ashen city (Black Tiger Series Book 2)

by Sara Baysinger

  I obey and dare to look at my reflection while Star dries my hair. She fashions it into some elaborate hairstyle that makes me look like the richest Patrician in the city, red spikes pointed in every direction, and I hate it.

  I can’t stop wringing my hands. What’s today going to bring? I’m not being forced into going to the picnic. It’s my own choice this time. And that makes the thought of going all the more appealing.

  Star finishes dressing me in an ivory toga connected at one shoulder with an onyx broach, then she leaves the room. When I look in the mirror this time, I’m not the farmer I used to be. I’m not the Ember Carter of Frankfort. I’m an entirely new species. My hair—dark at the roots and fire-red at the tips—sticks out in odd directions. It looks messy and perfectly put together at the same time. The makeup makes my eyes look bigger, my lips fuller, my cheeks more flush.

  A light knock on the door makes me jump. “Come in.”

  I hardly have time to speak before the door bursts and Rain steps in. He pauses at the door, gives me a once over, then frowns.

  “Something wrong?” I ask.

  “Thought I entered the wrong room.”

  Eye roll. “You’re so flattering.”

  He closes the door behind him.

  “I met Star, by the way.”

  His head jerks up.

  “That was…very nice of you to take her away from the Black Tiger.”

  “I told you she was safe.”

  I smile and look at my hands. I guess Rain can play the hero card when it’s necessary.

  “I guess Forest knows you’re here,” he says.

  “It was inevitable.”

  “Better now than at the picnic.”

  “He’s escorting me.”

  A flicker of pain flashes in his eyes, but he quickly looks away. “Of course. It would be better that way…except everyone thinks we’re together, and they think Forest is with your evil twin. And it would be a bit strange for Forest to show up with a complete stranger, don’t you think?”

  I look down, my face flushing.

  “Not to mention Titus will be wondering who his best friend is courting. And we can’t risk that sort of attention.”

  Right.

  “Don’t worry. I already explained all this to Forest.”

  I look sharply at him. “About the Resurgence?”

  He snorts. “Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t trust my brother that much. I just told him to let me escort you until people get used to you being around. Of course, we both know that’s not going to happen with us leaving in two days and all. But Forest doesn’t need to know all the details of our private life, now does he?”

  He probably should, is what I don’t say. Because Forest and I are dating, and Forest and Rain are brothers, so, yeah, it would only be right that Forest knew everything. But then he would go tell Titus, no doubt.

  I look at Rain, who’s escorting me instead of Forest. This isn’t the first time his company is a complete disappointment. Except, the strange thing is, I’m not disappointed. Not really. I’m actually…mildly…relieved. I begin to wonder why, but then I decide it’s because Rain knows everything, and I don’t feel comfortable hanging around Forest with this thundercloud of secrets hanging over my head.

  “Well, Rain. Lead the way.” I link my arm through his, and, like so many times in the past, Rain Turner escorts me to another Frankfort picnic.

  We approach the stairs and begin walking down the steps, when a massive black lump rises from the floor. It takes me a moment to realize it’s a black tiger.

  My mouth goes dry. My heart stops, then beats a million times too fast. I step behind Rain, but Rain continues down the stairs, steps toward the tiger and scratches behind his ears. And then I remember. This black tiger is his pet. His three-legged pet that he rescued. And the leverage I used to get Rain to come back with me.

  “Hey there, Julius.” Rain’s voice immediately switches to some strange melodic tone while he talks to his killer tiger like it’s some innocent kitten. “You doin’ okay?” He scratches it under its chin. “Have they been treatin’ you well while I was gone? Aw, I missed you too, buddy.”

  I try not to roll my eyes in utter disgust. “He’s not coming with us, is he?” I ask, crossing my arms. “Because I’m not coming if he does.”

  Rain looks back at me and smirks. “You seriously think I’d choose you over him?”

  Avert my gaze. He blows out a breath. “Fine. Whatever makes you feel safer, Chief Carter.”

  “Chief Carter?” A female voice sounds from the other room, and a middle-aged woman steps out. Gray eyes. Auburn hair streaked with gray. Tall, lithe body. I don’t need proper introductions to know who she is.

  “Mother,” Rain chokes out. He stares at her like he’s seeing a ghost. “What are you doing here?”

  She reaches up to put an earring in her ear. “This my home, dear.”

  “Yes, but, you’re never here.”

  In all the time I’ve known Rain, I’ve never seen him surprised. Like Titus, he always knows what’s going on. He’s always one step ahead. But this is one of those rare moments where he is out of words, out of snide remarks. He can’t even think far enough ahead to cover his shock with a smirk.

  The woman finishes putting in her earring and turns and looks at me. “You must be the real Ember. I take it the Resurgence finally found you.”

  Now it’s my turn to be fresh out of words. “Um…”

  “I’m Mrs. Turner.” She sticks out her hand, and I take her fingers lightly in mine.

  “Excuse me,” Rain juts in. “How do you know who she is? And—and what makes you think she’s a part of the rebels?”

  Mrs. Turner looks at Rain and offers a smile so warming, you wouldn’t think she practically abandoned him in his youth. “I know everything, Rain-drop.” She taps his nose, and he takes a startled step back. I smother a snort. “I pretty much live at the capitol, you know.”

  “Oh, I know,” he says darkly. “Your absence screamed it loud and clear.”

  Her smile fades, and sadness creeps into her gray eyes, but just when I catch a glimpse of it, she turns to me and grins. “I’ll see you both at the picnic, yes? And no worries. I won’t tell a soul who you really are.” She winks, then spins around and strides out of the room.

  Rain stares after her, dumbstruck. “That was…weird.” He blinks and shakes his head, then looks at me and his smirk is back. “Shall we?” He leads me outside. I don’t dare bring up that odd conversation with his mother or ask how she knows about us working with the Resurgence. Rain is clearly as clueless as I am, and he obviously doesn’t want to talk about it. I hop in the front seat of his silver car. He takes the driver’s seat.

  “Holy Crawford, that was weird,” he says again as he pulls down the street. “Okay. Let’s go over who you’re going to be for the next two days. I’m going to ask you some common questions that might be asked at the picnic, and I want you to have answers ready.”

  “Ask away,” I say.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Flame Waters.” I scrunch up my nose. “Which, by the way, is a completely ridiculous name.”

  “I thought it fit well—what—with your flaming red hair. Besides, embers create flames. And you, dear Ember, are just about to spark into flame that will blow over Ky.”

  “So, what, my next name is Raging Fire?”

  “It fits.”

  I grit my teeth. “Next question.”

  “Where are you from?”

  “Shelby County.” I begin rehearsing the fake story Rain created on our way from Louisville. “My mom was a factory worker, but I was given a career in Frankfort.” I look at him, gauge his expression, but he seems satisfied with my answer. I, however, am not satisfied. “Are people really going to buy all this? Won’t they expect me to be brainwashed like every other Proletariat?”

  “Most Patricians don’t know the Proletariats are brainwashed, remember?”

  “Okay. S
o what’s your story?” I ask.

  “Me?”

  “You have to cover up your tracks, too. You’ve been gone for two weeks, Rain.”

  “Oh. Right. Just that I went to Anderson County and studied the base there. They still want me to be in command of the Line of Defenders.”

  The memory of him commanding the Defenders when I was first arrested flashes through my mind. It was when I first met Rain. He was loading us prisoners onto the bus, then taking us to court. He was so incredibly arrogant, leading me into Frankfort Prison where I would get my trial. The judges pretty much condemned me to death, I defended myself, and Rain laughed in my face. Rain, the rebel spy working for the Resurgence. Then he handed me off to Defender Mcallister. Who also is with the Resurgence. I remember how strange it was, watching Rain, who’s my age, command the Defenders around. He did a pretty good job. I mean, he took control so naturally.

  “Why don’t you do it?” I blurt out.

  “Why don’t I do what?”

  “Take command of the Defenders?”

  He snorts. “Why the shoddy rot would I want to do that?”

  “Your dad’s pushing you to choose a career. Time’s running out. If you’re in charge of Defenders, couldn’t you, like, not brainwash them? Tell them the truth of our situation and build a rebel group like that? I mean, what better way to build an army right under Titus’s nose? And you’ll have all that access to the weapons.”

  Rain furrows his brows as he steers the car down the street. “Hm. Never really thought about it like that. I just saw the career as ordering brainless people around, telling them to keep the order, but…you might have an excellent point there, Flame-girl.”

  I smile to myself. Cognitively pat myself on the back.

  “You might not be completely useless to Resurgence after all,” he says. “Despite my better judgment.”

  And my smile vanishes. Rolling my eyes, I look out the window at the sunlit streets. So beautiful here. All the time. And yet, so much corruption.

  “So where are the Fearless Six?” I ask.

  “Oh, they’re around here, somewhere.” He looks at me and grins, but it’s clear he’s not doling out any more information. “They have big plans for the next couple of days, and you’re just here for Forest.”

  “Of course. Is Elijah okay, though?”

  “Elijah’s fine,” is all Rain says.

  We arrive at the park and a valet takes Rain’s car. We step onto the trail and walk toward the picnic. A few hundred people are gathered, the men dressed in black and gray, the women dressed in a million different colored dresses and togas. I tug at my own, plain ivory toga, my heart beating two beats too fast. So many people. And I can’t just be myself this time. I have to be someone else. I have to be friendly. I have to act like a Patrician.

  “Remember,” Rain whispers beside me, “lift your chin. Pep in your step. And don’t worry, these people don’t even know you this time, so they won’t be gawking like they did last time.”

  That makes me feel slightly better. “Don’t know what I would do without you, Rain-drop.”

  “Whoa. No. Don’t ever call me that again. Holy Crawford, you just have to go and make everything…weirder, don’t you?” He pulls a flask out of his pocket, unscrews the lid, and drinks deeply. Peppermint tea. Does he have a migraine right now? Or is he just putting on a show for the Patricians? A gaggle of girls immediately flock by his side.

  “Rain! Where have you been?”

  “We’ve been looking for you.”

  “Are you well?”

  “Frankfort is terribly boring without you.”

  Rain lifts his hands in mock defense. “Girls, girls. Settle down. I was only gone a short time.”

  Here is the arrogant flirt who drinks too much. Here is the boy I loathed before—before I knew him. But now I see an entirely different person. Yes, he’s still arrogant and mocking, and I still occasionally want to punch him. But most of what he does here is an act to keep his real identity as a Resurgence spy. And in a way, I kind of respect that.

  I match my steps to Rain’s, and we head deeper into the park. More girls flock around Rain, and he makes up some elaborate story about his adventures in Ky. And I realize what makes everyone so fascinated with him, besides his charismatic personality. He makes himself look like a hero with these tall tales he unravels, and every one eats it up.

  Ahead, the pavilion shades the Feasting Table where most of the Patricians have already gathered to eat their lunch—food involuntarily harvested and involuntarily cooked by the Proletariat, all for the snotty Patricians, who hardly give the Proletariats acknowledgement.

  I look at the faces of those already seated and immediately see Titus, sitting at the head of the table. Titus. My brother. And I feel nothing at seeing him. Nothing but a prick of irritation. And a little bit of disgust. I mean, we shared a mother. But he’s nothing like her. And I don’t really like being related to my enemies. He laughs loudly at whatever the person sitting beside him says.

  The person sitting beside him.

  With golden hair and a smile that could melt butter into wine.

  Forest Turner.

  And then I realize, everyone at Titus’s table is dressed up in black slacks, vests, and fedoras. They’re all politicians.

  “Is the chief having a business meeting right here in the open?” I ask Rain.

  “Titus always eats his lunch with a select group, even during picnics.”

  And Forest is in that select group. Of course. I know this. It’s just strange seeing him laugh with the man-child who tried to have me killed. Several times.

  Rain leads me to a different table than Titus’s. I wonder if Rain would even be invited to sit at Titus’s table. Forest may be our leader’s best friend, but Rain is definitely not on his good side. He pulls out a chair for me and I sit down and then look at the feast before me. Honey roasted chicken, sliced apples—where the inferno did he get apples from?—all kinds of berries assorted in a beautiful pattern on a platter, bread rolls still steaming from the oven, and green vegetables. They must have a garden here in Frankfort for all this food to be growing in the depth of winter.

  A rich laugh brings my head up from the food. A girl sits straight across the table from me. Olive skin, smiling eyes, long brown hair curling down her shoulders.

  I stop breathing. My jaw drops. Because she can’t be anyone other than the girl pretending to be me.

  And. Oh. My. Word.

  She looks exactly like me.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  All except one thing.

  She has hazel eyes, not brown like mine. She looks more like Mom than I do. In fact, she looks like a younger version of Mom. She laughs at something the woman behind her whispers in her ear. The woman who I just met less than an hour ago. Rain’s mother.

  Mrs. Turner straightens, a bright smile on her face, then her eyes meet mine. She winks, then walks off.

  I look back at my look-alike. She gently nudges the arm of the boy sitting beside her, her giggles making her sound every bit the Patrician. What is she like, this clone of me? And why does she look exactly like me? I knew Titus hired someone who looked like me. But now, seeing her this closely, I realize she’s my exact reflection. How can someone resemble me so precisely? Does Titus have a storage unit full of clones? Or is she just a look-alike picked up from the street whose makeup artist did an exceptionally good job?

  Which brings me to my next question: Is she brainwashed into believing she’s Ember Carter, or is she being paid to do it?

  There’s only one way to find out.

  I drop my mouth open, widen my eyes in fake astonishment, and say with a loud, Patrician accent, “Holy. Crawford. Miss Carter? Is that really you?”

  She lifts her liquid hazel eyes to mine and smiles, but a flash of confusion flits across her features. “Yes. And you are…?”

  “Miss…Waters,” I say. “Flame Waters.”

  Her gaze roams down my feature
s, taking in every detail. Her smile fades, and I know—I know—that despite my short, colored hair, she knows who I am. Which confirms that she’s not brainwashed and she knows exactly what she’s doing.

  But then her always-smiling eyes lock with my always-smiling eyes, and she says, “Flame Waters, hm? And do I know you from somewhere, Miss Waters?”

  Rain leans toward me and whispers, “Um, what exactly are you doing?”

  Ignoring him, I keep my eyes locked on Fake Ember’s and repeat the very things I’d heard over and over during my very short stay here. “I’ve just heard so much about you. I mean, you’re a Proletariat, right? Yet you can communicate with black tigers?”

  “Yes,” she says in a soft, docile voice.

  “And you grew up in the Garden, yes?” I ask. “What was it you did there?”

  “That’s a matter of public record, Miss Waters.”

  “Of course. Of course it is. And so is the fact that the orchard was burned to the ground.” I glare at her, arch a mocking brow. “Any news of your family yet?”

  “I’m afraid the fire was an act of rebellion on my fake father’s part.” She straightens her silverware. “There hasn’t been any sign of him since it burned down.”

  “Oh,” I say, surprised that Titus changed his story around already, after telling me he’d already killed them. “An act of rebellion, hm? How terribly exciting.”

  Her perfectly shaped brows flicker.

  “So they’re still alive, then?” I ask. “Your fake family, I mean?”

  She shrugs, looks at her food that’s hardly been touched. “Well, they’re probably making their living in the ghost town, so…” She looks at me again without a hint of remorse. “I’m sure they’re starving.”

  Wow. For someone pretending to be me, she sure doesn’t sound the least bit concerned for her missing, possibly starving, family.

  “And your brother,” I continue. “What’s his name?”

  “Elijah.”

  “Was he involved?”

  “No way to know.” She shrugs. “He was young and easily influenced by his father.”

  Rain leans in again and whispers, “Enough with this interrogation, or people will start suspecting things.”