black tiger (Black Tiger Series Book 1)

by Sara Baysinger

  He nods at the cell beside his at Lioness. She’s staring at us, her dark eyes calculating.

  He looks at me again. “Ash is strong and swift. Between her and me, we can fight our way through the Patricians to get to the door while you keep pressing that button to keep the doors open. We might even be able to get a gun from one of the Defenders. Then, we’ll lead you through the hall to freedom.”

  Freedom. Like, not death. This all sounds too good to be true.

  “I think the three of us would make a good team, Ember,” he says. “I really do.”

  I stare at him, and question whether or not I can trust him. And then I decide that it doesn’t matter, because if I don’t work with him I’m going to die anyway, so why not give him a chance? I mean, it’s win-win, really. I’ll either die quickly by the black tiger, or I’ll escape.

  “All right,” I whisper. And it all suddenly sounds divine—this little plan he has.

  “I knew I could count on you.”

  “I haven’t pulled through yet.”

  “But you will.” He leans his head back against the wall. “This time tomorrow, you’ll be out of this pit.”

  And I suddenly have the urge to know more about my cellmate. About this man who looks like he could kill me with one glance and is now offering me an opportunity to escape.

  “When did you come here?” I ask.

  “Few days before you.”

  “Did you kill a Defender, too?”

  “Mm. No. Worse.”

  “A politician?”

  “Nope.” He grins. “Worse.”

  What could possibly be worse than killing a politician? He crosses his arms behind his head and closes his eyes. “Better get some rest, Thirteen,” he says, calling me by my cell number. “We’ve got some serious work to do tomorrow.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Another dream. Actually, a memory. This one’s of me and Leaf when we were younger. We’re racing through the apple orchard, the branches arching over the lane, shadowing us from the hot summer sun. We’re kids again, too young to worry about Career Day, too free to be constrained by the worries of this world. City life is too far away for us to care about, and executions are just nightmares talked about in textbooks.

  And we race through the orchard, the music of grasshoppers and cicadas merging all around us in an exotic melody. The wind tugs at my hair. I reach the end of the lane before Leaf, as usual, but he pummels me to the ground when he catches up. And we’re laughing and entirely out of breath.

  “Gotta get home,” Leaf says when the sun begins to set. He stands and dusts off his pants.

  “Why so soon?” I ask, standing.

  “We’ve got guests.”

  “Guests?” Such a foreign concept. No one gets guests in the Community Garden.

  Leaf looks at me warily. “I’m not really s’posed to talk about it.” He grabs his worn wool cap and walks toward his house. I hurry to catch up.

  “Who’s visiting?”

  “I told you, I can’t talk about it.” Leaf’s voice is hard and rough. “I shouldn’t have told you anything in the first place.”

  This is where my memory turns into a dream. In the memory, I left and hurried back home. But in my dream, I follow Leaf. He doesn’t know I’m following. He enters his cabin and slams the door behind him, but I slink around the side of his house and peek into the window where warm, yellow light pours out.

  Leaf’s dad—short and wiry like Leaf—is leaning back in his chair at the table, his hat off and his hair matted from working in the fields. Leaf’s mom hurries around the kitchen fixing dinner. A normal enough evening in the Garden, much like what our house used to look like before Mom was taken away.

  But the unusual thing is, another man sits across from Leaf’s dad. He has a thick, dark beard, wild green eyes, and a scar running from his left temple to his chin. I gasp. It’s the renowned criminal, the leader of the rebel group.

  Jonah Walker.

  The sound of metal on metal jolts me from my strange dream and my eyelids fly open. The doors to the prison slide open and the lights switch on. I squint against the brightness and try to see what’s going on. A Defender stands at the control panel. A humming sound reverberates from my cell, then he looks at me.

  “Your shield’s down, Carter,” he says. “Follow me.”

  I blink, trying to figure out if this is another dream. Or nightmare. He lifts a brow, and I decide, dream or not, I might as well go along with whatever is happening.

  “Where are we going?” My heartbeat thrums against my eardrums as I follow him.

  “Congressman Turner requested a visit with you.”

  Congressman Turner? Who the shoddy blazes is that? Someone with the power to decide my fate, no doubt. Maybe he decided that I’m not worthy of the Rebels Circle, so he’s going to feed me to the tigers instead. The guard leads me through the maze of halls, then up the stairs, out of the dungeon.

  A flicker of hope fights its way back into my heart as we exit the dungeon completely. Air. Fresh air. The evening sun slants through the tinted glass wall. And it’s bright and blinding but beautiful. I follow the Defender down the marble hallway, into a room with a wooden floor. It’s warm in here, compared to the dungeons, and smells like cinnamon. A fireplace with two pillars harbors the far wall, a painting of an apple tree above it. Fitting. Two leather couches face each other by the fire, and a small black table takes up the space between them. There are no windows, save for a sliver running along the top of the wall.

  “Ember.”

  I whirl around.

  Forest.

  Forest is here. Wearing the straight black slacks and vest of a politician, and he’s staring at me with those eyes the color of the evening sky. I swallow hard.

  “You have ten minutes, Congressman Turner.” The Defender leaves the room, closing the door behind him and leaving me and Forest, I mean, Congressman Turner, alone.

  Forest takes off his fedora, places it on the back of the chair, and walks toward me, looking at me like I’m some culpable child. I don’t know why. He’s the one who completely ignored me when my death sentence was announced. He’s the one who lied about being a builder.

  My anger fuels courage. “You summoned me, Congressman Turner?”

  He winces and a deep sadness replaces the accusation in his eyes. “I have a few questions.” He gestures for me to sit on one of the leather couches. I refuse. He sighs and sits in one of the seats, then waits. I roll my eyes and sink into the most comfortable couch I’ve ever sat on.

  Leaning forward, he clasps his hands between his knees and looks at me with those dazzling cobalt eyes. And his expression is so open, so honest, everything about him draws me in and makes me want to tell him every emotion I’m experiencing, but he speaks first.

  “I’m here,” he says. “To ask why you killed a Defender when your future was set up for you. I made sure you would have a career as a farmer. Why did you throw that away?”

  “Wait,” I say. “You helped me get that career?” Now all the pieces fall into place––the reason why I was the only person not to get drafted into the Line of Defenders. The reason I got the exact career I wanted.

  “Yes.” A short laugh escapes him. “Not that it matters. You just sealed your fate by committing one of the worst crimes.”

  One of the worst.

  “I didn’t kill the Defender,” I say. “I was trying to save my friend—”

  “Who was a rebel.” He narrows his eyes. “Just like you.”

  Oh. Oh no.

  “Did—did you turn me in?” I ask.

  “No.” His eyes widen and he leans back. “I haven’t ever turned anyone in. I would like you to know I’m not like that.”

  “No? Well what are you like, Forest? Because the guy I met at The Tap was a little more laid back than I would expect a politician to be. The guy I met at The Tap was…nice.”

  “Wait.” His golden brows furrow. “You remember our conversation at the ta
vern?”

  “Um, yes? Do I look senile to you? I’m not that forgetful. And you know what? You were a completely different person at The Tap. But now? You’re a politician. Your people oppress my people.”

  He regards me for a moment, jaw clenching visibly in the dim light, then says, “First of all, there is no your people and my people. We’re all one community, one tribe, one people.”

  “One people,” I mumble. Then laugh. I can’t help it. Forest is hysterically clueless. “You pretended not to even know me in that office today. You could have saved me, spoken up for me, had the judges hear my case. Instead, you—” My voice cuts off and I snap my mouth shut. The grief and rage I’ve been smothering down refuses to be contained any longer, and it grows and grows and grows until I think I’m going to turn into an unstoppable waterfall. Right in front of Forest the Politician.

  I bite my lip, trying to hide my feelings behind the dam I’ve built. I stare at the fire that is burning, raging, waging war against itself, and I think, fire is such a strange source of nature. All you have to do is touch it for it to burn. No force necessary. It’s not like a needle poking into your skin. It’s not like a hammer smashing your finger. You just have to touch it. And that simple touch sets off all the alarms in your brain, warning you that something dangerous is on your skin, and you better act now or you’ll regret it. The pain is mind-blindingly awful.

  Kind of like the pain I feel around Forest. Because he’s seems soft and kind and honest, and almost harmless, but one touch, one wrong word, and he has the power to have me killed. Here. Right now.

  My pride tells me to get up and walk out of this room. But I don’t really want to return to the stinky, cold cell. I like this fireplace. I like this couch. I like the warm air that carries the heady scent of cinnamon. I wouldn’t mind lying right here on this couch and taking a little nap before my execution.

  “I couldn’t save you,” Forest says in a low voice, drawing me back to reality. And he’s looking at me, really looking at me, an emotion akin to compassion flitting through his cerulean eyes. “From what I understand, you killed a Defender. That’s murder, Ember, a crime from which I cannot save you.”

  “Didn’t you hear me earlier? I didn’t kill him. I tried to stop another Defender from killing Leaf, his gun slipped, and—” Why do I even bother defending myself? No matter how many times I’ve told the story, no one believes me. Nobody cares. “Never mind.” I stand and stride toward the door, my pride overriding my brief sense of freedom.

  “Ember, wait. Stop right there.”

  A command. From a politician. My upbringing tells me to listen, to stop and obey his orders because he’s a part of the group running this country. But I don’t stop. I don’t want to listen to what he has to say or try to explain myself to him. Because attempting to explain myself to a politician is about as good as talking philosophy to an apple. Patricians don’t speak to Proletariats. They don’t listen. They don’t care. But why would he be here if he didn’t want to hear me out?

  I stop. Look back at Forest. “Why are you here?”

  He rubs the back of his neck and steps toward me. “I thought I saw something different in you.”

  “Different from what, exactly?”

  “From every other farmer. From every other person in the Proletariat.”

  “I’m sure if you dressed up like a…a commoner more often, you wouldn’t be so surprised to find people different than what you expect.”

  “I suppose you’re right.” He lets out a heavy sigh and runs his fingers through his golden hair. With his shirt slightly unbuttoned, and his sleeves rolled up, revealing strong forearms, I almost forget he’s a politician. Because he’s so young, and he’s so rugged, and there’s something casual and incredibly attractive about him that I never expected to see in a politician. He catches me studying him, but it seems he’s too deep in thought to notice my appraisal. He lowers his arm.

  “There’s something about you, Ember….” His voice trails off, and he looks away, presses his lips together, like he’s not sure if he wants to finish the sentence. Then he gives a brief shake of his head, looks me in the eye and says, “Go back and sit on the couch.”

  Humiliation. I’m painted in it. Here I am, noting how attractive he is, and he sees me as nothing more than a little girl. A commoner. A slave. And he’s not even trying to hide it.

  I pick my dignity off the floor, dust it off, and say, “No.”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Just do it,” he says. “Do I need a reason?”

  “Who do you think you are? Bossing me around? I already have a death sentence set in stone and don’t have to do anything you tell me.”

  “Remarkable.”

  I stare at him in shock. “What?”

  “The way you don’t immediately obey me.”

  Seriously? His arrogance leaves me speechless, because when we first met in the tavern, he didn’t seem the least bit arrogant. But now he’s possibly worse than I imagined any Patrician to be.

  “Just because I’m from the Proletariat,” I say quietly, struggling to control my temper. “Doesn’t mean I have to do whatever you tell me. I do have a mind of my own, you know.”

  His smile fades and he searches my eyes with acute discernment. “That you do, Miss Carter.”

  “I’m not some brainless slave.”

  “No. You’re not. You’re a very clever girl. I suppose I thought you were smarter than to attack a Defender.”

  A shocked laugh escapes me. “And I thought you had more dignity than to stand by and watch innocent victims get killed.”

  His gaze darkens. “Don’t try to blame me. You put yourself in this mess, Carter. Now it’s up to you to get out of it. I can try to help you, but I doubt I’ll be able to do anything.”

  “Aren’t you a politician? Don’t you have the power to change the executions?”

  “I wish I did, but I don’t. I’m not in charge of the executions, like Perseus. I’m not Chief Whitcomb. I’m a simple congressman.”

  I smother a laugh. There’s nothing simple about being a congressman.

  “Even if you didn’t kill the Defender,” he says, more gently now, “by your actions of merely attacking one, you are guilty of death.”

  “I’m sorry! I’m sorry I attacked your precious Defender!”

  “Are you?”

  I look at him, about to shout yes…but I’m not. Leaf was being aimed at. I had to save him. Not that my actions did any good.

  “Listen.” Forest’s eyes soften. “I know you didn’t mean for the Defender to die. I understand the deep loyalties of friendship that go above the law.” He steps closer, tips my chin up, and the gestures is so intimate, it leaves me breathless. And his eyes are searching mine, as though seeking a solution. He presses his beautifully sculpted lips together, and for the briefest, strangest moment, I wonder what it would be like to feel those lips on mine. I quickly dismiss the thought.

  Because I have to focus.

  “I apologize if I made you feel… small in any way.” His cinnamon breath invades the air between us. “You have courage, Miss Carter, and I admire that. I admire your loyalty and your passion.” He drops his hand, steps toward the table, grabs his fedora and puts it on. “We’ve a few days before your execution takes place,” he says with a sigh. “I’ll see what I can do to get you out of here.”

  And then he’s out the door, leaving me with that one simple promise that offers a handful of hope.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  After everyone else has fallen asleep in the prison, Judah whispers my name. “What happened?” he asks. “Where did they take you? Were you tortured?”

  “Um…no.” I was far from tortured. “Forest wanted to speak with me.”

  “Forest? Who on this forsaken earth is Forest?”

  “He’s a… a politician.”

  “I’ve heard of a few politicians. What’s his full name?”

  “Forest Turner.”
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  He almost chokes. “Turner? You just spoke to Congressman Turner?”

  I’m not really sure why he’s so surprised. “You’ve heard of him?”

  “Of course I’ve heard of him. Everyone knows Congressman Turner. He’s in the chief’s inner circle.” He laughs in disbelief and drags his hands down the length of his face. “And he just wanted to talk?”

  “Um. Yes?”

  “About what, exactly?”

  I explain how Forest showed up at the tavern the night before Career Day. How he told me about the spies and tried to get me the farming career.

  “I don’t really know why he met with me tonight, though.” I frown.

  “So he could drag information out of you, no doubt.”

  “No. I think…I think he just wanted to help.”

  “Help?” He snorts. “So, then, why are you still here if he’s so eager to help you?”

  “Well, I mean, he couldn’t get me out.”

  “Is that right?”

  “Yeah. I mean, he doesn’t have that kind of authority.”

  He snorts out a laugh and shakes his head. “Didn’t you hear me say he’s in Chief Titus’s inner circle? Don’t you think he could have just mentioned your name to Titus and gotten you out?”

  “Well, no,” I say. “I mean, this country is run by rules, right? Chief Whitcomb can’t just decide to override the rules because of favoritism.”

  He stares at me, bemused. “You’re sharp, Ember. You think outside the brainless way of thinking that the majority of Ky is run on. But you’re still pretty naïve. This country is run by our chief, and he can and does change the rules as he sees fit. This Congressman Turner…he just has to say one word and you’re safe. But he hasn’t helped you out yet, then there’s no reason to hope that he will.”

  His words leave me speechless. They steal every last grain of hope from my bloodstream and leave me an empty shell on the floor.

  “I can’t believe you think he’s actually trying to help you.”

  I don’t like how Judah makes me feel like a gullible child. I don’t like how he calls me naïve and looks at me with that pity in his eyes. I don’t like it one bit. So my walls of defense come up. And I lift my chin a little.