Traitor Born

by Amy A. Bartol

  She sighs. Lifting her left hand, she touches the light of her golden holographic sword. The moniker opens a holographic screen, and she retrieves the statement I gave to the Iono officers hours before. “So, this is your story. Three men entered your apartment to murder you. You killed two of them—”

  “No, the first was shot by the second. The second I stabbed in the neck with the first’s knife.”

  “Quite right. And the third, you . . .”

  “Shot in the shoulder.”

  “Where did you get the weapon?”

  “The second assassin dropped it when I stabbed him.”

  “With the first one’s knife?” she asks. I nod. “And you were able to shoot the third . . .”

  “In the shoulder,” we say in unison.

  “That’s quite a feat,” Firstborn Jenns says. “Three against one, and you were unharmed except for a small cut on your neck?”

  “My mechadome helped.”

  She snorts skeptically. The door behind her opens. Dune enters, making the small room feel tiny. Firstborn Jenns jumps to her feet, nearly spilling the coffee. “Commander Kodaline.”

  “Firstborn.” Dune acknowledges her with a slight nod. “The questioning is finished for this evening. If you have anything more, you’ll submit it to me.” He turns to me. I don’t move. Fear and devotion hover just behind my serene mask.

  “Yes. Of course,” Firstborn Jenns acquiesces. She’s clearly intimidated, but if I had to guess, it’s more by his presence—the raw power in him—than by his position.

  “Roselle, please join me,” Dune orders.

  I rise from the chair, sore from not having moved in hours, and leave the room with him. We walk the bland corridors of the security floor side by side. Dune shows me to a lift. Unlike the others, its walls are made of glass. It takes us upward within a shaft gilded in gold leaf. The air feels thinner, but mostly from the awkwardness of spending my entire life with him, only to have been kept apart for more than a year now, unable to tell him about all the devastating events I encountered as a soldier. An invisible wall divides us. He’s a stranger I’ve known all my life—a spy. I don’t know what was real between us and what wasn’t. I feel a mix of emotions—hope, desperation, fear, betrayal, and despair. I struggle to contain it all.

  To give the illusion of being unaffected, I focus on the mundane. His hair is pulled back in a tight knot, making him appear younger than his thirty-nine years. Earlier today, he was wearing an Exo uniform—a promotion from the Iono uniform he wore as my mentor at the Sword Palace. Now his formal attire is of Sword aristocracy. He could rival my father, Kennet, in elegance.

  He notices my puzzled expression. “I was at a Secondborn Pre-Trial event hosted by a tremendous bore when I was pulled away.”

  “You look nice.” I glance away from him, hoping my hero worship isn’t apparent in my tone. “Who was the bore?”

  “Firstborn Harkness Ambersol,” he replies. “Have you met him? I don’t recall.”

  “No, but I’ve heard of him.” If Harkness had been to the Sword Palace, I wasn’t introduced to him. He’s firstborn and I’m secondborn. I was kept away from most social gatherings at the Sword residence for that reason. “Isn’t Harkness next in line for the position of The Sword, should either Gabriel or I be unable to claim the honor?”

  “He is. Your friend was there as well. He asked me about you.”

  “Which friend? I have so many,” I lie. I have two—Hawthorne and Clifton. Maybe Reykin. Maybe none. I can’t decide. They all come with strings.

  “Exo Salloway. He asked me to tell you that he misses you.”

  “Was Clifton holding on to the arm of the loveliest Diamond-Fated starlet in the room when he told you that?” My smile is ironic, imaging the handsome Exo Sword with his movie-star good looks.

  “He was quite alone this evening and adamant that I deliver his message.” A definite frown accompanies Dune’s answer. A year ago, I would’ve been devastated by any inkling of my mentor’s disapproval. Now I’m surprised to find that I’m somewhat annoyed. Clifton has done more for me than I can repay.

  “I miss him, too,” I reply, wanting to see Dune’s reaction. His frown deepens.

  The transparent elevator suddenly exits the opaque shaft and travels through the open air toward the golden halo-shaped crown that hovers over the rest of the Palace. The night sky is glorious with glowing stars. For several moments, all I can think about is how beautifully decadent the city of Purity is at night. From the skyscrapers that hover far off the ground, to those that spiral and change their shapes before my eyes, the city shimmers with opulent extravagance.

  The elevator enters the golden circlet of the Halo Palace, and the view cuts off. When the doors open, we enter a magnificent foyer. A grand staircase climbs to a golden balustrade lined mezzanine. More than ten military-grade death drones hover about this lavish room. Several Iono guards in crisp gray uniforms stand like statues at equal intervals in the foyer. “That staircase leads to Fabian and Adora’s private residence,” Dune says, referring to The Virtue and his wife. I peer up. Exo guards in black uniforms stand at intervals along the mezzanine’s curved walls. All of them have fusion rifles. Dune must have cleared my moniker for the visit, because our presence goes unchallenged.

  Golden columns support gilded architraves on both levels. Between the pillars, on the mezzanine’s landing wall beyond, hang portraits of The Virtue and his sublime spouse. Adora’s green eyes, wondrous and cold, cast a gaze of emerald ice upon Dune and me. Her long blond hair gently moves on the portrait’s visual screen, held in place by her halo crown—a circlet of pure gold. The difference between the two royal figures is such to make them worlds apart. Where Fabian is dark, Adora is light. His mouth is ruthless. Hers is supple. His face is hard angles. Hers is rounded softness.

  Dune and I don’t climb the exquisite staircase. Instead, we turn and head for an adjacent corridor, our shadows stretching beneath the ever-watchful gazes of our sovereigns until we’re out of the foyer.

  Dune’s gait is gentle, the pace of a panther whose tail caresses the confines of his cage. He leads me to his private apartments. I’m impressed by the beauty of his drawing room, everything masculine and high tech. I approach an arching glass wall with godlike views of the city beyond the expansive grounds. The world almost makes sense from this altitude.

  “Privacy mode,” Dune says.

  I huff in disappointment as shutters of thick steel close over the wall, severing my connection with the outside world. Doors close and latch. A pinging high-intensity frequency bursts to life and ascends in pitch until I can no longer hear it.

  Dune stands near a luxurious tungsten and black-velvet sofa. Large chairs of the same shiny metal and matte fabric face it. He gestures toward one. I settle into it and feel small by comparison. He lifts a silver orb from a glass bowl on the low table between us, holding it in his palm. It levitates and hovers in the air. Light erupts from the device, shining out in spidery legs that expand into an iridescent bubble around us.

  The orb slowly descends into the bowl. It settles among the other spheres, still emitting the light. “We are secure,” Dune says. “You can speak freely. Not even our monikers’ transmitters can penetrate the whisper orb.”

  “Thank you for seeing me, Commander Kodaline,” I murmur.

  “No need to thank me, or to call me ‘Commander.’ I’m not your mentor anymore. We both know I’m neither firstborn nor secondborn.”

  “What shall I call you?”

  “Dune.”

  “Is that your real name?” I’m surprised to hear the hurt in my own voice.

  “Yes.”

  I once thought I knew everything there was to know about this man, but I know very little. “Your last name isn’t Kodaline. It’s Leon.”

  “You met my brother Daltrey.”

  “Does one really meet Daltrey Leon, or is he more like something that happens to you? Like an airship crash. I brought him the monikers
that Flannigan and I stole from Census. He accepted them and then left me little choice but to infiltrate the Sword industrial systems for the Gates of Dawn.”

  “He does have a way about him. He sees your potential.”

  “Daltrey is your real firstborn brother, is he not?” I ask. Dune resembles the leader of the Gates of Dawn.

  “He is. I had an older sister, Kendall, but she was murdered not long after her Transition by a firstborn from the city where she worked.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “As am I.”

  “Where was her post?”

  “In the Fate of Virtues. She had a brilliant mind. She was training to be an energy engineer.”

  “What happened?”

  “She was raped by a man whose father controlled the energy contracts for the region. She became pregnant with his firstborn. He didn’t want anyone to know, so he strangled her.”

  I should be shocked, but I’m not. “Was he punished?” I ask. Usually only secondborns suffer the consequences of any crime perpetrated against them by firstborns, especially the crime of rape.

  “Not by Census. He paid a fine to the Fate of Stars, and they let him go.”

  I shiver, seeing the intensity in Dune’s eyes. He has made pain his companion. I’ve always felt it, but I didn’t know why. “You avenged her.” It’s not a question. He’s patient and precise—dark and powerful.

  “I tortured my sister’s murderer, and then I tied his rotting corpse to the trunk of a tree in front of his parent’s estate in Lenity.” Pain isn’t just Dune’s companion, it’s his lover.

  “He was Virtue-Fated?” Lenity is a wealthy district not far from here.

  “He was Star-Fated but living in Virtues.”

  “Was it enough?” As a soldier, I know once the inertia of passivity is broken, crossing the line of violence has its own momentum. Revenge doesn’t have a master. It is a master.

  “His death will never be enough. This Republic that allows firstborns to commit atrocities with little or no repercussions—that enslaves us—will end.” The caged-animal look is back, darkening his features. It’s unnerving. Dune’s usually so careful, so controlled. He has never spoken to me like this before, as if I’m his peer.

  “It’s not your fault—what happened to her,” I say quietly.

  “Isn’t it?” His tone is harsh. “You saved your secondborn friend from a similar atrocity.”

  “It wasn’t the same thing. I was lucky.”

  “Was it luck or was it you being brave, daring to act despite the consequences?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Nor do I.” He paces behind the long sofa, within the whisper orb’s confines.

  I clutch the arm of the chair to keep myself from going to him. He wouldn’t want that. I clear my throat. “Daltrey is the oldest in your family, then Kendall, and then Walther? That makes you technically fourthborn—thirdborn now that your sister is gone.”

  “Walther is older than me, but only by minutes. We’re fraternal twins.”

  Twins are rare. If a second pregnancy results in twins, one fetus is terminated and delicately removed or left to be absorbed by the other. With a first pregnancy, the parents can choose to keep both twins, but one must be secondborn, and eventually given to the government on its Transition Day. “How did Walther become a secondborn Sword?”

  “Walther and I have been a secret since our birth. Census would’ve executed us both, and our mother for hiding the pregnancy, but my parents were wealthy and made sacrifices to keep us alive.” His parents were more than wealthy. The Leons are the Second Family in the Fate of Stars. They would inherit the title of “The Star” if the current First Family’s heirs in Stars, the Vukes, were unable to claim the title. In other words, if they were dead. If Aksel Vuke and his two children were to die, Daltrey rules his Fate as The Star.

  “What sort of sacrifices?” I ask.

  “Some firstborns in the Fate of Swords find the secondborn laws particularly brutal. Secondborn Swords aren’t just ripped away from their families, they’re often slaughtered by war or they die due to the extreme hardship of being raised as soldiers. Some firstborn Swords are unwilling to sacrifice their own child to that kind of brutality.”

  “But . . . they have no choice. The law requires them to have a second child to fulfill their duty to the Fates. If they don’t, they lose everything.”

  “In Walther’s case,” Dune explains, “his adoptive Sword mother pretended to be pregnant. When my mother gave birth to us, my family paid a physician to assert live Sword-Fated births. The physician forged all the DNA screenings necessary to provide sword monikers for me and Walther. Walther’s adoptive family claimed him as their secondborn son so that they wouldn’t have to have another child of their own and give it up. In exchange, they receive Walther’s earnings as a secondborn Sword soldier and keep their positions in the Sword hierarchy. There’s no love there. Walther is a means to an end.”

  “How did your Star-Fated family manage to keep all this a secret?”

  “Walther’s adoptive family took him into their home as an infant and gave him to a mentor to raise. He lived with them in their house. He was brought to a few of their Sword family gatherings when he was a very young child, but when he became old enough to train in the art of war, he was sent back to Stars, to my real family, per their agreement. We were five years old when I was reunited with my twin brother and began training with my father and Daltrey. We come from a long line of warriors, spanning from a time when there were no Fates or laws to decide who or what a person should be. Our mistake was not training Kendall as well.”

  “I’ve always believed you to be firstborn.”

  “I was more fortunate than Walther. My adoptive family couldn’t have children. They tried for years and failed. The Kodalines are Sword aristocracy. They would’ve lost their titles and their wealth if they couldn’t produce a firstborn. They were desperate for a child. My adoptive mother, Corrine, and my adoptive father, Quinton, were eager for the illegal adoption, even knowing they’d be executed if it were ever discovered. They love me as if I’m their own child. They missed me when I was at my Star family home. They demanded visitations. I spent time in both Fates. Then they adopted another child in the same way—a secondborn girl named Surrey. My younger sister came from a Star family as well. She was the Star’s thirdborn child and would’ve been killed otherwise. The Gates of Dawn began as a secret movement to save thirdborns from Census. It grew from there into the network it is today.”

  “What happened to your Sword sister?”

  “Surrey was killed just after she Transitioned at an outpost in Darkshire. Friendly fire, they said. Our adoptive mother cried for days.”

  “Were you close to Surrey?”

  “Surrey felt more like a sister to me than Kendall. We spent more time together. She had no business being a soldier. It wasn’t in her nature.” Another note of regret. Maybe another reason why my training was always so brutally rigid? Every lesson, Dune stressed that mastery meant life or death.

  “How did you come to know The Virtue?” I ask.

  “When I was eighteen, I was sent to Virtues to be an Iono guard at the Halo Palace. It was an honor for my Sword-Fated family. I was one of the Halo Palace’s most proficient fighters. The Virtue noticed. Not long after, Clarity Bowie sent me to the Sword Palace to be your mentor.”

  “You’re a firstborn aristocrat. Why did you take the job? You don’t have to work.”

  “Before he died, my real Star-Fated father was an aristocratic advisor to The Virtue. He used his influence to plant the seed that I be sent to you to protect the future of the sovereignty of the Fate of Virtues.”

  “You had plans for me even then?”

  “Not plans exactly. We had scenarios. If we could train you from infancy, we’d have another angle of attack.”

  “Why not Gabriel? Why not train him?”

  “You know the answer to that.”

  “Mot
her.”

  “Yes. Your mother only saw him. She never saw you. I could train you any way I saw fit, and she rarely interfered. I could teach you to be strong and decent.”

  “Do the Kodalines know your loyalties lie with the Gates of Dawn?”

  “No.” He frowns. “It would kill them to know.”

  “If you can pay physicians for monikers, then you don’t need the stolen monikers I delivered to the Fate of Stars.”

  He waves his hand dismissively. “Those physicians no longer exist. They’ve been routed by Census, one by one. I’ve been fortunate to have maintained my identity—my moniker wasn’t a copycat. When Census converted to the new monikers, my device appeared legitimate, so I was issued a new upgraded version after mine was rendered useless. Other thirdborns with copycats were discovered and executed. You saved lives by bringing the new monikers to us.”

  “Only a few.” Most of their spies in the field were executed last year.

  “You’ll save thousands from Census agents. All our attempts to reverse engineer the new monikers were failures, but because of you, our agents have access to the Fate of Sword’s industrial systems. We can create new profiles—new identities for thirdborns to avoid being senselessly slaughtered. Soon, we’ll locate the schematics and encryptions for the new monikers and duplicate them. You’ve done far more for the resistance in a short time than anyone could’ve imagined.”

  His words don’t bring me comfort, not really. They make me feel torn. Sword soldiers are fighting the rebellion—the Gates of Dawn—as I sit here in a literal palace. My regiment is still in active combat. Conspiring with the Gates of Dawn makes me a Fate traitor. When I help them save thirdborns, I’m helping the very people my secondborn regiment is fighting against. I’m choosing to save one side from being murdered while neglecting to do the same for the other side. My side. Secondborn Swords die every day in this war. My people. Where is their peace? Who will save them?