"They die?"
"Of course."
I stopped walking, waiting for the pang of sadness to hit me. I waited to feel pain for lost lives, to feel sympathy for wives who had lost their husbands, children who had lost their fathers...I felt nothing. I realised I had accepted that this was the way of life. Men fought and died, but they fought for the right reasons, and they helped ensure my husband returned home every night.
"So when the numbers begin to dwindle, we hold this ball to balance the equation?"
"Sort of. Instead of waiting until we're low on soldiers, we hold an annual event and take on more than enough to fill the gaps of those we lost. Then, training continues."
"Training?"
"There are many things you haven't discovered yet." Elias took hold of my elbow and our conversation took a break while we greeted our guests.
I was reacquainted with my uncles, and Lawson smiled and pressed kisses to the air on either side of my cheeks. One uncle was missing, and I felt his absence as relief washed over me. Beckett, the second cousin, regarded me with the same disdain he'd displayed when we first met. He nodded defiantly at Elias and refused to make eye contact with me, despite my effort to see if there were foundations to build a bridge between us. I felt nothing. He wasn't rude like he was when he spoke to us in Black Ash. He just pretended I didn't exist. A bell rang, signalling the beginning of dinner, and Elias led me to our table, with Mae and Richard, Ruby and Trace, Elliott, Robert, Lawson and Beckett. Elias took my hand beneath the table as we waited for starters to be served by the staff.
"It's a presentation evening, I suppose," Elias said, continuing our conversation. "Recruits will be given their position, assigned to a Sector and handed the coat of arms for their House.
"And it's perfectly legit?" I asked, stroking my thumb over the back of his hand.
"Yes. They all want to be here. Some have been raised from birth to follow their fathers’ footsteps. Some have been initiated because of their work in the companies."
"The bank?"
"Blackwood International for one. The Met Police for another. Trace's company, Lawson's, and Beckett's. They've all sworn in and will be given jobs according to their skill levels."
"It all sounds so...normal."
"You were expecting a bloodbath?"
I heard the humour in his voice.
"I like this side of GRIT," I confessed in a whisper.
"You like it all."
I nodded. I didn't want to agree, but I couldn't deny it. I no longer hated the organisation that claimed lives and tortured souls.
Dinner was served in silverware; some sort of vegetable broth with freshly baked bread.
"Why is she not part of the initiation?" I asked as our white-blonde waitress topped up the wine and scurried from our table to the next.
"Her name is Annabella," Trace said, picking up his glass and taking a sip. "She works for the House now."
"Where did you find her?"
My brother softened, betraying the spark of wickedness that has always called to my hunger for mischief. I'd always thought we were two peas in a pod, two of a kind, and all that stuff...now I realised we were both conditioned to serve and protect. To punish. Was there anything innocent in the connection we had? Had Trace been encouraged to bond with me to make this easier, to give me habits and behaviours to imitate? I didn't trust anything anymore. All I knew was that, for whatever reason, Trace and I shared the same manic expression of excitement, and I was about to find out where his came from.
"She was a rescue mission," he said, glancing down at the table to where my hand was in Elias'. "We helped her off the back off the truck and brought her home. Her health improved quickly, so we gave her a job."
"Just like that?"
Trace shrugged and winked. "Sure."
Rolling my eyes, I righted myself in my seat. The starters had been cleared and mains were on their way—trimmed lamb cutlets, mashed potato with some sort of herb stirred into it, and a collection of seasonal vegetables. Food. I hadn't understood the importance of nutrients until I'd become a prisoner. Breakfasts were important—Elias and I ate together most mornings—but he ate lunch at work and we often had late-night feasts of finger-food for dinner.
“Why? What’s so special about her?”
“Women come and go in this business, Trix,” Trace said, popping his leftover piece of bread in his mouth. “We’re always bringing maids and cleaners in. Annabella’s no different.”
So why did I feel like she was? Why was there a sense of discomfort, not just stirred by my instincts, but in the waves of conflict radiating off Elias?
“What do you know?” I asked, turning to him.
He shrugged. “I’ve had a couple of conversations with her. Her English isn’t great. She was brought in from Denmark…said she was taken there as a child and then stolen to be brought into the city. We intercepted her journey.”
“Did you find where they were going to take her?”
Elias looked at Trace. When I looked at my brother, he was looking at Elias. Something had gone down between them. Something that held them together—a secret they would take to the grave. I didn’t press. I wanted to, but I had conceded defeat here. Some things were better left unsaid, some secrets were better kept; sometimes knowledge wasn’t the answer. I looked around for Annabella as I ate dinner, the rest of the guests falling into quiet conversation. I couldn’t see her; I could no longer feel her presence. Her white, almost ghost-like hair, and her icy blue eyes unsettled me. There was something about her—some wild connection I couldn’t explain. I wanted to. Sliding my chair back, I prepared to stand from the table, but Elias’ hand shot out and gripped my wrist, pinning it to the arm of the chair.
“No,” he clipped, his free hand taking a forkful of lamb and lifting it to his lips.
“How did you-?”
“Firstly,” he said, setting his cutlery down and bowing his head to talk to me so the others couldn’t hear. “I know you better than I know myself. I know exactly what’s going on in your head.” I frowned, but he continued before I could argue. “Secondly, I feel it, too. Trust me, it’s safer for you to stay away from her.”
“So why is she here? If she makes you nervous, why is she not locked up somewhere?”
“You think that’s the answer?” he growled, turning his head so black eyes met mine.
No, I didn’t. She was a victim; she’d been trafficked into the city. Why was my answer to lock people up? Criminals and victims? I didn’t know. But I didn’t want her in my house. I wanted to talk to her, to explore this connection and find out why the mere sight of her had made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and brought every one of my senses into hypersensitivity.
“You won’t get answers from her. I’ve tried.”
“How?” I gasped. “You haven’t tortured her, have you?”
Elias growled again, thick and low and terrifying. He opened his mouth to talk, his lip curling into a snarl of disgust for my lack of faith in his control. Before he could say anything, a crackle sounded out from the speakers and all attention turned to the man on the stage. Richard Ashford. Second-born. Assistant leader of GRIT; second in command. Commissioner Ashford. The man I knew as Father was the reason GRIT was allowed to continue. He handed Elias and Trace case files; he discussed evidence with them, giving and receiving clues that would lead to the capture and punishment of criminals. My father sat behind a desk, or travelled the city, finding ways to bring it back to normal, while standing as the figurehead for a future that had all but abandoned the citizens of the capital.
Now he stood on stage, his hair a little whiter since the last time I’d seen him, his skin a little looser, eyes a little more drained from a life of re-enactment. He wore the GRIT uniform, a black suit, cloaked in shadow from head to toe against the golden tan of his skin, and the royal blue hue of his eyes. He wore the Ashford coat of arms on the lapel of jacket with pride, the same sense of devotion to the crest o
f GRIT on the opposite lapel. He held his hands behind his back, shooting me a gentle smile, before he paced the stage and waited for undivided attention. He got it. Without so much as the snap of his fingers, my father silenced the room and drew all eyes to him.
The show was about to begin.
“Firstly, I must apologise for the absence of my brother. Ambrose has been called out on an important business matter and has asked me to lead the presentation.” He spoke into the microphone, but it wasn’t necessary. He commanded a room like the powerful leader he was. “Now, you know our journey to a brighter future is on track. GRIT works hard to keep the population safe. We work tirelessly to see children get an education, and adults find peace in the knowledge they have someone fighting for their lives while they raise their children.”
Did he believe that, or did he think everyone else was stupid enough to believe in GRIT without questioning how they got their money, or power, or how they found the criminals? Taking another sip of wine, I listened to my father. Both Trace and Elias were transfixed, Mae looked on with love in her green eyes, and Ruby smiled as her second-born son took control. Had she intended it all along? Where was Ambrose? I tried to look for him, but Elias was waiting, gripping the back of my neck to keep my head forward. He never looked away from Richard.
“Many of you have been to these evenings before. Many of you know who you are about to meet. But some of you-” he looked at me when he said it. “Some of you may like to hear the story. We couldn’t operate without our villages. Without the people we have living a medieval lifestyle on our estates, we couldn’t continue our work. So before we transition to the awards and initiations, I would like to thank the chiefs for their devotion to GRIT. Beatrice, Caroline, Charlotte, and Emily…thank you for raising our warriors and ladies. Thank you for giving us army after army, year after year. Now.” He clapped. I jumped, on edge as tension smothered me. It had come out of nowhere, but I couldn’t focus on anything but the rapid beat of my heart, or the brutal beat of blood in my veins. “Let’s meet this year’s recruits, shall we?”
Elias and Trace stood, getting to their feet in perfect synchrony. I kept my eyes ahead, my peripheral catching the way they buttoned up their suit jackets at the same time. They took the same amount of oxygen in on deep breaths. They cleared their throats. They stepped out behind their chairs, slid them both in, and Elias cupped my shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze before they moved towards the stage. Trace elbowed Elias’ arm. Elias shook his head and I knew he’d rolled his eyes. My husband and my brother stood either side of my father and I gasped as a huge lump surged into the back of my throat. I’d never been more proud to be a part of this family than when I saw them up there, all three men I loved—all three men playing a part in my vitality, my revival, my survival. All three men were sheathed in black from head to toe; Trace wore the Ashford coat of arms as Richard, and Elias sported the Blackwood coat of arms, black and red and gold…harsh and elegant and dangerous. It was him, on a badge, and I became transfixed on the horse and lion holding onto a shield, with sharp feathers extending behind it…what I could only describe as fragments of grit shattering outwards from centre.
“We will work House by House, rank by rank. You are about to meet the newest generation of GRIT. You are about to witness history. You are about to see what magic looks like. In God we trust…”
“In GRIT we rely,” everyone in attendance replied, pledging their allegiance to GRIT with a four-word chorus.
Small tables were placed in front of Elias and Trace, and I sat back with my glass of wine as Richard introduced one man after another onto the stage. Some were young, no older than eighteen; some were older, with smile-lines and experience in their eyes. Some were new—some recruits were entering GRIT for the first time, and some had been trying for decades. Some were stepping into their first employment, and some were moving up the ranks. It didn’t matter who stepped onto stage, whether they were what I labelled ‘natives’, or had been drafted in from elsewhere…everyone in the room, every person on the stage believed in GRIT—in what we were trying to achieve, and they all had hope that it would work. One by one, they crossed the stage. They accepted a handshake from Richard and both new-generation leaders, and then they were given one of four badges. They were handed a coat of arms from one of the Houses of GRIT. They became knights. They became vigilantes. They became a part of this fucked up, sadistic family. Family. That’s exactly what this was. GRIT was like the fucking royal family. Established. Powerful. Untouchable. I was in awe. For the first time since I’d discovered I was no ordinary girl, I was stunned by the beauty of the family I had been brought into.
I kept my eyes on Elias, as Richard explained the rankings. Triangles and squares came into it. Houses made up a square, triangles overlapped so that, while all Houses operated under their own principles with their own missions, GRIT worked as a single entity that covered every inch of the city. Every few minutes, Elias would look at me and pierce me with smouldering love and desire. He understood the transition I was going through, as I sat unmoving at a dinner table and watched GRIT reinforce itself. This generation, these employees…they would be the ones who would help Elias and me save the city. They would be our crusaders, our vigilantes, our anti-heroes; they would be everything we needed to bring the capital out of the abyss.
“I love you,” Elias mouthed to me across the room, not caring who saw, what they thought of it, or what he was supposed to be doing. He didn’t need to think. It came naturally.
Shaking the hand of another new employee came without thought. Handing him a badge and congratulating him came on instinct. Telling me he loved me came as naturally as his avenging destiny. It was all connected, all intertwined. Why hadn’t I felt like this before? Why hadn’t I seen this? Why had it taken me so long to click into place and admit this was my life?
“I love you, too,” I mimed back, blowing him a kiss.
“Are you happy?”
I turned to see Mae sitting in Trace’s seat. She reached under the table and held my hand on my knee. Giving a gentle squeeze, she smiled softly.
“I am.”
“Truly?”
I nodded. “Truly.” Something wasn’t right. Mae, the only mother I had ever known, searched my eyes for deceit. “What’s wrong, Mother?”
“I’m not sure this was the life for you, darling.”
Panic rose from my stomach, to my chest, to lodge in my throat.
“What do you mean?”
Had I disappointed? Had I done something wrong? Where had this come from, and what wasn’t she telling me?
“I would have liked to get you out.” She bowed her head, looking at Ruby. I looked, too, but my grandmother was lost in the pride of watching her son and grandsons. “I tried. I tried over the two years you were with Ruby to get you away.” She scoffed and shook her head. “I lie with a man who has unlimited resources at his fingertips, and I couldn’t find a way to get you out. I tried the easy way; I tried to get you on a helicopter over the walls. And then I tried the less noble ways. Ways that would have me banished.” She looked around us again to make sure she was safe. My fingers tingled with worry; my chest was tight, my lungs burned but couldn’t expand for me to take a steadying breath. “I tried making deals, but no one would dare touch you. You’re protected, Trixie, for reasons I’ve wanted to tell you since you became mine.”
“I am yours,” I said, squeezing her hand back. Had this come out of an attack of low-confidence? Had she convinced herself I wasn’t her daughter, because I’d been away for so long? “Mother, I love you. I don’t understand why you want me out, but I’m only on Blackwood Estate. We can see each other more often. You can come and stay, or Percy can bring me to you. We don’t have to be separated.”
She shook her head and tapped the back of my hand with cold fingertips. “That’s not what I mean. Darling, you are my daughter. Nothing in this world will change that. But…” She looked around her again. I hated the panic in
her eyes. I hated the fear in her posture. I hated the paranoia in her voice. I hated it all. “Come with me.”
She stood from the table and dragged me to my feet. I followed her willingly, but I looked back over my shoulder at Elias. He was still looking at me, and a frown of confusion hooded his dark eyes. I smiled, comforting him without words, letting him know everything was okay. Because it was…wasn’t it? I’d just found my love for GRIT. I’d just allowed the final shackle that kept me bound to my morality fall away. What was wrong with Mae? Why was she rushing like we were running out of time? Why was she so different, so on edge, when she was normally timid and quiet, and gentle?
“You love Richard, don’t you?” I asked as she continued to pull me through the house and out into the foyer. “This isn’t about you and him, is it?”
“No, darling. I love your father very much. But he lives with a monster inside him, the same monster I’ve seen in the eyes of your husband and his father. They all have it. They’re all possessed by some sense of immortal power. When they’re all together, it’s catastrophic.” She swallowed hard and took a shaky breath. “It’s okay when they’re fighting. When they’re against each other or the underworld. This family…it can’t be normal. The second it begins to click into a foundation they all claim to be working for, devastation is imminent. I see it in my son, I won’t let it wreak havoc on my daughter.”
“What do you mean?” I asked as she pulled me out of the house and took a lungful of cool air. I joined her, trying to calm my nerves. “Mae, what’s going on?”
“They turn on others. They spend their lives battling inner demons and battling each other because that’s what history would want. The minute the fight stops, madness comes alight. They turn on those closest to them, because there’s no guidance for happiness. There are no rules when uniform content is found.”
“I don’t understand.”
Mae rounded the porch and pulled me behind her, swinging me out to tuck me into a corner of the house.
The Uprising (GRIT Sector 1 Book 2) Page 29