by Kody Boye
“But I thought,” Daniel begins, “that they were being held back—”
“At the Divide,” Mother Terra says. “For the most part, yes, they are.”
“For the most part?”
The Revered Mother reaches up to press two fingers to her chin and taps her lower lip before saying, “We do not possess a true border to the north, as cost, and terrain, would have prevented its construction from occurring. Because of that, we have been forced to hold back the North at choice locations along the Divide, and hope that their troops do not make it through.”
“But obviously some of them did,” Daniel says.
“Sadly, yes. They have.” Mother Terra pauses and once again considers the two of us. What she wonders I cannot know, but in the moments that follow, I feel, it will not matter.
Soon, she is opening her mouth and speaking. “Kelendra,” she says.
“Yes?” I ask, lifting my eyes to face her.
“I feel it is in your best interest to let you know what decision the acting judge of the Glittering City has come to regarding your Purpose.”
I stiffen.
Mother Terra nods, as if knowing my plight, and says, “He has agreed to your decision. You will become, and act as, the Commandant’s Ambassador to the Great South’s Army. Congratulations, Kelendra Cross. You will begin your Designated Purpose immediately upon leaving this place.”
Nine
I don’t know what to say, what to do, how to think, how to act. So, instead, I simply watch her, and wait for any further instruction.
“You mean,” Daniel says, “she… won?”
“In a matter of speaking, yes,” Mother Terra replies. “She stated her Purpose, it was given merit by the Countess, accepted by the Commandant, and then granted legal authority by the judge of the Glittering City.”
“This is ridiculous!” He stands. “She’s only sixteen! How can you let her act as an emissary to the war?”
“Times are changing, Mr. Cross. Perhaps this is the shift needed to inspire our troops to move forward.”
“By putting her in danger? Are you out of your mind?”
“Stop!” I cry, standing. “Just stop!”
Daniel and Mother Terra turn their eyes on me.
Chest heaving, cheeks burning, I take a step back so I can look at both of them without having to turn my head and says, “I’m tired of everyone making decisions for me, thinking for me, acting for me. I may only be sixteen, and it may seem like a dangerous choice, but it’s my choice, and I have to be the one to make it.”
“Kel,” Daniel starts.
“Don’t start with me, Daniel. I know you care, and I appreciate it, but I’m tired of being controlled.”
“I’m not trying to control you.”
“Maybe not, but you’re not supporting me either.”
He stares at me—eyes wide, mouth agape. His jaw tightens after a moment and a sigh escapes his lips before he says, “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”
“I’ve already been hurt. I’ve had my whole existence uprooted, have had attempts made at my life twice, and now I’m struggling to figure out what my place in this world is. If I can do something—anything—to make the world better, safer, I’m going to do it.”
“Brave girl,” Mother Terra says.
Daniel offers no response.
I swallow the lump in my throat and watch as the Gentlewoman turns her head toward the SAD standing outside. She parts her lips, as if to speak, then frowns before saying, “I imagine there is nothing more hospitable for the two of them than… this.”
“No, Revered Mother. The barracks are full, and not as defensible as the cell block.”
“I see.” She turns her attention back on me and Daniel. “I assume the two of you were fine with this arrangement, considering the state I found you in?”
“It isn’t comfortable,” I reply, “but… it’s better than nothing, I suppose.”
“Good.” She steps out of the cell, her white heels clicking on the concrete floor at our feet. “I will arrange for the two of you to be housed in more adequate quarters as soon as possible. Given the time, however, there is little I can do.”
“We understand,” Daniel offers, though his tone is low, his voice gravely with hate.
The Gentlewoman offers him only a cursory glance before saying, “Until the morning, then.”
The SAD steps forward, and leads Mother Terra down the hall without another word in response.
As the reverberations of their footsteps die down, Daniel turns his head and offers me a cold look.”
“What?” I ask. “You’re not going to lecture me, are you?”
“I—”
“Because if you are,” I cut in, “don’t. I’ve already made up my mind.”
“I’m just worried about you is all. You can’t blame me for that.”
“I don’t, Daniel.”
“Then why are you angry with me?”
“I’m not angry with you,” I say.
“Then what are you angry at?”
That I can’t really answer. Before this, I would’ve said my situation—my inability to control what was truly around me. But now?
Now, I think, I’m scared.
Scared of being killed. Of being worthless. Of not being able to help the people who can’t help themselves. These are the things that immediately come to mind, but are they right? Are they purposeful? What, I dare to think, compels me to be so afraid? Surely it isn’t a gun, because death, as final as it seems to be, is always one step ahead.
Frowning, I settle down in the seat beside Daniel and cup my face in my hands.
“Are you all right?” Daniel asks.
“I wish I could say I was,” I reply, “but honestly… I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”
“You could find a different Purpose.”
“It’s already been approved.”
“So?”
“So?” I laugh. “You think they would approve of me changing my Purpose after they’ve gone through so much trouble to finalize it?”
“I don’t think they’ve gone through that much trouble at all.”
“It’s the government, Daniel. They see everything as troublesome no matter how important or inconsequential.”
To this, Daniel has no reply.
Sighing, I lean back against the wall and consider my position on the matter, but find that my mind is too weary, my body unwilling to offer the strength to carry on my moral crusade.
“I’m tired,” I say. “I need to sleep.”
“We both do,” Daniel says.
We lie down; and though the lights outside the cell are dimmed, the light only does more to offer perspective on our situation.
Here we are, a Beloved Couple, lying within a jail cell for our own protection. How pathetic is that?
With one last sigh, I close my eyes and take a deep breath.
There is little we can do but wait.
For that, I shut off my mind and attempt to chase a dream.
Unfortunately, I know it won’t come easily.
I fall asleep sometime after lying down for the night, and awaken to a tapping on the bars nearby.
“Beauty,” a voice says. “Grace.”
I open my eyes.
A SAD stands outside the cell, her shock baton drumming along the bars.
“Wake up,” she says. “You’re to be transported to the Lion’s Mouth Motel.”
“We’re awake,” Daniel says without turning to see if I truly am. “Right, Kelendra?”
“Right,” I say. I push my hair behind my ears and wait for him to throw his legs over the side of the hard mattress before sliding alongside him and doing the same. “Where is this hotel you speak of?”
“Deeper in the city. Now come. The Revered Mother has already arranged for transport.”
“Can you give us a minute?” Daniel asks, irritation clouding his voice.
The SAD taps her foot impatiently.
; With a rough sigh, Daniel rises, and turns to offer his hand to me. “Guess we’re in a hurry,” he says.
“I guess,” I reply.
We struggle to put our shoes on at a pace the SAD outside deems appropriate, but soon, we are marching down the hall and making our way down a different set of corridors than the ones we’d passed through last night.
“Are we not going out front?” I ask.
“No,” the SAD says. “There’s too many eyes, too many chances. You’re safer going out the rear entrance.”
I’m not sure what to say in response, so I remain silent and continue to follow—wondering, the whole while, if we are even safe going out the headquarters’ back entrance. It seems like we are being followed everywhere we go.
Not everywhere, my conscience offers. You were safe here, in this place, in that cell.
Maybe, but just because we were safe here does not mean we will be safe elsewhere.
I try not to think about this as we step out of the building and into the bright morning light, but find myself doing just that.
This relocation is only a temporary solution to a seemingly-permanent problem.
The war won’t end in a day, in a week, in a month, probably not even a year.
If we are forced to constantly relocate, how will we live a normal life?
This life isn’t normal, I am forced to think. You know that.
Sadly, I do; and because of that, can only sigh.
As Daniel steps forward to open one of the backseat doors, completely dismissing the SAD and her attempt to perform her task, I thank the woman, slide into the car, and buckle my seatbelt while Daniel slides in beside me.
Soon, we are moving out a rear entrance and into a back alley.
I don’t bother to question the SAD as she maneuvers the vehicle through the tight space and onto the main roads.
My thoughts rampage throughout my conscience as we make our way into the deep parts of the city, where skyscrapers are clustered together like small children and where people make their way as if they are ants tunneling in and out of a mound of dirt. Watching them, I feel the same sense of disdain I did in the lusher, more vibrant parts of the Glittering City, and long to be as ignorant as them.
Beside me, Daniel expels a breath and says, “Should we talk about what might happen next?”
“Not now,” I say. “At the hotel.”
He clears his throat and turns his attention out his own window, leaving me to my own thoughts and desires.
It isn’t long before the buildings that are so densely clustered together begin to even out. Though still tall, the buildings that appear next gain a hint of definition. No longer are they all shimmering chrome. Rather, they begin to become smaller, more squat, and seem to represent something akin to an entertainment district much like the one Mother Terra and I passed while making our way to Lips. It seems like a lifetime ago that it happened, but in realizing it’s only been about a week-and-a-half, I realize just how quickly my life has been changing.
Don’t think about it.
I know I’m bound to become enraged with the Process and everything that’s occurred throughout, and for that reason, tighten my jaw and ball my right hand into a fist at my side.
The Lion’s Mouth Hotel—which is proudly proclaimed by a golden sign on a swirling banner at its face and guarded by two golden statues of large cats with crimson manes—comes into view a short moment later. A steady stream of cars, bearing men and women who look exquisite but whose purposes don’t strike me as anything governmental, make their way along a small drive before the building, and are greeted by men in fine red suits who take their baggage and usher them into the hotel.
At the doorway wait two SADs, who step forward upon our vehicle’s approach.
“Exit quickly,” the SAD who has driven us here says.
Daniel and I move like clockwork: unbuckling seatbelts, opening my backseat door, then exiting the vehicle. The SADs stepping forward flank us and nod toward the doorway. Given that the women are armed, their presences instantly draw the attention of those entering the hotel.
“Don’t panic,” I mumble under my breath.
Daniel laces his arm in mine.
I stiffen.
He lifts his eyes.
We climb the few steps that separate us and entering the building.
Flushed in gold, and blindingly bright, the lobby—which bustles with activity and hosts a menagerie of individuals from all walks of life—instantly causes my chest to tighten.
The man in the corner—
The woman at the desk—
The couple walking beside us—
The people at our backs—
Any could be individuals that mean us harm.
Thankfully, we forgo the formalities I imagine we are meant to partake in, and make our way toward a series of elevators that lead to higher floors.
“We’ll be safe here?” I say as we enter one. “Right?”
The SADs don’t reply.
The idea that even they can’t guarantee our safety is both sobering and terrifying.
Unlike before—when, in the Spire, and beside Ceyonne—I don’t bother to take note of the floor we arrive at. Rather, I follow the SADs quickly, thankful that no one had managed to slide into the elevator alongside us and follow behind.
At a simple redwood doorway, the SAD who’s been at Daniel’s side draws a keycard, swipes it through a simple machine, then leans forward and opens the door. She then says, “These are your quarters.”
We step inside.
The SADs follow suit.
The room—which is filled with plush red-and-white-speckled furniture, and is absolutely gargantuan—offers us a sweeping view of what I now imagine is considered the ‘Downtown’ section of the Glittering City.
Daniel turns to face our protectors.
“You will remain here for the time being,” the SAD says. “You will summon for us when needed by knocking outside the door. You will order food through us, ask for room service through us, and otherwise request any necessities through us. Your safety cannot be guaranteed otherwise. Do you understand?”
“Yes ma’am,” Daniel says.
The SADs leave the room without a word in response.
I immediately let out a trembling sigh and wrap my arms around myself in the moments after.
“Well,” Daniel says, spinning to survey the room. “I didn’t think we would be so well accommodated.”
“I don’t feel safe, Daniel.”
“Neither do I,” he says, then laughs, “but I feel like that’s supposed to be the state of things now. Don’t you?”
I don’t know—and that is what terrifies me.
I’d thought, throughout all my life, that being a Beautiful One would be magnificent. I thought I’d be swept away for a life of splendor, grandeur, and would never have to worry about a single thing. I thought I’d be cared for, sheltered, given the utmost protection from everyone and everything. Worst of all: I thought I’d be loved.
Loved.
What a fickle word to speak of, what a horrible thing to believe in.
It is obvious, now, from the state of things, that people hate me just because of who I am.
It is, without a doubt, a devastating truth.
Closing my eyes, I take a long, deep breath, then open them to find that Daniel is staring directly at me.
“What—” I start.
“You’re crying,” he says.
Then I feel them—the tears, brushing down my face and making their way along the curve of my jawline.
“I—” I continue, but am stopped by the emotions flooding me. “I—”
“What’s wrong?” Daniel asks. “Why are you upset?”
“I’m not upset!” I say. “I’m angry! Mad! Frustrated!”
“Why?”
“Because this isn’t the way my life is supposed to be!” I cry, though it borders on a scream. “I was supposed to be respected by the masses, revered
by my people, and this is what I get?” I jerk my arm about and growl. “Just… God!”
I collapse against the wall and slide down it until I rest on the floor. Then I bow my head to my knee and cry.
Daniel is there beside me instantly. Crouching down, placing a hand on my shoulder, he tightens his fingers around my skin and allows me to have my moment in silence, though judging by the heat radiating off his flesh, he, too, is just as frustrated and angry as I am.
“I wish I could say more,” he says. “But… Kel… your actions have partially put you here.”
“I know,” I reply.
“So… what do you plan on doing?”
I lift my eyes to face him. “I plan on getting even.”
“How?”
“I don’t know. That’s why I have to wait.”
“For what?”
“Mother Terra.”
We keep silent after my declaration. While Daniel wanders the room, messing with the various gadgets and ordering things in a way that he feels will keep us content, I look out the window and try to imagine what I will do once Mother Terra arrives. She’ll come soon, I know; and with her she’ll bring a storm unlike any I could’ve ever possibly imagined.
“Daniel,” I say, turning my head.
“Yeah?” he asks.
“Sit down. You’re making me nervous.”
He sits, though reluctantly at that. “What all do you plan on asking Mother Terra?” he says, leaning forward to examine me as if I am one of his mechanical devices meant to be studied.
“What the next phase of my Purpose will be.”
“Do you think it’ll get made public?”
“I don’t know. Does it?”
“Wednesday Givings had hers announced on live television. I… don’t know if they’d do the same for yours, given the state of unrest surrounding the war, but… I honestly wouldn’t be surprised.”
Was my appearance in the media not the reason why I was targeted, though? Surely the woman who bombed several SADs in the attempt on my life saw me on the magazine? And that man who tried to shoot me? How would he have known who to target if not for my face on the television? To think that my Purpose, monumental as it happens to be, would be made public seems astronomically odd, but maybe that’s because I’m thinking inside the box.
