When he finally spoke, his voice was a husk. “I am so sorry.”
“What happened happened,” she answered. “I’ll never forget it, but I am tired of letting it hold me back.” As soon as the words left her lips she knew they were true. She felt strangely light, as if her bones were filled with air. Warmth spread from her core to the tips of her fingers. Charged by the heat, she continued. “Roark.” He looked up at the sound of his name. The whites of his eyes were laced with red. “I … ”
“Forgive me.”
She shook her head firmly. “There is nothing to forgive.”
Ronja felt the world tilt as Roark dropped to his knees, his head bowed. “I swear,” he said, his voice so low and raw it was almost unrecognizable. “As long as I’m alive, as long as you want me around, I’ll protect you, Ronja.”
A part of her wanted to tell him he was being dramatic, that she did not need his protection. But as she gazed down at him, she saw not a warrior in search of validation, but a boy seeking redemption. He needed her. She would be a fool to pretend she did not need him.
Sliding off the hammock, Ronja knelt before him, taking his trembling hands with her bandaged ones. He locked eyes with her, shock rippling across his tortured features. “I’ll protect you, too,” she whispered, steadying his shivering gaze with her own. “Maybe, when this is all over, we could … ”
“Yes.”
Ronja blinked. “What?” The gold flecks in his eyes flared, sunlight pouring through a lattice of leaves. He squeezed her injured hands lightly, careful not to apply too much pressure.
“It might be awhile,” Ronja warned nervously, her wrapped hands fidgeting in his. She wondered if it was possible to sweat through the thick wreath of bandages. “I need time, and with everything going on … ”
Roark was shaking his head, smiling softly. He bent forward and pressed his soft lips to her brow. “I’ll wait for you, Ronja Fey Zipse. We are on the brink of a new world; I’ll wait for you there.”
Ronja felt her throat tighten. Her vision clouded, her head buzzed. She floated somewhere above her body, watching as the scarred girl from the outer ring knelt before the heir to the city. Watching as he stared at her like she was the world encased in skin and bone. Confusion and euphoria raced through her blood. What am I waiting for? she wondered vaguely.
Then Roark pulled away, releasing her hands. “Do you want to be alone?” he asked.
Her eyebrows knit in confusion. “What?” she asked. He chuckled, waiting for her to catch up. “Oh. Yeah, yeah that would be good.”
“What are you going to sing?”
Skitz. Ronja had not even considered that. She had listened to hundreds of songs since her introduction to real music months ago, but singing and listening were completely different birds. “I have some ideas,” she lied fluidly.
For a moment, they were still, listening to the distant hum of the Belly, basking in the tentative promise of the future. Ronja was seized by the urge to reach out and touch him again. Before she could, Roark got up. “I should let you focus,” he said regretfully.
“Right.”
“The rest of the recorders are in the top drawer. Do you know how they work?”
“I can figure it out,” she assured him, following his example and getting to her feet. “Just wait at the end of the hall, make sure no one comes back here.”
“Of course.” Roark turned with the grace of a dancer and strode toward the exit. He stopped before ducking through the door and threw a coy smile over his shoulder. “May your song guide us home, love.”
13: Charlotte
Ronja knelt on the luxurious carpet, the three recording devices laid out before her like playing cards. Thoughts darted in and out of her mind like gnats. Some were needle sharp, others soothing. In the end, they belonged to her and that was enough.
We are on the brink of a new world; I’ll wait for you there. A smile crept across her mouth, reopening the swollen cut she had forgotten. Something deep in her ribs stirred, long dormant after nearly two decades of solitude. It was not a promise. It was something different, something foreign. It was hope.
Ronja reached out and turned on the recorders with three successive clicks. She knew exactly what she was going to sing.
She finished recording the song as quickly as possible. She had to stop and erase the results twice, once because she could barely hear herself, once due to an unexpected voice crack that would put a twelve-year-old boy to shame.
When she was satisfied, she poked her head out of the tent and beckoned at Roark. He was seated at the mouth of the tunnel, his long legs sprawled before him as he stared into oblivion. She waved frantically until he noticed her and sprang to his feet. He jogged over to her.
“All done?” he asked unnecessarily.
Ronja nodded. Her throat was raw, her stomach felt like it was trying to digest itself.
“You should get some breakfast,” he suggested. “Hopefully Delilah saved you some, though with James and Sam around I wouldn’t count on it.”
She cleared her throat. “Yeah,” she agreed lamely. Still, she did not move to leave. Roark looked as if he wanted to say something and was straining to hold it back. “I should go,” Ronja finally said. She shoved the curtain aside and stepped out into the alcove. Their elbows brushed, sending heat singing along her nerves.
“We should probably stay away from each other today,” Roark blurted.
Ronja peeked back at him over her shoulder, her eyebrows lifting.
The boy smiled regretfully. “If Wilcox sees us, he’ll assume we’re plotting something.”
“We are.”
“Exactly.”
“Good point.”
Go, Ronja urged herself. Still, she did not budge. She sifted through her thoughts like a library catalogue, searching for something to say. “What time are we leaving?”
Roark scanned the empty hall, then refocused on her. “Not sure yet, things are still a bit hazy with the captain.”
“Okay.” Get going. With a heroic mental push, Ronja forced her muscles into motion, striding off down the hall with feigned ease. “See you later, shiny,” she called back to him.
“Until then, singer,” his words floated after her.
Her journey back to her tent was a blur. She did not even bother to lift her hood as she wove through the crowds, taking the full brunt of the suspicious stares. Her brain was clogged with a thousand vibrating thoughts, leaving no room for her to care. We are on the brink of a new world; I’ll wait for you there. Her lips curled into a smile.
When she arrived at her quarters, Georgie was already gone, likely running amuck with her new gang of friends. Without a Singer, Georgie was a social savant. The adults doted on her. The children were enamored with her. Many of them had never seen the light of day. Eleven was the cutoff for leaving the Belly. They fed on her tales of sunlight and rain and plants that grew without the aid of ultraviolet lamps. Though she would never admit it, Ronja knew Georgie reveled in the positive attention. She deserved nothing less after a childhood marred by cruelty and ostracism.
Taking advantage of the abandoned tent, Ronja dove into cleaning like a demon. She was not neurotic about tidiness like Iris but found a certain solace in menial labor. She unspooled her bandages so she could better tackle the project, knowing full well the surgeon would make her regret it. Her knuckles were capped with brown scabs that spidered each time she made a fist. They did not appear to be fractured, though. She had broken enough fingers that she was familiar with the particular ache.
Stripping down to a pair of soft leggings and a tank top, Ronja shoved her mattress and nest of blankets outside. Her neighbor, a woman named Harriet with ashen hair and a sweet disposition, judged her intent and lent her a broom. Ronja thanked her and swept the floor until it was spotless. When that was done, she replaced the mattress, shook out the quilts, and returned them to the bed. She even smoothed the wrinkles from the sheets and tucked them in, just how Georgie like
d.
After picking up a quick lunch at the fire, which to her relief was deserted, Ronja hauled her bag of laundry to the bathhouse. She spent the better part of an hour by the pool, scrubbing the oils and stains from her clothes. Several other women were engaged in the same task nearby. They kept to themselves, chattering mindlessly and occasionally passing her uncertain looks.
No matter how she tried to focus on the harrowing night ahead, her thoughts kept bounding back to Roark like a stubborn puppy. We are on the brink of a new world; I’ll wait for you there.
Would he really? The thought made her wince as she battled a stain, but she knew it was worth considering. There was no doubt in her mind that Roark cared for her, that he would protect her with his life if necessary. Still, he was a notorious flirt. Evie and Iris had spilled the details on his past one night in their tent. To say the shiny was a player would be an understatement. It did not bother her, exactly. Among the Anthemites, relationships were casual affairs. There were several dozen married couples and a handful of steady partners in the Belly, but for the most part, the revolutionaries moved about as they pleased.
“People pretty much do whatever they want down here,” Evie had explained one night by the fireside. The techi had taken a generous swig from the nicked bottle of wine they were sharing, then held up a tattooed finger. “As long as it’s consensual. I mean, before Iris … ” She whistled long and low, a sound as wistful as it was vulgar.
“What was that, darling?” Iris asked sweetly from the other side of the circle.
“Nothing, dear.” Evie leaned toward Ronja, cupping her hand around her mouth. Her breath was heavy with the scent of red wine. “If you ever have any questions or need anything, you just let me know.”
Blushing faintly at the memory, Ronja gathered her sopping clothing and stood with a grunt. She was still growing accustomed to the casual manner sex was discussed in the Belly. Cold droplets landed on her bare feet as she lugged the bundle of garments to the drying racks. She slung the articles over the wooden bars, stewing.
She had never been in a relationship before, though it was not for lack of want. Henry had a revolving door of girlfriends. Despite his good looks and unfailing kindness, she had never viewed him as anything but her brother. She knew he felt the same way. The rest of Revinia saw her as a filthy mutt. Finding love had never been in the cards for her, so she gradually let the idea wither. Now, she was free to love. She was free to have anyone who wanted her in return. That did not mean she had to be naive.
“Ronja.”
Her thoughts scattered, dust blown off the cover of a rambling book. The dress she grasped slipped through her fingers and landed on the floor with a wet slap.
“Charlotte,” she breathed.
Ronja had only seen the girl at a distance over the past weeks. Charlotte looked older than she remembered. She was older, she reminded herself with a jolt. Her baby fat was disappearing, replaced by high cheekbones and full lips. Her corkscrew curls formed a halo around her face; her large brown eyes matched her skin. They were familiar. Steady, never soft. They were the eyes of her brother, down to the thick lashes and inquisitive spark.
“I’ve been looking for you,” Charlotte finally admitted.
The younger girl laced her fingers before her, rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet. The habitual motion sent Ronja barreling into the past. To afternoons spent at the Romancheck house. Studying with Henry at the kitchen table while Charlotte read on the hearth. The soft patter of rain on the roof, the shriek of the kettle. They were treasured memories, some of the only times she felt truly at ease beneath The Music.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” Ronja replied flatly. “For weeks.”
“I know.” Silence fell, heavier than the waterlogged air of the bathhouse. “I know Henry told you to take care of me, but I was in and out of this place all the time growing up. I have friends, people who look out for me.”
“I know,” Ronja assured her. Charlotte lived in a tent next to a large family near the tracks. She ate at their fire and looked out for the younger children as if they were her own siblings. “But it was his last wish. Would it kill you to let me check up on you once and awhile?”
Charlotte dropped her gaze to her feet, shame creeping across her features. “Cos told me you think I blame you,” she said quietly. Ronja tensed, preparing for an onslaught. “I just wanted to tell you that I don’t. I blame Henry. He always had to be the skitzing hero. He … ” She pressed a hand to her quivering lips, her eyes filling with shivering light.
Ronja stepped forward and enveloped her in a fierce hug, rocking her side to side. Charlotte did not make a sound, though her entire form shuddered. “I am so sorry,” the older girl whispered into her hair. “I miss him, too.”
Charlotte sniffed, pulling away from Ronja and wiping her nose with the back of her wrist. “Yeah,” she said thickly. “I just thought I should tell you while I had the chance.”
“What do you mean?”
Charlotte tilted her head to the side, an ironic smile splitting her pained mask. She rose on her tiptoes and curled her hand around her mouth. “I know about your voice.”
Ronja pulled back sharply, clutching Charlotte by the shoulders with clawed fingers.
The younger girl gave a solemn nod. “So it is true. I thought it was just a dumb rumor.”
“It is,” Ronja blurted.
Charlotte chuckled. “You were always a crap liar, Zipse.” Ronja flushed. She snatched her by the hand and tugged her deeper into the tunnel, abandoning her sopping laundry. The girl allowed herself to be towed without complaint, her hair bobbing cheerily. They wove through the collection of vanities until they hit the jagged wall of rubble that marked the edge of the Belly.
“Who told you about my voice?” Ronja demanded.
Charlotte rolled her eyes at the curved ceiling. “Who do you think?”
Ronja groaned, dragging an exhausted hand down her face. Cosmin was a sucker for pretty girls, and Charlotte was as lovely as she was devious. “You have to keep this quiet, you get that.”
“Why?”
“Because I said so.”
Charlotte gave a harsh laugh, cocking her hip to the side. “Okay, Mom.”
“Char,” Ronja implored her desperately.
“When are you leaving?”
The direct question caught Ronja off guard. Her stomach hit the stone floor as understanding clicked into place. She licked her lips, which were suddenly bone dry. “How did you … ”
“Cos.”
“I haven’t told him yet.”
“Well, he knows, so you might want to get on that.”
Ronja swallowed, grappling with the bolt of unwelcome news.
Charlotte shook back her hair with a huff. “You gotta stop underestimating us kids. We see more than you think.”
“Does Georgie know?”
Charlotte shrugged. “Probably.”
Ronja swore under her breath. Was that why Georgie had been so worried about her? Did she expect her to bolt when the conference with Wilcox failed? The possibility stirred up nausea in her gut, made worse by the fact that it was true.
“When are you leaving?” Charlotte asked again.
Ronja cast her eyes to the ground. “Tonight,” she admitted.
“And were you planning on telling your cousins, or were you just going to up and leave like Henry?”
The words slammed into Ronja with the force of a steamer. She locked eyes with the girl when she answered. “I was going to tell them tonight.” Liar, a voice in the back of her mind whispered.
Charlotte nodded brusquely, as if she heard the truth echo. “Right. Look.” She took a step toward Ronja. At this distance, the resemblance to her brother was striking, everything from her nose to her lips to her deceptively calm eyes. “Georgie and Cosmin need you. You don’t get to just run off and play hero whenever you feel like it.”
Ronja dropped her gaze to her feet again, shame rising in her
like a full moon. “I have to do this.”
“Like hell you do,” Charlotte growled.
The older girl raised her chin, forcing down her guilt and tightening her jaw like a tourniquet.
“You just want to go play solider with Trip.”
Ronja heard her composure snap in the hollows of her mind, a branch beneath a boot. Fighting the urge to shout, she forced her words through gritted teeth. “I have to keep them safe.”
“They are safe! This is the only safe place in the entire bloody city!”
“Not for long,” Ronja growled. Charlotte paused at that, a hint of doubt inching into her face. “Listen,” the older girl implored her, taking her by the shoulders. “The Conductor knows about the Anthem. It’s only a matter of time before he finds the Belly. I am trying to stop him before that happens, but to do that I need to leave.”
Charlotte shrugged her off, her lip curling in disgust. Ronja let her arms flop to her side, dejected. “Fine,” the girl said. Her voice was like gravel. “But you need to promise me something.”
“Anything.”
“Say goodbye to your family. You owe them that much.”
Without so much as a final nod, Charlotte spun on her heel and stalked away, her hair bouncing in time with her footsteps. Ronja watched her go until she was out of sight, unable to move.
14: Silence and Noise
Ronja knelt on the mattress, her head bowed as if in prayer. She checked her watch. 2:56 A.M. Somewhere far above, The Night Song was flooding homes, bedrooms, alleyways, slicing through dreams like a ship through the waves. She could still hear it sometimes if she listened. It clung to her, a stench she could never be completely rid of.
Movement to her left drew her gaze. Georgie was twitching in her sleep. The low light of the lantern wandered across her round features, highlighting the divot of stress on her forehead. A nightmare, perhaps, or a truth she could not shake.
When Georgie had arrived back at their tent for the evening, Ronja was already asleep. At least, she was pretending to be asleep. She kept her nose tucked under the edge of her quilt as her cousin stood over her, waiting. Eventually, Georgie sighed and lay down on the mattress, curling into a tight ball. She fell asleep at once.
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