Chapter 63
Saffron
Saffron was sure it said something unsavory about her character that she found the riot comforting,
No matter what happened, no matter how hard they were pushed down, Elysians always pushed back. Something in her longed to be out there with them. But even besides the fact that she was a Jill now, she was too weak. Stronger than she had been, but not strong enough. She had to leave the mask pushed up in her hair if she didn’t wear it on her face. If she took it off even for a few minutes she felt like passing out.
The others were pushing out of their bedrolls. The Green Jacks stayed close to each other. They would have to find somewhere else to hide soon. The trees outside were probably taking over the street. Luckily, she and Jane had already altered them so much to stop the Dust, hopefully, the verdure would be attributed to that.
“They’re going to bomb the amphitheatre before morning,” Killian said, pushing abruptly into the basement.
“She’ll only rebuild it,” Caradoc muttered. “She’s desperate.”
“Still, if you’re going to go, I’d go now,” Killian said. “Before it’s too late. There are bounty posters everywhere.”
“Thank the Green Gods,” Livia muttered, already shoving her arms into her jacket. “Let’s go.”
“Signals are spotty,” Killian continued, his eyes on Saffron. “That should help. And there aren’t a lot of Elysians likely to give you up. At least not tonight.”
She frowned at him. He frowned back. “What?”
“You’re looking at me funny.”
“That’s because I’m going to miss you, idiot,” he muttered.
“I’m not going anywhere.” She felt Roarke’s eyes on her as well.
Saffron always assumed that once she’d left the City, she’d never return. But she knew Killian wanted to organize proper rebels, ones who actually rebelled instead of obeyed, and she was fairly certain if she left him alone he’d get an arrow in the back. And someone had to make sure Titus and his bloody moles paid for what they’d done.
Not to mention, someone had to help Killian distribute whatever food Jane and Caradoc sent their way, as well as make sure the Tagging centres didn’t go on unchallenged. There was no question the Directorate would try again. And again. Especially if the last of the satellites were failing.
“I’m staying with you, dumbass,” she told Killian. His smile was startled and sweet. She nearly groaned. He really would get himself killed without her.
She stepped closer to Roarke. She didn’t owe him explanations or excuses, but she liked him. She’d miss him. “I have to stay,” she said. “The Core will need a Green Jill more than the Spirit Forest does.”
“I know.” He didn’t sound surprised.
She shifted awkwardly. “I’m sorry.” She kissed him, and his hands closed over her hips, as if he could keep her close. “Goodbye, Roarke.”
“Goodbye, Saffron.”
Saffron turned away, refusing to admit that her eyes felt hot. Jane watched her sympathetically. “Don’t,” she muttered. Jane just smiled. “And don’t die.” She hugged Jane hard. “We’re linked now remember?”
“I should be saying that to you, don’t you think? All things considered.”
She snorted. “I don’t know, but I think you might be as reckless as I am.”
“I shudder to think,” Roarke said. She nudged him with her shoulder, glad for the comradery, even if it was a little forced. “I’ll look after her.”
“She doesn’t need it,” Saffron admitted. “She’d pretty bad-ass for an Enclave girl.”
“For a Green Jill, you mean,” Jane said.
“That too.”
They helped Jane, Caradoc, Roarke, Livia and the three Green Jacks sneak through the chaos of the Core. Bonebirds circled overhead. They’d been feeding for days. Saffron tried to think of Oona as a Feral, with her bones and body given to the birds.
Killian stood next to her as the other disappeared into the shadows.
The riot went on for three days. True to Caradoc’s prediction, Cartimandua and the Directorate began rebuilding the amphitheatre within hours. The makeshift bombs had only managed to blow apart on of the outer walls and a section of seating.
In the end, the Directorate still had the City, and the Green Jacks, though fewer of them.
But the Core had its own Green Jill now too. She walked the rope bridges at night, visiting balcony and rooftop gardens, blooming dandelions and chickweed and stinging nettles; all of the overlooked weeds that grow a little stronger when challenged.
She was on a rooftop when the lights flickered and died.
The whirling pink and purple glow of the Rings lasted a little longer, but even they faded. She knew they wouldn’t be turning back on again. She met Killian’s eyes.
“Power’s out.”
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Alyxandra Harvey
Alyxandra Harvey lives in a stone Victorian house in Ontario, Canada with a few resident ghosts who are allowed to stay as long as they keep company manners. She loves medieval dresses, used to be able to recite all of The Lady of Shalott by Tennyson, and has been accused, more than once, of being born in the wrong century. She believes this to be mostly true except for the fact that she really likes running water, women’s rights, and ice cream.
Aside from the ghosts, she also lives with her husband and their dogs. She likes cinnamon lattes, tattoos and books.
She is mostly fueled by literary rage. And tea.
Find her at
[email protected] Other Books by Alyxandra Harvey:
The Drake Chronicles
Haunting Violet
The Lovegrove Legacy
Stolen Away
Love Me, Love Me Not
Red
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