Luminary: Book Two In the Anomaly Trilogy

by Krista McGee

  Alex’s first goal was to find the contraptions that release drugs into the crowd. The people of Athens must be allowed to think on their own. Alex himself must be protected against the pharmaceuticals. Given another dose, he could reveal our plan, my hiding place, everything.

  I pray again that Alex was able to accomplish that goal without being discovered. I try to see into the men’s faces below, to see if they appear drugged or clear eyed. But I am too far above them.

  I hear the door open, and I scramble to hide behind the curtain. I hold my breath and pull my feet as close to the wall as I can without falling.

  “Thalli,” Alex whispers.

  I release my breath and step out from the curtains. “Were you able to find the boxes?”

  “Yes.” Alex walks to me and we sit on the couch. “I waited until everyone was sleeping. Father insisted his army rest well for the coming battle. When all was quiet, I snuck into the hall that houses the pharmaceuticals.”

  “Where is it?”

  “Here in the palace. Father wants it nearby so he can access it whenever he deems necessary.”

  “How did you get in?”

  “Father showed me last year.” Alex rubs his eyes. “Part of my training. He explained the purpose behind the drugs and how they aid in controlling the people.”

  “Despicable.”

  “Yes, but it fits with his ideals.” Alex’s voice is sad. “He truly believes that is what’s best for the people.”

  I cannot imagine the battle raging in Alex’s mind right now. I bite my lip to remain silent. What right have I to offer any advice?

  “There is a royal entrance known only to Father and me. It bypasses the guards and leads straight to the storage facility. I removed all the medicines from the boxes and diluted them with water.”

  “Will that work?”

  “I believe so.” Alex leans back against the couch. He looks exhausted, deep circles weighing down his eyes. “There was no other option available. The drug activates when airborne. If I discarded it, I would have been infected.”

  “Now what?”

  “Father plans to head to New Hope tomorrow evening.” Alex puts his head in his hands. I can barely hear the next words. “I must stop him before he goes.”

  I place my hand on Alex’s back, rubbing his sore muscles. I think he is crying, but even if he is, I am sure he would not want me to acknowledge it. “You should rest.”

  “I can’t sleep.”

  “Your father is right about this.” I stroke his hair. “You cannot fight if you are not well rested.”

  Alex removes his hands, wipes his face, and looks at me. His blue eyes search mine. He holds my face in his hands. There is such strength and such tenderness in his touch, in his gaze. “Thank you.”

  I want to know more—what is the army doing? What are they planning? What was the king saying when he was here yesterday? Does he suspect the truth? But I remain silent. Alex is burdened enough. I do not want to add to it.

  He drops his hands, stands, and walks to his bed. He does not even remove his shoes. He pulls the bedclothes over him, covering even his face. I hear soft sobs and go sit beside him, pulling the covers down so I can see his face. The pain in his eyes makes my breath catch. I run my fingers through his hair, over and over again.

  He closes his eyes, his breath ragged, then calming, calming, until he is asleep. I stroke his face, then tuck the covers around his shoulders. He is so strong yet so vulnerable. I wish I could take away his fears, his hurt. But I cannot. So I pray. I pray for a dreamless sleep. For strength to do what he must do. I return to my spot beside the window, watching the army prepare for a battle I pray they will not fight.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  Several hours have passed. Night has fallen. I pray once again that the king’s plans will be thwarted, that the people of New Hope will be saved, and that an alliance, not a rivalry, will be established between these two places I have come to love.

  I think of Dallas and little Nicole, their grandparents and parents. That is just one family. There are dozens like them, with relationships and shared memories, love and laughter and dreams of a future. I want desperately to help give them that future. I cannot bear the thought of the alternative.

  I hear the sound of a weapon being discharged outside Alex’s door. I swallow back a scream, jumping up from the couch to face the door. Alex jumps out of his bed so quickly, the bedcovers trip him. He catches himself with his hands, peels the covers off, and moves toward the door.

  “Wait.” I run to Alex, whose hand is on the doorknob. “Do not open it. You don’t know who is out there.”

  Alex is half awake, blinking, his breathing fast. “Someone is shooting.”

  “And if you run out there, you could be a casualty.” I put a hand on his shoulder.

  Alex puts his ear to the door. He doesn’t need to. The voices out there are loud.

  “Stop him.” I assume one of the guards shouts out.

  “Stay here.” Alex pushes me back and then opens the door with the confidence of a prince. “What is happening?”

  I do not hear the reply because I am at Alex’s wardrobe, rifling through his clothing. I will not stay here. But I will disguise myself as best I can. I find a training uniform. If I stuff my hair beneath the helmet, keep my head down, I could pass as a soldier. It worked with Helen. I creep to the door and open it just enough to see out in the hallway. The commotion traveled past here, down the hall—toward the king’s chambers.

  I follow Alex’s example and push the door open and walk out like I belong in the hallway. But no one is there. A crowd of guards gathers at the bottom of the stairs that lead to the king’s chambers. There is more shouting. A shot. A shout. Another shot.

  Then silence.

  “Get out!” Alex’s scream is so loud, he sounds as if he is standing right beside me. “All of you. Out!”

  At first no one moves. But then the crowd backs up. I am pressed into a doorway—Helen’s doorway—as soldier after soldier scrambles back, turns, and walks toward the stairs that lead to the grand hall. Their faces are stunned. Shocked. Something terrible has happened.

  I do not say anything. I do not move. No one notices me here, tucked into a doorway. So many soldiers. Why were they all here? Where did they come from? And what happened?

  I wait until I am sure no more soldiers will come through. I listen for Alex’s voice, for the king. Nothing. Is Alex hurt? That thought propels me forward, up the stairs, to the king’s door. At first I see nothing. The window is wide open, along with the curtains. The light is so bright, my eyes cannot adjust. But I smell metal. And fire. And something else. Blood.

  My eyes finally adjust and I see Alex. He is kneeling on the floor covered in blood. Below him, eyes wide and staring blankly at the ceiling, is the king.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  What happened?” I look at Alex, but he is focused on his father. He is crying, not even attempting to hide his grief. He does not look away but he does point. I follow his finger to the side of the room, beneath the window.

  “Peter.” I rush to his side. He has been shot just below his chest. I cover the wound with my hand, but blood seeps between my fingers.

  “For Helen,” he whispers.

  “You killed the king for Helen?” I stroke damp hair away from his face.

  “He . . . killed . . . Helen.”

  “I know.”

  “No. More. Killing.” Every word is an effort.

  “Are there others here?” I think of Berk, of Carey and Kristie. Did they bring their own army?

  “No.” Peter’s breathing is labored. “I came alone. Secret entrance.”

  He found the entrance Helen told me about. “What can I do?”

  “Take me to her chamber.” Peter tries to sit up, but his face turns deathly white.

  “You cannot move, Peter.”

  “I am dying.” With a deep breath, he seems to regain some strength. “Please don’t make me di
e in this room.”

  Alex is still frozen in grief, in shock. I remove my hand from Peter’s wound. His shirt is soaked in blood. He will not make it to Helen’s room. It is impossible. But how can I do anything but try to grant him his dying wish?

  I bend down behind Peter and try to lift him. I cannot. He places his hands at his sides, and with an effort that costs him precious minutes of life, he assists me. When he is standing, I come to his side, holding him up.

  We barely make it down the stairs. I am sure he will collapse with every step. But he keeps walking. I lean my whole side against him as I reach with one hand to open Helen’s door. I walk him to her bed, then lay him down on it.

  “Smells like Helen.” Peter smiles one last time, closes his eyes, and is gone.

  I cannot leave Peter. Not yet. Not like this. I go into Helen’s bathing room and wet a cloth. I remove the soiled shirt and clean Peter’s chest, face, and hands. It takes several trips, several cloths. The hole the weapon carved into Peter’s abdomen stops leaking blood. I think of the sacrifice he made. The love that impelled him to do this. I cannot save him. I cannot even bury him. So I do the only thing I can.

  Finally he is clean. I place the covers from Helen’s bed over his body. I close my eyes. I wish John were here. He would know what to say to the Designer. I have no words. My heart feels as cold as Peter’s skin. As empty as his eyes. I want to stay here, to hide from the pain I know Alex is feeling. But I cannot stay. Alex needs me.

  The hallway is still empty, as is the hallway leading to the king’s chamber. There is very little noise outside.

  The king is dead.

  I enter the king’s room, and Alex is in the same spot as when I walked with Peter out of the room. This time, though, Alex looks at me.

  “I couldn’t stop him,” he says, his eyes on the still form of his father.

  I gaze at the window. Peter must have entered through there. I walk over—there is a balcony that overlooks the city wall. I see a length of fabric looped around one of the columns. Peter threw it up from below, scaled the wall, and broke through the window. I am not glad Peter died. But I am glad someone else killed the king. Alex could not have lived with himself had he done this.

  “You need to leave.” Alex has no emotion in his voice. He continues to stare blankly, not meeting my eyes. “I will show you the exit. No one needs to know you were here. We will hold the funeral for my father, then I will be made king. After that, I will come to New Hope. There will be peace.”

  Alex says nothing more. There is no joy in knowing he will rule Athens, no joy in knowing New Hope is saved. His father is dead. His mother, his sister . . . both dead. I do not understand family, but I do understand that losing people you love is incredibly painful.

  I follow Alex into the king’s wardrobe. There is a panel in the back that leads to a hallway. We walk through that hallway, down stairs, around corners. It is silent and cold. We reach a wall.

  “I do not have a horse for you.” Alex sounds as if he is miles away. “I am sorry.”

  “I want to walk.” I touch his shoulder. “It will be all right.”

  I turn to leave, but Alex grabs my hand, turns me around. He is coming out of shock. His eyes change, his face drops as the reality of what happened comes crashing in on him. I pull him to me, and his head falls onto my shoulder.

  He grips me tightly, his arms around my waist. He breathes in deeply, then releases a sob. His whole body is shaking, and I fear I cannot hold his weight. He can barely stand. I bend my knees and we sink to the floor, holding each other.

  He is weeping, heartbroken. I can only imagine what is in his mind right now. I run my hands through his hair, down his back. I wish I could take away his pain. But I can do nothing. Tears fall down my cheeks, but I hang on to Alex. We sit there until we hear guards shouting his name. Alex pulls away and wipes his face with his palms.

  “I should go.” I stand, feeling empty and cold as I move away from Alex.

  Alex stands as well. He looks toward the hallway and then back at me. With a nod, he pushes a stone on the wall and the evening sky welcomes me—outside the walls of Athens, back to New Hope.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  Why didn’t you tell me you were leaving?” Berk does not even greet me.

  As soon as I entered the city, crowds gathered around me, asking all kinds of questions. I cannot answer them yet. I asked to be alone. So I returned to my room in Carey and Kristie’s house. But Berk followed me.

  “I couldn’t tell you.” I look at Berk. His face is hard, angry. “You would have stopped me or followed me.”

  “Of course I would have.” Berk’s eyes soften just a fraction. I can see the battle taking place behind them. “You should never have gone to Athens alone. Again.”

  “I had to.”

  “No, you did not.” Berk rarely raises his voice, but he is raising it now. “They want nothing more than to kill us, and they will use you to find out how best to do it.”

  “They will not kill us.” I think of all that happened in Athens, all I have yet to tell the people of New Hope. I think of Alex watching me as I left. Heartbroken. Alone. “Please, I need to be alone, just for a while. Then I will tell you everything.”

  Berk’s face falls. “You used to tell me everything without me having to ask.”

  I want to comfort him, but something holds me back.

  “I thought you might want this.” Berk reaches into a large bag slung over his shoulder and pulls out a violin. It is older, like the one from the music room in Athens. It is not in good shape, but it looks beautiful to me.

  I take the instrument from his hands. His fingers brush mine, and I feel the connection we have always had there, in that touch. I want to tell him everything will be fine, that all will be the way it was. But I cannot say that. I do not know that.

  Berk leaves and I shut the door behind him. I wipe down the surface of the violin. I wish I had oil to rub life back into the dried wood, new strings to replace the old. But I hear the music in my mind before I even lift the instrument to my chin, and I thank the Designer for this gift.

  I close my eyes and ignore that the violin is slightly out of tune, that the sound is not exactly what I would like it to be. I think back to my violin, perfectly tuned, beautiful, well kept, but trapped in the State. Like I was. I decide the imperfections of this violin, stored in the freedom of New Hope, are far more beautiful.

  I play Athens, my imprisonment and false accusations. I play Helen’s murder. I play the king’s death, Peter’s sacrifice. And throughout, I play Alex. He is a melody that repeats in every refrain, in every movement of my bow. I see him bending over the still form of his father, grief and relief battling in his face. He has suffered so much. I play the comfort I would like to give him, the hope for a better future I want him to have.

  I finish playing and I feel the peace that always comes with playing music for the Designer. I close my eyes in thanks. I want to play more, to stay longer, to be alone with this violin, alone with the Designer. But I cannot. I must leave this chamber. I must tell the others what happened. They deserve to know they are safe. They deserve to know Peter paid the ultimate price for their safety. I caress the violin once more before placing it on the sleeping platform and moving toward the door.

  Never has good news seemed so difficult to deliver.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  Diana knew Peter was dead. I do not know how, a sense that siblings have perhaps. But when I went to her, she looked at me, heartache in her eyes.

  “As soon as he found out what happened to Helen, he knew it was the king’s decision,” Diana says. “Helen told Peter about her biological father. He knew the king planned to kill Helen.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “Tell me what happened.” Diana wraps her arms around herself. “Everything.”

  I think of Peter, blood seeping from his body, that last moment as his life drained from him. “He was very brave.”


  “I know that.” Diana closes her eyes. “But I want to know what happened. How did he die?”

  I do not want to relive those moments, but I cannot deny Diana the facts she so desperately wants. I tell her everything—how Peter found the secret entrance, how he climbed up the walls of the palace, how he killed the king and was killed by his guards. I tell her how he made his way back to Helen’s room so he could die among her things.

  “He loved her.”

  “Very much.”

  Diana clears her throat. “Too much, I think. If he loved her less, maybe he would still be here.”

  “Peter did not just avenge Helen.” I lean toward Diana. “He saved all of New Hope. He delivered the Athenians from the terrible rule of King Jason. He is a hero.”

  “I would rather have him here.” Diana uses both hands to wipe her eyes and then she stands. “You need to tell the others. They are preparing for battle. They need to know that isn’t necessary.”

  “I will tell them.” I stand beside Diana. “They will know what Peter did for them.”

  “You’ll understand if I don’t come?”

  “Of course.”

  I leave the room, exit the house. All of the town seems to be waiting outside Diana’s door. They are quiet. A few are crying. They have guessed the truth about Peter. They know he left and did not return. They know I insisted on seeing Diana before speaking to them. They know he is dead. I wish that meant I did not have to say the words.

  “People of New Hope.” I try to speak as loudly as I can, but my voice fails me. “There will be peace.”

  The people release a collective sigh. There is too much sadness, too much fear for anything more than that. Cheering would be out of place.