by David Estes
“I’ve called this press conference today and will be broadcasting it for the next twenty-four hours, as I have a very important message for all citizens of the Tri-Realms. First, I can tell you that after some strong messaging from me personally, the star dwellers have ceased their attacks on the Moon Realm, and it is my understanding that the two great Realms are getting close to a peace accord. It’s a sad day indeed when any of the Realms are in disagreement with each other, and I’m so thankful I was able to step in and facilitate a peaceful resolution.”
I grit my teeth and glance at Ben, who wears a wry smile. The lies are so blatant I can barely stop myself from removing one of my boots and chucking it at the screen. This is bad, even for my father.
“Furthermore, I am so pleased to announce that Tristan has returned, safe and sound.”
“What the hell?” I blurt out. Ben points to the screen, urging me to listen to the rest.
“My son, bless his heart, left the Sun Realm seeking to find his mother, who, as you all know, disappeared a few years ago, breaking all of our hearts.” The camera pans to show the crowd, who are nodding and murmuring words of pity to the poor President, the victim of a terrible tragedy.
“Lies,” I growl through my teeth.
“Although he’s not yet ready to stand in front of all of you, or resume his duties as my son, he asked me to apologize to all of you on his behalf, for putting the Sun Realm through such a trying ordeal. My youngest son, Killen, will, effective immediately, stand in for Tristan, fulfilling all the duties of the eldest son. Please show him your appreciation as I do.”
As Killen walks across the white rock platform to stand behind the podium, my father claps loudly, leading a roar of applause from the crowd. My jaw is aching from clenching it so hard.
Killen’s face is lit up in a smile that reminds me so much of my father. Arrogant. Smug. Looking down on his worshippers. I hate him in that moment. “My friends,” he says, using the same greeting as my father, “I am so pleased to be able to serve you.” Scripted. My father’s words—not his—but he pulls it off. He’s a natural at BS.
“My first order of business is to lead the rebuilding of the Moon Realm after the careless star dweller bombings. To the people of the Moon Realm, I say, do not fear, help is on the way.”
The reply is deafening. Shouts of “Thank you, Killen” and “We love you!” fill the air.
My brother uses his bobbing arms to quiet the crowd. “And then I will personally meet with the star and moon dweller leaders to help them work out their differences, to once again restore peace to the Tri-Realms.” More applause. More screams.
My fingernails are scraping the table and if Ben didn’t turn off the telebox right then, I fear my fingers would be cut and bleeding soon.
I stand up, cracking my knuckles. I’m seething, my emotions out of control, like a tidal wave of rage, but I don’t care. All I want is revenge. “I’ll go public—prove him wrong. Turn the people against him.”
Ben sighs. “He’s controlling everything right now, Tristan. We can’t get a message out to everyone. And even if we could, he’d just counter with another message refuting it. Who do you think the people will believe? The President, or his rogue son who’s desperately seeking his runaway mom?”
I stand there, my chest puffing in and out, my arms tight at my sides, my hands fisted. “Urr,” I growl and then sit back down. I feel better. I just needed to get the anger out. “I’m okay now,” I say. “Let’s talk about it.” Roc’s looking at me strangely, like I’m a weird new animal species who’s just demonstrated a bizarre mating ritual. I ignore him.
“There’s something else,” Morgan says. I groan inwardly. What else could there be? “Shortly after the initial broadcast from the President, he sent a typed message to all the moon dweller vice presidents. He said if any of them are harboring his son, to pass the message along to him.”
“So he admitted to his lies. We’ve got him,” Maia says, her eyes alight with excitement.
“Not exactly,” Ben says. “The message also warned them that if anyone tries to make the information public, that he would deny it, and destroy them. I don’t think any of the VPs, with the exception of VP Morgan here”—he motions across the table—“would be willing to go head-to-head with Nailin. They know what he’s capable of.”
“And if Morgan tries to do something, he’ll make an example of her,” I say. I know my father’s tactics all too well.
“This is good news,” Roc says suddenly, and all eyes shift to him. He raises a cheek and chews on the side of his mouth for a second, and then says, “If he sent the message to all the VPs, then he doesn’t have a clue where we’re hiding. So that’s good, right?”
He has a point. It’s not often my father is so in the dark about the goings-on in his own kingdom. It’s an advantage, albeit a small one.
“That’s a good point, Roc,” Ben says, nodding. Roc grins. I knew there was a reason I wanted him with me at these meetings.
“So what message did my loving father give me?” I ask.
Ben has a paper in front of him and he consults it, using his finger to guide his eyes across the page. “He said, ‘Tell Tristan he must contact me within twenty-four hours or I’ll start killing moon dwellers.’”
I cringe. “How am I supposed to do that?”
“He provides information on how to reach him directly from the Moon Realm.”
“Of course I’ll do it,” I say. “It’s not like he can do anything to me over a videoconference.”
“There’s one other thing,” Ben says.
“Yeah?”
“He wants Roc with you when you call him.”
“Roc? Why?”
“You tell me.”
Roc and I look at each other. His face wears the same expression I expect I’m wearing. Confusion. I don’t have the slightest idea what my father could want with Roc. I mean, in my eyes Roc is an amazing person, my best friend, but in my father’s eyes, he’s just a servant. Scum. No—lower than scum. Fungus on scum. Of no concern to him. And yet…there must be a reason he wants him there. And not an honorable reason. A way to get to me.
“I have no idea,” I say, while Roc shakes his head. “When can we do it?” I ask. I’m curious now, which probably means I’m falling right into my father’s trap, but I don’t care—I have to know what he’s playing at.
“Right now,” Ben says, standing up and pushing back his chair. “He said you must do it alone.”
“Fine. Will you be listening?”
“He said he would know if it was being transmitted to multiple receivers or being recorded. I don’t want to take the chance. You can give us the details afterward.”
I nod. “You ready?” I ask Roc.
“Do I have a choice?”
“Not really.”
“Then I’m ready.”
Chapter Thirteen
Adele
My life feels complete for the first time in a long time. I mean, we’re not one big happy family or anything, but at least my mom, dad, and sister are all alive and okay and I’ve been able to see them all recently. That’s about as good as it gets these days. So you’d think that would mean maybe I’d be at peace, or something like it, but instead, I’m throwing everything I have into training.
And that feels the most normal of all.
I grunt as our wooden staffs connect in the middle. The raw power of my opponent allows him to shove me backwards, crushing the wood into my lip. I taste coppery blood in my mouth as it splits open. He charges, swinging the rod back and forth like a sword. Use all parts of your body. I hear my father’s voice in my head and I obey, ducking my enemy’s attempted blow, crushing his kneecap with my heel, and slamming my elbow into his jaw. I take his head off. Not literally, but his head snaps back and he tumbles to the rock, yowling in pain.
Jamming the butt of my staff into his throat, I say, “Do you submit?”
He’s discarded his own staff and is rubbing his
jaw and clutching his knee. “Uhhh,” he moans.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” I murmur, moving away from him and out of the ring. It’s my fourth staff victory in a row. The dude was twice my size, but in some fights, size doesn’t matter.
Someone’s clapping. Brody. He’s been clapping after each of my victories. Beyond him I see Tawni and she gives me a thumbs-up. Next to her Trevor is glaring at me. There’s something not right about that guy.
Ignoring him, I stride over to the next station, archery, and pick up the bow. It’s brand new and practically sparkling. The arrow is like a violin bow as I move it along the catgut string. Although the target is at least two hundred feet away, I pull it toward me with my eyes, until it’s just in front of me, the bull’s eye like a throbbing red beacon. I make small movements, just like I’ve been taught, until I’m certain my aim is true.
Twang!
The bow sings and my arrow cuts sharply through the murky air, embedding itself in the dead center of the target.
“Another perfect shot—four for four,” Brody says, resuming his clap. “You’re doing well, Rose.”
“I completely missed the gun target,” I say, frowning.
“It was one shot,” Brody says, flashing a smile. “You’ll get better. I can teach you.”
“Really?” I say, lowering my voice so no one will hear our conversation. I don’t want to be accused of getting special treatment because of my mom, but I do want to learn how to shoot. I don’t know where it comes from—my drive. For some reason, ever since I was little, I’ve had to be the best at anything I try. Nothing less is acceptable. Anything less is failure.
I don’t want to shoot a gun, but if I have to, I will be the best at it.
“Sure. A lot of the soldiers get additional help on the side at the things they’re not natural at.” I make a face, and Brody says hurriedly, “Not that you’re not a natural—I mean, given your proficiency at archery you might be just as good with a gun once you get the hang of it.”
I crack a smile, finally releasing some of the tension I’ve felt all day. “I was just giving you a hard time,” I say, and Brody grins, pushing his dark hair away from his eyes. For the first time I notice just how good looking he is. Perhaps it’s because I’ve let my guard down, if only for a moment. The blue and green in his eyes seem to swirl around, sometimes mixing, sometimes separated. With his smile, a dimple forms in one of his cheeks and his strong cheekbones rise high on his face. His longish, wavy hair suits his face perfectly. Between his looks and his personality, he’s the type of guy I’d like to have as an older brother.
I realize I’ve gone into a daze thinking about Brody as a brother and he’s looking at me funny.
“What?” he asks.
“Nothing. What’s next?”
“That’s it,” he says cheerfully. “No mandatory training until tomorrow. Meet me here tomorrow morning at oh-six-hundred hours for personal gun training.” The way he emphasizes the word personal sounds odd. And then I realize: he’s flirting with me.
Without a word, I spin and walk away, hoping it didn’t come off as too rude, but hoping I’m sending some pretty strong signals Brody’s way. I’m not interested.
As I meet up with Tawni, I try to push all thoughts of Brody out of my head.
“You were amazing!” she says as I walk up.
“Yeah, but only at the things I’ve done before,” I point out.
“You’ll improve with those nasty guns,” Tawni says in a way that makes me smile.
“Don’t count on it,” Trevor says. “You can’t be perfect at everything.”
“What is your problem?” I say, letting my anger get the best of me. I know he’s not worth the effort, but I just can’t seem to push down the heat when I’m around him.
“I’m not sure what you mean,” he says snidely.
“You two bicker like you’re brother and sister,” Tawni says, shaking her head disapprovingly.
“We do not!” we say simultaneously. The laugh comes before I can stifle it, and I realize Trevor’s cracking up, too. It’s a weird moment, but I see a burst of humanity in him, like he’s not such a bad guy.
In an instant, his sneer wipes out the laugh with the speed of a cave-in. “For your information,” he says, “I don’t trust you.”
“But my mom’s a general,” I say, hating to use my mom like that, but feeling the need to point out where my loyalties lie.
“That means nothing,” he says. “There are rumors that you and Tristan Nailin were seen together in the Moon Realm. I don’t trust him, so I don’t trust you.” I don’t want to talk about me and Tristan, and I know it’s not worth arguing, so I don’t.
“It’s not like I trust you either.” There’s just something strange about Trevor, and I can’t put my finger on it. It’s like he doesn’t belong in this place. If anyone might be a traitor, it’s him. “Why are you always hanging around us, anyway?” I ask, my voice sounding as rough as the cavern roof above us.
“The General’s orders,” he replies simply.
“Which general?”
“General Rose.” What? Really? Why would my mom give us a babysitter, especially one like Trevor?
I huff, but don’t respond. I’ll speak to my mom about getting a new escort the next time I see her.
As we head toward the office building, a soldier comes around the corner, wheeling a cart. It’s full of weapons, black and silver and new and shiny. Guns mostly, but bows and slingshots, too. My mind races back to the first time I touched the gun during target practice. I don’t know much about guns, but it looked like a nice weapon. The star dweller army seems extremely well-equipped. First the bombs used during the attacks on the Moon Realm, and now a seemingly unlimited supply of high-quality infantry weaponry. Seems strange for a people who are living in poverty—I mean, I’ve seen the poverty on the streets; they’re at the bottom of the food chain.
“Where are all the weapons coming from?” I ask. Trevor is probably the last person I should be asking, but I can’t help myself. The answer to that question suddenly seems like the most important thing in the world.
Trevor cocks his head to the side and gazes past Tawni, who’s walking between us. He chews on his lip for a moment, as if he’s mulling over the question, or perhaps how to concoct a believable lie. “That’s none of your damn business,” he says.
“It’s a simple question,” I say. “It takes money to buy weapons, or resources to make them—neither of which the star dwellers have. And yet, you’ve got more shiny, new weapons than the freaking Moon Realm.” I’m practically growling now, sick of putting up with Trevor’s crap.
“The Star Realm’s got plenty of resources,” he says.
“Yeah, all of which you hand over to the Sun Realm. You really think they wouldn’t miss a few tons of ore? They keep track of everything. They’re not stupid.”
“I never said they were!” Trevor yells, and I stop. His quick temper, the snarl on his face, his unwillingness to tell me anything: all of it makes me hate him.
“I want to see my mother,” I say.
“She’s busy.”
“Just tell her.”
“Fine,” Trevor says, stalking off and leaving Tawni and me alone for the first time since we woke up next to each other.
“You still think he’s okay?” I say once he’s gone.
“I don’t know,” Tawni says. “Maybe you’re right.”
“I am right.”
“You think he’s involved in something?”
“Yep.”
“Your mom will know what to do.”
“Yeah,” I say. My stomach grumbles. “You hungry?”
“I could eat,” Tawni says, and we laugh together. It’s what Cole always used to say. Her laugh turns sullen and I see moisture in her eyes. “I really miss him,” she says.
“I know. Me too.”
She grabs my arm at the elbow, her touch feeling warm and safe against my skin, and we enter the build
ing together. First we stop at my mom’s office, but the door’s closed and locked and there’s no answer when we knock.
“I guess she’s out,” I say.
“I wonder where the food is.”
“It would have been nice of Trevor to let us know before he stormed off.”
“We’ve got some food left in our packs,” Tawni says thoughtfully.
I’m not particularly interested in the stiff, cardboard-like wafers we’ve got in our packs, but I don’t have a better option. “Okay, let’s go.”
We retrace our way through the narrow streets, stepping over the beggars—who seem to have multiplied—and stray dogs sleeping on the cobblestone. We see a guy defecating against the wall and my stomach turns. Horrible. This place is horrible. And I thought the Moon Realm was a hard place. I don’t know how my mom stands it.
We arrive at the medical building without interacting with anyone, and slip through the maze of sick beds. Instinctively I hold my breath, not wanting to breathe in the raft of potential disease and bacteria that flavor the air like an invisible cloud. I know it’s silly, especially because I’ve been sleeping in this room for days, but when I do breathe, I cover my face with my hand like a mask.
Just before we reach our beds, Tawni shrieks as a woman grabs the side of her tunic, her hands clenched and gnarled and pale. Her gray skin is covered in sores and blisters, but beneath the flesh-eating disease I can tell she’s young. Older than us, but probably only in her mid-twenties. A soldier, possibly. I’m still not sure if the wing is military only.
Tawni tries to pull away, but the dying woman’s hands are stronger than they look, latched onto the cloth like pincers. “Help…me,” she croaks through chapped lips. Her eyes are so bloodshot I can’t determine the color.
“What do I do?” Tawni asks, her mouth contorted with horror.
Tawni is too pure, whereas I am not. I’ve killed already. I’m a bad person already. I kick the lady’s arm, not too hard, but hard enough that I know she’ll let go. Her hand snaps back and she cries out, tucking her hand back beneath the thin white sheet that covers her.