Traitor Born

  “Who is he!” Hawthorne demands.

  “If I tell you, he’ll kill you. Trust me, Hawthorne, it’s better this way. I’ll see you soon.”

  Hawthorne is visibly shaking with rage. He points at Reykin. “If you hurt her, I’ll rip your heart out.”

  “It’s already gone,” Reykin retorts. The belligerent firstborn Star gestures to the door. We pass through to a small garden and into the shadows of a coming dawn.

  Chapter 10

  The Nature of Dawn

  I hold my stinging ribs, silently cursing Reykin.

  Speckled with stones, moss, and prickly things, a path winds through the majestic trees and shrubbery. The stones dig into my bare feet. Reykin trails behind me. My pace is slow because every step hurts. He touches my elbow. I ease my arm away from him, even though I could use the support. We trudge along the path, and every few steps Reykin glances behind us, maybe expecting to see Hawthorne. He won’t. Hawthorne is stealth itself. He won’t try anything, though, not with Reykin training his fusionmag on me.

  We make it to the tree line near the lake. Just inside the copse, a black airship rests beneath a small pile of fir boughs. Reykin pulls them off the concealed airship. The sun hasn’t broken the horizon, but the gray shadows are pushing back. Reykin opens the copilot door for me. I hold my breath, carefully climbing onto the seat. He closes my door and rounds the airship.

  Once inside the two-seater aircraft, Reykin tucks his fusionmag into the black holster on the side of his chest. He spares little time getting us into the air. We fly low, skimming just above the leafy canopy, avoiding detection. The set of his jaw tells me I’m in dangerous territory with him. I’m confused about why, but I’m unwilling to ask. Nor will I explain myself to him. It’s time he learns that he doesn’t own me.

  “Have you ever thought about the nature of dawn?” I ask. Reykin doesn’t answer. “I have. When you’re a soldier, you think about those things, especially because you hardly ever see the sunrise unless you’re in battle.” He doesn’t look at me, but he’s listening. “I’ve heard it said that dawn is the light, asking the night for permission to exist.”

  Reykin snorts rudely.

  “I agree,” I reply, watching the sun break the plane of the horizon. “I don’t subscribe to that either. I believe dawn is the violent overthrow of night. But night is always still there—just on the periphery—waiting . . . and at the end of the day, it comes to claim us all.”

  “I thought you were dead!” Reykin shouts. My fingers curls on the armrest in reaction to his violent outburst. “Witnesses saw you push a man through a window at the top of the building. Sea-Fated divers are dragging the lake beneath the social club searching for your body.”

  “People think I’m dead?” I ask.

  “No one survives that fall!”

  “I had hoverdiscs on. One of them continued to work. How did you find me?”

  “I infiltrated the secure access at the Halo Palace and located your moniker tracking . . . and then I waited. At first there was nothing. You were just gone. But then, I got a ping. It faded in and out, but it was there. The readings were bizarre: spotty location, alarming health readouts, hypothermia, distress. I was sure you were alive, but being tortured.”

  “My ribs are broken. I soaked in a bath of ice water last night. If you think that I derived any pleasure from it, I invite you to try it. I’ll even break your ribs for you.”

  He makes a growling sound that raises the fine hairs on my arms. “I thought you and Trugrave . . .”

  “I know what you thought, and it’s none of your business!” I retort.

  “It is my business! I can’t hide you like I hid your friend Hammon. Most people know you on sight.”

  “Don’t try to shame me, Reykin. You spent the whole night and an entire day in my apartment alone with me. You’re a firstborn. It’s the same thing.”

  “That was different!”

  “How was it different?” I ask.

  “It just was. I wasn’t in your bed with you all night. Dune wasn’t standing by the social club’s lake, demanding it be drained.”

  I cringe. “Does he know I’m alive?”

  “He doesn’t know for sure yet,” Reykin admits.

  “You knew I was alive when my moniker showed the coordinates of Hawthorne’s home,” I press. “Why didn’t you tell him then?”

  He ignores my question. “Tell me, why is Hawthorne still alive? Your brother didn’t kill him. Maybe your new firstborn Sword changed his mind and decided your brother and mother were the safer side?”

  “Hawthorne would never do that.”

  “Desperate people do desperate things,” Reykin replies.

  “He’s alive because of you,” I murmur. Reykin’s eyes narrow. “I know it was you who saved him. You erased every trace of our escape from the Sword Palace that night.”

  “I did that for you, not for him.”

  “That was dangerous. It could’ve alerted them to the fact we’d infiltrated their systems.”

  “They’ll never find anything.”

  “Do you think my family are the ones behind the attack last night?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is there evidence in any of their communications? Something we can use?”

  Reykin frowns. “I don’t know. I need to dig in and search for it, and that will take a while, but I know a few things. It wasn’t Gates of Dawn who attacked last night, and I’d rule out the Rose Garden Society, seeing as how quite a few of them are dead now. They wouldn’t shoot up their social club. Media outlets have already been calling it the ‘Rose Goddess Massacre.’”

  “Why ‘Rose Goddess’? Why not ‘Rose Garden’?”

  “They’ve been interviewing survivors all evening. The accounts of you defending Sword-Fated firstborns is becoming legendary. Complete idiots who attended other balls, like the one Grisholm and I were at last evening, are actually upset that they weren’t at your party to see the Goddess of War smote the Gates of Dawn.” I give him a side-eyed look. He stares at me derisively. “You didn’t think The Virtue would call out your mother, did you? The Gates of Dawn are a good scapegoat. It makes the continued conflict more palatable and you more of a heroine. The Virtue is biding his time. This attack binds Salloway closer to him. Their common enemy is proving to be a many-headed dragon.”

  I gaze out the window at the landscape flying by. Large tracts of land stretch as far as I can see. It’s so green, the kind of green that you never see in the city. Horses startle and run from our low-flying airship.

  I watch for a long time. Reykin communicates with Dune, letting my ex-mentor know that he found me. When the messaging between them ends, the silence grows.

  “I want to see my father,” I murmur.

  Reykin’s face changes. He loses some of his anger. The struggle in his eyes is real. “Roselle . . . I don’t know how to tell you this, so I’m just going to say it. Your father was murdered last night.”

  “I know. I saw him. I killed his murderers.” I think the shock of what happened last night is finally wearing off. My hands are trembling, and my throat aches with emotion I refuse to show. “He wanted to be buried in Virtues—beside his parents. He told me that. He said, ‘Don’t let them entomb me in that Sword whorehouse.’ We were at my grandfather’s funeral. He was drunk, of course, but he made me swear not to let his body rot in the Sword Mausoleum.”

  “He was the Fated Sword. Your mother is expected to hold his body in state and inter him in that shrine.”

  I grit my teeth. “He didn’t want to be there. It’s insanity to give his body to his murderers. Do you know what they did to him?”

  “No.”

  “They cut out his tongue. They literally made him hold his tongue.”

  “You can’t stop what they’ll do with his body. You won’t even be allowed at his funeral.”

  He’s right. Transitioned secondborns are rarely allowed to attend the funeral of a parent. In Swords, it’s usually bec
ause we die before our parents. But if that doesn’t happen, the surviving secondborn isn’t welcome at the funeral because it makes the rest of the family uncomfortable, and maybe a little afraid for the firstborn. “This is an insane world, Reykin.”

  “I know.”

  “I still need to see him. I need to say good-bye.”

  “Your father was a cruel man.”

  “Still.”

  Reykin sighs. “I’ll see what I can do to find out where his body is.”

  We fly in silence to the gorgeous city of Purity, though I hardly see any of it because I’m lost in thought. “Reykin?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can I ask you a question . . . about your family?” I glance at him. He nods. “After Census murdered them, did they allow you to bury them?”

  He stiffens. “No,” he replies softly. “My mother and brother were dragged through the streets of our town, and then left in the square to rot. I wasn’t allowed to move them. My father was killed trying to defend them. They set his body on fire.”

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper, holding back tears. I can’t cry. Not now.

  “I shouldn’t have yelled at you. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay. It’s actually normal. After a battle, one or two fights between Sword soldiers usually break out. Someone will accuse someone else of being reckless or thoughtless. They’ll usually brawl. It’s a reaction to fear. Fear turns to anger, and they need to put it somewhere, or they’ll turn it inward. It’s probably healthier to vent it. You were afraid I was dead. When you found out I wasn’t, your fear turned to anger. You know what that means, right?”

  “No,” Reykin replies.

  “It means you care about me.”

  He turns on me, his stare cold, devoid of emotion. “You’ve got it wrong. I care about no one. The only thing I want is revenge. You’re a means to an end, Roselle. I need you to help me topple a government. As soon as we accomplish that, I’ll have no more use for you.”

  I’m not sure why his words destroy me like they do. The heat of embarrassment floods my cheeks. “You may not care about me, but you care about your brothers. I can see it on your face when you talk about them.”

  “Not in the way you think. My heart is gone, Roselle.”

  “I think it’s the opposite. I think you carry around all their hearts now.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he growls. “Just do your job so I don’t have to kill you.”

  His words are a punch in my stomach. “Now who’s the cruel man?”

  “Did I hurt your feelings?” he asks with derision.

  I refuse to answer him.

  We’re stopped by security at the Halo Palace gates. The airship hovers by the barriers as we wait for clearance. Our arrival causes an uproar. Drone cameras and beat reporters who lurk near the grounds converge on the airship, beating on the glass and yelling questions that are too muffled to make out. The guards draw their weapons on the raucous crowd, pushing them back. Our vehicle is quickly scanned and searched. An Exo guard says, “You’re both required to report immediately to the Upper Halo pad 985. Do you need coordinates for the dock?”

  “No,” Reykin replies. The airship flies forward and into the sprawling landscape of the Halo Palace grounds. We gain altitude, lifting toward the golden halo-shaped crown. The sea beside us is magnificent. White flags and pointed spires from Balmora’s Sea Fortress are visible as we climb higher, and the castle is surrounded by the crystal-blue high tide.

  Reykin’s tone is gruff as he says, “I was hoping to avoid this until later.” He scrutinizes me. The frown on his face indicates I’m a disaster. “Just tell them what happened last night. You have nothing to hide.”

  I don’t look at him, but I lift my arms and fight the urge to weave my hair into a thick plait. “So, you do believe that nothing happened between Hawthorne and me.”

  “You can hardly breathe. Whatever happened last night, it wasn’t much fun.”

  “How do I explain how you found me?”

  “You had Hawthorne contact me on your behalf because you’re supposed to be my slave for the day.”

  I snort with derision. “I’d never do that. I’d contact Dune first.”

  “Then lie. Or maybe you can say that you asked Hawthorne to contact me because I care about you.”

  My heart aches. “Don’t make me regret saving your life, Reykin.”

  He lands the airship on a golden platform. Once it’s secure, a wide hangar opens. The platform moves, swinging sideways, bringing us inside the hangar. The doors close, and Dune emerges from an interior doorway ahead of us. His face is lined with fatigue.

  Exiting the vehicle on my own, I walk to meet Dune. He watches me, his gaze missing nothing. His eyes shift to Reykin. “Thank you.” Dune’s deep voice resonates in the hangar. Reykin simply nods. “How bad is it?” Dune asks me. His concern is muted. Injury is part of secondborn Sword life. It’s unavoidable.

  “No worse than most of our training days,” I reply with the same detachment.

  “I’ll have my physician examine you,” Dune says.

  “It’s unnecessary,” I reply.

  Dune frowns. “You’re required to answer questions from The Virtue about last night.”

  I want to lash out at Dune for not allowing me some time to recover before subjecting me to an inquiry. The lack of empathy for me after what I’ve been through is appalling, though I expected it. I nod and force my anger down.

  Dune ushers me into the corridor. Reykin trails us. I’m led to the Grand Foyer near the air elevators. Security has doubled. Everyone is scanned, even Dune, which makes me want to laugh. He wouldn’t need a weapon to kill The Virtue.

  The portraits of Fabian Bowie and his wife, Adora, stare at us as we ascend the stairs. I need to hold on to the railing, and my progress is slow. Reykin tries to take my elbow, but I snatch it away.

  Dune sees the exchange and frowns. I don’t care what he thinks. I want nothing more than to return to my room and be left alone. I feel empty and torn. My mother and brother tried to kill me again last night. They murdered my father. Hawthorne will marry a firstborn named Fauna. She’ll have his children, no matter what he says to the contrary. He’ll give his second child to the Fate of Swords. Nothing will ever change. Tears well up in my eyes, but I force them back, hoping my numbness lasts just a little longer. I might fall apart if it doesn’t.

  At the top of the stairs, a sophisticated reception area shines with ethereal light. Dune is immediately surrounded by The Virtue’s staff. I’m relieved. I walk away from them to the wall of windows and gaze out at the view of Purity. I cross my arms over my middle, holding myself. People I don’t know hover around me. They also work for The Virtue. A lovely Diamond-Fated secondborn scurries to my side. Her violet hair is in a tight twist. Dewdrop indigo lights flash on her eyelashes. “Hi, I’m Glisten, an assistant to The Virtue. How are you feeling?” Her eyes move from mine as she peeks at the rest of me. Her smile slips a little, but when her eyes meet mine again, she brightens with even more fake cheer. “Is there anything I can get you?” she asks with enthusiasm.

  “No,” I reply.

  Reykin hovers near us. “She’ll take a sweater, slippers, some water, and a chet.”

  “No, she won’t,” I growl.

  “Yes, she will. Have you got all that, Glisten?” Reykin’s smile is devastatingly handsome. It annoys me.

  Glisten is absolutely enthralled. “Of course. What size slippers?”

  I glower at her.

  “Right,” she says, backing away with her finger pointing behind her. “I’ll just go look it up.” Glisten hurries away to do Reykin’s bidding.

  “If she only knew the real you, Reykin, and not your playboy persona, she’d run away.”

  “Only you know the real me,” he replies.

  “What are we waiting for?”

  “I heard someone say Grisholm is on his way up.”

  “Why are you still here?” I
ask.

  “I’m required to be here. And anyway, you’re my slave for the day, remember? We firstborns take that power very seriously.”

  “‘Slave for a day’ only counts when it’s firstborn to firstborn. I’m secondborn. I’m a slave all the time.”

  “Finally,” he whispers. “Get mad, Roselle. Let the rage and injustice of what they’ve made you sink in. Together, we’ll destroy them all.”

  “Oh, it’s sinking in. Just like my claws in your face if you don’t leave me alone.” I’m too exhausted to be tactful.

  “What’s this about claws?” Grisholm asks behind us. The firstborn golden boy is swathed in light from the window. Reykin turns to greet him.

  “Roselle is angry at me,” Reykin says, “because I won’t let her out of being my slave for a day. I might have to postpone it, though, otherwise I’ll feel cheated. She’s restricted to the Palace for the briefing and she has to see a physician.”

  Grisholm grunts. “I’m not allowed out right now either. I don’t understand why we can’t just go to the trial grounds and watch the secondborn training camps. Roselle already decimated the attackers.” He looks at me with surprising admiration.

  Reykin snorts in agreement, playing along. “Is it true they didn’t have monikers?” he asks.

  “I didn’t see any monikers,” I reply. “Some of it is a blur.”

  Glisten returns with an armload of items. “I have a few choices for sweaters,” she says, holding them up. Reykin reaches out and takes a long cream-colored one. Shaking it out, he holds it for me. It’s more like a coat that clasps in the front, sensor-controlled with a small apparatus on the sleeve to regulate the temperature.

  Surprised by Reykin’s gesture, I pause for a moment. Slowly, I turn and thread my arms through the sleeves. Reykin’s nearness floods my senses. His scent surrounds me. I turn back, and he’s already reaching for the clasps, securing the ones to cover my abdomen and leaving the ones below my waist undone. I touch my hair, smoothing it, self-conscious about what I must look like.

  Glisten hands me matching slippers. I drop them and shove my feet into them without bending down. The fit is perfect, and that annoys me, too. These people know entirely too much about me. That’s part of their strength—information is the key to their power. Their data scientists are as lethal with information as I am with a sword.