by Jenny Moyer
“Holy fire,” Dram breathes, watching the first green shoots twist up from the dirt. “I can barely see, Rye. Tell me I’m really seeing this.”
The sapling lifts from my palm in a tangle of roots, fine as hair, that twist and thicken. Leaves caress my arms, twining around us as I direct the branches into a vessel that lifts Dram off the sand. Wood skims beneath him, forming a sledge with handles I can push.
He turns his head, and I stare into his wide eyes. They are full of awe, and for the first time since I dragged him off the burnt sand—hope. He murmurs something, so softly I miss the words.
“What?” I lean down.
“We are the fortunate ones,” he says hoarsely.
“We are.” I lean forward and run for Fortune.
* * *
I conjure as I run, reinforcing the vessel holding Dram, even as the curtain burns it away. Leaves curl and smolder, lifting on cordon winds as we skim over the sand toward camp. When the corral tower becomes visible, I drag Dram’s arm over my shoulder and leave the sledge to the elements. I can’t let them see what I’m capable of. Not yet.
Maybe it’s a renewed sense of hope, but Dram finds his footing this time. He’s able to keep pace with me all the way through the fence to Fortune.
He staggers a few meters from the door.
“We’re here. Stay with me, Dram!” I lever his body through the doorway. He’s no longer conscious. “Hold on. Just hold on.”
“Orion!” Cora shouts. “What are you doing?”
“Help me, Cora!”
Her eyes skip from me to Dram’s battered body. “You’re breaking Protocol!”
“I’ll tell Meredith I forced you to help me. Please!”
“You didn’t force me to do anything,” she grumbles, grasping Dram’s feet with her good hand as well as her bandaged one. She hisses when his weight presses against her injury, but she doesn’t let go. We tow him from the vestibule, bypassing decon. Cora shoots me a look but doesn’t mention my second breach of Protocol. I’m not sure any Delvers have ever broken as many rules as I am now—except maybe Mom.
We descend the shaft and carry him to the infirmary—mercifully empty at the moment—and she releases Dram to open the Radbed. I grasp him around the chest and lever us both over the side. We collapse onto the medcot.
“Get out, Orion!”
“No time. Do it!”
Cora slams the lid and seconds later, serums mist over Dram and me. I close my eyes as the radiation treatment chamber hums to life around us.
Mom once told me of butterflies, fragile insects that lived before the curtain fell. They began as something without wings, crawling on the ground until they transformed inside a chrysalis. That is how I feel now, as the chamber fills with the fog of serums and my body trembles from exertion and fear. I hold Dram tighter, and will my strength into him. Will his body to take some of my remaining resistance, so that he can emerge from this chamber like those butterflies. Changed. Wings unfurling.
Alive.
“What are his levels, Cora?” I shout through the glass.
“Improving,” she calls above the sounds of the Radbed.
Dram’s body shakes, and I hold him tighter.
“You’re safe. You’re going to live!” His short Brunt’s hair brushes my cheek as I tuck his head beneath my chin. I reach around him and unfasten his shirt, pulling it apart to expose his skin to the serums. My hands brush his memorial pendants. Something metallic dangles from the cord; the talisman he wore for me. They cut off his hair, but he found another way to keep it close.
The chamber hums around us. Whatever awaits us on the other side of this cocoon, we’ll face it together. I hold on tightly to the boy who never stopped holding on to me.
* * *
“You brought a Brunt into Fortune.” Meredith’s clipped tone cuts through my thoughts as she walks into my room. I resume brushing my hair, watching my reflection in the mirror. She stands in my line of sight. “A nearly dead, exposed Brunt.”
“I’m Prime Delver. It was my right.”
“You went too far with this, Orion.”
“He was one of the best miners at Outpost Five. He’ll make a fine Delver.”
“He must return.”
“He’ll die!”
“When one is made a Brunt, there is no going back.”
I pull my chain off and drop it on the floor.
“What are you doing?”
“Giving up Fortune. Make Dram Delver in my place.”
She laughs. “And where would you go?”
“To the Box. As his Forger.”
She raises a brow like this is more amusement than she’s had in months. “You can’t be a Forger,” she says with a grin. “You’re not an adapted Conjuror.”
I hesitate, my words catching in my throat. “What if I was?”
Her smile dies. “Then you’d be the most valuable person in the city-state.” Her shrewd gaze flicks over me. “You’re a Subpar. I’ve seen your Radband.”
I lift my cupped hand, shaking with the enormity of what I’m about to reveal. This admission could cost me my hands. Possibly my life.
It’s certain to cost my freedom.
A flower blooms against my palm, petals shifting over my skin. Meredith stares, transfixed. Then, slowly, her eyes lift, and she looks at me as something other than her Prime Delver.
I’m already a Ghost. The last one.
“I’ll assign Val as your Delver.”
“No, it must be Dram.”
“He can’t be Prime—”
“It’s my one condition.”
“You don’t get to make conditions, Forger.” The name cuts through my senses, severing the bond I shared with this woman. Any safety I once felt here is gone.
“We were caving partners at Outpost Five. First to earn four Rays. We accomplished the impossible, Meredith, and we can do it again. Make him Prime. I’ll be his Ghost. And we’ll find the eludial seam.”
She picks up my Delver’s chain. “I’m going to miss you, Orion.” Her statement swings between us like a door closing on the future I once had. Now there is just the caverns and the Box.
“I’m going to miss everything,” I say.
* * *
Meredith gives me three days. There’s no sense in sending me to waste away in the Box if there’s no Prime Delver to utilize my ability, so while Dram’s still receiving treatment, I get a last bit of freedom. No one can know about me yet. That was her condition. And since she’s commissary, she gets to make as many conditions as she wants.
But that doesn’t mean I trust her.
I’ve taken to following her, silent and unnoticed as the specter she’s commissioned me to be. The morning of the third day, she clicks down the hall with determined strides. Straight into Dram’s infirmary room.
I linger outside the door, just out of view.
“Commissary,” Dram says.
“What are your intentions concerning my Prime Delver?” Meredith asks. I hear the creak of a chair as she sits and risk a glance through the door hinges.
Dram grins. “My intentions.”
Meredith’s eyes narrow. “What is the context of your relationship?”
“What has she told you about us?”
“She held up her climbing rope and said, ‘We’re like this.’”
Dram’s smile widens. “We’re bonded.”
“But you’re not Conjurors.”
“Then call it something else.”
Her eyes widen, like she can’t get his words to line up in a way that makes sense. “But surely, you clarify your relationships—”
“You Alarans and your need to define things that don’t bear defining,” Dram says. “There’s just living and loving, and either you’re at someone’s side when it happens, or you’re not.”
“I’m asking if you’re married!”
“What is marriage but a public pledge of commitment? In Outpost Five, when a couple marries, they sign a paper in f
ront of the director and exchange tokens of commitment. They’re given a house and a day free from caving.”
“Answer the question, Dram.”
“I’ve been pledged to Orion since I was fourteen.”
“As her marker, you mean.”
He shrugs. “Call it what you will. I’m devoted to her, body and soul. I’ve made no secret of it.” His brows draw together. “Except outside processing, when they were going to cut our hands off and possibly execute us for treason.” A hint of his smile returns. “That time, it may have been a secret.”
Meredith sighs heavily. But this is Dram, and even she isn’t immune to his charm.
“Sign this paper, then.” She lifts a document and hands him a pen. “Orion already did.”
“What is it?” Dram’s eyes skip over the print.
“Call it my Alaran need for clarification,” Meredith answers.
“This is written in your fancy council-talk,” Dram mutters. “I can barely understand what it says.”
“It pertains to the precise nature of your relationship with Orion.”
Sign it, Dram. Don’t sign it, Dram!
“If I sign this, can I see her?”
“Of course.” Meredith smiles, and it reminds me of Soma baring his teeth before he loved Dram.
He scrawls his name on the form, and something inside me dies. I wanted him to sign—need him to. But now there is no hope for us. He has no idea what he just agreed to.
He hands her the paper. “Does this define our relationship clearly enough for you?”
“Oh, yes. Thank you, Dram.” Meredith tucks the contract away. “What did you say couples were given in Outpost Five? A day free of caving?”
He nods, eyes narrowing slightly.
“Then you’d better get up. This day is yours.” She turns toward the door, and I slip away, my bare feet silent over the stone, as quiet as a ghost.
TWENTY-FIVE
7.2 km from flash curtain
I’M DRESSED FOR a wedding. At least, that’s what Meredith tells me. In Old Alara, she explained, as she buttoned me into the gown, a woman’s worth was displayed in what she wore. All I know is this dress required two people to lift it from its box.
It sways at my waist with every step like it has its own momentum. I wear special undergarments to support it, as if I am not enough on my own to bear the splendor of Alara. The gown pulls me down, but it’s got nothing on the weight in my chest.
I search for Dram, my gaze flitting over sparkling crystal. I sip the drink in my hand, and it fizzes down my dry throat, makes my dress feel lighter.
“Take it easy with the champagne,” Cora says. She wears a blue gown overlaid with silver cloth. She sparkles in the light. We all sparkle like we’ve been pulled down from the night sky.
I tip back my glass.
Jewels are rare, treasured, Meredith told me, but the things sewn over my dress, refracting light like miniature sunbursts, are more rare to Alarans than any gemstone.
Cordon glass.
It makes me want to laugh.
I spent my childhood climbing the Range and staring out over the glass cordon, dreaming of Alara. Then, when the Congress destroyed the outpost, we escaped to that same cordon. I feel like I’m wearing my rebel flag. Or a gown made of memorial pendants. The thought presses on my chest, the place I store memories of Mom and Wes, and I swap my empty glass for a new one.
Meredith insisted on candlelight. I’m glad because it will hide the shadows under my eyes. I’m hoping Dram will be distracted enough by my makeup that he won’t notice the pale skin it’s hiding. I’m also hoping he doesn’t notice the guns subtly pointed at me.
Meredith made that threat clear when she showed me Dram’s signature on the agreement. “I want to give you a wedding celebration, but if you conjure so much as a leaf, I’ll drop you where you stand. Is that understood? Good. What kind of cake do you prefer?”
I sense Val at my side. She and Cora appear to be hemming me in, blocking me from reaching for more champagne.
“Look who’s back from the dead,” Val murmurs.
It’s impossible to miss Dram as he steps into the Grand Hall. He wears a Delver’s uniform, the formal style I’ve only seen in paintings. He walks across the room like he stepped right off the canvas. He doesn’t know that he is Meredith’s prize, that he’s been dressed for the part. There’s an unseen stage beneath Dram’s boots that no one can see but me.
He scans the room, and suddenly his gaze connects with mine. His lips part, like he’s taking an extra breath. Then he smiles. The old smile that I’d see down nine after we outran flash bats.
The glass cracks in my hand.
“Fire, Orion!” Cora slides a tray beneath my shattered drink. “Why are you so nervous?”
I’m crumbling beneath the weight of so many emotions: a cave-in of relief and sadness, want, and despair. I wonder how good I’ve become at masks, or if Dram can see all of it on my face as he walks toward me. He walks differently. Not shuffling as when I last saw him out on the cordon, but there’s a stiffness to his steps, remnant effects of venom from cordon rats he didn’t fight off fast enough. We are both so changed. Outwardly and inwardly. I wonder if the parts of us that make us fit together are still there.
Cora and Val slip away as Dram nears. The physic shadows him, a few meters away, as if Dram could falter at any moment, his radiation poisoning returning all at once to claim him right here in the Grand Hall.
“The most beautiful things are the most dangerous,” Dram says softly.
“Then this place is deadly,” I answer. It’s the truth. It is the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen. But then, I’ve never been to Alara.
“I wasn’t talking about Fortune,” he says, grinning. “I’ve never seen you in a dress.”
“This would’ve been a tough fit through the neck of nine.”
He smiles, but I catch his furrowed brow as he looks over the ornate walls flickering in candlelight. “This place is so strange. It reminds me of Sanctuary.”
Sanctuary. The red house in the prison cordon, our only refuge from King and the dusters. A place where Dram and I forged something beautiful in the midst of the worst horrors we’d ever faced.
“Why does the Congress do this?” he asks. “Why not share some of this food and shelter and tech with the other people here?”
I don’t answer, because he already knows the truth. Our society is built upon disparity. From the moment the flash curtain fell, it divided humanity, and people in power decided who was less and who was more. Then they named it Protocol.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” Meredith calls. “To the alcove, if you please.” She sails between us, her black gown streaming behind her like a signal flag. I know what she is doing, even if no one else here senses her intentions.
She’s keeping Dram and me apart, even as she orders us into place beside each other for the ceremony. She radiates with more than her usual manic energy. This is her world, and she alone is its master. I let her maneuver me, because I want her to believe it’s true. She slides me a glance, pleased with my compliance. The mask I’m wearing for her at least is working.
The others surround us in a half circle. Four Striders, the physic and his assistant, Cora and Val. We stand beneath a cirium canopy, a fine mesh of iridescent metal. I try not to think of the Subpars who mined it and what it cost them to bring it up out of the tunnels.
Meredith wears her formal commissary robes, and her chain of office reflects the light of the candles Dram and I each hold. I join Dram beneath the canopy, and Meredith explains that this tradition symbolizes the protection of the shield and the covenant Alarans share as members of the city-state. Her brow furrows, and she pages through the rest of the book she holds, probably realizing that Alaran tradition doesn’t apply well to Delvers in the Overburden.
“Did you bring tokens?” she asks. Alarans don’t exchange verbal vows, Meredith explained to us earlier, but rather physical tokens of their d
evotion. Something from our “houses.”
“I pledge myself to you,” I say, opening my hand over Dram’s. A single white bloom spills into his hand, the one thing Meredith allowed me to conjure. Dram looks up at me. It’s identical to Roran’s conjured flower—the one I gave Mere in Cordon Four. “May we always have hope,” I say. His fingers close gently over it, and he tucks it inside his sleeve. Exactly where I placed Mere’s.
“I pledge myself to you,” Dram says. He sets a braided piece of cloth across my hand. It’s the coarse, torn fragment of his Dodger’s neck cloth. This belonged to Soma. The brave one. “May we always have courage,” he says softly. But he’s saying more with this, too. He’s telling me he would lay down his life to protect me. My fingers tighten over the cloth.
Meredith reads from the book, but I’m no longer listening. I lower my gaze to the candle she’s given me. Beneath this compliant veneer, I am a flame burning, burning.
Planning.
Filling in the details of what I must do while there is still time.
Dram nudges my foot. I glance up into blue eyes studying my face. He shifts his gaze to the unlit candle between us. Together, we dip our flames to the wick until it lights. We blow out our solitary candles, and Meredith reads something about two becoming one. I shut out her voice again, because all I can think about is two becoming separated by a cirium Box forty meters beneath our feet.
Meredith closes her book with a snap.
Dram draws me into his arms.
“That isn’t part of the ceremony,” Meredith says.
I smile against Dram’s lips and kiss him again.
* * *
Meredith gave us the day, but not the night. She approaches Dram with the physic in tow, telling him he’s to spend the night in the infirmary, for one last night of monitoring. When Dram tells them what they can do with that idea, she explains that she’s preparing our future living arrangements, sliding a glance at me, a warning in her eyes.
No, Meredith, I won’t say anything, my eyes tell her back.
So when Dram reaches for me, bristling with frustration, I hug him as tightly as I can. He doesn’t know this is it. He doesn’t know that, tomorrow, everything comes crashing down.