by Kass Morgan
Mary leaned over to tap the old dusty tome that Max had given her during her recovery: a pre-Cataclysm book about local herbs. In the days that Clarke and the others had been gone, her parents had taken on a new initiative, bolstering the camp’s dwindling supply of medicine by reproducing materials from the Colony and experimenting with local plants.
Clarke peered down at the leaf, memorizing each detail, but it was her mother’s hand that held her attention… warm, soft, alive. Dr. Lahiri said that her mother had healed up in record time.
“This one is called boneset,” Clarke’s mother went on, laying a plant with delicate white petals onto the table. “They used to think it helped set fractured bones, thus the name, but it was just superstition, unfortunately. It does, however, have some use in treating fevers, so I’m going to keep playing with it and see what we can develop…”
“You’re amazing,” Clarke said, hugging her mother gently, careful not to jostle her injury.
“‘Amazing’…” Clarke’s father walked in from the field, where he’d been helping dig foundations for new cabins. He dusted his hands off on his trousers with a grin. “That’s high praise coming from a girl who just stormed a fortress.”
“Hardly,” Clarke said, flushing. “I didn’t do it alone.”
“But you did it,” her mother said, her eyes shining. “We’re proud of you.”
Clarke felt proud too, looking around at the quickly rebuilding camp. Their people may have been damaged by the attack—but they hadn’t been defeated. They’d healed up and set to work.
They’d all been so busy since returning yesterday. Clarke had immediately started helping out in the infirmary; a few of the people they’d brought with them from the Stone had needed more rigorous medical care. Glass had volunteered to oversee clearing and planting the Colonists’ very first field. Wells was reinvigorated, helping out with the Council, and Luke’s engineering mind been electrified by all the new plans.
And they weren’t going to re-create what they’d had before… they had the courage to reimagine something even better. There were plans for a waterwheel in the nearby stream that could power devices in the camp, and a schoolhouse with a playground. This place wasn’t just coming back to life; it was being reborn as something joyous, a real village that Clarke couldn’t wait to be a member of.
“Clarke.”
Bellamy’s voice rose up from the doorway. Clarke turned to greet him—and her smile fell. His brow was furrowed, his shoulders tense. Something was wrong.
“Can we talk?” he asked quickly, glancing over one shoulder, his foot digging into the dirt. “It’s important.”
“Sure,” she said, hurrying carefully past her few remaining patients. “Of course.”
Bellamy’s hand was cold against hers as he led her through the bustling camp. Octavia and Anna were leading the kids in a boisterous game of tag. In the center of camp, Glass and Luke looked over a sketch of perimeter watchtowers. Bellamy pulled Clarke past the ovens, where fresh bread was baking; past Wells, who was etching Graham’s name into a grave marker; all the way out to the site where new cabin foundations were being dug.
Clarke’s stomach clenched tighter with every step. What had Bellamy seen? Was there a new danger already? Or had he thought about it and decided that he wasn’t ready to forgive her, after all?
They eventually reached a cleared patch of charred grass in the corner of the camp. Bellamy stopped and turned silently to face Clarke, his eyebrows raised as though he was waiting for some sort of a reaction.
She shook her head, glancing around, finding nothing particularly worrying here.
“What do you think?” he said, gesturing around him.
“Think of what?”
His eyes darted around nervously. “The view from this spot.”
“Um… it’s nice?”
“Good… good…” Then he took a deep breath and said, “Do you think it’d be a good spot for a cabin? For the two of us?”
Clarke’s head grew fuzzy as she tried to make sense of his words. “A cabin for…”
Then, in an instant, Bellamy’s nervousness seemed to drain away. “For us, Clarke.” He took her hand and squeezed it… and slowly got down on one knee.
“Oh,” Clarke said, her voice no more than a breath.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a silver ring.
“Bellamy,” she whispered. “Where did you get that?”
“I traded for it,” he said, almost as cavalier as usual… except for the fact that his hands were trembling.
Then she recognized it—the deep blue stone in the center—and her hands flew up to her chest, pressing hard to keep her heart from bursting out of her. “Bel, that’s… that’s…”
“A Griffin family heirloom,” he said, grinning.
“Where did you… how did you…?” She shook her head, speechless. This was the stone her ancestors had brought with them to the Colony from Earth, passed down through her family for generations.
“Like I said, I traded for it… with your mother.” He held it out to her, tentatively, almost as if there was a part of him that didn’t believe she’d take it.
But she did, cradling it in her palm. “What did you trade for it?”
“A promise,” Bellamy said, reaching out to cup her hand in both of his. “I promised to love you, respect you, honor you, protect you, defend you, tease you, argue with you…” He laughed. “And so on and so on…” His face fell serious. “For the rest of my life and yours… Clarke, will you marry me?”
Her knees gave out. She put her hands on his shoulders and let herself slide to the ground beside him, her arms slung around his shoulders, her kiss serving as the only answer he would ever need.
But just in case, she drew away and murmured against his lips, “Yes.”
They kissed again, and as they sat in the soil, entwined together, it felt to Clarke as if it wasn’t just this tiny patch of land they were claiming, it was the whole camp, the hills and mountains and rivers and lakes around them and everything beyond that.
Despite everything they’d faced since landing on Earth, right now it seemed as though the entire planet was finally saying what Bellamy was murmuring to her right now.
“Welcome home.”
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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Working on this series has been the privilege of a lifetime, and I’m so very grateful to all the people who’ve helped turn my dream into a reality.
Thank you to everyone at Alloy for your support, encouragement, and creativity at every stage of this adventure. Special thanks to Sara Shandler, Josh Bank, Les Morgenstein, Lanie Davis, Theo Guliadis, Annie Stone, Liz Dresner, and Heather David. Extra special thanks to the brilliant Joelle Hobeika, whose unmatched imagination sparked the idea for The 100; the incomparable Romy Golan, who turns strings of words into gorgeous books and keeps us from descending into chaos; and the hugely talented Eliza Swift, who is a fount of editorial wisdom, and is an absolute joy to work with.
Huge thanks to everyone at Little, Brown and Hodder & Stoughton, including Pam Gruber, Leslie Shumate, Saraciea Fennell, Emily Kitchin, and Becca Mundy.
An extra round of space hugs to the fabulous team at the Rights People who are responsible for introducing this series to readers around the world. I’d also like to thank the incredible editors, translators, designers, and publishers who’ve created such gorgeous foreign editions of The 100 books. Connecting with your readers is the most incredible privilege. Thank you for helping me share my stories.
Thank you to the dazzlingly ta
lented Jenn Marie Thorne, who helped bring this book to life in countless ways. You are a rock star, and I remain in awe of your amazing brain.
And, most of all, thank you to my readers. You’ve made me feel like the luckiest author in the world.
