ronja Maradici. The Siren. She was not sure where one name ended and the other began.
“Tell me again about what your voice does,” Darius said, breaking her from her contemplation.
“Um.” She blinked rapidly, dissolving her thoughts. Some of the lights in the hallway beyond the library had been switched off, but the lamps still blazed bright around them. “It counteracts The Music, all forms of it as far as we know.”
“It has to go deeper than that,” Darius muttered, massaging his chin. When he noticed Ronja watching him with a cocked brow, he elaborated. “The Music is a human invention—an abomination, if you will. Our gifts are natural, stretching back thousands of years, long before that kind of technology was even a whisper.”
“I can see The Music too,” Ronja reminded him. “It looks different than real music, like white snakes.” She grimaced, imagining the threads slithering through the air, worming into the ears and minds of helpless listeners.
“Maybe your gift is not just nullifying The Music,” he mused. “Maybe your gift is about enhancing emotion, giving people the freedom to feel what they need to feel regardless of interference by Singers.”
“Just like real music,” Ronja murmured. She slid down from the table they had been perched on. Her legs groaned with relief. Putting her hands on her hips, she began to pace back and forth before Darius, her eyes trained on the floor, but not really seeing it. “When we were running the radio station, it took weeks for us to affect any major changes. We thought it was because the signal wasn’t strong enough, but maybe the signal wasn’t the problem.”
The gears of her brain whirled in dizzying circles as she carved a path in the stone. Darius looked on silently, his fingers pressed to his mouth in contemplation. “Maybe it wasn’t the strength of the signal that made the difference at the tower. Maybe I was just getting stronger.”
“Maybe it was both.”
Ronja tossed him a glance. “Maybe. That was the night my Aura evolved—it turned white.” Like The New Music, a distant part of her whispered. She stamped it out like a cigarette.
“And the Revinians immediately rose up at your call,” Darius filled in, joining her on his feet.
“After all that time.” Ronja snapped her fingers as she came to halt before him, then let her arms fall to her sides. “If I could get stronger, if I could hone my voice, I could free them from The New Music, no problem.” Her voice sparked with bravado and reckless hope. “I could make it last this time, make them immune to it.”
Darius shook his head. “I am not sure about that, but maybe there is no need to make them immune.”
“What?”
The exiled king folded his arms, grinning like a child waking up to a load of presents on his birthday. “Those mainframes you were talking about before, I know where they are.”
Ronja felt her knees buckle. The skin of her face went numb as she struggled to breathe.
Darius continued. “Right before I was taken back to Tovaire, Layla ran a mission to steal some do
cuments from a government office. She gave them to me for safekeeping.” Aching sadness welled in his face. “One of those papers had a list of six locations on it. One of them was the clock tower, I’ll bet you anything they’re—”
“The mainframes,” Ronja breathed. She swayed on the spot, partially from shock, partially from the exhaustion that was steadily gaining on her. “Skitzing hell, we’ve been looking for them for so long, and you had them this whole time.” Darius jumped as a breathless laugh exploded from her lips. “Wait until I tell Roark.”
“If we destroy these mainframes, Revinia goes free?” he asked. “That would be easy, we could just bomb them from the air.”
“Not quite. If we just destroy them, the shock could kill everyone in the city. But if I could sing first, I could help them separate naturally, then we could blow the mainframes.” Ronja sobered as reality settled around them like heavy snow. “But to do any of that, we would need the Kev Fairla to cooperate.”
“Let me talk to Easton,” Darius said, determination knitting his brows. “The problem is, you’ve asked him for the wrong thing. You don’t need his army, you need an elite task force. If we want this to work, we need stealth on our side.”
“We?” Ronja inquired, her heart in her throat.
“We,” Darius answered firmly. “Did you really think I was going to let you do this alone?”
“I have Roark.”
“Ronja, I have been absent from your life for eighteen years.”
“Nineteen,” she corrected him.
“Nineteen years,” he amended. “Now that I have you here, I am not letting you out of my sight. I know there is no stopping you from returning to Revinia, you have too much of your mother in you.” Darius paused. “And me.”
Ronja studied him for a long moment. Her heart was threatening to beat straight out of her chest. “I don’t know what to say,” she finally admitted.
“You don’t have to say anything. I know I am never going to be your father in the sense that I’ll teach you to read or brush your hair or take you to school, but I can help you take back your city.”
Siren Page 17
