by R. H. Scott
“Hello, my senior students,” Romani greeted them. He let his gaze fall over the students, and if any had been fidgeting they were now immobile under his stare. “We shall start this conference as usual, with a brief on the war effort. Then we shall review this quarter’s Dismissed, and then a final word on this weekend’s Betrothal Calling.”
Sloan sucked in sharply—she didn’t want to hear about the Dismissed. She took a deep breath; she couldn’t be emotional here, not in front of the Order. They would have already known she was handling Tandy’s death poorly, first with Paul’s shoulder and now the recent tension with Jared that likely hadn’t been missed by anyone. As if on cue, Jared abruptly took her hand in his, placing their clasped fingers on the table, for all to see. She wanted to pull her hand free, but knew how important it was for the Order to believe they were doing better than they truly were . . . and she couldn’t deny that under his touch, however much she wanted to resist, he did calm her. Their relationship was like that; it was unique and unexplainable. Theirs was the union that most reflected the accuracy of the Order’s Betrothal Calling.
Romani turned the floor over to Major General Carr. He was a stern man with a fierce temper, always critical of Stone’s approach to training as well as his sincere interest in his pupils. The major general leaned forward, clearing his throat.
“The Others made an attempt to overthrow Fort Destiny, on the eastern coast of the mainland. Over the course of three nights, our forces fought them back, and on the fourth evening a tactical air assault was executed . . .” Carr continued but Sloan let her mind drift away.
She thought of the Others. The enemy. The Others were the reason this Academy existed. The mainland had once been a peaceful place, a place that had recovered from the nuclear war that had decimated global populations, destroyed entire cities and broken down borders. Time had passed and the survivors came together, forming a new colony: a home called Dei Terra. The mainland colony, first to regain fertility, was a last salvation for the survivors of the war. Treaties had been signed, a democracy formed, and people swore to never again allow such atrocity. People, though, are creatures of habit, and habit would ensure that after enough time had passed, war was once again something conceivable. Something tangible.
And then the Others formed, as a group of those who stood against Dei Terra democracy. They organized a coup, after years of manufacturing and stockpiling weapons and resources, years of infiltrating government operations and social-political offices. Their agents and followers sprung up on both coasts, working towards the capital. They were strongly resisted, but never defeated. Dei Terra was still young, low in population. So while those fit enough would stay to hold the enemy off, there was only one long-term solution: the Academy. Families nominated their children to be trained by the remaining military experts, taken to a safe and isolated island. The children would return as an army, prepared to protect Dei Terra.
“—and needless to say, all efforts are being directed towards the stabilizing of Fort Destiny.” Carr’s words drew Sloan back. Romani thanked him, once again turning to the students with critical eyes.
“You should all know that as far as our latest reports can find, your families remain alive and well, proud and hopeful that your class will be the final reinforcement our troops need.”
Sloan exhaled heavily. Somewhere on the mainland her family was safe. Jared squeezed her fingers, sharing in her relief. It reminded her that he wasn’t the cold person she had been living with for the past few days—the one who seemed intent on killing Elijah.
Didn’t he care that Elijah had a family too?
Romani gestured to Amelia Brass. The lieutenant general readjusted her wire-rimmed glasses. She was a petite, older woman, but despite an unassuming size she was tough as leather. She ran the Infirmary and, as such, the morgue. She oversaw the administration of the lethal medications during Dismissals. Sloan glared at Brass, conflicted by the older woman. Brass had healed Sloan’s own wounds, had taken her pain away countless times, but she had also been the sole individual to technically end Tandy’s life, and that was a pain that greatly outweighed any broken bones.
Brass flicked over her papers. She sighed heavily before beginning. “Jennifer Devel, 17, failure to advance; Emily Slough, 16, failure to advance; Jeremy Dieter, 16, failure to advance; and Tandy Norman, 16, failure to advance.”
Sloan’s entire body tensed. She wanted to get up, get out, to fight her way out of here, and in the same way he had always been able to read her mind, Jared’s grip on her hand tightened. She glared at him but he kept his eyes forward, holding her so tightly she couldn’t feel her fingertips.
Romani leaned forward, narrowing his eyes. “Failure to advance . . . We all have families who are relying on us to return to them for their protection, for the restoration of peace and order on the mainland . . . for the sake of Dei Terra.
“When you came to us as children, your parents relinquished all responsibility for you. This is not to say they didn’t love you, and our Dismissals are not a way of saying we do not love you. But we are not here to love you. We are not here to keep you safe. You are chosen soldiers and we are responsible for shaping you into that which will stop the Others,” he explained, jabbing the table with each impassioned word.
“Those who fail to excel—they would have been responsible for your lives. For your families’ lives. And they would not have been up to the challenge. I know it’s difficult—some of them were your friends. But they would have failed to protect you. Their existence, despite any friendships formed during their time here, would have been, inevitably, a detriment to you all.” He sighed heavily.
Were there others in the room feeling the same conflict as Sloan? I can’t be the only one, she thought. Had someone been best friend to Jennifer, Jeremy or Emily? Were there others wondering about the truth in Romani’s words, that the Dismissed would have inevitably been their downfall?
What if he was right and Tandy had been assigned to serve with Jared—what if her inabilities had led to his death?
But Tandy would have never let something happen to Jared. You know that.
“We rose up from the fire to fight.” Romani spoke their motto—his voice loud and commanding as he raised his forearm, bringing his fist upward in a tight gesture. This was their motto—their communal salute.
“We rose up from the fire to fight,” the students answered in unison, raising their hands into fists. Sloan was forced to lift her left hand as Jared still held on to her right with his vice grip.
Romani nodded at them slowly. “It is important to remember, in these times, that the mainland is a utilitarian colony. By culling the few, we are saving the many.”
Sloan was really beginning to hate that expression. Culling was a hunter’s term, a tactical approach, a solution to a problem. Tandy hadn’t been a problem. Tandy, with her doe eyes and trusting nature, hadn’t been a hunter’s prey. So many people had loved her.
Kenny. He would have heard all of this, he would be here, listening to the Dismissed, listening to the Betrothal Calling plans. How had Sloan been too preoccupied to visit him, too selfish to think of him sooner?
Because that’s how they want us to be—how they make us. Tandy died because she wasn’t that kind of person.
And Jared and I are—we are the Academy’s ideal, Sloan thought and found herself—not for the first time—feeling a sense of discomfort. The other students didn’t understand; they envied Sloan and Jared because they didn’t know the pressure they lived under. The way they strived for perfection in every aspect of their lives, the way their trust was slowly crumbling, the way their relationship was suffering, the way they would be expected to live and die for the Academy because they were natural leaders, gifted soldiers. They wouldn’t be made sentries or receive active duty posts in some secure office; they would be out there, in the midst of the
danger, both hoping that if neither survived then they wouldn’t be the second one to go, that they wouldn’t be the one who had to live a minute, a day, a year without the other.
“Let us discuss a lighter topic!” Romani’s cheerful tone caught her attention. “Tomorrow night we have a Betrothal Calling! Sixty eligible students will have their partnerships announced. As usual we expect our senior students to be present, dressed appropriately and ready for the Principle dance, which, as usual, will be led by your senior champions.”
His eyes fell on Sloan and Jared, who lifted their clasped hands to acknowledge Romani’s words and the dull clapping of their fellow students. They had led the Principle dance at every Betrothal Calling for several years, since before they themselves had even been betrothed. It was their duty as champions.
The boys would be in mess dress—military whites—and the girls would wear their issued ivory dresses, custom-made as they entered their own Calling. Sloan had been gifted one much earlier, so she could lead the Principle dance with Jared in appropriate attire. Sloan had always loved the Calling but this one would be different . . . this one would have seen Tandy paired to Kenny. Now Kenny, a boy of age who had completed all the necessary Calling assessments, would be paired with his next best match. Sloan could clearly recall her own ceremony, of Tandy asking what she would do if she wasn’t, by some disaster, paired with Jared. “I would want to die.”
She thought about her words now—had they been too reckless? Was death really the only alternative or was it just an inevitable result of having your heart broken beyond repair? She imagined never having had Jared in her life. She had known it then, as she knew it now; Jared was the largest part of who she was, imbedded into her existence. There was no Sloan Radcliffe without Jared Dawson. She wondered, though, how much of yourself could you lose before existing became impossible? She hoped to never find out—not like Kenny would have to.
General Stone stood, walking around the panel table. Sloan watched him lean back, arms crossed over his broad chest. If she had to guess, she would say these Collectives bored Stone. He always looked bored, at least.
“As you all know, we have under a month before this quarter’s Fight Night. We do have exciting news—both senior champions will be entering to defend their titles.” He gestured to her and Jared as a bustle of excitement broke out in the room.
“Fighting your champions are Captain Elijah Daniels and Second Lieutenant Maya Woods.” He gestured to the back of the room, where Elijah and Maya would be seated. The room was alive with quick whispers, bets being offered, a laugh, even a clap of hands high-fiving. They were so excited for that which she dreaded—because they don’t understand what it means to be us.
Romani stood, silencing the room. “We conclude the War Front Collective. Until next time—you’re dismissed.” At his words the seniors got to their feet, rushing towards the exit. Jared freed her from his tight grasp and she turned in her seat, searching through the humming crowd for Kenny.
“He isn’t here,” Jared spoke, staring down at her, knowing her thoughts.
She stood slowly. “Where is he, then?”
He pulled her close to him, lacing an arm around her. The intimacy of their closeness felt conflicting to Sloan. I want this; I just want it with the old version of you . . .
Jared was an intrinsic part of who Sloan was, and it scared her, more recently in different ways than usual. It had always scared her to know she couldn’t—wouldn’t—live without him. But the unbreakable bond they shared, the way they lived each day for one another, that wasn’t the only thing that frightened her now. Jared had a rage, a darkness that he had molded into a dangerous quality. He had blinders on—living and breathing to be the best and to be with Sloan—and anything that threatened his ideals would be swiftly eradicated. She had grown up with him; they had grown together, sharing their thoughts, feelings and plans—he was half of who she was as she was half of him. Somewhere along the way, during their closeness, had she inherited his darkness? She was dangerous, she knew that, but to what extent would she exert that power onto the outside world?
She imagined a charcoal ball of anger and malice, a merciless rage, hiding somewhere inside her. Breaking Paul’s shoulder, laying into Maya, every Fight Night championship, every threat that had fallen from her lip and every hit she had executed—she did it all for her status; she did it all to be with Jared. Were they more similar than she knew?
I wouldn’t risk someone’s life, though . . . But would she? If it meant keeping her and Jared together, if it meant maintaining their status . . . What wouldn’t I do for him? If she ever let that darkness come through, to the same extent to which Jared showed his own, would it surprise him . . . would it scare him?
Would he even care? He would love you more, Sloan thought, and she pushed the thought away. The truth was a dangerous thing to think about. Maybe that’s why Jared keeps it at arm’s distance. . .
Jared tugged at her hand, drawing back her attention. “I have been visiting Kenny since the Dismissal . . . He obviously hasn’t handled it well, but we have had a few sparring session. I think those are helping. I knew he wasn’t ready to be here today, to hear all that, so I got him out of it,” he explained, his voice hushed.
Sloan was confused—Jared hadn’t even liked Kenny. She could easily recall him criticizing Kenny and Tandy for being too sensitive for Academy life. She stared up at him, perplexed by his kindness.
“I know what she meant to you. I know you would want him to be okay, so I’m on top of it.” His words washed over her like a warm reminder of the boy she had always loved. She took his hands in hers, knowing, with frustration, that she would always love his goodness more than she feared his darkness.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Marshal Romani appeared at their side, cueing Sloan to abruptly drop Jared’s hands, standing to attention. “At ease.” He nodded. Romani turned to Jared. “Captain Dawson, we need to have a quick word.”
Sloan flicked her gaze between them, desperately wanting to know what Romani needed Jared for, but she couldn’t ask. Jared nodded to the marshal and Sloan stepped away, ready to leave, but Jared grabbed her hand, once again wrenching her back to him. “I love you.”
She glanced from Jared to the marshal. He was making a spectacle of their commitment. For the time being, she didn’t need to know why to understand that it was best to go along with him. Did he know something she didn’t—more secrets?
“I love you too, Jared.” He waited a moment before releasing her hand. Slowly, she turned from them, making her way out of the room. She turned down the corridor to be met with a mess of senior students still waiting to get a pod out. Leaning against the wall, she watched the crowd.
“Don’t you want to know what they’re talking about?” Elijah’s voice startled her as he appeared at her side.
“No,” she lied, crossing her arms, closing herself off to him. How does he always find me?
“Liar,” he laughed in her ear. She leaned further away and he curved into her, letting his eyes travel over her slowly. She felt the heat emanating from his warm skin and she couldn’t help but recall lying underneath him during their spar. The weight of his body on top of hers and that look of interest in his eyes. She wanted to push him away; she wanted him to leave her alone.
“Pretend like that’s really what you want.” His former words filled her mind and her skin tingled, fine hairs rising sharply on her neck. She shook her head at him. “Just go awa—”
Suddenly, before she could finish her sentence, Elijah was stumbling away from her. He staggered back as Jared draped a heavy arm over Sloan’s shoulders. “Getting a bit too close for comfort, Daniels.”
Elijah stood up straighter, an easy smile playing over his face. “Too close for your comfort or Sloan’s?”
Jared tensed around her, a shield. �
�Watch yourself,” he warned.
Elijah stepped forward. “I would rather watch her.” He nodded in Sloan’s direction.
Jared jerked forward but Sloan threw her hand against his chest, pulling him back. “He’s not worth it, Jared.”
He relaxed under her touch, kissing her temple possessively. Sloan glared at Elijah. “Stay the hell away from me, Daniels.”
He stared at her, his fiery green eyes boring into her. “Pretend like that’s really what you want,” he smirked.
Jared tensed up but this was Sloan’s turn. She took a step towards Elijah. “What do you think I want? You? All I have ever wanted, all I will ever want, is standing behind me with blue eyes, mad as hell, wishing you were long gone.”
Her words hurt him and for a second—a millisecond maybe—she felt bad. She did want him to leave her alone; she did want her and Jared to go back to normal . . . and she also didn’t want Jared to get Elijah killed. And if he kept this up then he would definitely ensure that happened.
Elijah shrugged, looking from her to Jared, back to her. “Well, we don’t always get what we wish for.”
Keeping his eyes on her, he backed up, before slowly turning and making his way into a pod. Sloan shook her head, infuriated by him. She turned back to Jared, lacing her arms around him. She thought about the situation she had found herself caught up in . . . If she just let Jared get Elijah Dismissed, she wouldn’t have to ever deal with him again, but if Jared did something like that, his darkness would become more than she knew how to bear.
She would lose them both.
Jared kissed her forehead and remained resting against her. “I hate him,” he sighed.
