“Silence!”
I bite my tongue to keep from speaking, not wanting to anger her any further, though my mind bursts with questions as to why she lowered herself to come here. It is rare for one of the presidents of Arel to interfere in arbiter matters, and it has only happened once, that I can remember, back before Tapiwa and Kumi were the presidents, back when we had just one, when their father had decided to stop the execution of an arbiter. Why he did is still a mystery, but as president he never had to explain his actions, not even to the Arelian council.
“Tell me, in your own words, what happened at the mines.”
I swallow the miniscule amount of saliva left in my mouth to moisten my sandpaper throat so that my voice will be clear. “Commandant Gant was displeased at me being sent there. He saw it as a threat.”
“He refused to obey your orders.”
“No, ma’am. Lieutenant Renal saw to it that he complied, but his displeasure was evident. The night of the riot, Commandant Gant had set a trap for Lieutenant Renal and left him for dead, but he managed to make it back to the mines to warn me. I tried to get him out of there, but Commandant Gant’s men found us.”
“Why did you not contact the Command Division within Arel?” Tapiwa asks.
“Because I could not trust the arbiter stationed in the communications room to not intercept the message. I had reason to believe that they were loyal to Commandant Gant.”
Tapiwa’s steady steps echo around me as she circles the podium, a shadow in the darkness surrounding me and an abysmal companion to my increasing feeling of being alone as foreboding wells within me, warning me to be mindful of what I say. “You believed that he had his own agenda.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And after he caught you and Lieutenant Renal trying to escape, that is when he tried to execute you?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Why did he fail?”
“Arbiter Trevors stopped him.”
“Why would he do that?”
“I do not know, ma’am.”
“And afterward?”
“Commandant Gant fired his weapon and the workers rioted against him and his men. I tried to get Lieutenant Renal out of there, but it was Arbiter Trevors and Arbiter Grelyn who saved us both. After the Arelian fleet arrived and the bombs fell… I have no memory of what occurred afterward.”
“Considering how close you were to one of the impacts, I’m not surprised. Arbiter Grelyn testified that she carried you to safety.”
Grelyn saved me? I think back to that night, to the last thing that I saw—bloodied boots standing in front of my eyes. Why would Grelyn help me? She loathes me, a sentiment that I share toward her. The perplexity on my face must have showed because Tapiwa stares at me, studying me, wondering if I am weak, if I have allowed my emotions to rule me, or perhaps she is waiting for me to contradict Grelyn’s statement. I remain silent, thinking it best to not say anything, and Tapiwa continues her pacing around me as she questions me.
“Some witnesses reported that you seemed more concerned with rescuing a certain plebeian.”
I freeze. What does she know? What witnesses? Was it Grelyn who told her, trying to sow doubt about my loyalties while she sealed her dedication to Arel by rescuing a fellow arbiter? “In all the chaos, I may have forgotten myself and tried to hang on to a replaceable item.”
I force the words out, hating myself for referring to Chase as replaceable.
“So, the news that he died in the bombing will not sadden you then.”
My stomach drops and if it could have torn itself away from my body to crash onto the hard floor, it would have, followed by the ever-increasing emptiness choking my heart, which stops for just a second as Tapiwa’s words permeate through my brain, their full meaning striking me where it hurts most. I cannot see my face, but assume that the blood drains from it as my mind refuses to accept the reality that Chase is gone and that I have failed to save an innocent person once again. Tapiwa stops in front of me and stares into my eyes, studying my reaction, and I know that I must say something, that I must pretend that I am unaffected by such unfortunate news. I look right at her, meeting her gaze, forcing myself to harden my voice and my nerves.
“No, ma’am,” my constricted voice circles around us, dissipating with each echo.
“Even though you desired to have him for yourself.”
“He was just a plebeian. I can find another to service the same need.”
Tapiwa seems pleased by my answer, while deep down I want to scream, to take my rage out on her and slam her skull into the table just ahead of me, but I remain stoic with my arms by my side and my feet should-width apart, waiting to be dismissed. “I find it interesting that workers rioted after Commandant Gant tried to execute you. His actions were a violation of the law, but it wasn’t until after he tried to execute you that they rioted. One could wonder if, perhaps, they felt some sort of loyalty toward you.”
“Perhaps they saw an opportunity and took advantage of the situation.”
“Perhaps, but your actions do not go unnoticed, not even by the lowest of our society. You did ensure that they had adequate food and water.”
“A matter of prudence. For the workers to be effective in their duties they need physical strength and that is achieved through adequate food, water, and rest, in addition to physical exercise. I needed them to dig more, so I needed them to be strong.”
“And if you had to do it all over again, would you do it differently?”
“If you ask me to.”
Tapiwa walks off, disappearing in the shadows as she tells me, “You may go.”
Before I can take a single step, her voice stops me, and I look into the darkened veil surrounding me, unable to see her, but I know that she watches me. “One other thing: if you ever bring up those rumors about my brother and me again, I’ll execute you myself.”
A door closes and the lock echoes around me, informing me that I am alone, and I remain in the single beam of white light for a moment, trying to rein in my emotions that want to burst free, aware that I cannot display them here. Knowing that I cannot stay here, I mosey to the steel door and open it, stepping away from this room and deeper into my prison.
The three arbiters just outside the door glance at me for a moment before turning away: two of them on either side of the door while the third, the one who demands you name and serial number, steps aside, allowing me to pass, and as I walk by, I glance at his face: stern, emotionless, disciplined, and… inhuman. He does not care that a knife has just pierced my heart—I cannot figure out why I feel this way, nor can I describe it—and why should he be concerned? He is an arbiter, meant to uphold the law; he is what I should be. A single raindrop hits the window in front of me, a soft thump that snatches my attention as though it mocks me, or perhaps it is trying to console me, to tell me that it shares my sentiments. Before the arbiters around me have time to wonder why I have not left, I stroll down the hall, my feet flopping on the red carpet stretched out before me, leaving imprints that last for a just a moment before disappearing, just like the lives of so many within Arel. I near the elevator. And just before I am able to enter its conclave, hands seize me, yanking me away from the elevator, away from the light, and pin me in a darkened corner away from prying eyes. I try to fight, but a harsh voice begs me to keep silent while his hands render me unable to move.
“What did you tell them in there?” demands Trevors, and for the first time, I realize that it is him who has stopped me from leaving.
“What was expected,” I tell him.
He presses his face against mine. “What did you tell them,” he growls.
Why does he care? What was the verdict concerning his actions during the riot? He had to have been cleared of any wrongdoing, because if the ruling had been otherwise, Trevors would be on his way to the crematorium right now. But where is Grelyn?
“That you prevented Commandant Gant from executing both Renal and me, and that without your he
lp, or Grelyn’s, we would not be here now.”
He relaxes his hold on me. “Why would you do that?”
“Because it is the truth.”
“Nobody cares about the truth. You do what will benefit you, or die.”
“Is that why you stopped Commandant Gant from executing me? Or why Grelyn carried me to safety after the bombs hit?”
Trevors looks away, not wanting to meet my gaze, and despite my attempts at reading his body language, I cannot decipher what he is thinking or why he is so concerned about my testimony.
“Where is Grelyn?” I ask.
“She was sent back to that outpost.”
“I’m sorry.” I know what she means to him, and despite the torture they put me through at the training facility, they do care about each other, and they must have hoped to have had similar assignments.
My sympathy angers him, and Trevors rams his arm against my chest, pinning me to the wall as his hardened gaze locks me in its cage. “You helped her in the mine, and now we have helped you. We are even, understand?”
I nod my head, and he releases me. As Trevors walks away, two words escape my lips in a voice so soft, it almost seems like a dream, or the essence of a dream. “Thank you.”
“Watch yourself, Noni. Gratitude is weakness.”
“Or strength,” I protest. “Humility takes courage.”
Trevors blows air out of his nostrils and stalks off, rounding a corner and disappearing from sight.
Relieved that he is gone, I step into the elevator and allow its glass enclosure to carry me down to the lobby so that I may leave this place. I squeeze through the doors before they open all the way, desperate to get out and to get away from here, and I burst outside into the steady stream of rain as a somber roll of thunder reverberates above me. Uniformed crowds, each in their assigned colors (red, green, yellow, white, and blue) stroll past me in tune to one another, unconcerned about the news I had received earlier and oblivious to the turmoil within me. Tapiwa’s words repeat themselves in my mind.
So, the news that he died in the bombing will not sadden you then.
Gone. Just like that, he is gone and no one will mourn him; no one will care, except for the cries of a small girl who has lost everything. Renal is safe, but Chase is no more. Rain drops from the sky, coating me in its misery as it soaks through my clothes and my skin, delivering a slight chill, but the coolness does not register as my mind remains in a somber fog, unable to think, unable to process the activity around me. A man bumps into me and apologizes as he hurries away, hoping that I will not retaliate. I just stare at him, my eyes glazed and unfocused, as water drips from my nose onto my lips and runs down my chin to my neck where it disappears beneath my collar. Only the automatic movements of my feet propel me forward in a jerky stride. I blink my eyes over and over to prevent myself from crying, but the tears break free and mingle with the raindrops that hit my face, making me glad that the weather turned gloomy after all. It can disguise my shame. The reflective surface of a building forces me to stop and study my reflection, at least, I think it is me, but all I see is a lone arbiter, a woman with swollen, red eyes, beaten until she is hollow, just a shell of her former self, while those around her wish she would get out of their way.
A man walks up behind me, blurred from the tears struggling to escape their prison, but I remain still, not caring if he is another arbiter coming to arrest me. My will has escaped me. My desire to get out from the rain has vanished. My carnal need to silence the tumultuous hunger that now grips my stomach has evaporated. The man nears. I remain rooted in my spot, an obstacle on the sidewalk for others to navigate around as I grapple with this empty feeling that has trapped me in its clutches, refusing to release me, when the realization that this must be grief strikes me, something I have never experienced before. The man grabs me, whipping me around until I face him, and his face seems familiar, but my brain refuses to dig through my memory to discover why that is.
“Come with me,” says the familiar voice, and I allow him to lead me away. Together we walk down the sidewalk with him pretending to need my assistance, while I just follow in a saddened stupor, shrouded in the drizzling rain.
Chapter 16
Fog
The man leads me toward a café covered with overarching umbrellas that stretch out over the tables in an effort to keep the rain off the customers that brave dreary weather for a hot beverage, when others would have chosen to stay home. My feet plop in the tiny puddles in automatic motion, not bothering to rebel or wonder why this man is talking to me, and though I try to focus on his words, my mind rebels as I stare at my hands, imagining them coated in sticky, red blood that oozes down my wrists and beneath the sleeves of my soaked jacket—my conscience injecting its own form of punishment. I may not have killed Chase, but it is my fault that he is gone. And Gwen. Poor Gwen. How will I tell her? Moisture trickles down my face past my ear, and I reach up to wipe the bits of rainwater away, pausing to study my wet fingers, and, once again, I see bright blood on them: the blood of the infant I was forced to murder, the blood of the barbarians that attacked the wall, the blood the girl I could not save, and now Chase’s. My hands seem to bathe in blood and not by choice.
A jumbled blur of words meet my ears, meshed together and forming unintelligible sentences as I remain in my saddened stupor, staring at the man with a blank look on my face, unable to process what he says. He continues talking, glancing to the side at those who watch us, giving us odd glances, wondering why I seem to be so uninterested in what he says. My head cocks to the side as I stare at him, wondering who he is when faint memories fill my mind in an effort to shock me back to my present situation. He is the man who had prevented me from being captured the night Chase and I had snuck out. He is the man whom I had warned when Commander Vye had planned on searching his place. His name is Luther.
He steps closer, until he can whisper to me without being overheard. “Pretend to be interested or we will both be punished. Do you think that no one is watching you?”
A test. Such is the way of life in Arel. We are always tested to see if we are worthy of existence, of Arel’s benevolence. I flick my eyes to a passerby and the judgmental expression on her face as she debates whether it is worth reporting my lack of enthusiasm in performing my duties. Citizens can report arbiters who appear to not want to do their job, but such an act is not without risk. If it is deemed a false report, the informer disappears. Even if the report is found to be true, sometimes the informer and the arbiter in question both disappear, finding their way to the crematorium,—Arel cannot allow the people within her walls to have even the slightest inkling that her arbiters disagree with her—but there is the rare occasion where the informer is rewarded for their trouble, which is why some choose to risk it, just like this woman ponders its worth this very second.
“When did you last see it?” I ask in a hollow voice, hoping that my ears had picked up enough of what Luther had said. Whether they had or not does not matter as he plays along with the first sentence to exit my mouth for the last several minutes.
“It was here,” he says, holding his hand out as the soft drizzle of rain coats it, and I notice a bit of hair on his knuckles for the very first time.
“Was there anyone nearby at the time?” I ask, beginning to fall into my role as arbiter again.
“Not that I noticed.”
“Describe the object in question.”
“It was a shoulder bag. Gray in color.”
“You’ll have to come with me to file a report and…”
My voice trails off as I look across the street and see Mandi and wonder why she is here. Her presence is not that unusual, since even instructors at the training facility sometimes receive orders that require them to leave anywhere from a few hours to a few weeks, but that is not what strikes me as odd: her cautious behavior does. She looks over her shoulder for a moment and eyes each person that strolls past her as though she suspects them of watching her. I am about to tu
rn away when Natalie appears. She hurries up to Mandi and walks past her. Neither say a word to each other, but I watch as Mandi slips a small wrapped package to her, which Natalie conceals underneath her jacket, small enough that it does not leave even the slightest of bulges. Before my gaze can follow her, Luther’s grunting jerks me back to his ruse.
“…and make sure you disclose if there was anything in there of importance to the security of Arel. There should be an information booth over there.”
A pleased expression crosses Luther’s face, happy that I seem to be going along and allowing him to save me once again, though why he is doing this I have not figured out. I lead him to an information booth so that a formal report can be filed, as is regulation, hoping that he has planned this far ahead when something else catches my attention. A citizen and his plebeian hurry down the walk, toward one of the moving walkways, an act that is not unusual, except that the citizen seems to be helping the plebeian carry something, which is peculiar. I watch them for a minute, wondering what they are doing and hoping that I am not just jumping to conclusions, but the bits of anxiety surrounding their actions is odd as they hurry to a support pillar for the moving walkway above them. I turn toward Luther.
“Get everyone out of here.”
The urgency in my voice stops him from questioning me, and he rushes back to the outdoor café, yelling at people seated underneath the oversized umbrellas to leave, while I run toward the two suspicious men.
“Hey!” I shout at them.
One looks at me before turning away and urging the other to hurry up.
“Stop!” I scream, picking up my pace and rushing down the walk, ignoring the rain as it stabs my cold cheeks. “HALT!”
The two men set their burden down at the base of one of the supports for the causeway. One runs away, while the other faces me with a tenacious expression, determined to do what he has come here to do. I shove people out of my way in an effort to get to him as he faces me, daring me to try and stop him from performing his task.
Ensnared (Enchained Trilogy Book 2) Page 23