A Rift Between Cities (Arcera Trilogy Book 3)

by Liz Delton

  Sylvia hadn’t even had time to visit Riftcity, and talk to Ember, Flint, or Ven. They exchanged letters through Luna, who seemed to enjoy the long stretches of running between the cities, but it wasn’t the same.

  When Sylvia had learned of Riftcity’s food situation, she brought it up in one of her many conversations with Lady Naomi, who arranged for provisions to be sent to the city on the rift. It had been surprisingly easy to ask the favor, and it made Sylvia even more suspicious about the Lady’s avoidance of Atlan’s bargain.

  Sylvia also heard about the goings on in Riftcity through Colin, Lena, and Talia, who had offered their aid shortly after the battle of Meadowcity. Alice had elected to stay in Meadowcity to monitor its security. It seemed the quiet girl had just as much skill with drones as Emrick did, and she was even offered a place on Gero’s staff.

  Though they had been given permission to return to Seascape—despite what they had thought of at the time as treachery—the other initiates continued to help the Four Cities rebuild.

  On one of their many trips back to Meadowcity, Atlan and Emrick let Sylvia fly. She let out a shout of surprise when they floated down to land without a single bump.

  There was no longer any need to cloak it for stealth, so they left the sleek black jet in the place between two hills where they had taken to landing it, and headed for the open gate. It was approaching dinner time, and Sylvia was looking forward to having a meal with her family. She hadn’t quite grown used to dinner at Castle Tenny, with Lady Naomi’s proper manners and pristine dinnerware, not to mention the stiff conversation.

  In Seascape, Sylvia had been assigned to her old rooms in the castle. She had been delighted to see her old friend Medina again, who came by often to dress her for the many teas she attended while in the city. Lady Naomi insisted upon proper attire, as usual.

  She and Atlan spent most nights in Seascape sitting by the fire and talking long into the night. They talked about the war, about Seascape and Meadowcity, but more often about simpler things like the color of the sunset that day, or things they had seen on the vids.

  Sylvia’s earlink now had access to the wide network of Seascape’s public vids, which were now showing images from the war, and the revival efforts taking place. Now that the population had been swayed, the vids showed happenings in the Four Cities daily.

  Her stomach grumbling, Sylvia’s eyes were trained on the path ahead of her as they wove through the darkening woods outside of Meadowcity, eager to get inside the gate.

  The sound of slithering leaves to her right made her jerk up her head, and she cursed herself for letting her guard down. Fingers on her dagger, she squinted past the shadows and saw the figure of a man in the woods, walking slowly toward them.

  She stiffened. The last people she had seen lurking about these woods had been the Scouts, but they had all been rounded up and tried just like Greyling. Hadn’t they?

  The man was carrying a bow. She eyed the nearest trees, evaluating how quickly they could get behind them.

  Drawing her blade, she called, “Who’s there? What are you doing out here?”

  A moment’s pause, and then a familiar voice replied, “I could ask you the same thing, stranger.”

  Her dagger hand went limp. “Ven?”

  Of course, she had forgotten that Hunters were now allowed back outside the city—all the more food that could be shared amongst the cities the better—but the last she had heard, Ven was in Riftcity.

  Before it got too dark, and after a few quick introductions, the four of them headed inside the gate, Sylvia feeling suddenly nervous. She hadn’t seen Ven in months, not since that awkward goodbye before she left for Lightcity ages ago.

  Somehow reading her mind, though he hadn’t even linked with her, Atlan took leave of Sylvia and Ven, and headed for the Thorne villa. Emrick followed him with the eagerness of the hungry.

  She and Ven continued walking. Sylvia avoided the perimeter path, instead heading to the lake at the center of the city.

  The treewall had been roughly patched, but the sight of it still made her want to be sick, or to punch something, or to cry. The fact that those responsible for it had finally been dealt with did nothing to make it better. Seedlings had already been planted, but it would be decades before the trees could grow large enough again.

  They were silent at first. Sylvia wondered if, like her, Ven was desperately trying to think of something to say. Everything she thought of sounded completely idiotic.

  Finally, she grasped at one of the straws. “I wish you could have gone to Greyling’s trial,” she said, trying to recall what their conversations had been like before everything had become so awkward.

  “Ah, well, we were in the middle of clearing out the fields on the lower levels. At least Governor Selena was well enough to go,” he said.

  “I didn’t get a chance to talk to her,” Sylvia admitted, seizing the topic. “Is she all right now?”

  “Just a little more starved than most,” Ven said, shrugging. “They kept her separate from the rest, in case they ever needed her for something. The Scouts didn’t treat her very well, locked up like that.”

  “I know what that’s like,” Sylvia muttered.

  “Oh, I—” Ven froze.

  “—It’s fine,” Sylvia blurted, not having meant to bring it up at all.

  “Are you all right?” Ven asked, gazing so deep into her eyes that she realized he had been avoiding them up until now.

  They had stopped somewhere in the woodworker’s section, where all the shops had closed up for the night, but glass orbs glowed dully from their windows. She couldn’t remember how many times she and Ven had come here before the war to admire the bows and staves displayed in the windows.

  “Yes—yes,” she repeated, after he raised a dubious eyebrow at her.

  “It was only two weeks. I was lucky Atlan and the others came when they did. I guess Greyling was about to try me for treason the next day.”

  “Only two weeks,” she heard Ven repeat incredulously under his breath. “I wish I could have helped,” he offered in a normal volume. “I didn’t even know you’d been taken. Neve didn’t want to tell me.” Crimson blossomed on his cheeks as they set off once more down the path, the sky growing ever darker.

  They reached the lake, and out of habit sat down upon one of the many vacant benches. The round silver moon glowed up at them from the surface of the water.

  The sounds of the night grew louder around them as their silence stretched onward. The tension stretched between them like an invisible wire, vibrating tightly.

  When she couldn’t bear it any longer, Sylvia opened her mouth and said, “I’m sorry, Ven. For what happened between us, or,” she felt the color rising to her cheeks, “what didn’t happen.” Her voice trailed at the end, but she was proud she’d had the courage to say it. She was glad for the darkness to hide her no doubt scarlet face.

  Ven drew a deep breath. “I... wish things could have been different,” he choked out. “Well,” he chuckled darkly. “I wish a lot of things could have been different. But things are getting better. Will be better.”

  She nodded automatically, thinking of her strange new partnership with Lady Naomi, and her friendship with Atlan.

  The silence now wasn’t so painful. It was as if they’d said the words that unlocked the tension—the words that had needed to be said for a while.

  The general hum of a content city around them was soothing, as though the feel of the night air was different now that the war was over. Eventually, though, curiosity got the better of her.

  “What are you doing in Meadowcity, anyway? I thought you were helping rebuild Riftcity.”

  He ducked his head, but his words came out strong. “I’m on my way to Lightcity. Ember is staying in Riftcity to rebuild, but I need to do this for Lightcity first.”

  Sylvia couldn’t help but notice the way he said Ember’s name, and a sliver of happiness trickled into her heart, erasing some of the guilt.


  “I want to rebuild Lightcity,” he said finally. “I came back home to meet with Harry—you know Neve’s uncle, right?” Sylvia nodded. “He’s going to help me with some plans.”

  The grin that came to her face was accompanied by pricks of tears at her eyes.

  “I think that’s a wonderful idea,” she said.

  * * *

  After a month, Sylvia and Atlan’s trips back and forth began to slow, and Sylvia found herself lingering in Seascape when she couldn’t think of any pressing need to return to Meadowcity.

  With her family and home safe, places for the refugees secured, and supplies sent to Riftcity, a strange feeling crept up on her. It was a while before she realized what it was. Relief.

  There was just one thing that kept her from being perfectly happy—Atlan, and his bargain with Lady Naomi.

  Never once did the Lady bring it up in the many teas she invited Sylvia too. Properly dressed in one datawoven gown or another, they spoke of the future of Arcera, and Sylvia’s place in it.

  Once reluctant to speak about herself to the Lady, she had grown used to it, especially after learning about Naomi’s longing to have a daughter.

  On one of these occasions, Lady Naomi excitedly announced that she had a treat for Sylvia.

  Intrigued, Sylvia watched the Lady pull up a vid on her looking-glass.

  It showed a grassy field, through which an enormous four-legged beast sprinted—and perched atop, a woman, riding the animal. It was far larger than any wolf or deer.

  She had never seen anything like it. A long tail of course hair flowed in its wake as it leapt over a stone wall, and Sylvia held her breath, but the rider stayed on.

  “I thought you might like to see your namesake,” Naomi murmured with a small smile.

  Sylvia nodded, touched. A Rider.

  Atlan wasn’t invited to these teas, but Sylvia noticed the Lady’s demeanor towards him was more pleasant these days—or at least, less hostile. Sylvia was more than a little worried that it was because Lady Naomi had finally won in the battle against her son. Yet she hadn’t returned Atlan’s serum.

  The three of them would eat dinner together most nights, and even once, Sylvia had gotten to meet Atlan’s father, Lord Ingram.

  He couldn’t have been more different from Lady Naomi than a wolf from a hare. She was surprised to learn that he’d stayed with Naomi for almost two hundred years before separating—though they were still married, and still pleasant to each other. Ingram smiled easily, made jokes, and was downright jolly compared to his wife.

  It had been a whole week since Sylvia had been to Meadowcity when she and Atlan took the train to the southern cliffs of the island to take a break from the capital city.

  Sylvia was intrigued to look out over the cliffs that she had once climbed in the light of the moon, with only an intangible map in her datastrands to guide her way.

  The view was astounding. Far below them, the waves crashed methodically against the cliffs, pulling away, then rising to beat it again with their watery fists.

  Atlan took her hand, and they sat down in the grass a good distance from the cliff edge. They leaned against each other’s backs and listened to the waves.

  Sylvia closed her eyes, but steady waves of anxiety were building inside her.

  That whisper of doubt this past month had slowly built to a scream, pounding in her ears. What would happen when Atlan took the serum? Instantly, the day turned bitter around her.

  She knew, of course, that it would extend his life—something she had never dreamed possible until she had arrived on this impossible island.

  Would they stop seeing each other? Would he avoid her? She bunched her fingers into fists in the grass.

  With that uncanny knack of his, Atlan turned to face her. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his hand snaking over to hers.

  She fought the urge to bat his hand away. How much longer did she have with him?

  “It’s just,” she closed her eyes tightly, then found his again. “Your bargain with Lady Naomi.”

  She didn’t have to say any more. He scooted closer in the grass and took both her hands in his. She looked out over the ocean as he spoke.

  “We’ll figure something out,” he was saying.

  But the words floated off into the wind, and crashed down onto the cliffs below. Sylvia bit her lip to keep from crying—something she only just now realized she was close to doing.

  She had never cried in front of anyone before, and I won’t do it now, she vowed. She took a steadying breath, and set her eyes back on him.

  “All right,” she said, nodding. “But let’s not put it off any longer. I’m going to ask Lady Naomi at tea.” She shoved the threatening tears far down, where they would have trouble finding their way out again.

  Atlan opened his mouth to protest, but she was ready with a retort.

  “I think it’s best if I ask. She...” Sylvia paused. The next words weren’t exactly kind.

  “Likes you better?” Atlan said, but there was no bitterness in his voice. Instead, he smiled.

  “That wasn’t what I was going to say,” she said.

  “I put my life in your hands.”

  “Don’t say it like that!” Sylvia protested, detecting the sarcasm, and swatting him with her hand. “You rescued me,” she said with an attempt at a smile. “Now let me try and rescue you.”

  Later, when Medina came by her rooms to help her dress—she now had several datawoven gowns in her closet, thanks to Naomi—Sylvia’s stomach was fluttering uncontrollably. She took deep, steadying breaths as Medina laced her gown.

  Atlan had gone to his own rooms when they had returned to the castle, so after Medina deemed her hair suitable, Sylvia sent him a link.

  I’m off to tea, she said, trying to project a hopeful note into her tone.

  Good luck, he said, and she focused on the echo of his words as she strode down the corridors of the castle to the Lady’s private tea room.

  When she arrived, the tea things were neatly arranged on the spindly wire table in the center of the room as usual. The looking-glasses that lined the walls surrounded them with a cheery afternoon at the top of the cliffs.

  Sylvia had activated the colors in her own datawoven dress in shades of blue, lined in black. The Lady wore a black gown with slashes of crimson down each side. It was more than a little intimidating.

  The tea poured, the cakes selected, Sylvia gathered her courage for the question she had neatly formed in her brain.

  “Lady Naomi,” she began, and the Lady looked up from her teacup, eyes boring into Sylvia’s with their usual intensity. The words slipped through her brain like a wave through the sand.

  “I, well, Atlan told me about the bargain he made with you, and I’m really glad you helped Meadowcity in the battle, but I was wondering...” she stopped. This wasn’t at all how she had rehearsed. She started over.

  “I don’t think Atlan should take the serum,” she said boldly. “I think he would be much happier with a normal life—and I think others should consider it before taking it just like everyone else.”

  Both of Lady Naomi’s eyebrows were halfway into her hair by the end of this speech. She looped her forefinger in the handle of her teacup and took a delicate sip.

  “I see,” was all she said.

  Sylvia was glued to the spot. It was an enormous effort to reach out her hand and hook her own finger in her teacup handle and bring the warm porcelain to her lips.

  “But you’re wrong, my dear,” Naomi finally said. As if breaking a spell, the Lady reached out for a scone, and began noisily buttering it.

  Mouth open, Sylvia’s heart sank. She was going to lose Atlan. Would he even speak to her again after he took the serum? Would she want him to?

  “I didn’t help Meadowcity,” Naomi said, taking an uncharacteristically large bite out of her buttered scone.

  Sylvia cocked her head to the side like a bird. “What? What do you mean? I saw one of the drones—”
>
  “It must have been your own, didn’t you say Alice was piloting it?” Naomi said politely after thoroughly chewing her food.

  “But, the others—”

  Naomi waved an imperial hand over the plate of scones. “Sylvia, you must have one of these.”

  What in Arcera was going on?

  Half angry, half elated, Sylvia took a scone in a daze. Was she really saying what Sylvia thought she was saying?

  After two bites of the lavender scone, Sylvia couldn’t take it any longer, and blurted, “So Atlan doesn’t have to take the serum?”

  Naomi brushed stray crumbs off of her lap with her frilly napkin. “Not if he doesn’t want to,” she said, finally.

  It was as if Sylvia heard the words from very far away. Not if he doesn’t want to. Then they got louder, coming closer, until they were beating inside her, next to her heart.

  With her eyes out of focus as she linked with Atlan, Sylvia didn’t see the tear leak out of one of Lady Naomi’s eyes and fall neatly into the frilly napkin in her lap.

  Fifty-Seven

  It was torture, his cell in the fifth city.

  He was finally here, finally where he wanted to be. But he could never escape. Never experience their wonders, their technology, their world.

  He had wanted it to be everyone’s world. He had only wanted to spread these wondrous things to all of Arcera, for the good of everyone.

  But no one had listened. No one had ever listened. Not Savannah, not the Four Cities, not Seascape.

  Why didn’t they listen?

  They hadn’t listened to him at the trial, taking the words of his enemies over his own. None of them saw what he had been trying to accomplish, none of them!

  And when that witch, that Lady had brought a panel of black glass to life showing images of him threatening Seascape, that was when he knew it was over. That was when they condemned him to live out the rest of his life in this torturous cell.

  Savannah’s last words to him kept repeating in his head, over and over, and over, until he had begun to hear them in his sleep. Sometimes he heard them in the night when he wasn’t sleeping, whispering through the darkness. You’re a monster, and I’m sorry I ever loved you.