Black City

by Elizabeth Richards

  A side door opens, and the Quorum of Three enters, all dressed in their ceremonial red robes. The courtroom falls silent as the judges take their seats on the platform in the center of the room. The first judge is a female Darkling with a long, serious face. I vaguely recognize her from my first visit to the Legion. I think her name is Logan Henrikk. She’s here because of me; since I’m a twin-blood, there has to be a Darkling on the Quorum to ensure a fair ruling.

  The second judge is a willowy man with thinning hair, thick glasses and a hooked nose. He takes the seat on the right. Finally, the third judge—a man in his late fifties, with immaculate dark brown hair and a strong chin—takes his seat between the two other judges, indicating his seniority over them. I’ve seen his face in the newspapers: his name’s Benedict Knox. He was also lead judge at the Emissary’s trial.

  Natalie glances at me. She recognizes him too. My heart sinks. If he convicted the Emissary, he might be prejudiced against Natalie and vote to convict her.

  “Be seated,” the usher says.

  I can’t concentrate as he takes us through what’s going to happen today, but that’s okay. Dad’s already explained it to me. The way it works is our Criminal Justice Bureau—the CJB—compiles a list of witnesses to bring to the Quorum of Three. The judges then call the witnesses in turn to hear their testimony. The Quorum of Three acts as both defense and prosecution to the accused, and they can ask questions to validate or discredit a witness’s statement. After all the witnesses have spoken and all the evidence has been reviewed, the Quorum of Three cast their votes and make their verdict.

  The system is rife with corruption, as it all boils down to the list of witnesses the CJB puts forward to the Quorum. Usually the witnesses go in favor of whoever paid them the most money: the victim's family or the accused. During any other circumstance, I’d be certain of being convicted, but given the fact that Natalie is the Emissary’s daughter, and she’s not the most popular person with Purian Rose right now, there’s a chance he’s gotten involved and swayed the witnesses in my favor. I just have to hope he wants to see me convicted of Gregory’s murder more than her.

  The lead judge, Benedict Knox, speaks, his deep voice commanding the courtroom.

  “The Quorum wishes to hear the testimony of Natalie Buchanan.”

  Natalie steps up to the witness stand beside the judges’ platform, her delicate hands balled into fists. She’s shaking all over. I want to hold her, kiss her, tell her everything will be all right. All she has to do is tell them I killed Gregory, and she’ll be free.

  She sits down, her eyes flicking toward mine.

  Say I did it, I silently plead.

  “Please relate your version of the events,” Logan Henrikk says. Her voice is surprisingly light and lyrical for such a serious-looking woman.

  Natalie licks her lips. She briefly tells them about my fight with Sebastian, how he’d dropped his sword during the brawl, and how Gregory had held a blade to her throat.

  “Then what happened?” Logan asks.

  “Gregory threw me on the ground beside Ash. He raised his sword, and it was clear he intended to kill us. So I grabbed Sebastian’s abandoned sword and thrust it into Gregory’s chest.” Natalie looks at me. “I did it. I killed Gregory Thompson.”

  There are excited murmurs from the viewing galley.

  Day hides her face against Beetle’s chest.

  I shake my head. Natalie must know this isn’t what I wanted.

  Natalie steps down from the witness stand and returns to her table, not looking at me.

  I’m called up next.

  The judges turn their gaze on me as I take my seat. The courtroom is so silent, I can hear my heart beating. It’s funny, when you consider a month ago I didn’t even have a heartbeat. I glance at Dad. His eyes plead with me to tell them Natalie did it.

  “In your own words, tell us what happened,” the willowy male judge says.

  I recount the events. The details are the same as Natalie’s version of the incident, up until the bit where Gregory is killed.

  “He lifted his sword over his head,” I say. “I knew he was going to kill me—he hated me, and I hated him. He murdered my mother.”

  That gets a few gasps from the spectators.

  “Go on,” Benedict Knox says.

  “I knew this was my best chance to get my revenge on Gregory for what he did,” I say. “So I grabbed Sebastian’s sword and stabbed Gregory Thompson.”

  Natalie shuts her eyes. A tear rolls down her cheek.

  I’m dismissed. Logan Henrikk frowns at me as I pass her. I’m not doing the Darkling cause much good being on trial for murdering a Tracker, but I don’t care. All that’s important is saving Natalie.

  Several other witnesses who were in the square that day are called to the stand. They tell their own versions of events. Some say I did it, the others say Natalie. It goes on like this all morning, until we’re all exhausted listening to the testimonies. It’s clear from their tense postures that the judges are starting to get frustrated. How can you determine someone’s guilt when half the people must be lying?

  So far it’s fifty-fifty between me and Natalie.

  “How many witnesses left?” Benedict Knox asks the usher.

  “Two, your honor,” he says.

  I take a deep breath.

  This is it. The end of the trial. Whatever the next two witnesses say will determine our fate.

  “Bring in the next witness,” Benedict Knox calls.

  The room goes silent as Sebastian enters the room, dressed in his Tracker uniform. A shiny gold medal in the shape of a rose gleams on his chest. So he got that promotion after all.

  He gives me an icy look as he walks by.

  I smile, allowing myself the first flicker of hope that Natalie is going to be spared.

  The people in the viewing gallery lean forward in their seats, eager to hear what he’s going to say. The word of a high-ranking official, like a Head Tracker, holds a lot of sway in court. If it comes to deadlock with the witnesses’ testimonies, what he says now could swing the Quorum’s vote.

  Sebastian sits down. The Quorum runs through a few preliminary questions before asking him to give his testimony. I don’t dare breathe.

  “This creature”—he points to me—“charged at me. We fought and during the struggle I was disarmed. Ash Fisher intended to kill me. I only got away because of Gregory Thompson. He saved my life. He was a hero.”

  “Did you see what happened next?” Logan Henrikk asks.

  He wasn’t even there! He ran away like a coward.

  Sebastian turns to look at me. A dark emotion blazes across his face.

  This is it, his chance to get his revenge on me.

  A cold smile plays across his lips.

  Sebastian looks back at the judges.

  “I saw Natalie Buchanan pick up my sword and run it through Gregory Thompson’s chest,” he says.

  “No!” I yell. “I did it, I did it!”

  There are startled noises from the viewing gallery.

  I look at Natalie. She seems almost . . . happy.

  I bury my face in my hands. No, no, no, no, no.

  Sebastian is dismissed.

  He got his revenge, all right. He knew hurting Natalie was the only way to get back at me.

  “Silence!” the usher calls out, and the courtroom falls silent once more.

  “Call in the final witness,” Benedict Knox says.

  I sink down in my seat, knowing it’s over. All the color seems to drain from the world. The girl I love is going to be executed.

  Natalie, I’m sorry.

  She smiles softly at me, holding my gaze across the courtroom. She places a hand over her heart, mirrori
ng my earlier gesture.

  I love you, she’s saying to me.

  I swallow a painful lump in my throat.

  The door swings open, and Juno Jones walks in. Her expression is blank, although there are dark circles under her eyes like she hasn’t slept in days. She doesn’t look at either me or Natalie as she takes her seat in the witness stand. She’s dressed in a tight, corseted blouse and leather trousers, her fiery red hair tied back into a slick ponytail. She’s carrying a small black bag.

  “Miss Jones, you were at the town square at the time of the riot?” Logan Henrikk asks.

  “Yes, I was there filming a report for Black City News,” she replies.

  “Did you see the attack on Gregory Thompson?” Benedict says.

  Juno shakes her head. “No, I was too far away. But we caught the incident on camera.”

  My heart starts to tremble.

  Juno produces a digital disk from her bag and hands it to the usher, who sets up a screen and digital disk player. The lights are turned out as the screen flickers to life. All around me I can see the glimmering eyes of the audience, watching enraptured.

  Footage of the riot bursts onto the screen. There are screams and shouts, and it’s like I’m back there, smelling the blood, the fear. Caught in the middle of the fighting are me and Sebastian. We’re on the ground, throwing punches at each other. Gregory holds a blade up to Natalie’s throat.

  My heart freezes as I watch the events unfold:

  I release Sebastian, and he runs out of sight, leaving his sword.

  Gregory throws Natalie to the ground.

  He raises his weapon.

  Natalie and I reach for Sebastian’s sword at the same time.

  The cameraman is knocked to the ground.

  Gregory yells off screen, “This is for Chris!”

  For a moment, all you can see are people’s feet running in front of the lens.

  There’s a clap of thunder.

  The camera is lifted to reveal—

  Me.

  Holding the bloodied sword.

  I drop the weapon to the ground.

  The room erupts into life as people talk excitedly to each other. The film is all the evidence they need. It’s clear: I’m guilty.

  Guilty.

  The word rattles around my head.

  Guilty.

  Dad sinks his head into his hands.

  Guilty.

  Logan Henrikk can’t look at me.

  “I’m so sorry, Ash,” Juno says to me as she’s led out of the room.

  “No, he didn’t do it! It was me! I killed Gregory, please believe me!” Natalie screams, tears spilling down her cheeks.

  I can’t believe she’s still trying to protect me when she knows it’s over.

  I catch her eye.

  “It’s okay,” I mouth to her. “This is what I wanted.” I hold her gaze for as long as I dare, trying to let her know that everything is going to be okay. I feel the echo of her heart beating in unison with mine.

  I hear snippets of conversation from the people in the viewing gallery.

  “Sebastian wasn’t even there when it happened . . .”

  “He ran away . . .”

  “He was lying about Natalie . . .”

  The Quorum of Three is quick to cast their votes.

  “All rise,” the usher says.

  I get to my feet, feeling suddenly unsteady on my legs.

  Benedict Knox turns to me.

  “Ash Fisher, it is the belief of this court that you are guilty of the murder of Gregory Thompson. You are hereby sentenced to death by crucifixion.”

  40

  NATALIE

  “YOU HAVE TO COME OUT at some point,” Day says from the other side of the bedroom door.

  I’m lying on a small camp bed that’s been crammed into Day’s bedroom. After the trial, Michael and Sumrina kindly let me and Polly stay with them until we could sort out a new living arrangement, now that Mother has been sent to the rehabilitation center in Centrum and we’ve been kicked out of the Sentry HQ. Her contacts in Centrum said they’d take care of us, but there’s no way I can leave Black City when it’s my only connection to Ash. Martha’s living with Roach and Beetle, as there’s no room for her here.

  The Darkling bite on my leg itches, and I scratch the scab, welcoming the pain. I want to feel something, anything, other than this grief.

  Day enters our bedroom, dressed in an elegant black corset dress that I lent her for the occasion. Beetle lingers by the doorway. He’s wearing a dark green suit. Green. Ash’s favorite color.

  “You have to come,” Day says.

  I hide my head under my pillow again so they can’t see my tears. I can’t face what’s about to happen. I’ve already witnessed the death of one person I love, the night my father was killed. I’m not going through that again. I just can’t.

  “He wants to see you,” Day says softly, lifting the pillow off my head.

  “I’m not going,” I say.

  “This is the last chance you’ll get to see him. Do you really want to miss that?” Day says.

  “I can’t watch him die, I just can’t. I love him so much, I—” My throat constricts with grief.

  Day hugs me as I cry.

  “I can’t go, I just can’t,” I say after a moment.

  The door quietly shuts behind them.

  “Is Natalie coming?” I hear MJ ask Day.

  “No,” she says. “Come on, we’ll be late.”

  The front door slams a minute later.

  I sit up and throw the pillow across the room, letting out a loud yell, screaming until my lungs are raw.

  Footsteps shuffle toward my room, and the door inches open. Polly enters, wearing her pink slippers and robe. She sits on the edge of my bed. She plays with the ends of her glossy black hair, and looks at me with wolfish eyes just like her father’s, Purian Rose. Except her eyes are full of concern, not hate.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you,” I say.

  She gives me a look that asks, Are you okay?

  My lip trembles as more tears threaten. “They’re going to kill him.”

  She hesitates, then stretches out a pale hand and lays it on top of mine. I let the tears fall. After a few minutes, I wipe my eyes, my tears all spent, and Polly gives me something close to a smile.

  I glance at the clock on the dresser. It’s eleven thirty. Ash is being executed at noon. We go to the kitchen, and I turn on the portable TV, flicking through the channels, trying to find some news coverage. Polly squeezes my hand comfortingly.

  I stop on Black City News, which is running a live feed of the execution. Juno stands in the center of the crowd, her face solemn. Thousands of people are in the town square, many thousands more filling the side streets. Juno speaks to the camera, but I don’t hear what she’s saying; I’ve turned the TV onto mute. I don’t want to listen to them talking about Ash like they have any idea who he is. To some he’s a traitor to the state for killing a Tracker, the worst kind of criminal. To others he’s a martyr, a hero to all Darklings. That’s not who he is to me. To me he’s just the beautiful boy I met under the bridge. The boy who kissed me on the rooftops. The boy who loved me. The boy who’s saving my life.

  I shut my eyes.

  * * *

  Gregory holds a sword to my throat. The blade cuts into my skin.

  “Let her go, Gregory,” Ash says.

  “Gladly,” he replies.

  He throws me to the ground beside Ash.

  Gregory raises his sword, a murderous look in his hazel eyes. He’s going to kill Ash—I know it. I have to stop him!

  “This is for Chris!” />
  There’s a crack of thunder.

  I reach out for Sebastian’s sword at the same time as Ash.

  My hand reaches the weapon first. I thrust upward.

  There’s a flash of steel, a moment of resistance before the blade cuts through Gregory’s flesh. Hot blood splashes over my hands. Oh, God . . . oh, God, what have I done?

  I turn to Ash.

  He grabs the sword from me.

  It’s dripping with Gregory’s blood.

  He drops the weapon to the ground.

  * * *

  That’s what really happened the day of the riot. I killed Gregory to save the boy I love. Juno’s film just missed that one crucial moment, because the cameraman fell to the ground.

  And now Ash is going to be executed to save me. How can I let him die alone, when he’s being crucified because of me? He needs me!

  “I need to go!” I say to Polly.

  I grab my coat and rush out of the house.

  Please let there be time!

  41

  ASH

  “RUMMY!” I SAY.

  Dad lays his cards facedown on my prison bed. “Good game.”

  “I think you’re letting me win,” I say with forced cheer.

  “Now, why would I do that?” he replies, equally forced.

  They let Dad come into the cell to keep me company in my last hours. Sigur briefly met with me this morning, which was a pleasant surprise. He must’ve pulled a lot of strings and bribed even more guards to get to see me. I lean back against the wall. Harry, a lanky prison guard with short ginger hair, approaches my cell carrying a tray. There’s a single pint glass of fresh blood on it. My last meal. He gives me a genuine smile.

  “You have visitors,” he says, placing the tray on my bed.

  My stomach fills with butterflies at the tiny flicker of hope it’s Natalie. I smooth down my unruly hair. It swirls and stubbornly sticks out at mad angles again.

  Day and Beetle appear by the bars. They don’t look me in the eye as I glance past them.

  “Did they let her come?”

  They don’t say anything.

  Dad takes my hand and gives it a squeeze. I wipe my eyes with my shirt sleeve; the prison-regulation material is thick and scratchy against my skin.