Cruel Compassion: A dystopian thriller with a hint of romance (Insurrection Series Book 1)

by A. E. King

  Dimitri turns his eyes toward me and rubs his hands together, another one of our old signs. It meant I wish I were holding your hand, or I wish we were together. What was once an innocent flirtation now means something much more weighty. He wants us to be a team. “By tomorrow night, the orphanage will be under Yulia’s care, with my oversight. Everyone wins. Except me. I should also get something for my efforts.”

  My father laughs. “And what do you want, Dimitri?”

  “A privacy block on Yulia’s room.”

  My father stops smiling. “She doesn’t have privacy clearance,” he snaps.

  “But I do. And she’s supposed to be my fiance.” Dimitri reveals nothing. His face, his voice, his whole body are all a masterpiece of self-control.

  “Why?” I ask.

  “Because all of this is a lot of work for very little reward,” he says, stone-faced.

  “Absolutely not!” I shout at him. “If you think lack of privacy is why I won’t touch you, you’re a fool.” Does he plan to force himself on me at the first chance he gets?

  “Calm down, Yulia.” Dimitri rolls his eyes at me. “There are many easier beds to find my way into.”

  He turns to my father. “You promised this engagement would increase my position in the administration. Instead, it’s increased ridicule and talk that my future wife doesn’t want me. A privacy block allows us to control the narrative of what goes on behind closed doors. Now everyone wins.”

  Everyone wins tonight. But who wins tomorrow?

  The immediate threat has a way of making every option look hazy. What will be the true cost of my alliance with Dimitri? If I enter into it now, what will he expect in return?

  My father doesn’t answer right away. His jaw clenches, and I can see him weighing his options. He never likes to relinquish control. He turns to me. “If you want this responsibility, you’ll have to earn it.”

  “How?” I ask cautiously.

  “Power always comes as a reward for loyalty. Yours has been . . . unimpressive.”

  The building panic solidifies in my veins, freezing my arms and legs so they are incapable of movement. The worst thing my father could possibly suspect me of is disloyalty.

  When I don’t respond, he continues. “Youth has a way of making you think you understand things you’ve never experienced, Yulia. I’ve spent my life rebuilding this nation out of the ashes left behind by the last war. It was chaos and violence before I came to power. Your beloved nenoozhny were dying in the streets en masse. But the balance is tenuous. And if my adversaries manage to get me out of office, your blood will run in the streets with mine. So I will provide the balance with whatever sacrifice it requires. Right now, it requires you to marry Dimitri. It requires you to make it believable. Our family must appear united and strong.”

  He reaches for my hand, and I force myself not to recoil from his cold and clammy touch.

  He traces a pattern tenderly over my hand. “Just like your mother’s,” he says and looks into my eyes. “Yelena wanted this, you know.” He motions for Dimitri and places my hand in his. I look at Dimitri, but he won’t meet my gaze. “She always thought you two would end up together. And now your mother will get her wish.”

  I blink back the familiar burn that stings my eyes whenever my mother is mentioned. My skin crawls as my father raises our hands to his snake lips and blesses our union with a kiss. He smiles at me, mistaking my emotion for belief. My belief in his words, paper-thin to begin, has been irrevocably decimated.

  “The country needs the two of you. United,” he continues tenderly, “Dimitri has the strength to make the hard decisions. You have the compassion to unite the people. You will be a powerful couple, and together you will ensure that our family remains in power long after I’m gone. We have a legacy to uphold.”

  Dimitri finally glances at me. To gauge my reaction, I imagine. His jaw tightens, and I suspect he sees through my tear-filled eyes and into the storm building behind them. I will find a way out of this marriage.

  My father’s strange moment of tenderness dissipates as fast as it came. “You want to control the funds? Then tonight, woo the crowd. People notice the cool indifference between you two, and there’s talk,” he says. “Show me you can convince every person in every crowd you encounter,” he growls at me.

  “We’re always affectionate in public.” I try to defend us as his nails dig into my skin.

  “Kissing for a cheering crowd is hardly convincing when you stiffen every time he touches you. All of Novaya Russiya, must believe this marriage is one of love, that you two are united and completely in alignment with me.” He glares at us both in turn.

  “Make tonight a success. Silence the critics, and I’ll give Dimitri access to the financials. You can have an entirely new staff, clean facilities, and food in those wretched bellies first thing tomorrow morning.”

  “And if we fail?” I ask.

  “Then to hell with those kids. You will have bigger problems to worry about.” He leaves no question with his tone. My disloyalty will be the bigger problem.

  I make two decisions in this moment. First, I will never marry Dimitri. And second, I will see them all behind bars. I just have to pretend well enough and long enough to find someone who can truly help me.

  Chapter 6

  I lie in the bathtub with warm water lapping gently at my sides, but it does nothing to ease the tension.

  My heart feels as though it’s been forged from guilt. With every pump it spreads shame. It reaches my hands that couldn’t hold onto those children, my legs that stood by while evil occurred, and my lips that smiled and begged for money. Blood money. Perverse money. There isn’t an inch of me that is innocent. The sickness in my stomach can attest to that. I’ve never been more ashamed of my father, my fiancé, or my country.

  I have to do something.

  Zhenya knocks on my door and enters with a clean towel and bathrobe. “Your stylists will be here soon.” She looks at me and scowls. “You haven’t even washed your hair. What have you been doing here all this time? Laziness,” she huffs.

  “Zhenya” I say softly to her, motioning with my eyes toward the open bathroom door. “I could use some advice.” I can see the blinking light in the hallway outside my door. I don’t want this conversation documented.

  When the Peredacha technology was introduced, the wealthy rushed to get the most advanced entertainment system in the world. Then came the incentives for the poor. Before anyone realized what was happening, the device was in nearly every home and business, and it was no longer under the owner’s control. Now we are watched, recorded, and documented constantly. Bathrooms have become a safe haven for truth, since very few people installed the system in this particular room.

  Zhenya closes the door and comes to kneel beside the tub. “You want advice? Stop wasting time. Let me wash your hair.” She turns the water back on and pulls the nozzle over to wet my hair, effectively muffling any sound that could carry into the hall.

  “Zhenya, I saw something terrible today at the orphanage.” My voice is barely above a whisper.

  She grunts disapprovingly but doesn’t look surprised. “I’m sure it was a shock.”

  “What do you know?” I grab her hand, hungry for more information.

  “They practically give away drugs on the streets. They fund the addiction crisis. They make sure there are never enough jobs. The people hand over their children for a better life. And then the children disappear. It’s not a new problem.” She hands me the nozzle, the water still running, and reaches for the shampoo.

  I look at Zhenya with new awareness. “How do you know that?”

  She sighs. “Your mother fought against it more fiercely than she fought for anything . . . It was a bad time.”

  “My mother was. . . ?” I let the words sink in and the betrayal with them. Zhenya never spoke of this before. She’s stolen a piece of my mother, and I can’t imagine why she would withhold it. “You should have told me!”


  “I don’t tell you things that could get you killed,” she whispers sharply.

  “Well, not telling me could have gotten me killed today. I walked right into a room full of criminals. And my father accused me of disloyalty,” I hiss at her.

  She grips my shoulder and squeezes her eyes shut, muttering a prayer of safety over me.

  “What did he do?” she asks me, her deep lines furrowed in her brow.

  “Nothing,” I admit. “Dimitri stepped in. But Vladimir was not happy.”

  She crosses herself, and I see the lines in her forehead relax. I’m not willing to let her off the hook so quickly. “I deserve to know my mother’s battles! That information belongs to me.”

  “No.” She shakes her head and begins washing my hair again, but I can feel her hands trembling. “I promised I would keep you safe. And I’ve done my job. Don’t ask me these questions.”

  I recognize her sharp tone that leaves no room for debate. I swallow the knot of rage blocking my throat and try another route.

  “So, what am I supposed to do?” I ask. “I can’t sit back and watch this happen.”

  “Do?” she asks with her eyebrow raised accusingly. “I’ll tell you what you’ll do. You’ll keep feeding the people, doing the little good you can. And you’ll wait. History teaches that tyranny can only last so long. Eventually, this government will be overthrown. Not likely in my lifetime, but I hope it will happen in yours.”

  “I can’t do nothing,” I hiss at her.

  “It’s not nothing. It’s everything. Marry Dimitri so he can protect you. Keep supporting the people. When the day comes that your father finally transports his soul to hell, the people will be with you. Then you will have a chance to right the wrongs. Do you remember how your brother was always fighting with your father? Where is he? Dead. And your mother, fighting for the good of everything except her own neck. Where is she? Dead.” Zhenya grabs the nozzle back and pours water over my head, silencing me for a moment.

  Yes, my mother and Sasha fought with my father. More than I ever dared. But that’s not why they’re dead. The outside world was never safe for us. And now I’m beginning to see why. My father brought these dangers to us. He tried to protect us with distance from the outside world instead of protecting us with his decency.

  Or is it more than that?

  “Is there something you’re not telling me about their deaths? Otherwise, don’t use them against me.”

  She grunts again and hands me the showerhead. “You need to let go of the past. You need to stop trying to fix the future. Your time will come. What you need to do is talk with Dimitri.”

  “Dimitri is involved,” I tell her.

  She shrugs her shoulders dismissively. “Of course he is. He’s a man. And if he spoke against it, he’d be a dead man. He’s doing his job.”

  “I won’t be complicit in my father’s crimes. Mama wasn’t. Sasha wasn’t. How dare you suggest I side with him.” My voice is dangerously close to an audible level.

  Zhenya scowls at me.”Hush, you stupid girl.” Her whisper is cross, but her hands are still gentle as she runs the conditioner through my hair and begins to comb out the tangles. “What good would you or Dima be to anyone if you’re dead? Marry him, move out of this palace, and get away from your father. Wait for your opportunity to do the good you want to do.”

  “Dima’s the one who showed me what was going on at the orphanage,” I whisper to her, and she stops moving her hands.

  “Kak durok!” She slams the comb on the side of the tub. “I tell him to regain your trust, and this is what he does? You two need to stop acting like children and come to an understanding before this gets more dangerous for everyone.”

  “You told him to do that?” The thought of Zhenya and Dimitri conspiring about how to handle me stings.

  “Don’t be dramatic.” She rinses the conditioner out of my hair. “I’ve been telling you the same thing for weeks.”

  She hands me back the nozzle and begins the slow process of lifting her weight from the side of the tub. I place my arm on hers.

  “I deserved to know about my mother and the orphanage.” I fix her with my eyes. I want her to see me as a woman instead of the little girl she has always cared for. “You should have told me.”

  She slumps back to her knees, exhausted by the weight of our conversation. I hate fighting with Zhenya.

  “Pass me the towel, please,” I ask her. She hands it to me wordlessly.

  I stand, wrap myself, and step out of the tub. Zhenya hasn’t moved. I’m tempted to leave her there, but I don’t. I bend down and place my arm around her. She uses my weight to help her get to her feet.

  When she’s steady on her feet, she pulls me in for a rare hug. “Please, Yulichka,” she whispers in my ear. “I can’t survive burying another one of you. Ride out this storm, and then I pray to God that sunny days will come to Novaya Russiya, again.”

  She turns off the water and pulls the plug. “Get dried off. I don’t want you dripping water all the way to the closet.”

  I watch the water swirl in circles and sink into the blackness of the drain. It mirrors my hopes perfectly. I have so many questions and no one I trust will answer them.

  Chapter 7

  “The height of my heels won’t start a revolution.” I glare at my stylist, Natalia. This argument, like the event itself, feels meaningless. Hundreds of children are on their way to a horrific life. I couldn’t stop it. And now I’m supposed to care about heel height.

  Natalia looks around the room for support.

  The styling team has invaded my apartment for the night. A rack of designer dresses stands next to my four-poster bed where the shoes in question are lined in a row. The antique furniture has been relocated to make space for the tables covered with products, supplies, and accessories. The makeup artist and hairstylist are keeping particularly busy organizing their tools. Natalia looks to Zhenya in the corner for help.

  Zhenya sits at my writing table, reading her book. She looks up and rolls her eyes at the absurdity of this argument. “Yulia, those shoes will hurt your feet anyway,” she says with minimal interest in the outcome.

  “What will people think if you’re taller than Dimitri tonight?” Natalia treats me as though I’m a toddler on the verge of a tantrum. Perhaps she’s right to do so. I feel a meltdown coming on.

  My nerves are on edge. Tonight, many lives depend on my performance of arbitrary tasks without a clear way to measure success. How can anyone determine that we’ve convinced the people Dimitri and I are in love?

  I suspect they’re setting me up. So I will be compliant tonight, and then will find an excuse not to issue the promised reward.

  “People will think that I’m too tall,” I respond through gritted teeth.

  “I hope my ego isn’t so fragile that I can’t handle a woman being taller than me.” I startle as Dimitri’s voice unexpectedly carries through the room. “If I remember correctly, you were taller than me for most of our childhood.”

  He’s leaning against the ornate, gold-leafed door in his tuxedo, his collar open and his bowtie hanging loosely around his neck. He looks handsome, and I wish he didn’t.

  He holds up one end of his bowtie and smiles at me roguishly. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I was hoping for some help with this.”

  My self-preservation instinct tells me to run from him. He’s beautiful, much like the sweetly scented killer I learned about in my mother’s botany books as a child. A bloom so beautiful it could kill you with a simple touch of the stem. I smile, hold my breath, and brace myself for impact.

  The stylist abandons her footwear argument and rushes over to help Dimitri, looking exceptionally eager to please him. She can have him for all I care. It wouldn’t be the first time a lowly employee suddenly earned an exceptional Citizen Score and access to the best jobs. Everyone whispers about the real price they paid for their score. As I picture the two of them together, I suddenly feel nauseated.

  He brus
hes past her. “I was hoping Yulia would help me.” He moves with purpose, admiring me with an intensity that makes me blush and forces everyone else to look away. “You look amazing.”

  I wish I were wearing battle armor. The fabric is too thin and vulnerable. I need more protection from Dimitri and the heat his gaze inspires.

  “This dress is perfect. I approve of the color.” He trails his finger up my side, tracing the silver, hand-embroidered patterns that crawl up the front of the dress from the icy blue hem that fades into the nude bodice. “It matches your eyes.”

  Color creates a sense of individualism that was deemed dangerous to societal harmony. Colors were banned after my mother’s death. I wonder if the color went out of my father’s life when she died and if he expected it to fade out of everyone else’s afterward. We only wear color when foreign dignitaries come to the palace. My father claims it is to make them feel comfortable. I suspect it is to quiet their criticism of our ever-increasing lack of personal liberties. Normally I look forward to color. It reminds me of old, happy times. Tonight I can’t bring myself to look forward to anything.

  “Very sexy.” Dimitri wraps his arm around my waist.

  “We were aiming for classy.” I try to keep the bite from my words because of the Peredacha. I know I should try harder.

  He continues to trace the patterns on my bodice, leaving chills on my skin. “I’ve brought you something.” He slides his hand into his tuxedo jacket and produces an enormous diamond necklace. The styling team practically quivers with excitement. “It’s on loan from the Armory.”

  “It’s beautiful,” I concede.

  He moves behind me and kisses my shoulders and neck while securing the necklace in place. I stare at the crown molding, suppressing any attraction. I don’t know why he’s putting on such a show right now. No one here cares.

  Dimitri places his hands on my hips and draws me toward him. I slide my arms around his shoulders and tell him in my sweetest voice, “Thank you, darling. I’m sure this necklace will make everything go perfectly tonight.”