by Claire Vale
We both know I deliberately deceived him.
We both know he can’t reject me now. It’s too late. I made sure of it. If he refuses this pair, I will follow him to the wall.
I’ve stripped him of any choice.
He will never forgive me for this, but he will live.
In this moment, I have lost the boy I love with all my heart.
I have just lost my best friend.
Gabe puts a hand on the armrest to help push him to his feet. His mouth is a hard slash. His eyes are colder than the shiver that shudders down my spine.
His shoulders are hunched, bent with the weight of my betrayal.
He doesn’t make it all the way upright.
His body sags back into the seat like a boneless shell.
Gabe? His name forms the shape of my mouth. My throat is too dry for the word to come out.
Color returns to his face in shades.
Torture.
Grief.
Fury.
He’s not making any further attempts to rise to his feet, to join me.
Stark, cold reality sinks into my lungs like poisonous air and I can’t breathe.
It’s unethical, Kane said to me.
Gabe offered for me weeks ago and I accepted, I told him. Our intention was always to pair. I’m informing you of that intention. All you have to do is lodge it.
If that’s all you’re asking, he said, go ask Lt. Palmer.
Kane... I pleaded.
What if rejects you, Senna? The first spark of anger burned through his stony mask. What if he refuses to bind the pairing?
He won’t, I swore.
No.
But I never gave Kane a choice. I issued an alternative he couldn’t live with. The same choice, the same alternative that I knew, with all my being, Gabe would never be able to live with.
I was wrong.
My legs give in and I collapse into my seat.
“What is this?” Alderman Brisken asks, confounded.
Gabe speaks up, his voice dull but carrying as far as it needs to. “We’ve changed our minds about our pairing. We won’t be signing.”
A chorus of confusion rises over the room. I think I hear Jessie’s voice in there, but I can’t be sure. I’m underwater. I’m drowning. The voices and the faces around me are a faraway, smeared blur.
I wasn’t enough to save Gabe from himself.
Later, I don’t how much later, the other half of my arrogant error in judgment seeps in. With it comes a flicker of anger.
I’m at my Tithe Ceremony, and I am unpaired.
The stark and utter horror of my new reality cuts deep, sharpens my mind, tears at the watery blur until everything comes back into focus.
Alderman Greer has replaced Alderman Brisken at the lectern. He is a short, wiry-framed man with a long, grave face and wisps of hair blown across his scalp. “Before I read the names of our Tithed,” he is saying, “we have an exceptional circumstance here today.”
The bonded pairs and the eight guards fill the rows of seats to my left.
My eyes pick over the stragglers on my side of the auditorium.
Me and Gabe.
Jake and Olly and Devon.
Georga and Kadin.
Chase.
“As you are aware, Junior Alderman Marques has only recently been elected into his position.”
My eyes narrow in confusion, snapping to Kane at the mention of his name. What have I missed?
His back is firmly turned on me, his shoulders wide and straight, the waves of his silky hair curling over the collar of the formal jacket he’s wearing for the ceremony.
“In an unprecedented act of duty and honor,” Alderman Greer continues, “an option reserved exclusively for Alders, may I stress, it is my privilege to inform you….” He pauses, his gaze resting on Kane.
My heart starts a slow thud-thud-thud against my ribcage at his foreboding use of language
—exceptional circumstance
—unprecedented
—duty
—honor
All words that bode well for Ironcross, not so much for the individual they’re applied to.
What foolish, arrogant thing has Kane done now?
Another beat, then Alderman Greer tells us. “Junior Alderman Marques has offered himself for the Tithe. And we, the Alders, accept.”
The silence in the room is absolute, a tangible, breathless silence that releases as a collective gasp of murmurings and one lonely, faltering handclap that quickly peters out.
My response is infinitely more sluggish. It takes an eternal, frozen moment for my lungs to ache and finally spit out the trapped breath.
Kane has volunteered himself for the Tithe.
The Alders have accepted.
It happens, Kane told me not so long ago. But he’d been speaking about someone from his Tithe year. This never happens, never. No one outside of their Tithe year is eligible for the Tithe. It is forbidden by Alder law.
—an option reserved exclusively for Alders
Of course.
Now I understand how.
I cannot fathom why.
Alderman Greer speaks over the hushed murmurings, naming each of our Tithed on a solemn note of reverence. “Mr. Chase Bradshaw. Ms. Georga Cress….”
My gaze shoots to Kane again, a burning arrow in his back. He must feel the prick, how can he not? He doesn’t turn around.
“Mr. Oliver Hart. Mr. Gabriel Winter.”
My heart stutters, but before my eyes can swing to Gabe…
“Ms. Senna Rhys.”
There it is.
Tithed.
My pulse spikes, as high as the ceiling I almost died trying to reach…and slowly, slowly, tumbles into a quiet that may easily be madness, I don’t look close enough to see. My eyes remain rooted to Kane’s back. Shadows of resolve, fierce and stubborn, creep into my bones.
He didn’t do it for you, whispers into the quiet. I know he didn’t. The notion is preposterous. He simply didn’t have the time to arrange something this outlandish in the spaces between Gabe’s rejection and Alderman Greer’s announcement.
It’s a gift to me, regardless.
Kane has always been a mysterious, dangerous fascination, but he has a will of iron, far too much self-control to pander to some misplaced death wish. He must have Alder knowledge of the Tithe, and yet still he offered himself. That is the substance that makes armor out of my shadows.
Gabe has thrown me away.
Ironcross has thrown me away.
And Kane…however unwittingly, Kane has thrown out this safety net to catch my fall. He has tossed me the rope that slowly begins to knit my loosened spine together.
With Kane added to our numbers, one pair needs to be broken.
Alderman Greer consults a page spread out on the lectern before him. A list of pre-selected names, I’m sure. The shock of me and Gabe would have messed with that. They were expecting to choose three, now they only need to choose one. I wonder if his list is in some order of priority.
My gaze flits between Jessie, Chris, Emily, Daniel. I close my hands into tight fists and pray it won’t be one of them. The aisle between us feels like an ocean. On this side, the scraps, the leftovers that Ironcross doesn’t want. On that side, the true citizens, the foundation of our future generations. They did everything right, all of them. For one of them, that won’t be enough.
Alderman Greer doesn’t keep them waiting long.
Hannah’s name is called. Her gasp is a high-pitched cry that abruptly cuts off, as if her air supply has been severed. Maybe she just remembered that she is chosen, revered, honored, loved, that she will live on forever.
I don’t think so.
29
The Tithed are immediately escorted from the auditorium. There are no more ceremonial words for us. I’m grateful. I can’t stomach one more meaningless platitude.
Our guard escort cocoons us, shepherding us out through the main entrance and onto the canvas shutter
ed bed of a large truck. We don’t stop by the dorms. We don’t get to collect our belongings.
Four guards climb onto the back with us—their precious cargo.
The engine whirrs to life. There’s a jolt as the truck moves forward.
Kane sits at the rear, where the flap stays open to allow air inside. He hasn’t said a word to me. To anyone. Whatever he’s feeling in this moment is hidden behind a mask carved in stone and left out on a winter’s night to freeze.
His presence here is a comfort my tight nerves draw on. It’s also a double-headed snake. The expression chiseled into the harsh angles of his face reminds me of a fallen angel, the way he looked at me when he went against his own ethical code, the wrath I invoked when I forced him to go against his better judgment and lodged my pairing with Gabe.
Whatever comes next, Kane was that desperate to spare me from it.
Gabe sits directly across from me on the opposite bunk. He is furious. With me, I presume. The heat of his anger radiates from him like a furnace.
I can’t look at him.
The atmosphere in the back of the truck is sharp and fragile. Eyes dart from face to face, afraid to linger. No one speaks. We’re spaced as far apart as the length of the benches allow. Each one of us is a broken shard of glass that will cut.
The smooth ride deteriorates into a series of bumps and shudders to my spine. Either we’ve gone off track or something’s happened to the truck’s suspension. My fingers grip the edges of the bunk to steady me against the jolting. I bite down on my back teeth to stop them from chattering in my gums.
I close my eyes and think of home, of my dad, of how badly I have failed. He lost too many chunks of himself when my mother died. I’m not sure there’s enough left of him to survive this.
I love you, Dad.
I never meant to leave you.
We never said goodbye.
I try to steer my mind to happier memories, mundane memories of him and me living day to day. My thoughts can’t seem to stick in the past, they keep shooting forward to his broken face when the Alders deliver the news. I see him crumple to the ground. I don’t see him get up.
The hurt feels like an open wound that will never close.
I can’t bear to look at it.
I’m almost grateful when the truck stops and the guards jump down.
Almost.
Saliva clots in the back of my throat. Every swallow takes concentrated effort.
The last guard out remains standing at the rear of the truck, looks through the canvas flap to tell us, “Please wait.”
It’s not a barked order. His face is weathered, his skin leathery and tanned, but his eyes are kind.
A dull, scraping sound reaches us from outside. Once the sound fades, the guard instructs us to climb down. Kane goes first. We don’t line up after him. No one is eager to leave the safety of the truck. One by one, the guard’s eyes fall on us, only then do we stand to exit.
There is no dignity in resistance.
If there was anywhere to run to, I wouldn’t give a damn about dignity.
When the guard’s kind eyes land on me, my stomach bundles into hot nerves. Somehow I manage to stand on legs that feel as weak as a newborn lamb.
Gabe lurches to his feet. His face is ashen, his eyes hard. He takes my hand in his. “Whatever happens,” he says grimly, ‘we’re in it together.”
The words he gave me in another lifetime.
They’re no longer true.
Tears sting my eyes.
I wrest my hand from his grip and move forward, sit on the edge of the truck bed so I can hop to the ground. My shaky knees can’t take the short drop and I stumble.
The kind-eyed guard catches me by the arm, steadies me, then hands me off to another guard who keeps a firm latch on my arm. It’s not for support. Ahead of me, another guard is marching Kadin by the arm.
If there was anywhere to run to, we wouldn’t get the chance.
We’re at the base of Mount Claire. The dark side. There are no columns of sheer cliff on the other side. Which means we’re still within the compound.
It’s a short march to the black hole cut into the rock face. It’s not a hole. A slab of rock has been shunted aside on an iron rail to open some form of manmade doorway into the mountain. Four guards are stationed at the entrance.
The grip on my arm releases. “Please go through.”
My legs are pillars of lead.
They refuse to take a step toward the black hole that wants to swallow me into the belly of the mountain.
“Miss, please.”
Another guard grabs my arm, pulls roughly, propelling me past him. I stumble forward on leaden legs and locked knees—crash into a warm, hard body. Strong arms fold around me.
“For God’s sake, man,” a timbered voice growls. Kane. “Show some decency.”
“Sir! Forgive me, Sir.”
Kane’s embrace loosens until he’s holding me at an arm’s length, his head cocked to look me in the eye. “Are you okay?”
I give a shaky nod.
I’ve never been less okay in my life.
His face is cast in shadows. His eyes glint silver in the shallow daylight that spills in from outside. There’s a tension in him I’ve never sensed before, it flows to his fingertips and digs into my skin.
His jaw works, flexes, and when he finally speaks, I know it’s not what he originally wanted to say. “The others are at the back.”
He steps aside and I see the cave is not complete blackness. There’s a halo of pale yellow light flickering from an oil lantern near the far end. The shadowy forms of my fellow Tithed dance on the concave walls.
I glance about as I move toward them. The ceiling is low, the chamber is small, the walls are smooth.
This isn’t a natural cave.
It looks like it’s been scooped out with a giant ice cream spoon.
It feels like a tomb.
Kadin and Olly are pacing circles. Georga is on the ground, legs stretched out in front of her. She watches me approach, then loses interest. Devon is also on the ground, hunched over his bent knees. Chase and Jake are standing with their backs pressed to the wall. I slot in beside them, slide down the smooth rock till my backside hits the packed dirt.
Gabe joins us, sits across the lantern from me.
As soon as Jake and Hannah are inside, there’s that dull, scraping sound again. The daylight bleeding in at the entrance rapidly narrows, and cuts out, sealing us in.
The air in my lungs compresses.
Before it can grow into full-blown panic, Olly rounds on me.
“You bitch,” he hisses down on me, his face contorted by the flickering lantern and unrepressed hate. “You put me here.”
“Give it up, Olly,” Gabe rasps.
“That’s enough,” Kane issues at the same time, advancing on our group with long strides.
Olly turns on Gabe. “Don’t pretend you don’t think so, too. You couldn’t even stomach pairing with her.”
Gabe shoots to his feet.
Olly’s hands ball into fists. “Whatever she did to you, it sure as hell fu—”
“I said that’s enough.” Kane steps between them.
“You’re not an Alder anymore.” Olly’s voice rises, echoing in the chamber. “You are nothing here.”
“You’re welcome to your opinions,” Kane says dryly. “But I suggest you keep them to yourself. No one here is interested.”
Olly’s fist swings out to punch Kane. To try and punch him. He never even comes close. Instead of evading, Kane grabs the punching fist. In a blur of action, he has Olly in a chokehold with the offensive arm twisted behind his back.
Olly wheezes and pants, as if he’s shouting wordless curses. He hits out with his arms, kicks out with legs. Kane doesn’t seem to notice. He stands there with his elbow hooked around Olly’s throat, looking thoroughly bored. When Olly’s struggle deflates like a punctured balloon, Kane releases him. He drops to the ground in a whimpering heap.
Without an ounce of care or remorse, Kane steps over his body and goes to lean a shoulder against the wall.
I actually feel a little sorry for Olly. Not enough to help when he eventually catches his breath and crawls off into a shadow, but I think he may be the only sane one amongst us. We should all be up in arms, raging against whatever demons we blame for putting us here.
Georga looks to Kane, asks casually, “So, what happens now?”
Kane considers her for a long moment, then his gaze sweeps across us all. “We wait.”
The note of finality stamped into his tone has the authority of an Alder order.
No one questions it.
I sag back with my head against the wall.
My eyes land randomly on Gabe and I don’t have the will to look away.
He feels my stare and lifts his gaze to mine. His jaw is squared, his mouth a grim line. The anger is still there, festering inside him.
But there is more.
He is broken. Tormented. Shattered. I forced him to choose between me and his sisters. He didn’t choose me and he hates himself for it. That is what I have done to him. It is unforgivable.
I am broken.
Tormented.
Shattered.
I forced him to choose and he didn’t choose me.
He sacrificed me with himself.
That is what he has done to me.
It is unforgivable.
This is what love has done to us.
Love isn’t strength, Kane said to me not long ago, it’s the weakest link in a relationship.
I didn’t agree then.
I don’t agree now.
I just wish the love Gabe and I share had been a little stronger. I wish it were strong enough to glue us together instead of ripping us apart.
Looking into Gabe’s haunted blue eyes, I finally allow myself to give up on us.
My heart breaks.
My heart breaks into a million fragments of bruising pain.
I welcome the raw edges and the dry tears that scrape into the cracks.
It reminds me I am still alive.
It distracts me from other wounds.
It rips me wide open and stitches me back together with scarred tissue that is as tough as callouses.
Whatever comes next, I will go into it more prepared than the old me ever could.