by RS McCoy
“An offer? For what?” Blossom knew the answer as soon as the words were past her lips.
Yveline rattled off information faster than Blossom could take it all in. “This one here, the flower, that must be you. And this one, the golden eagle with a sun, that’s the symbol of the Volstead clan. See here, these initials? FRV. Farley Volstead offers you his hand in marriage!”
“The Commissioner of Aero Security?” Blossom recalled the name from her endless lessons on Aero hierarchy.
Yveline continued turning the coin in her hand, as if she couldn’t believe it was real. “One of the highest-ranking officials in the branch, besides us, of course. He’ll make a fine match.” She placed the coin back in Blossom’s hand and grinned ear-to-ear.
“But I’ve never even met him,” she answered, looking back and forth between her advisor and her new friend.
Eton shook his head. “You did. At the Spring Ceremony.”
Memories of that night crashed into her with enough force to make her sway. Blossom squinted against the onslaught of images—the Alder Mother, the dance floor, the dark fur of her beast. So many things she could never forget.
But the face of her proposed groom wasn’t one of them. She only knew him from the files, the charts, the profiles Eton forced her to learn.
“And you’ve been summoned by Syndicate Mercer.”
Between Yveline’s refusal to look at her and the hard-set edge of Eton’s jaw, Blossom knew a summons couldn’t be good. She set her tea on the silver table and stood. “Thank you for hosting me, Apprentice Vice Syndicate Dodd. I’ll be sure to return the favor in the near future.”
The ghostly white girl stood and managed a pinched smile. “I very much enjoyed our talk. And please, Miss Yveline will do fine.”
Blossom nodded. “And Miss Blossom for me, then.” With that, she spun toward the door, ignoring the sweeping circle of her cloak, and followed Eton back into the corridor.
It wasn’t until they were alone in the elevator that she asked, “Something’s wrong, isn’t it?”
“She didn’t summon you to sip tea and giggle over boys if that’s what you’re wondering.” As soon as the elevator doors were open, he directed her toward the Robin platform.
“Again?” she fussed.
“Only for a few minutes. Even you can make it that long.”
Blossom took her seat and crossed her arms. “What’s your problem?” It wasn’t like him to be so cavalier with his anger.
“Nothing,” he hissed. Leaning against the wall, he stared out the window as the underbelly of the Earth passed them by. As he said, it was only a few minutes before they reached the elevator that would take them to the top of Aero Tower.
Tucked under the sleeve of her cloak, the silver bracelet was completely hidden. But Blossom felt it every moment of every day. The expansive views offered in the elevator only reminded her of what she couldn’t do.
“Maybe she’s going to let me take it off,” Blossom said, more to herself than Eton, but she’d convinced neither of them.
Eton managed to maintain his silent, angry pout all the way to the Syndicate’s office.
“Good morning, Vice Syndicate Frane,” the Syndicate began, her usually pleasant warmth nothing more than a cool greeting.
“Good morning, Syndicate Mercer,” Blossom replied. Standing in the center of her large office, it was impossible not to feel like a mouse in a lion’s den. Jurra lingered at the windows, a silent observer, looking ready to eat her if she made a mistake. Eton hovered along the wall by the door, watching, but never moving. “You wanted to see me?”
The Syndicate ran a hand through her dark hair and motioned toward one of the chairs facing her desk. When Blossom sat, Syndicate Mercer produced a handful of papers from her pocket. A second later, she all but threw them across the top of the desk. They were images, Blossom realized, but as soon as she saw them, she looked away.
On the first, the glazed open eyes of a girl, her cheeks marred by deep scratches, and below that, her throat was cut with a trio of similar marks. Despite a mere half-second glance, Blossom knew the girl was dead.
But more than that, she knew the girl’s name. Helena Hammond.
“You violated a direct order from the office of the Aero Syndicate. You violated a direct order from me,” Audra clarified.
“I’m sorry,” Blossom whispered, but she said it to the girl, to the family she hadn’t helped. She was so, so sorry she hadn’t done more to help them. Blossom had released them to the frozen forests of Aerona, sealing their fates. She just stood there and watched them leave.
“This cannot go on. Insubordination will not be tolerated. You were selected for this position because you possess the ability to make difficult decision and follow instructions. Has that changed?” With her eyes squeezed shut and her head turned away, Blossom could still feel the penetrating stare of Syndicate Mercer. She felt every word like a dagger.
“Is this you?” she continued.
When she had no choice, Blossom looked up. The Syndicate held another image, but this one was a bird’s-eye view of Blossom. She was shopping in the Emporium, running her hands along a rack of compound bows. Behind her, Eton stood with arms full of supplies she’d picked.
“Is this you?” the Syndicate repeated.
Blossom nodded. There was no denying it. She was too short to be Aero, her hair too brown.
And the Syndicate knew it, too. She wasn’t asking to gain information. She was pointing out that Blossom had been caught. She was rubbing her face in it.
Blossom hated this game. Every last minute of it.
Now that she had Blossom’s attention, the Syndicate collected a few of the images that covered her desk. One was an aerial photo of the three Hammonds, all sprawled at awkward angles. Helena still wore the coat Blossom had picked out. One of Kiza’s elegant hands was clutched around her daughter’s arm, and Blossom knew, even in their final moments, she’d been a protective mother.
Their faces, their bellies, even their arms were a patchwork of deep, angry scratches. Blossom had never seen such gore. They were innocent, unarmed, exposed. How could anyone do this?
Syndicate Mercer leaned over the edge of her desk and lowered her voice. “I am so disappointed in you, Blossom. I expected more from you.” After a slow inhale, she pursed her lips and said, “I’m afraid I’m going to have to restrict you from the Ascension Ceremony tonight. You are restricted from all official activities until you’ve demonstrated your ability to comply. You understand that this is for your own good? And the good of the Aero branch?”
Blossom sat in the chair in a daze. She was full of anguish and pain and guilt. She’d let this happen. Blossom was eaten up with the shame of it. She could do nothing more than sit and withstand the angry words of the most powerful woman in her branch.
“Do you understand?” the Syndicate pressed.
With her head bowed low, Blossom nodded.
“Then you may go.”
Blossom couldn’t get away fast enough. Eton would fuss at her later, but she didn’t care. She wouldn’t cry in front of the Syndicate, and she couldn’t hold her tears back much longer. Blossom darted for the doors at little less than a jog.
Eton turned to follow her.
“I’ll have a few words with you, Advisor Samina.”
Blossom’s stomach dropped. Behind her, Eton only offered her a sorrowful glance before he reentered the Syndicate’s office.
“Eton?” Blossom couldn’t stand to leave without him. It was her fault Eton had helped the Hammonds. She could only imagine what tortures the Syndicate had planned for him.
“Go home.” Eton didn’t even turn to face her before he marched forward. Blossom moved to join him, but the office doors slammed shut not even a pace in front of her.
There was nothing she could do but wait and hope the Syndicate wasn’t too hard on him. It had been her idea, her plan, her decision. The Syndicate had to see that.
Or maybe she’d
show him even more images of the family so brutally slain. Maybe she’d show him how Blossom had failed to keep them alive for even a day.
It was those images that made her turn back to the elevator. They would forever be burned into her memory, sealed in a dark place. She’d never forget how it felt to send an innocent family to die.
With all his might, Parson swung the axe down into the wood. The small limb sailed away, along with a few dozen sizeable splinters, but Parson didn’t even pause. He took a step forward and removed the next limb with equal fervor.
“Watch it,” Lathan groaned.
When Parson looked up, he saw his oldest brother showered in cast-off bits of alder tree, plucking them from where they’d landed on his shoulders.
Parson only nodded and got back to work.
That is, until Lathan sat his axe head on the ground and leaned on it, watching Parson work with that knowing look of his. “What happened?” Lathan asked, his voice little more than a growl.
“Nothing.” Parson’s axe sank into wood and severed the next limb.
But Lathan remained, watching, his pine-green eyes darker than usual.
“I messed up,” Parson said, caving under the pressure of such a gaze from his brother. In aggravation, Parson brought down the axe again with more force than was necessary. He groaned when the axe remained lodged in the wood
“How?” Lathan asked, watching Parson use his foot to leverage the axe free without success.
Parson answered between labored grunts. “I just did.”
“You always mess up. What happened?” Lathan stood stoic and quiet as always, but his words weren’t laced with insult. He meant it as a fact. Parson did always mess up. Lathan wasn’t wrong to wonder what made this time different.
Instead of answering, Parson put his full weight into pulling the axe handle until it freed. He staggered back to regain his footing when he saw a figure approach.
It was none other than Hale. He was at the cut, where he had no reason to be today. But Parson knew exactly why he’d come.
“Damn.” Parson cursed under his breath, his hopes of maintaining some level of secrecy dashed when he saw the look on Hale’s face. He’d trusted Raene would understand that Hale could never know, but she hadn’t. She’d told him, and a part of Parson knew his relationship with his brother would never really be the same. He’d crossed that line, and there was no going back now.
“What were you thinking?” Hale shouted as he neared, his jaw set as stone. He stepped over a few bundles of limbs without taking his eyes from Parson. His unshakable focus rocked Parson to his core.
“I wasn’t. I’m sorry.” Parson couldn’t get the words out of his mouth fast enough. He was so, so sorry. It was epic mistake, a horrible failure. Parson hated that he’d done it.
When Hale was near enough, he put both hands to Parson’s chest and shoved hard, his eyes steeled in anger.
Parson had never seen Hale this way. It was Parson who couldn’t control his anger. Hale was always so calm, so careful with his words and his actions. Hale was never violent, even when it was warranted.
The look in his brother’s eye scared Parson more than anything. “I’m sorry,” he said again, knowing it sounded hollow and weak. But what else could he say? Nothing could change what had happened.
“Five years, Parson. It’s been five years since you’ve even looked at a woman. And now, all the sudden, you want her? You want the woman I’m supposed to marry?” Hale huffed. “Tell me that’s not how is. Tell me you aren’t playing some game.”
Put that way, Parson could see how bad it looked. He hadn’t accepted nor made an offer in years. He passed on Raene the moment he saw her, and only once she was aligned with Hale did he interfere. That was never his intention, but Parson couldn’t deny how it appeared. “I’m not playing a game,” Parson told him, desperate to have his brother’s understanding. “It had nothing to do with you. It was—”
“It has everything to do with me!” Hale shouted, his face reddening with every moment of uncharacteristic anger.
“What happened?” Lathan bellowed as he stepped between them.
Hale glared for several long seconds before he got control of himself. “It doesn’t matter. It’s never going to happen again.” With that, Hale turned back toward camp, and Lathan and Parson watched him leave in silence.
Then, Parson collapsed onto the nearest branch and sat, rubbing his eyes—his eyes that burned from lack of sleep. Countless times he’d ventured into the woods for a hunt at the expense of his sleep, but never had he stayed out all night. His body ached, and fatigue fogged his mind. His thumb traced the two rings of his index finger, reminded yet again of the weight they didn’t carry.
Lathan sank to his side, but mercifully didn’t say anything. Instead, he leaned his elbows on his knees and gazed out at the cut, their work almost finished. In a week, they’d start shipping loads of lumber to Terrana or Hydrona or even Seraphine City. In a month, they’d be done and on to the next, maybe even move camps.
“I took her hunting,” Parson finally told him.
Lathan clasped his hands together and gave Parson a crooked look. “And?”
Parson struggled for the words, “And, she’s—she killed a lot of innocents. She had a run-in with a coyote, but nothing serious. She’s—” Magnificent. Powerful. Stunning.
“Not yours.”
Those two words hit Parson harder than a slap to the face. He gaped wide-eyed at his brother. “I know. I’m not trying—”
“Then quit. Or don’t. But don’t say one thing, and then do another. It’s not fair to him.” If Lathan was this unforgiving about hunting, Parson didn’t want to know what his brother would say about kissing her.
But Parson couldn’t say it was a mistake. If anything, giving her to Hale had been his mistake. Letting her think he wasn’t interested was the mistake.
Not the kiss.
Parson tried to remember what it had been like to hate her. The Pyro girl. The niece of the cruel Vice Syndicate who stole Blossom. He’d been so consumed with anger, but now, all he could see was a tiger, claws out as she struck down her helpless prey. The two were intermeshed now, and Parson didn’t know what to do.
“Give it some time.” Lathan squeezed Parson’s shoulder in his massive, bone-crushing hand before he went back to work. Parson knew he was right, as always. It was hard to argue with the oldest Frane brother, as stone-solid and wise as he was.
After the first taste of Hale’s wrath, Parson knew it was time to end this. Raene wasn’t his, and Parson could no longer be selfish. She was elegant and graceful and aggressive and dangerous, but she was seven years his junior and the future wife of his brother. There was no reason to dwell.
Raene was better off with Hale.
As much as it pained his tired body, Parson forced himself back to work.
Cavern
WARM WATER rained over her. Blossom kept her knees tucked to her chest as she cried, her tears rinsed away by the river of cascading water.
“Blossom!” Eton’s shouts echoed across the metal room a few seconds before his heavy feet sounded in the washroom doorway.
She didn’t argue when he stepped into the stream of warm water and sank to the floor beside her. His arm appeared around her shoulders, but she refused to move, refused to be comforted. A vast hole of guilt had taken up residence in her chest. Her eyes could see nothing but the look of death frozen on Helena’s small face. Angry and horrified, her sobs shook her so hard she struggled to breath. Each motion sent a hammer of pain through her ravaged head.
“I’m sorry,” Eton began. “I didn’t know she was going to show you—I would have warned you. I promised I would tell you. Truly, I didn’t know.”
Blossom shook her head. “It’s my fault,” she squeaked, her voice too damaged by sobs to produce a proper sound.
“No, Blossom, stop, it’s not. Of course it’s not. There’s nothing you could have done to change their fate. There was no
thing you could do. She’s punishing you. That’s how she works. You defied her, and this is your punishment.” When he ran out of words, Eton wrapped his hand around the side of her head and pulled her under his chin, nestled firmly against him. He held her tight, like her brothers might have, in a protective grip she so desperately needed.
Because despite Eton’s protests, Blossom knew she could have done more. She should have done more. She should have done whatever it took to prevent them from coming to harm. They put their lives in Blossom’s hands, and she failed them.
She had never felt more ashamed.
Eton’s hands combed through her wet hair as she cried against his chest. He never let go of her, even when the water turned cool. Instead, he pulled at her legs and angled them over his lap so she could share in some of his warmth.
At long last, Blossom could cry no more. She was too tired. Her sides ached and her eyes burned. The pit of grief in her chest had hardened into something else—into something permanent. Blossom would carry it with her for the rest of her life.
“Come on,” Eton told her. “Let’s get you out of these clothes. You’re frozen.”
When she looked at her hands, Blossom saw the tips of her fingers had taken on a bluish hue. Now that her sobs were quiet, she noticed the way her elbows shivered against her sides, the audible chattering of her teeth.
Eton helped her to her feet—a laborious task considering the weight of her soaked cloak and the slipperiness of the too-smooth, white tile of her washroom—and peeled her out of the countless layers of Aero clothes she wore. As each piece fell away, Blossom felt lighter, but nothing would change that feeling in her bones. The intensity of it scared her.
Blossom didn’t argue as Eton exchanged her wet clothes for dry ones and pushed her into the unused bed. He pulled the soft, white blankets up to her chin and turned out the lights, bathing her in darkness.
