Taking his time, in case his behavior had been noticed, he stared at the ceiling with a bored expression and counted to one thousand.
He loosened his hold on the note, frightened that the sweat from his palms would obscure the message. If indeed that’s what it was. It could be anything really. Actually, no, it couldn’t.
Whisperers weren’t allowed access to paper. Or pens. Or the fancy feathers the palace workers used. Or anything they might use to communicate with each other. There was no way this note falling on his mat was an accident. It was meant for him. He hoped none of the other Whisperers in the room had seen Micah dropping it, although he doubted they’d squeal on him. It was hard to squeal when you had no voice.
He unfolded the note under his blanket as slowly as he could, keeping his eyes on the ceiling. It was a high ceiling with timber rafters that crossed at strange angles beneath the golden dome of the oval shaped roof. He knew these angles better than the lines on his hand, he’d spent so much time staring up at them. The arena was long and relatively narrow, and as he’d moved his mat up a row, he’d stare at a new set of rafters. He was certain he could sketch them perfectly if required.
When he was sure he hadn’t aroused any suspicions, he took a deep breath, preparing to position himself in such a way that he could read the note. Would he even remember how to read? It had been such a very long time.
He turned to his side, slowly, carefully, as if he were going to sleep, and lifted the blanket slightly to let in a small amount of light.
He was holding a note. A small piece of paper that looked like it’d been torn from a larger piece.
The first thing he saw was a letter on the bottom of the paper, drawn in a large childish hand.
It was the letter M.
Micah. Thank goodness she hadn’t been foolish enough to sign it with her name. Although, he would’ve preferred it if she hadn’t signed it at all. He’d already known who it was from.
She’d risked everything to deliver this note to him. Both her life and his. It was the most selfless and selfish gift he’d ever received. And as much as he wished she hadn’t done it, he was so glad she had. Because right now, as frightened as he was, he felt more alive than he had in the five years since he’d come to the palace. More alive even than when he’d talked to Rose.
Micah was his family. She represented everything about his life before he came here. Rose might claim to have always seen him as a person, not a Whisperer, but it was Micah who knew him as the person he was. Rose would never get the chance to do that. Unless somehow if he did manage to escape, he could take her with him as she’d asked.
He relaxed his face, closing his eyes almost all the way, to look like he was sleeping and fixed his eyes on the paper. There was only one word on it and it was smudged, as if written in a hurry. Still, he could make out what it said.
Surprise! M
He shook his head and suppressed a laugh. She’d risked her life—and his— to say that. Although if he thought about it, the note said a whole lot more than one word. It said that Micah was still… Micah. Still his little sister, ready to jump out from behind a corner and announce “Surprise!” He was certain she was telling him not to cry over her like he had in the dining hall.
Micah had been here two days. Two days! And already she was far braver than he’d been in five years. He’d always loved her fighting spirit, but now he was in complete awe of it. She could—and would—do anything she wanted to.
He held in a gasp as a wave of truth washed over him.
Micah was in here on purpose. She’d wanted to find him and had passed the Whisperers’ test intentionally. She’d known exactly how to answer the test questions. And she’d chosen to answer them in such a way as to put her here.
What did that mean? Was she trying to save him? Or had things gotten so bad outside the palace that she was trying to save herself? How could she leave Ma, Da and the baby like that? Dread punched him in the gut. Maybe there was no Ma, Da or baby for her to leave. Why else would she be here?
No, he shouldn’t be so negative. His parents were fine.
Whatever Micah’s reasons, she was serious about what she was doing and clearly, she wasn’t going to waste any time doing it.
Soon he would find out. Either that, or soon he’d be dead.
MICAH
NINE
Micah settled down on her mat at the back of the arena and carefully arranged the blanket over herself. She hated this blanket. It was itchy and she longed to be back home in the days when her parents were alive and she had a soft quilt on her bed.
Hopefully, Jeremiah had found her note by now. If not… she shuddered. As long as he found it before a guard did. Surely, he would. She was certain he’d been aware of her walking past his mat. He’d frozen, as if holding his breath, until she’d passed.
Her beautiful, brave brother. It’d taken all her strength not to fall to the floor, throw her arms around him and whisper surprise directly in his ear. For as different as he looked on the outside, she could tell he was still the same person. The King may own his body, but he didn’t own his soul.
She smelled like last night’s soup, which wouldn’t be so bad if it were the kind of soup her mother used to make, not the revolting slop she’d been assigned to dish into bowls as each Whisperer approached for their second and final meal of the day. It was a horrible job, although not as bad as her morning chore of chopping up the ingredients that would be used to make it. Cutting a carrot without making a sound was impossible. Thankfully she hadn’t seen the Conductor in the kitchen yet. Potatoes were quieter, and onions quieter still, even if they made her cry. Not that there were many ingredients to cut up, given the amount of people they had to feed. The soup was mainly water with a few herbs she’d seen the cook stir in and the small pile of vegetables she prepared. To think she and Tallis had imagined Jeremiah in the palace eating a roast chicken!
She wasn’t allowed to eat any soup herself, until the last bowl had been served. And as much as she detested the foul liquid, her stomach disagreed and growled at the smell of it, not fussy about what it was she put in it, just as long as she filled it with something.
A growling stomach was a dangerous thing for a Whisperer. Thankfully the sound must have been muffled under her heavy robe. Any louder and she’d really be in trouble. The Conductor had made that very clear in her training. No noise was acceptable, bodily functions included. An attack of the hiccups could be deadly, as could their twice-daily toilet breaks, which needed to be kept as quiet as humanly possible. A true Whisperer needed to be in control of their minds, their bodies and their voices. No exceptions. Ever. Although she noticed that snoring seemed to be conveniently ignored.
There’d been four of them in her training group. Only three had made it through with their heads attached to their necks. The unfortunate fourth one had been used as an example very early on when she’d asked the Conductor for some water. She was a woman who’d had long dark hair before they’d been lined up and shorn bald, leaving scalps as smooth as the oranges that’d lured them there. The woman’s mouth had dropped open after her head had fallen to the floor, as if still seeking the water she’d asked for. Micah hoped that wherever her soul traveled after this life, it was to a place filled with water and she could swim and drink and live a life that’d been robbed of her too soon.
The Conductor had smiled at them after the deed was done and asked if they understood the consequences of not following the rules. It was the first time he’d smiled and Micah had been horrified to see his yellow teeth clicking. She wondered if he did that in every training group, as a way to ensure full compliance. Because it was extremely effective. Before the beheading, they’d been reluctantly complying. And after… Well, after, things were different. They’d actively complied—watching their every movement, every sound, every reaction. The risks were too high.
She’d seen fear in the faces of her two remaining companions and wondered what they saw when they dare
d to look at her. They may mistake it as fear, but it wasn’t. It was anger. How dare they trick her brother and take him from his family like that! How dare the King treat people as pawns in his sick game. She didn’t care what he had to wish for. No wish could be so important it was worth taking the lives of so many innocent people.
And as much as fear may drive compliance, anger drives rebellion. And she intended to waste no time.
As she’d dished up Jeremiah’s bowl of soup, he’d looked directly into her face and they’d asked each other a thousand questions without saying a word. She wanted to let him know it was still her and that she was all right. He looked so heartbroken. How could she convey that in a few seconds of silence as she handed him a bowl? She couldn’t.
So, as soon as the cook’s back was turned, she’d torn the corner of a page from the large leather-bound book he used to keep track of supplies. The cook was the only Whisperer Micah had seen with access to such a thing as pen and paper. Assigning Micah to work in the kitchen was the universe practically begging her to make the most of it.
She’d taken the pen, dipped it in ink and scribbled her note as fast as she could, not daring to take the time to write more than the one word needed to let Jeremiah know that it was still his sister inside this Whisperer’s robe.
Barely allowing the ink enough time to dry, she’d folded the note and tucked it into her armpit. With no belts or pockets on her robe, her choices were limited. This morning’s rest time was the first opportunity she’d had to pass on the note. Breakfast had seemed too risky.
In a perfect world, she’d have written Jeremiah a note detailing her plan of escape. But the escape plans she’d had before coming into the palace, seemed foolish now. Knocking out guards and stealing their keys so they could run into the darkness of the night was just a fantasy. It wasn’t possible. Nor was setting fire to the palace and escaping during the chaos. Everything was too tightly locked down. There were too many eyes watching and too much silence to make any sudden moves. She needed a new plan. Jeremiah had been here for years now. He must have some idea of what they could do. Or at least tell her what he thought of the new idea she’d been busy forming in her mind. An idea that would save more than just her and Jeremiah. An idea that could save them all. The more she thought about it, the more she thought it had potential.
Micah lay as still as she was able, waiting for the sun to hit its highest point in the sky, which would announce the female Whisperers’ hygiene time. Not that being squirted with cold water and having a razor scraped all over your body seemed like great hygiene, although she had to admit she was cleaner here than she’d been when sleeping under bridges. Or even cleaner than she’d been in the Before, when Jeremiah would tell her that the dirt was making her freckles join up. She smiled at this memory.
Sunshine burst through the apex of the arena’s dome, announcing the midpoint of the day and Whisperers began to rise from their mats. Slowly. Quietly. Micah stretched and got up, her body moving at the opposite speed to her brain, as she psyched herself up for what she was prepared to do. It was time to give Jeremiah another surprise. A proper one this time. The sort that made him jump.
She made her way up the side of the arena, glancing as quickly as she dared at Jeremiah’s mat. He was still lying with his head tucked inside his blanket. The note was gone. She hadn’t heard the guards making a fuss, so he must have found it.
She left the arena and padded down the hallway, following the trail of female Whisperers, keeping her eyes cast down. A palace worker stood at the bathroom door, with a whistle around her neck, ready to alert the Conductor should any Whisperer step out of line.
There were no mirrors in this bathroom, for that would mean appearance was important. The lack of mirrors would work in Micah’s favor today, to help her pull off her surprise.
Micah took off her robe, slipping something out of the hood as she did so. The magic tricks she’d performed at the market had served her well. Her sleight of hand so precise that she could take the belt from someone’s waist without them noticing. She placed her robe in the washing crate, careful to conceal the hidden object she kept in her hand. Her nakedness was of no concern to her. She’d already become used to seeing the other females naked, just as she’d become used to them seeing her. Their skinny bodies all looked much the same without curves and bumps to define them. There wasn’t much to look at apart from their varying heights and the shapes of their breasts.
As Micah approached the shower tunnel, which was more like a torture chamber than anything resembling a shower, her wrist flicked so quickly that only the most trained set of eyes would ever notice.
She hesitated, slowing her pace, waiting for the worker to see what Micah hoped she would think was a pool of blood seeping from the shower tunnel, but was in fact concentrated raspberry juice she’d pilfered from the kitchen and carried with her in a small jar, releasing the contents to create the distraction she needed.
The workers would never be able to figure out what that mess was and how it got there, even once they realized it wasn’t blood. The women had no injuries and there was far too much of it to be explained away by a woman’s cycle, if the bitter-tasting shot of liquid they were forced to swallow each week had failed to prevent it. It was just the sort of confusion she needed.
At the exact moment the worker blew her whistle, Micah dove into the crate of discarded robes and buried herself. She was so fast, she doubted any of the other Whisperers saw her, let alone the worker. She carefully wriggled herself into a robe, made sure she was covered and created a small pocket of air, listening to the commotion in the bathroom as the guards ran in. It was hard to make out each spoken word, just enough to glean that her plan seemed to have worked. The voices were nowhere near the crate, which meant that nobody had seen her climb inside.
She waited. Minutes felt like hours as the commotion in the bathroom settled. Then she felt herself moving as the crate was wheeled from the bathroom. She’d seen Jeremiah collecting the full crates the day before and had immediately decided this would be the best way to speak to him. Perhaps the only way.
The movement paused, then took off again. She was certain she must be in Jeremiah’s hands by now, as she rolled silently along the passageways. Very slowly, she moved the robes out of her way, so she could get a glimpse of who was pushing the crate. She had to be sure it was him.
Light broke through the small space, as she shifted a piece of fabric and brought her face closer to the top of the crate.
She peered out and there he was. Her beloved brother, pushing the crate. He looked less sad and more frustrated since the last time she’d seen him. This was a blow. Surely her note should have reassured him that she was okay. He should be smiling to himself.
She watched him and waited, needing to be sure they were alone before she let him know he had some extra cargo today.
He turned a corner and parked the crate. She peeked out a little more and saw him opening a door. He returned to the back of the crate and pushed it through. The room they were in was warm and smelled damp. It must be a laundry. She only hoped he worked alone.
He closed the door behind him and wheeled the crate over to a row of large vats, stopping the crate in front of one of them.
Throwing aside the robes that were still covering her, she leaped to her feet and waved her hands over her head.
“Surprise!” she called, as loudly as she dared.
Jeremiah jumped in just the way she’d hoped. But as he spun around and looked at her, the expression on his face the opposite of what she’d hoped for. It was the face of anger. He didn’t find this as funny as she’d hoped he would.
“Micah! Get down before someone sees you.” His voice was not so much a whisper, it was more of a hiss.
“I had to see you,” she said, crouching down. “I didn’t mean to make you mad.”
“You could get us both killed.” His face softened just a fraction. He was clearly finding it hard to stay angry with
her.
“Aren’t we dead in here already?” she asked.
He went to answer her and stopped himself. Perhaps he knew she was right.
“Please give me a hug,” she said, climbing out of the crate. She needed to feel her brother’s love. She’d waited so long and been through so much to get to this moment.
Jeremiah’s eyes pricked with tears and he reached out for her, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close. It felt strange. The last time she’d hugged him, he’d been so much taller than her. Now her forehead rested on his shoulder.
“You’re crazy,” he said.
“I’m crazy about surprises.” She giggled. It felt so good to laugh again. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed about anything. Perhaps not since she’d last seen Tallis.
Jeremiah pulled away, so he could look at her. “You came to the palace on purpose, didn’t you?”
He’d figured it out. She knew he would and didn’t want him to feel bad for having told her exactly how to pass the test.
She nodded. “I came here to get you out.”
“Don’t you think I would have gone already, if that were possible?” He kept his hands on her shoulders. She was glad. It steadied her. The relief of having him back by her side was making her feel faint.
“I have a plan,” she said, aware that they were running out of time before their absence was missed. She needed to get to the point. “It came to me this morning and the more I think about it, the more it makes sense.”
She felt him sigh, rather than heard it.
“You need to become the Conductor,” she blurted out.
“No!” His hands dropped from her shoulders and he stepped away.
She flinched at the certainty in his response.
“Think about it,” she said. “It makes sense. It’s the only way we can take control. You’re so close to the front.”
The Kingdoms of Evernow Box Set Page 10
