white dawn (Black Tiger Series Book 3)

by Sara Baysinger

  “They’re just out the door. If you kill me, they will kill you.”

  “I don’t give a jackal’s nuts about my life.”

  “Good. Then a few more days locked in this room won’t cause you any harm.”

  I suck in a deep breath and hear her release her own breath. Then soft steps sound across the room, coming toward me. I tense more with every step. I tense and tense and tense until all my muscles are concrete rock.

  “Here’s your cap.”

  A light piece of fabric lands on my face, and snatch it off, open my eyes, and finally sit up. Sure enough. My cap. It fell off when I was performing CPR on Ember. Then I was arrested. I shouldn’t care so much for a ragged old hat, but I do. Swallowing my grief, I pull it on. There. Now I’m feeling more myself…with a hole blown through the middle of my chest.

  I look at Aurora for the first time since she entered the room. “What do you want?”

  “You know why I can’t release you, right?”

  “Because you’re afraid I’ll put a damper on your plan to dictate Ky.”

  “No. Well, yes. But I wouldn’t use the word dictate. It’s too harsh.”

  I smirk. Can’t help it. These Whitcombs always did think better of themselves, failing to realize how monstrous they truly are.

  “So I know why I’m here,” I say. “But why are you here?”

  “Thought you might be lonely.”

  “Trust me. Loneliness is way better than your shoddy company.” I lay back down, pull my cap over my face. Maybe she’ll get the message. “Unless you’re here to release me, go away, vixen.”

  “It’s chief now.”

  “You’re not officially chief until your coronation.”

  “I am officially chief. Titus handed me the power himself. I have the power to flip this country on its head.”

  “Then why haven’t you?” I pull the cap off my face, sit up, and look at her head-on, struggling to rein in my temper. “The entire country is supposed to be Patrician clear by now, isn’t it? Everyone should have received the antitoxin weeks ago. That should have been your priority, chief. But according to Mcallister, you haven’t even penciled it into your calendar yet. You’re too preoccupied with the important people. Am I right?”

  She flinches and looks away. “Some...issues have popped up. I didn’t anticipate them, but now I can’t ignore them.” Her eyes lift to mine. “But once I get Frankfort straightened out, the rest of Ky will follow suit.”

  I smirk. “That’s what I thought. Keeping the Patricians happy is number one on your priority list. Just like Titus. As long as Titus is alive, you’ll always be his pawn.” Her flinch fuels my courage. “He will always be the real chief, right? He will always control your actions. Surely you know this.” Surely she’s planned this.

  “I know what you’re doing,” she says, her voice quiet and unsure. “But it won’t work. Titus is locked up, just like you. Although I haven’t spoken alone with him since…” her voice trails off and she releases a shaky sigh. “I hate him.”

  I choke out a laugh. “You don’t know what hate is.”

  “I’ve hated him for years.”

  “And yet you were all too willing to play Ember’s part in his game, while her orchard was being burned to the ground and she was on the run for her life.”

  Her mouth opens in a gasp. “It was the only way to get out of captivity,” she whispers, looking at her hands. “I didn’t play a part in his game, Rain. I did the only thing that would set me free.”

  “And your freedom was worth the life of your twin, was it?”

  Another flinch. I wish I felt more satisfaction in her pain. But I don’t. Because I know she’s acting. I can’t believe she thinks I would fall for her lies.

  “Where were you when she died, Rain?” she asks, looking at me now. “Ember was at my side when my life was threatened. Why weren’t you at hers?”

  I’m on my feet, smothering the urge to physically lash out, because how. dare. she?

  “Did you see what happened the last time I jumped out to save her?” My voice is raw, my grief barely bridled. “We were both captured. We were both headed to our executions, and if it weren’t for Elijah getting beat up, we would be dead. I didn’t leap to her side because there were Defenders, and Titus had a gun—he had a gun that he’d just used to kill Forest, and I know he wouldn't have hesitated to use it on me. And what good would that have been? What good am I dead? As long as you and Ember were able to distract Titus from shooting, I was racking my brain, trying to find a loophole, another way to rescue her. A less obvious way.” I dig my hands into my hair, the despair squeezing my heart. “But I was too late.” My voice breaks. I shake my head, wondering why I even bother explaining myself to Aurora of all people. And my grief evolves to pure, blind rage.

  “You think you hate Titus,” I say, my voice low and barely controlled. “But you don’t understand what hate is.” I look at her, lower my hands as I step closer, and she backs away. “Hate is what I feel for you. Right now. In fact, I think I hate you more than I hate Titus. It’s your fault Ember died. Your fault Forest died. It’s your fault I had no mother. Your fault no one in Patrician City would listen to Ember when she tried to make things right. It’s because of you that everything is wrong in the world right now.”

  She keeps backing up until she’s flush against the wall. I know she could call the Defenders in here at any moment. What I don’t understand is, why won’t she? Instead, she stands frozen, the fear she tries so hard to hide weaving through her green eyes, a haunted look as if she’s reliving some horrible, terrifying experience. She should be afraid. She ruined my life. She’s going to kill me soon enough, no doubt, so maybe I should kill her first and avenge Ember and Forest.

  Yes. That’s exactly what I should do.

  Closing the last few inches between us, I wrap my hand around her neck, ready to choke her if she screams. I feel her pulse beating erratically beneath my fingertips. Her skin is soft, like Ember’s. My knuckles brush against her hair, her long chestnut hair that looks just like Ember’s did before she cut it.

  Ember.

  She looks so much like Ember, it hurts. The hole in my chest grows, takes over my heart, my soul, it swallows me and soaks me in grief then sets me aflame with uncontrollable rage.

  And I tighten my grip.

  I should get rid of her—this clone of the love of my life. I should dispose of her once and for all, this shadow of the girl I loved. It’s too painful—too incredibly painful to be looking at someone who looks exactly like Ember.

  Aurora’s eyes widen, but she makes no move to fight me or escape. Not that she could. She’s weak and defenseless. But she doesn’t even make an effort. And it pisses me off, because I want to see her struggle.

  “I could so easily kill you right now,” I say, hoping to find satisfaction in her fear. Nothing. “In one swift movement,” I say, “I could just add a little more pressure to completely cut off your windpipe. No one would even hear you die.”

  “If you kill me,” she finally manages to say, “they will kill you.”

  I can’t help but snort. “I’m going to die anyway, right? Once the Patricians forget I’m being held captive, I’ll be executed. I know this.”

  She makes no remark refuting that. Which only confirms my speculation. I should kill her, this reflection of Ember. The pain of having an Ember lookalike, who’s nothing like her, is almost too much to bear. Her similarities to Ember are like a slap to the face.

  “I should kill you,” I whisper, willing my hands to obey me. “I should kill you now.”

  She lifts her eyes to mine. “What’s holding you back?”

  I tighten my grip around her neck, enough to cut off her breathing. I can feel her pulse quicken beneath my fingertips. Her eyes are watering, her face reddening, and she begins to struggle.

  I almost pity her. I do pity her. My heart screams at me to release her but my brain remi
nds it that. this. isn’t. Ember. This is Aurora and she deserves to die.

  She tries to say something, and my pity wins out. I loosen my grip enough to let her speak. “Is this…what Ember…would have…wanted?”

  The shock of her words makes me take a startled step back. And in an instant her hands are wrapping around my wrist and she twists my arm until searing hot pain shoots up my shoulder, then she slams her palm against my nose, knees me in the gut, and shoves me away. Doubling over, I stumble, both thrown off by her strength and shocked by her swiftness.

  “One more move to kill me, Rain Turner, and I will kill you.”

  I look up through watering eyes just in time to watch her walk out of the room. Then I hear the final latch that seals my captivity in this god-forsaken prison.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  AURORA

  I am fearless. I am invincible.

  I am fearless. I am invincible.

  I am fearless. I am invincible.

  I repeat the mantra over and over in my head, matching every syllable with every step as I stride down the hall, two Defenders at my heels awaiting my orders. Always waiting for orders. But I can’t face them now. I walk briskly through the mansion corridors, up the stairs, and into my room, closing the doors behind me and locking the world outside. Angry, I click on my phoneband and type a message to Krin.

  I don't know how long I can keep myself from killing Rain. He has absolutely no respect.

  In the few minutes with no response, I begin regretting sending that message. How could I even mention taking Krin’s only living son from her, only weeks after Forest died? I begin typing an apology when her response finally flashes on the screen.

  Let me talk to him.

  I shake my head, confused. Didn’t she already try to talk to him? Didn’t that backfire?

  Fine. Talk to him. But if he lays one more finger on me, I’m handing him off to the Indy Tribe.

  I snap my phoneband off, and that’s when I break.

  I lean back against the door and slide down, draw my knees up to my forehead and let loose the grief, the frustration, the uncertainty that hasn’t gone away since Ember took me captive.

  I was a fool for facing Rain alone. In the moment he had his hand wrapped around my neck, I had flashbacks of Father visiting me on my birthday every year. He blamed me for Mother leaving. He blamed my existence for the uprising that was sure to come. He blamed me for a lot of things. I squeeze my eyes tightly shut and push his enraged, drunken face out of my mind, force myself to think of the future.

  But the future doesn’t look any brighter.

  This country is slowly going to hell because of me. Though the machinery of Ky is still chugging away outside the cupola, inside Frankfort—where people actually know what’s going on—it’s chaos. Because Ember and Rain left that treasonous message on the wall. And now everyone knows I’m not her, and they’re demanding to know how she died. And if I tell them how she died, they won’t understand, because they know now that the orchard was burned down by Titus, and they know I was a pawn in his game, and they know what the Resurgence stands for, and they know that I’m not her.

  In the past two weeks since the Transition of Power, riots have ensued on the streets. Reporters have skewed everything I’ve said to make me appear evil. Every executive order has been blown way out of proportion, and, to my people, I am the villain, even worse than Titus.

  The Patricians want Ember back.

  If they can’t have Ember, they want Titus.

  And if they can’t have Titus, they want anarchy.

  Anything is better than my leadership.

  Titus was right. The weight of being chief is crushing me. Not only do I have to clean up his mess, but I have to do it beneath the cruel scrutiny of the people I’m trying to help.

  I’ve kept all the Congress members, only because I know that gutting that group will only give the people more reason to hate me. Congress is their pillar. Congress is the only thing keeping them from complete madness.

  I understand their fear. Titus was a good leader who gave the Patricians everything they wanted. Ember was an exciting new specimen, the ultimate Cinderella story, the pauper who became a princess. She left her mark on Frankfort when she showed kindness where others showed brutality—like at the Black Tiger Club. Her act of standing up for that girl made headlines, and her kindness melted everyone’s hearts. And Rain’s obsession with her only magnified their curiosity.

  Me? I’ve done absolutely nothing to gain the love of my people. I hid away for sixteen years, so they think. When I finally did make an appearance, I lied to them about who I was. And what have I done since becoming chief? Rationed their foods so there would be more to spread to the Proletariats. Made the terrible mistake of asking them to donate their clothes so we could distribute them among the less fortunate. My two first orders since becoming chief have made the Patricians hate me even more.

  They don’t understand the living conditions of the Proletariats. They don’t understand—or they don’t care.

  So what’s going to happen when I release the antitoxin? When the Patricians are too greedy to share with the poor, and the poor suddenly understand that they’re hungry and overworked and in need of attention from their chief? What’s going to happen when the Patricians figure out that they have all the resources to fight but that the Proletariats have the numbers?

  I’ll be putting the Patricians and the Proletariats at war against each other.

  I already have a million issues to sort through with Frankfort alone, distributing the antitoxin will open the door to five million more. Like how the shoddy rot am I going to feed the whole country without starving the Patricians? How am I going to allow the Proletariats to work fewer hours without giving the Patricians actual, real jobs? How is the whole country going to feel once they realize their entire adult lives were manipulated and forced? They’re not going to want to just go back to work after that. They’re going to require counseling, new purpose, reevaluation of their lives. Some of them might want to change their careers, and who am I to tell them they can’t?

  Ky will go down in flames if I act too soon. I need to get the heart of Ky beating again before I can expect her body to heal.

  But we’re all drowning. We need help from the outside world, from the Resurgence, from people who actually want this change in order to execute it. But they’re not willing to help until they see that I have their same goal in mind. It’s the proverbial dog chasing is own tail, the chicken and the egg, but neither wants to come first.

  I tighten my arms, pull my legs tighter to my small frame as if I could condense myself into nothingness. For the first time, I want to slip back into my old room in the basement and hide. I want to cry. I want to mourn Ember’s and Forest’s deaths, but I can’t. I can’t mourn because there’s this big thing we have to do. We have to do it for Ky. For the people. My people. I have a country to lead. My brother’s mess to clean up. Ember’s weight to carry. So this moment I allow myself to indulge in tears is selfish, so selfish, but I release the flood of grief that’s been pushing, pushing, pushing, and I allow my body to shake from my sobs.

  But too soon, my phoneband illuminates. I jerk my head up, resist the urge toss my phoneband out the window. This shoddy thing hasn’t stopped flashing since I strapped it around my wrist three weeks ago. Before I can lead this country to rightness, I have to appease the politicians and make them believe that I can, in fact, lead. And in order to appease the politicians, I have to answer this shoddy phoneband.

  Reluctantly, I put my earpiece in, then press a button. “Yes.” My voice comes out hoarse and soft, and I clear my throat, try again. “Chief Whitcomb here.”

  “Chief.” Congressman Turner—Thomas’s voice sounds through the ear piece. I hate talking to him. I feel like Forest’s death is my fault. And now I have his other son arrested.

  “Yes, Turner, what is it?”

  “Schuster br
ought up another issue you might want to sort through.”

  I place my hand on my forehead. Not another issue.

  “Go ahead,” I say.

  “It’s not a big problem. There are exactly fifty-five prisoners in the rebel pit. The monthly executions on the Rebels Circles are scheduled in the morning and your signature is required before they’re carried out.”

  Oh. No. The prisoners. I forgot all about the prisoners. “What about…the other prisoners?”

  A pause. “We’ve been doing the daily executions as usual, Chief. The tigers have to eat.”

  I close my eyes and release a defeated breath. How could I forget about the prisoners? They would have been the first priority on Ember’s list. And somehow, with everything else going on, the thought of them slipped my mind. I’ve been so concerned about the Patricians. I’ve been dealing with the rich kids, who actually have a say in this country, that I didn’t even acknowledge those about to lose their lives. And how many lives paid for that mistake?

  “Cancel the executions.”

  “Excuse me?” A shocked laugh. “You can’t just cancel—”

  “Yes. I can. Cancel them. And stop feeding the other prisoners to the tigers.”

  “But the tigers have to eat.”

  I tap my knee, try to think of a solution quick before Thomas—the only person who somewhat supports my leadership—decides that I’m not fit to rule this country. Can’t just stop feeding the tigers. They will die off, rumors will spread, and the Patricians will finally have reason to overthrow me, because they care more about their precious tigers than the prisoners. The tigers are the mascots of Ky, the adored pets of Frankfort. Not only that, but they give the Patricians a sense of security, since they can be trained to hunt down rebels. But I have no meat on hand to feed the tigers. All our excess food has been given to us by Nashville. We don’t have endless grazing grounds for cows like Nashville does. Apart from the Community Garden, Ky is just buildings and roads—one megacity of a country.