Hatred Day

by T S Pettibone

  Lycidius’s answer to all of this surprised her.

  “I can’t help Hadrian right now,” he said, his knuckles white on his rifle. “At first, I thought the Coyote was crazy for trying to frame Hadrian as an All-Steam Hunter. But now I’m thinking differently. It might work if one of the Lords or even just a few Governors back him up.”

  “Why would anyone do that?”

  “Hadrian has even more enemies than his father did. So if the Coyote gets the support he needs, Hadrian will be put on trial in the Empyrean City. But you’re a credible witness; even better, they think you’ve been dealt with. If this all plays out right, you could get Hadrian exonerated.”

  Snofrid would do this for Lycidius in a heartbeat. But there was a problem. “If I testify in the Governor’s Court, it might not mean much. I’m still a halfbreed, Lycidius. Hadrian promised to make sure I was pardoned, but in his situation, he can’t exactly help me anymore.

  “It doesn’t matter. You can still testify legally and the Governor’s Court won’t be able to do a damn thing about it.”

  “Is that what you want me to do?”

  “If Hadrian’s defense calls for witnesses, then yes.”

  Snofrid nodded, trying to hide how afraid she felt. “When would it happen?”

  Lycidius broke off to give a nosy onlooker a warning glare. When the person turned away, he tilted his head closer, his breath warming her ear. “I don’t know,” he whispered. “Our trials aren’t like human trials. Things move fast. If you’re called on to testify, it’s going to happen soon.”

  “How soon?”

  “A few weeks.” Lycidius rubbed his temples. “There’s something else. If you do this, you’ll need to go into witness protection until the trial. We’d have to put Earth Square on hold until then.”

  She sat back, needing a moment to process. Just a few hours ago she’d believed that she’d be free, that all her problems would vanish with the death of the welx. Now, more daunting matters were tumbling in around her, suffocating her with their immensity. If she testified in the Governor’s Court, she’d be directly blocking the agendas of some very powerful Inborns. Once again, she was faced with a choice that frightened her to the depths of her being—the kind of choice that could have serious repercussions for her family.

  “Are you really planning on releasing me?” Lycidius asked softly.

  She checked his cloudy eye, which was glinting even in the gloomy lighting; for the first time, Rima looked hopeful. A sore lump swelled in her throat. “I promised your brother I would.”

  “Do you want to release me, Snofrid?”

  “No. But I’ve kept you from the Inborn Army long enough, Lycidius. And, like you said, if somehow all of this plays out right, then Desya and I will both be pardoned. We could be together without breaking our laws—and you wouldn’t be shamed.”

  He eyed her hand, as if wanting to hold it. “Getting relieved of my position isn’t something that can happen overnight. I need to contact your uncle, Lord Alcander, and five other people before anything can be done.”

  A sudden tremor under the gunship made Snofrid clasp her seatbelt. “What is that?”

  Lycidius lifted his eyes to the ceiling. “It’s magic. The Sky-Legion has been trying to breach the energy shield for the past five hours.”

  “Is it safe for Desya to be out there?”

  “Yes. But if he doesn’t get here in an hour, I’ll go and get him.”

  “Dez is here!” Jazara announced. She was running down the aisle toward them, her cheeks rosy with excitement. “And he brought his friend, too.”

  Snofrid got to her feet. “I’m coming.”

  “One minute, Snofrid.” Lycidius leaned over her path, blocking her exit. “That shield you raised...”

  She touched her Halo reflexively. “I don’t know where it came from. I was going to ask you if I’ve ever raised one before.”

  “No.” He checked her Halo curiously. “Not that I’ve seen.”

  “Hurry up!” Jazara hollered. “Dez is coming up the stairs.”

  “Let’s go,” she urged, stepping over his legs.

  Snofrid jogged down the aisle with Lycidius on her tail. That Desya was safe put down the last of her immediate worries. She found him pinned at the top of the staircase, being interrogated by Jazara about the Sky-Legion; Parisa was below him, looking uncomfortable. A gold beaded face veil screened all but her upturned brown eyes, which retreated to the floor as Snofrid arrived; the red peplum dress she was wearing stressed a conspicuous bump in her belly.

  The shock hit Snofrid like a blast of frozen air. In a flash, her gaze darted to Desya. His face looked battered by humiliation and anger, which Jazara didn’t seem to pick up on; the rims of his eyes were bloodshot, his chest rose and fell in an erratic breathing rhythm, and she could see the indentations of his fangs behind his lips.

  “That better not be the Chancellor’s kid,” Lycidius said through gritted teeth.

  Snofrid tried to hope the same thing, but the discomfort in Parisa’s face obliterated it. “If it is, the Leathertongue’s will come looking for her,” she realized. “It will be dangerous to have her here.”

  “That’s why she’s not going to stay.” Lycidius guided Desya past Jazara and farther down the steps. Once they were a safe distance, he said, “Whose baby is that?”

  “Whose do you think?”

  “Don’t be so sure. Your wife gives a lot and leaves more hanging.”

  Desya rammed his forehead into Lycidius’s nose, so hard that blood jetted out. Before Snofrid could react, Lycidius struck back. He smashed his elbow against Desya’s windpipe, restricting his airflow. Desya collapsed on the handrail, clutching his neck and wheezing.

  “Stop!” Jazara flung herself over Desya and screamed at Lycidius, “Don’t hurt him, you stupid head!”

  Snofrid raced down the steps and grabbed Lycidius’s arm. “Lycidius, stop. Don’t you dare hit him again!”

  Desya propped himself up. Rage drained his face ashen white as he shoved past them all. At the top of the steps, Parisa reached out to him. “Wait, Desya. Where do I go?”

  He stared at her as if she were muck on his boot soles. “I don’t give a damn anymore.” He strode onto the seating deck.

  While Jazara scrambled after him, Snofrid gaped at Lycidius. “You hit him.”

  Lycidius turned to Parisa. “Get out of here. Now.”

  “No,” Snofrid cut in. She climbed the steps and called to Parisa, “Go find a seat. You can fly out with us, but you’re on your own as soon as we land.”

  Snofrid left both Parisa and Lycidius on the stairs. She passed Jazara, who was sulking in her seat, and hurried into the chair beside Desya. He stared grimly at the tarnished chain in his hand; his wedding band was clipped to one end.

  “I’m sorry, I should never have gone after her,” he said. “I’m done with her. For good this time. As soon as we’re out of here, I’m going to reenlist.”

  “Desya, stop,” Snofrid urged. “You can’t make this kind of a decision when you’re like this.”

  “When I’m like this?” Resentment bled into the question. “I’ve been like this since both of my families died. Since my baby died, and since Neko was murdered.” His voice grew louder, hovering on feverish. “I’m never not going to be like this, Snofrid. I don’t have anything left.”

  “You have me, Dez.”

  A tear dripped onto his jeans. He brought a fist over his mouth to force in a sob.

  Snofrid sat silently while the breathy sounds of his crying pounded nails into her heart. She strained to say something to comfort him, to convince him that everything would turn out all right; but each idea she came up with felt weightless with the realization that he’d suffered more than her by far.

  “I need to walk,” he said, moving to stand.

  “Wait, Dez.” She picked up the ring. “You don’t want this?”

  “I told you, Sno. I’m done.”

  As he disappeared dow
n the aisle, Snofrid stared at the tarnished wedding band. For as long as she’d known him, he’d put his faith in something, whether it was his family, friends, or love. The despair he was feeling now had destroyed that faith. If the ring had meant anything to him, it was hope, and she refused to let him live without it. She tucked the chain into her pocket.

  The deck appeared darker as she reclaimed her seat. Parisa had found a spot alone in the back where she was cupping her baby bump and blinking back tears; Jazara was curled up on her seat, her face buried in her arms. Outside of the grief, Snofrid was grateful to see Lycidius talking to Desya near the staircase; the heat between them had been replaced by somber nods and words in Russian.

  Wiping her eyes, she turned to the gunship next to theirs. Through the window, she noticed a little girl with blond curls watching her and clasping a stuffed polar bear. The girl smiled before facing her mother, who was reading her a picture book. Snofrid swallowed hard. She didn’t want to see her family ripped apart, which was what had been gradually happening since Ryuki’s death. Both Lycidius and Desya had hurt her at times, but she knew she’d willingly bear the pain rather than lose them completely.

  Lycidius hurried into their seat row and touched her shoulders. “I’m sorry,” he said, his expression guilty. “I swear I didn’t mean to hit him, Snofrid. It was reflex.”

  She nodded. “It’s okay, Lycidius. I know.”

  “Attention passengers,” the captain’s voice announced over the loud speaker. “The shield is down and we’ve been given the go-ahead to fly out. Fasten your seatbelts and everybody hope we don’t get shot down.”

  Snofrid stayed close to Lycidius. She hardly heard the wave of restless murmurs that passed over the seating deck. She scarcely even noticed when the gunship rocketed out of the hangar, across the Underground, and into the sky. Her mind was submerged in a desperate prayer to Ryuki. If he was in a heaven, she asked him to use his power to help them escape the city alive.

  “It’s okay,” Lycidius told her, as if sensing her worry. “We have an escort.” He motioned to the window.

  At first she saw nothing until a flapping wing caught her eye. Two half-creature-half-machine dragons weaved in and out of the fog, bearing giant riders in cobalt armor; their facial armor plated only their foreheads and cheeks, and fur-lined cloaks flapped off their tanzanite beaded pauldrons. They seemed to be racing. One pulled ahead, streaking by their window; she could’ve sworn he winked at her.

  “Who are they?” she asked.

  “Contacts from my old unit. I called them a few hours ago on the transmission globe. They’ll make sure we get out of the city without taking a hit.”

  She leaned closer to the window, and her breath quickened at the sight of flames bourgeoning all across the city.

  Above, the grey storm clouds churned with a multitude of screeching dragons. Hundreds of thousands of them. Some swirled in tornado motions or flew in wedge formations, and others swan-dived into the city, spraying red fumes from their jaws; more hovered in flight, ruffling their wings and stretching their long, scaly necks as their riders closed in around Hollowstone, casting a menacing shadow over the skyscrapers. It was impossible to see the streets amidst the commotion of flare-ups, wings, bodies and blood. Explosions collapsed gangways, which tumbled downward into the trees in flurries of sparks, and flames swarmed across houses, melting the metal into iridescent goo. As the fire raged, it superheated, so that buildings and bridges combusted from a distance; the wind propelled burning debris at a blistering speed, setting fleeing transports and civilians ablaze. Snofrid saw fighter planes, drones and attack helicopters flying out to meet the Sky-Legion, firing missiles into the ranks; everywhere, the bloodcurdling echo of explosions shocked the air.

  She tightened her seatbelt when the gunship started to shudder. Passengers gripped the sides of their chairs.

  “We’re experiencing some minor turbulence,” the captain announced calmly. “No cause to be alarmed. But in case of an emergency evacuation, parachutes are stored under the seats.”

  Snofrid huffed. “That’s not very comfort—”

  All her fear subsided when Lycidius squeezed her hand.

  For the next few minutes, she kept her eyes on the window, holding her breath while the gunship flew over the city barrier. Everyone was silent, as if they too were marking the moment. They soared over the forest on the other side and Snofrid spotted the first rays of dawn on the horizon. In her heart, she thanked Ryuki.

  Then she breathed freely.

  Dear Reader,

  In case you weren’t already aware, T.S. Pettibone is a pen name. Our real names are Brittany and Nicole and we’re identical twins. We just wanted to take a moment to thank you from the bottom of our hearts for reading Hatred Day. This story has become very dear to us over the past nine years that we’ve spent writing it, and we sincerely hope that it’s become dear to you as well.

  As you know, nothing helps a book gain traction more than positive reviews and word-of-mouth recommendations. So, if you’ve enjoyed Hatred Day, we would be deeply grateful if you took the time to leave a short review where you bought it, and if you recommended this book to your family and friends. Every single review and recommendation is a massive contribution to the success of this story. Once again, we’re so thrilled you chose Hatred Day and hope you are excited to read the second installment in the Hatred Day Series, Verdict Day, coming in 2017.

  Warmly,

  T.S. Pettibone

  Acknowledgements

  First, and most notably, we owe thanks to our wonderful parents whose encouragement, guidance and support is the sole reason we are able to share this book with the world. Mom, thank you for reading and re-reading every draft we ever wrote, for always being there for us and for daring us to chase our dreams. And dad, thank you for sending us to writing classes, for teaching us to always aim high and for believing in us. We love you both.

  To our editor, Matthew Zepf, for his eagle eye and brutal honesty. You are not only an extraordinary editor, but an extraordinary friend.

  To our sister, Isabella, for her brilliant suggestions on plot and character.

  To our secretary, Juliette Frelon, who was our first fan and will therefore remain the most special.

  To Eric Egan, Jacqueline Garcia, Melissa Ranftl, Jeannie Freed and Hannah Phillips, for supporting us.

  And thank you, lastly, to the readers of Hatred Day. We hope you are as excited to keep reading as we are to keep writing because the story has just begun…

  T.S. PETTIBONE are identical twins with non-identical personalities. They live in California with their dog. For a glossary of terms and an in-depth look at the world of Hatred Day, visit tspettibone.com

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  @tspettibone