Roark nodded, smiling down at her ruefully. “You were incredible,” he said, leaning down to kiss the top of her head. “Truly.”
“What if it fails?” she asked.
“It won’t.” He set his half-eaten tin of pears in her lap for her to finish. Her canister and his clicked together softly. Ronja found herself nodding mechanically, absorbing the words but not taking them to heart.
The rest of the morning passed in a sleepy haze. Once breakfast was finished, the Anthemites went their separate ways. Iris holed up in her room, exhausted from the previous night. Evie and Mouse disappeared downstairs to work on Abe. Apparently, something was wrong with one of its circuits, or maybe it was the capacitor. Ronja could not remember and did not particularly care.
She and Roark tried to sleep the day away, but quickly found it impossible. The girl could not lie still for more than half a minute before her skin startled to prickle, prompting her to fluff her half of the pillow or flop onto her stomach. “All right,” Roark finally groaned after an hour, rolling over to face her. He rubbed the sleep from his heavy-lidded eyes. “Out with it.”
Ronja glared up at the underside of the bunk. “Out with what?”
He kissed the curve of her shoulder through her sweater. “Talk to me.”
“Make me,” she grumbled childishly, digging her face into the pillow they shared.
“Ro … ”
“What if Mouse was right? What if Lou and his friends killing that Off was just a fluke? If Terra and Sam had noticed any changes, they would have reported back by now.”
“Give it time,” he implored her. “Did you think they were going to form a civilian army the second the broadcast was over?”
Ronja rolled over to face the wall with a huff. “No.” It was not a lie. The problem was that her head and her heart were out of alignment.
“Come on,” the boy said suddenly, getting to his feet and tugging on her arm. She groaned and gripped the bed frame with her free hand. “I am going to distract you.”
Ronja grumbled unintelligibly, snuggling deeper into their deflated pillow. Roark released her arm. It flopped back down to the mattress, useless. “All right,” he said with a weighty sigh. “You leave me no choice.”
“What … ” The boy slipped his hands under her shoulders and knees and lifted her from the bed, still tangled in the quilt. Ronja let out a shriek of shock, which quickly dissolved into bewildered laughter as he carried her out of their room. “What the hell are you doing?” she demanded breathlessly as they breezed down the hall. They were headed for the showers.
Oh.
“If you would be so kind,” Roark quipped, nodding at the brass knob. Ronja reached down awkwardly and opened the door. The first time she had entered the communal bathroom, she was surprised by how pleasant it was. With the blankets and pillows Mouse had brought from his apartment, their bedrooms were comfortable enough. Still, they were cold and spartan. Her room in her old row house in the outer ring had been more inviting, dirt floor and all. The bathroom, conversely, was almost luxurious.
It was tiled pale blue from floor to ceiling. The walls were heavily insulated, blocking the tendrils of winter air from creeping in. Three toilets hidden by white stalls stood in the far corner, well away from the four large shower heads that jutted out from the wall. Iris had already scrubbed the floors twice, prompted partially by her boredom between broadcasts and partially by her relentless fear of germs.
Roark set Ronja on her feet on the cool tiles, kissed her cheek smartly, then padded over to the nearest shower head. He moved like music. Easy as a melody. He was dressed in a pair of loose drawstring pants and a sweater. His feet were bare, his hair tousled from sleep. Or rather, lack of sleep.
Glancing back at her with a teasing smirk, he spun the knob. The pipes in the wall shuddered and groaned, then steaming water spouted from the shower head. Roark jumped out of the way, but he was not quick enough. The edge of the spray caught his shoulder, soaking the fabric of his sweater.
Ronja laughed, raising her fingers to her lips. Roark looked from his sleeve to her, his expression neutral, then slowly tugged the garment over his head and cast it aside. That effectively shut her up. Her mouth went dry. He was so beautiful. His muscular abdomen, his smooth tawny chest punctuated with the symbol of the Anthem.
And he loved her.
Ronja stepped forward, shedding the husk of her responsibilities. She crossed the room in three quick strides, then slammed into Roark, crushing him against the wall under the cascading stream. He laughed in disbelief, then kissed her back, his hands slipping under her sweater. It caught under her chin when he tried to yank it off, causing the girl to dissolve into a fit of giggles utterly unlike her.
“I have a question for you,” Roark murmured when the sopping garment was tossed aside. Ronja squinted up at him through the spray, asking with her eyes.
“I had Samson run an errand for me a couple days ago,” he said.
“Errand?”
“To the pharmacy.”
Ronja blinked. Roark watched her with a little smirk, waiting for understanding to click into place. “Oh!” she gasped, clutching him by the forearms as her heart rioted in her ribs.
“Yes,” he laughed. “I have them in our room.”
“Then why the hell are we in the shower?”
“I was cold, and this is fun.”
Ronja laughed, then sobered. Roark followed suit, gazing down at her through the lifting steam. He raised a hand to her face, cupping her cheek.
“We can save them for later,” he said softly. “Or not at all.”
“You promised me a distraction,” she replied, raising up on her tiptoes to kiss him. His sinewy arms snaked around her waist, drawing her closer. The combined heat of their skin and the falling water was almost dizzying. She pressed her lips to the curve of his ear. “Distract me.”
39: Falling Out
Terra
“I hate lying to them,” Samson muttered under his breath for the third time in twenty minutes.
Terra took another deep breath, her knuckles bleaching around the steering wheel. The windshield wipers swung back and forth hypnotically as the grayish snow threw itself against the glass. The city streets were scarcely visible through the sheets of snow. Thankfully, the hulking beast of a truck Mouse called his ‘baby’ would crush just about any other vehicle that came in their path.
“We’re not lying,” Terra reminded him with an exasperated huff. She flicked her gaze to the captain. His face was arranged into a queasy mask. “We are examining the middle ring for signs of rebellion. Keep looking out the damn window.”
“I can’t see anything.”
Terra shrugged. “Not my problem.”
“Remind me why we didn’t just tell them what we’re up to?”
“Because we agreed they have too much on their minds. Plus, this will be easy. They’ll forgive us when we come back with intel on Jonah.”
As she said the words, doubt festered in Terra. She knew it was a risk, going to see Cicada without telling the others. None of them trusted her, not even Evie. This would not help bridge the gap, but they would try to stop her if they learned how untrustworthy her adoptive father was. She had already waited long enough to get answers about Jonah, she was not going to wait another day.
“Are you sure you know where you’re going?” Sam asked, squinting out the windshield at the hazy streets. Terra did not reply, so the captain tried again. “How much further?”
“Do you ever shut up?”
“No. Are you always this cross?”
“Yes.”
Terra jumped in her cracked leather seat when he barked a laugh. “Should have guessed.”
The girl smiled tightly at the windshield. The storm seemed to be moving with them as they wove deeper into Revinia. It was a thirty-minute drive from the lip of the outer ring to the middle ring where Cicada lived in his townhouse. Of course, that was assuming no traffic and no inclement weathe
r. A half hour had already stretched into forty-five minutes. Of course, that could also be attributed to her intentionally slow pace. Though Samson was wearing on her nerves, Terra was not looking forward to arriving at their destination.
“How long has it been?”
She glanced over at the captain. He had given up squinting out the fogged window, apparently. His blue eyes were trained on her. “Since?”
“Since you saw your father.”
The girl clicked the turn signal as they rounded a sharp corner onto 31st Street. The tires skidded and she gripped the wheel to steady them. “Seven years.”
Samson blew a low whistle through his teeth. “Falling out?”
Terra smiled grimly. “Something like that.”
“I need to know what we’re heading into. Should I keep my stinger on me?”
“Always.”
She fell silent, watching the world crawl by. The street lamps were live, though it was the middle of the day. They had faded from gas to electric twenty blocks ago, a telltale distinction between the outer and middle rings. It was difficult to see the buildings through the snow, but Terra knew they were growing taller and finer. The blurred figures braving the elements were dressed in opulent clothing, their heads bowed beneath bowler hats and hoods, their hands wrapped in fur.
“Okay, elaborate,” Samson prompted after a time.
Terra heaved a sigh, rolling her eyes skyward. “You know I grew up at Red Bay.” It was not a question, but the captain nodded anyway. Most Anthemites knew the first part of her story. Few were familiar with the next. “When I was six, my mother was killed by Victor Westervelt II.”
Sam shifted in his seat, the only physical manifestation of his shock. Evidently, his rambling mouth did have an off switch.
Terra made a left on Canal Street, which ran along one of the manmade rivers that wove through the middle ring. Its waters were frozen solid, cradled by snow-covered bricks. She might have found it beautiful were she not blinded by her memory.
“I knew they would kill me next,” she went on. “Scientists were forbidden to have children. They were a liability. My mother paid a heavy ransom to keep me hidden.” She could feel Samson watching her from the passenger side, his handsome face full of pity she did not want. “I escaped through the sewers, ended up in the forest. I was dying of The Quiet Song when he found me.”
“Cicada,” Samson interjected.
“Yes.”
28th Street crept up on them like a migraine. Here we go, Terra thought dully. She sucked in a breath through her nose and blew it out through clenched teeth. She signaled right, then eased the truck into a parking space on the side of the street. Avoiding eye contact with the captain, she put the auto in park and yanked the key from the ignition. The engine died with a whine. Silence engulfed them, fractured only by the faint whisper of snow hitting the windshield. It was starting to slow down, though it would still be a pain to walk through.
“Cicada was a black-market trader,” Terra explained. “Like Mouse, only he traded in information. He cut off my Singer to save my life, then he took me home and nursed me back to health. When I was well again, he started to train me.”
“Train you?” Samson asked, his eyebrows shooting up his forehead.
Terra nodded absently. “To be his spy. Who would suspect a child?”
“Who were you spying on?”
“Anyone he asked me to. Offs, other traders, private citizens. Information is a dangerous commodity. He got a lot of people killed.” She paused. “I got a lot of people killed. But he was the only father I ever knew. I would have done anything for him.”
“What happened?” Samson asked quietly. There was no judgment in his tone, only sympathy. She would have preferred the former.
“He sent me to spy on Ito.” Terra smiled ruefully at the memory. “She knew I was trailing her immediately. She caught me, took me to that safe house in the outer ring, the one on Winchester.”
The captain nodded, doubtlessly picturing the little flat above the bodega.
“I thought she was going to kill me, but instead she recruited me. It was easy. I was angry, I needed revenge, and Cicada wasn’t going to give me that.” She shrugged, pocketing the keys to the truck and glancing over at Samson. He was pensive, his blue eyes sparking as the gears of his mind spun. “The rest is history.”
“So,” he began tentatively. “You just left.”
“Yes,” Terra answered tersely.
The captain raised his hands to pacify her. “No judgment, just … how is he going to react to seeing you after all this time?”
Terra popped her door. The wind rushed in, making her eyes water. “Guess we’ll find out.” She hopped down from the high compartment and landed on the veiled cobblestones with a splat. Thankfully, her waterproof boots rose to her knees. She slammed the auto door with a muted rattle. Every sound was dulled by the snow. Shivering in her thick coat, Terra leaned up against the auto and cast her eyes around the quiet street.
Her old neighborhood was just as she remembered. White stone row houses with cast iron railings. Warm electric street lamps with intricately carved posts. Clean, wide streets, free of potholes and cracks. The houses were full of large families with mothers and fathers who took their children to the parks on the weekends. They would be harder to wake than the people of the outer ring and the slums. They were peaceful under the fog of The Music.
Samson slammed the auto door and rounded the engine to stand next to her. He peered around curiously as if trying to see what she saw in the unremarkable scene. “Come on,” she muttered, jerking her head to the right. “We have five blocks to go.”
“Five?”
“He’ll go mad if we park out front.”
“I think one would have done it.”
“Sorry, do you know him?”
The captain grunted, his breath ghosting in the frigid air. Terra made a satisfied noise in the back of her throat, then started down the street. Samson quickly fell into step beside her. They kept their heads bent against the wind. Their boots carved deep trenches in the accumulating snow. A distant thought brushed the surface of her mind. Terra scraped to a halt, her eyes on the frozen ground. Samson trudged forward for a few more steps before he noticed. He circled back around to her, his brow furrowed. “What?” he asked. “You okay?”
“The streets … ” she murmured, her eyes shifting back and forth as her thoughts hummed. “Why are they covered in snow?”
Samson opened his mouth, then closed it. He chuckled uneasily. “Uhhh … probably because of the blizzard. Just my guess.”
“They clear them the second snow falls,” she continued, ignoring his sarcasm. “A team of workers from the slums. I remember watching them work from the window.”
Hunched figures in pure white uniforms, nearly invisible in the swirling snow. Once, one of them was struck by a passing auto. His body had flown twenty feet before coming to rest in a pile of snow. The auto roared away. Terra ran outside barefoot, her bathrobe flying behind her like a banner. She skidded to a stop before the victim, at the edge of the spreading pool of blood. His features were warped with agony, sunken with malnutrition. He had died before she worked up the courage to step into his steaming blood.
“Where are they?”
The captain frowned, glancing around the empty street. It was perfectly still, save for the falling snow. “Do you think … ?” He never finished his thought. His eyes flew wide; his mouth went slack. He crashed to his knees.
“Sam!” Terra shouted, shock ripping through her. The captain looked up at her, his lashes fluttering with lethargy. Then his eyes rolled back into their sockets and he collapsed forward. Terra launched forward and caught him by the shoulders before he smashed his head on the bricks. “Sam,” she cried, shaking him violently. “Come on, Sam, open your eyes!”
A blip of pain at the base of her neck. Terra stiffened as heat flooded her veins. Footsteps whispered toward her, growing steadily closer. A sardonic s
mile unfurled on her lips. “Cicada … ” she whispered. “You bastard.” Sleep washed over her just as a shadow engulfed her.
40: Direct Line
Ronja woke like frost melting at dawn. For a long time, she lay motionless listening to Roark breathe deeply next to her. Their legs were twined; their hair still damp with water and sweat. Their sopping clothing was scattered across the room, collecting mildew. A lazy smile surfaced on her lips.
As if sensing the shift in her mood, Roark opened his eyes. He smiled at her blearily, his hair rumpled and his lashes sticky with sleep.
Her heart swelled, so big her ribs could scarcely contain it.
“Good morning, love,” he said.
Ronja laughed. “It is … ” She rose on her elbow to check the alarm clock on the desk. “3:30 in the afternoon.”
Roark groaned, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. “Samson and Terra are probably back. We should get up.”
“Yeah.” She heaved a sigh. Everything seemed so distant, buffered by the dopamine high she was still riding. As soon as they got out of bed, the weight of the world would settle on their shoulders. For now, she was lighter than air. “That was a pretty good distraction.”
“Pretty good,” Roark repeated with a laugh. “I hope it was a bit better than that.”
“A bit.”
“Whatever you say.” He nuzzled her neck, slinging an arm over her belly to draw her closer.
She sighed contentedly. Her fingers drifted up to knit with his hair of their own accord.
“We really should go,” Roark murmured after a while. “The neighbors will talk.”
Ronja nodded. She did not have to say what she was feeling; it radiated from her.
“Come on, Siren,” he murmured, his breath tickling the delicate skin of her neck.
“Fine,” she sighed. She sat up and heaved herself out of bed before she could be tempted to linger for another minute. Her muscles groaned as she stood. She stretched her long arms over her head, yawning, then peeked over her shoulder to find Roark watching her. His expression was glazed, his jaw slack. “I thought we were leaving,” she teased.
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