Page 45
“Wait,” someone said at the end of the line. A man in a tattered gray jacket was staring at me. His finger shook as he pointed in my direction. “She’s the King’s daughter. They ordered her execution in the City today. ”
“For the attempted murder of her father,” the woman beside me added. She turned around, facing the soldiers. “You can’t punish her. She’s acted with the rebels, not against them. ”
The soldiers didn’t speak. The short, stocky soldier with gray hair pulled me from the line. He grabbed rope from his belt and began tying my hands, while the other soldier leveled his gun at my chest. Their faces were calm, betraying nothing.
“Anyone else?” the female soldier asked. She spoke slowly, and I noticed then that her lip was cut, the flesh swollen at the corner of her mouth. “Is anyone else from the Palace?”
“She shouldn’t be punished,” the woman repeated. She lowered her hands, stepping out of the line. “Please—let her be. She’s pregnant. ”
The man with gray hair pulled me forward, my hands tied. “That’s not your decision. ” He led me toward the roof’s exit, the female soldier following us. The rest of the citizens just stood there, watching, their hands still raised as the soldiers pulled me down the stairs.
As soon as we were alone, the words spilled from my lips. I tried not to sound desperate as they pulled me forward, the metal steps passing quickly beneath my feet. “I was working with Moss. ” I could barely make out their faces in the dark. “He was in a position inside the Palace, and I was working with him in an assassination plot against the King. ”
The stocky soldier twisted the rope around his hand again, not looking at me as I spoke. We went through the cement warehouse, its dank, shadowy insides filled with half-built furniture—dressers, tables, and chairs. The rifle was pressed into the small of my back as we stepped out onto the road. “I’ve never heard of a Moss,” the female soldier said.
“Reginald,” I said. “He went by Reginald inside the City. He worked as my father’s Head of Press. ”
A fire burned up ahead, casting a strange glow on the buildings. The stocky soldier pulled me along, the rope burning my wrists. “You admit he’s your father,” he said.
The woman shook her head. Her hair was rolled into thin dreadlocks, the ends of them caked with dirt.
“I was part of the Trail,” I added. “Ask the women in Califia—contact Maeve. She knows. ”
We just kept moving, their faces unfeeling as we walked past rows of citizens. Some were huddled outside apartment complexes, being questioned by the rebels. A whole line of New American soldiers stood in the parking lot of an abandoned supermarket, their hands roped behind their backs, their weapons in a pile. I tried to push away the quiet, persistent fear that had taken hold of me. How could it end here, like this?
“I killed him. It wasn’t an attempt. You’ll know soon enough. He’s dead. ”
They didn’t respond. We were coming up to the main road. A pack of rebels stood by the Mirage apartments, its glass front dark. They listened to a woman shouting orders. She pointed them in different directions, gesturing with her hands.
“We need more in the south end of the City,” she said. Her back was to me, her short black hair tangled at the nape of her neck.
I knew her before she turned, revealing the same profile I’d seen a hundred times before. I smiled, despite the rope binding my hands, despite the sound of gunfire off in the north, near the wall.
“You’re alive,” I called out. “You’re the rebel leader?”
Arden turned. Her black hair had grown out, framing her face in a short bob. In her mud-caked clothes, the red band tied tightly around her bicep, she looked like every other soldier. A rifle was slung across her back. She held up one hand, and the soldiers around her fell into a slow silence, pausing, waiting for her to address them again. Then she came to me, enveloping me in a hug.
The weight of it all lifted, my body giving in to hers. I buried my face in her neck, letting myself cry for the first time in days, the swell of it so intense I felt like someone was choking me. We stayed like that, locked in a tight embrace, as if we were the last two people on Earth.
Thirty-two
“THEY SAW THE FIRST SIGNS OF THE TRUCKS,” ARDEN SAID. “IT won’t be more than an hour until the girls from the Schools reach the City. ” She stepped out of her shoes, curling her feet underneath her at she sat on the edge of my bed. She wore a black knit sweater and burgundy skirt—her hair brushed away from her face. After so many months together in the wild, of seeing her in stiff, dirt-caked clothes, she seemed foreign to me. She looked so at ease inside the City, confident even in the way she sat—legs folded to one side, her fingers kneading a muscle in her neck.
“I’ll go with you to greet them,” I said. “The workers in the adoption centers have been put on call to help. They’ve brought the supplies to the lower floors of the Mandalay apartments. Hopefully in a few weeks, when things stabilize, the girls can begin venturing into the City. ”
“Hopefully,” Arden repeated. She met my gaze for a moment before looking away. She didn’t need to explain what she meant. It had been three weeks since the colonies took over, and the City was still in transition. I wondered how long it would last, the sudden swells that rose up on the main strip. A faction of New American soldiers resented the rebels for taking control of the army and loosening security at the wall. The Lieutenant had fled in the hours following the invasion, abandoning the men. When I imagined life in the City without my father, with the rebels securing the Palace, I hadn’t realized I’d still be in danger. Even now, though Arden and I had been hidden in the Cosmopolitan tower several blocks away, soldiers escorted me wherever I went. They were stationed outside our doors at night, in anticipation of an assassination attempt.
“The elections can’t come soon enough,” I said. “Once the government formally transitions, once there’s one leader—”
“President,” Arden specified, nearly smiling as she said it. “The first president in nearly seventeen years. ”
“Maybe you,” I said. Arden stood, barely acknowledging the comment. Several leaders from the east had decided it was best to combine the resources of the cities now, establishing them as three separate settlements under unified rule. A couple who’d led the northernmost colony were said to be up for election, but there were murmurs that Arden would be considered as well. She was one of three rebels from the west who’d inspired the colonies to come forward, in the wake of the failed siege. When I thought of Arden leaving the boys and instead taking a horse east, I was certain she deserved a permanent place in the Palace (though that term—“Palace”—was being used less and less these days).
“There will be a place for you as well,” Arden said. “And Charles. He’s been invaluable in accessing your father’s files inside the City. The rebels said none of the others would help with the transition. ”
In the days after the rebels established control, I’d been deposed, giving a long account of the events leading up to my father’s death, including the days I’d spent in the wild. I’d given a detailed account of Moss’s death, though his body still had not been recovered. They suspected he’d been buried in one of the mass graves near the south end of the wall. An exact number had never been confirmed, but they believed several thousand died in the initial siege and the violence that followed.