Giselle smiles at Ash. “My room is at the end of the hall, in case you need me.”
She sashays down the corridor after Madame Clara, putting a little extra sway in her hips. Ash gives a lopsided smirk, enjoying the view. Fury spikes in me, and I mutter a few rude words as I stomp into the bedroom.
I open up the balcony windows to let in some air, then sit on the bed and take off my shoes while Ash runs the bath. It’s the first time we’ve been alone since the Barren Lands, and it feels weird. There’s a wall of tension between us that’s getting higher by the day. Ash keeps glancing over at me, like he wants to talk to me about something, but then changes his mind. Nerves fill my stomach, worrying that he’s going to ask me about the conversation he overheard with me and Elijah, and I don’t know what to say if he does.
“Natalie?” he finally says.
My tummy flips. “Yes?”
He looks at me with such deep intensity that I feel burnt by his gaze. He must notice my body tensing, because he looks away.
“Nothing,” he mumbles. “Do you want to wash first?”
“No, you go,” I say.
He pulls the modesty screen across the bath and gets undressed. I catch glimpses of him through the gaps between the panels—the curve of a biceps, the knot of muscles on his flat stomach, a naked hip. Yearning aches through me. There’s a splash of water as he slides into the bath.
A stab of pain shoots through my thighs. I look down and realize I’m digging my nails into my legs. I quickly get up, feeling flustered. I twist my hair up into a bun, then pull off my black robe, top and pants, so I’m just in my vest and underpants. I walk over to the wardrobe and find three gowns inside. I select a folk-style teal dress, with off-the-shoulder sleeves and little gold coins sewn into the hem of the pleated skirt. I lay it out on the bed quilt and begin unfastening the mother-of-pearl buttons.
There’s another splash of water, followed by the sound of footsteps padding across the wooden floor. I turn around, my heart racing. Ash stands a few inches away from me. Beads of water snake down his bare torso, sliding past his belly button toward . . . I swallow, flushing. He stretches out a hand and rests it on my hip. I can’t focus on anything but those five fingertips pressed against my skin.
He doesn’t do anything for a long moment, just gazes at me, silent and uncertain. A warm breeze flows through the open balcony windows, stirring his wet hair. Finally, he pulls me toward him, and dips his head. The kiss is slow, beautiful, intense, and I’m instantly lost in him. I lace my fingers through his inky hair and draw him closer, deepening our kiss. The beads of water on his body soak through my cotton vest, making goose bumps break out across my skin, but I don’t care; all I can focus on is his hand sliding down my back. It rests above the waistband of my underwear.
“I’ve missed you,” he murmurs, his fingers slipping under the elastic waistband of my underwear.
I have the Wrath.
The thought slaps me so hard, I stagger back from him, gasping for air. Oh God, oh God, oh God. How could I be so reckless? I gaze up at him, tears brimming in my eyes.
“What did I do?” he says, his face stricken.
I cover my mouth, trying to stifle the sob that’s going to break out at any second. How could I be so stupid? I could infect him!
He stands there for a moment, stunned and confused.
“Is it the scars?” he asks quietly.
“No! God, I told you I don’t care about those.” I blink, trying to compose myself.
“Then what is it?”
“I—” I don’t know how to end that sentence. I have the Wrath, and I’m going to die, and I love you, and I’m going to leave you, and I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.
He grabs his clothes off the floor and tugs them on.
I chase after him. “Ash—”
He pushes past me and storms out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
I sink down on the floor and cry.
27.
NATALIE
ABOUT AN HOUR LATER, I head downstairs, freshly bathed and wearing the teal dress. The coins sewn into the hem jangle as I walk, making me sound more cheerful than I feel. Around my neck is the gold pendant that Ash gave me for my birthday. My engagement ring hangs from the chain, and I tuck it under the top of my dress, hiding it from view.
I find everyone in the kitchen, watching an SBN news report about Sigur’s capture on Madame Clara’s old portable digital screen. I take a seat at the large oak table. The kitchen is warm and inviting, with terra-cotta tiles on the floor and wooden cabinets painted with colorful images similar to the mural in the hallway. Bunches of herbs hang from hooks on the cabinets, while jars of tea leaves line the shelves.
Even though she can’t see, Madame Clara moves deftly about the kitchen as she prepares a simple rice dish for supper, skirting around Lucas, who is sitting cross-legged on the floor, tying a red ribbon to Elijah’s tail, which is already covered in gaudy bows. Giselle laughs, shooing him away.
“Go play in the garden, you pest,” she says.
Lucas sticks his tongue out at her and runs to join the other children.
Giselle’s arms are laden with jars, and she places them on the table. She’s changed into a tulip yellow dress that clings to her curves, and has tied some bright orange feathers in her auburn hair. A purple bruise has started to form on her cheek where the guard slapped her.
Ash sits stoically in the corner of the room, watching the news report. He raises his eyes briefly as I sit down.
“They’re holding Sigur for questioning in Centrum,” Ash says flatly. “He’s going on trial next week for his role in burning down Black City.”
“Well, he’s still alive. That’s good news,” I say, trying to see the positive side. “Maybe Roach will send in a team to rescue him?”
“Don’t be stupid. They’re not going to rescue him. It’s too dangerous,” Ash says. “He’s as good as dead.”
I bite back my reply, stung by his harsh words. Elijah quirks a concerned eyebrow at me.
Giselle perches on the edge of the kitchen table beside Ash and begins writing some labels for the jars filled with something that looks like ground peppercorns. The gold rings on her toes glimmer as her foot keeps brushing up against his leg. Whether it’s accidental or not, I don’t know, but thankfully Ash moves his leg away before I lunge across the table and rip the feathers out of her hair.
Elijah unscrews the lid of one of the jars and sniffs its contents. His face scrunches up.
“What is that?” he says, thrusting the jar into her hand.
“Ground-up night whisper,” Giselle explains, putting the lid back on the container. “We mix it into our tea to help us relax. It’s quite potent, but my people have a natural tolerance to it, so we don’t feel its effects as much as others. It just gives us a nice, sleepy buzz.”
The digital screen beeps, and the Sentry crest appears on the monitor, with the words NEWS FLASH. Everyone falls silent as Ash turns up the volume.
“Citizens, we interrupt your program with an urgent newscast,” February Fields says. “Reports have just come in that the traitor known as Phoenix has been killed during a firefight in Iridium. Once again, the traitor known as Phoenix is dead.”
We’re all so stunned, it takes a second for the news to sink in.
“How can Phoenix be dead?” Giselle asks, confused. “You’re here.”
Ash groans slightly. “Oh no,” he mutters.
“Purian Rose will now make a statement to the nation,” February says on the digital screen.
A moment later, Rose appears on the monitor. He approaches a podium on the Golden Citadel balcony, which overlooks the city square in Centrum. The Sentry flag flutters behind him. He’s dressed in his ceremonial robes, and although his eyes are stern and f
ixed on the camera, there’s a barely disguised smirk on his lips.
There are cheers from the thousands of Sentry citizens congregated in the city square below him. Many are wearing white Pilgrim robes, their heads cleanly shaved, but others are dressed in the latest fashions—bright corset dresses and feathered hats for the women, long tailcoats and silken waistcoats for the men.
Rose addresses the crowd, talking briefly about the dark times they have faced recently, and saying that the time of hardship is over. The rebellion is defeated. The false prophet Phoenix is dead. Ash was not immortal, he was not a messiah. He was just a boy.
The image cuts to footage of the firefight in Iridium, which took place inside the Darkling ghetto. It’s hard to see clearly through the smoke and rain, but even in the poor conditions, you can make out the shape of thousands of bodies—Sentry, Darkling—piled on top of one another where they were shot down. They weren’t lying when they said it was a massacre. Suddenly a tall boy with black hair, an LLF jacket and Cinderstone powder painted on his face runs into the frame. It’s Ash! Except I know it’s not him at all. It’s Nick.
He charges toward a Sentry guard, who has his gun pointed at a woman’s head. I can’t see her face, but the long ginger ponytail is unmistakable.
I gasp. “Juno!”
Before Nick can reach her, a bomb detonates. Dirt and gore explode into the air, showering the battlefield in a rain of blood. When the dust settles, there’s a shallow crater in the ground where Nick once stood. There’s nothing left of him to identify. Nearby, Juno lies facedown in a pool of blood, unmoving, the Sentry guard clearly dead beside her.
The footage cuts back to the city square in Centrum. The people seem stunned. Then they realize they’re on camera and all begin to cheer again, as if on cue. Rose finishes his speech, warning that his forces will not rest until all the remaining rebels have been hunted down and captured. No one will threaten this great nation. The broadcast ends with the Sentry crest and the words ONE FAITH, ONE RACE, ONE NATION UNDER HIS MIGHTY.
We’re all too shocked to speak at first, saddened by Nick’s death and the certainty that Juno is either dead or seriously wounded. It makes me worry about Amy and Stuart as well. Did they make it out of Iridium alive?
Ash leans forward in his chair, hooking his hands behind his head. I want to comfort him, but I don’t think my affections would be welcomed after what happened upstairs.
Elijah gets up. “Madame Clara, may I make a phone call? I want to check in with my family.”
“The phone’s in the parlor,” she replies.
Elijah leaves the room and closes the door behind him.
“What’s my dad going to think?” Ash says quietly. “He’ll be so worried.”
“He’ll know it wasn’t you,” I reassure him. “He knew Nick and Juno were traveling together.”
Ash scrapes his chair back. “I’m going upstairs.”
I stand up, expecting to go with him.
He looks at me coldly. “I don’t want any company.”
I flinch, but what did I expect? I really hurt his feelings earlier. He leaves the room, shutting the door behind him. Giselle bounces to her feet and turns off the digital screen.
“At least they think Ash is dead. That’s good news,” Giselle says. “They won’t come looking for him in Thrace now.”
“Giselle!” Madame Clara chides. “That boy was their friend.”
Giselle bites her lip slightly. “Sorry. I don’t always think before I speak.”
“It’s fine,” I say, a little tersely. “Excuse me. I’m going to find Elijah.”
I stroll down the hallway, thinking about what Giselle said. I hate to admit it, but in a small way, Nick’s death is good news. If those guards from earlier tell anyone they saw him here, people will assume they were mistaken, since Purian Rose just proclaimed that Phoenix is dead. I poke my nose into all the rooms until I find the parlor. It’s a small but cozy room, with sumptuous pink walls and glimmering fabrics thrown over the chairs and chaise longue.
Elijah is sitting on the window ledge, talking quietly on the phone. He seems agitated.
“I know what’s at stake . . . I’m being as quick as I . . .” Elijah runs his fingers through his dark brown hair. He spots me by the doorway. “I have to go.”
He hangs up the phone.
“Is everything okay?” I ask.
“Just my dad being a jerk, as usual.”
“I’m sure he’s just eager to get his hands on the Ora. We all are,” I say. “Has there been any sighting of the Destroyer Ships near Viridis?”
“Not yet, thankfully,” he says. “I guess Purian Rose is waiting until they’ve collected all the humans who voted no in the ballot first, and then he’ll add a new addendum to Rose’s Law and come for us.”
I nod. One thing at a time, my father always used to say, and Purian Rose is a patient man. It’s not like a few thousand Bastets pose much threat to him, so there’s no need to waste his resources on them when he’s got his hands full with the rebel attacks.
We head back to the kitchen, where dinner is being served. I sit down as Madame Clara scoops some rice into a bowl and places it on the table between us. I don’t have any appetite.
Elijah starts serving us dinner, putting a few dollops of rice on everyone’s plates. He catches me looking and immediately sits down, a deep flush spreading up his neck, although I don’t know why. What’s he got to be embarrassed about? He was being nice!
“Elijah was telling us earlier on about the Tenth and your search to find his mother,” Madame Clara says. “You think she was staying at a place called the Moon Star?”
“Yes. Have you heard of it?” I say.
“No, I’m sorry, my dear,” Madame Clara replies. “There are hundreds of taverns in the city.”
“Their names tend to describe some distinctive feature of the building, though,” Giselle chimes in. “For instance, the Scarlet Sun has a bright red sun painted on its door; the Witch’s Hat has a roof in the shape of a pointy hat, that sort of thing.”
“Wouldn’t it be more convenient just to put a sign outside the building?” I say.
Madame Clara laughs. “Part of the joy is working out the name of the place. You get one chance to guess the name. If you’re right, the barmaid gives you a free shot of spiced Shine.”
“Isn’t the tavern’s name written on their tariff boards, though?” Elijah asks.
“Yes, but most merchants are either illiterate or too dimwitted by the pretty barmaids to notice it,” Giselle says.
“The locals must get a lot of free drinks,” Elijah murmurs.
Giselle laughs. “We do. But in return, we bring merchants into the taverns and keep them entertained, so they stay and buy loads of drinks. They nearly always end up having to rent out one of the tavern’s rooms to sleep it off. So everybody wins.”
Elijah catches my eye and frowns. This is really going to slow down our progress.
I sigh, pushing my plate aside. “I’m going to look for the Moon Star.”
“Should we get Ash?” Elijah says.
“I’d rather he didn’t come,” I say.
Elijah doesn’t push it as we put on our hooded robes and head out into the city.
28.
NATALIE
THE SUN HAS STARTED to set over the Mirror City, making the solar panels on all the rooftops shine with amber light. Everything about the city is warm and inviting, with laughter and music spilling out of the taverns, and children rushing through the streets, jovially chasing each other. It’s so at odds with my mood. I keep replaying the image of Nick getting blown up in my mind, and my stomach knots.
“Are you okay?” Elijah asks me as we turn down Saffron Street.
“No,” I admit.
“Giselle’s a nice girl, isn’t she?” Elijah says, clearly wanti
ng to divert my mind from thoughts of Nick and the others.
“Not really,” I say.
Elijah grins at me. “Jealous?”
“No!” I say, then look down. “Maybe. I don’t like how she looks at Ash.”
“Yeah, well, get used to it, pretty girl,” he says. “He’s famous now.”
A couple of merchants sing loudly as they pass us, their faces red from a mixture of sunburn and drinking too much spiced Shine. I tug my hood lower around my face.
“So what’s going on with you lovebirds?” Elijah asks as we wander down the street. “Things seemed tense earlier.”
“It’s nothing,” I say, then add in a rush, “We were kissing, and he wanted to take things further, and I couldn’t because I’m sick, so now he’s upset.” I blush. It’s really embarrassing talking to Elijah about my sex life, or lack thereof.
“Oh,” he says. “Maybe it’s time to tell him you’re—”
“Don’t even say it, Elijah,” I say.
“Natalie . . .”
“In the past year, I’ve lost everyone I love,” I say. “I’m not ready to lose Ash yet.”
“You’re being selfish,” he says. “And you’re hurting Ash by not telling him.”
“I know,” I whisper. “But I can’t let him go, not yet. I’m not strong enough.”
“Well, if you’re going to continue with this charade, then at least stop sending him mixed signals,” Elijah replies. “It’s cruel to lead him on if you plan to leave him.”
I chew on my nail, saying nothing. He’s right, though. It’s unfair to give Ash hope when there is none.
Elijah nods toward a nearby tavern with a green door made out of tree branches.
“Should we go in?” he says.
“We might as well start somewhere,” I say.
He holds the door open for me as we go inside.
The tavern is crammed with merchants from all walks of life—some wear fine silk shirts, pocket watches and elaborate tailcoats, others are dressed in tattered rags, their gnarled hands cupped around glasses of spiced Shine. But everyone is chatting and mingling happily, like there are no differences between them. People barely notice us as we walk up to the bar, keeping an eye out for the tariff board, but even so, we keep our hoods low and heads bowed.
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