by Kit Rocha
“Nita--” Maricela caught her arm. “I don’t know what’s going to happen, or how much it might hurt. But I had to find out, do you understand? The only thing that can possibly be worse is not knowing.”
“I know, I know.” Nita sighed and stood. “There’s something I have to tell you. The rumors about Ivan were getting bad when I left.”
A chill seized Maricela. “What kinds of rumors?”
“That he killed Javier for no reason, and Gideon’s going to let him get away with it because he has a blind spot where Ivan’s concerned. And...”
“And?” The chill was quickly being overtaken by anger. “You mean there’s something worse?”
She flinched. “Some people are saying it wasn’t on purpose. That Ivan killed Javier by mistake.”
Maricela automatically opened her mouth to counter the lie, but the words wouldn’t come. There was a reason every Rider prized self-control. The people of Sector One openly embraced the deadly mission of the Riders, and in return, they got that legendary control. Every life taken by a Rider was a life taken with calculated purpose. For the average citizen, killing someone by accident was lamentable, a death that would stain their soul, but it wasn’t murder.
For a Rider to kill someone by accident was something worse than murder. It was sheer savagery, an unforgivable misuse of the tools and training meant to turn them into warriors. And the final fault would lie with Gideon, because the Riders were his. He handpicked the candidates, oversaw the trials, and was responsible not only for every bit of their training, but for their actions, as well.
If people were saying Ivan had lost control, they were really saying that Gideon had lost control.
The implications were so terrible, and on so many levels, that Maricela wanted to deny it instantly--but she couldn’t. Instead, Ivan’s words echoed in her brain.
I didn’t want to kill him.
“They don’t know what they’re talking about,” she said finally. “If Gideon thought for a second that Ivan was out of control, he wouldn’t let him anywhere near me, much less make him my personal guard.”
“I know,” Nita said quickly. “And no one will say flat out that Gideon’s wrong. But the lost heir resurfacing has dredged up a lot of memories and talk about how the civil war started--specifically about Ivan’s uncles. And about how Gideon overlooked all that when he made Ivan a Rider.”
They thought Gideon had made a mistake. And if he’d made a mistake, then maybe he didn’t have divine authority, after all. “People can be so fickle, can’t they?”
“People can be greedy, selfish, ungrateful assholes.” The pottery shards clattered against the side of her trash can as Nita tossed the remains of the bowl. “Maybe I shouldn’t have told you. People always talk. Next week it will be something else.”
It was such a lie that Nita couldn’t even hide her skepticism. Maricela groaned and smacked her head against the door. “No, it’s good that you said something. I need to know.” So did Ivan.
So did Gideon.
Nita wiped the dust from her hands before wrapping an arm around Maricela’s waist and pulling her into a hug. “I’m glad you told me,” she said softly. “Make a liar out of me, Maricela. Prove me wrong. If anyone can make a fairy tale come out right, it’s a princess.”
Chapter Nineteen
The rumors were spreading.
Maricela had resisted telling him the extent of them. Neither of them liked anything that dragged harsh reality into the moments they stole together. But Ivan couldn’t afford to hide from this reality.
People were scared of him.
Like most Riders, Ivan frequently found himself at the sprawling temple complex situated on the edge of the Rios estate. Memorials were held there, as well as initiations for new Riders. The Rios family and other members of the estate gathered there to celebrate the saints on their holy days, or in quiet moments to pray in the smaller, more intimate alcoves.
And Riders visited Del there every time they took a life. They sat in her chair and contemplated the gravity of the blood they’d spilled while Del commemorated their extended damnation on their skin.
The wing of the temple that housed Del’s students usually buzzed with activity. The younger girls ran through the halls, chasing each other from one lesson to the next. The older ones gathered in groups, whispering and laughing over their projects. And whenever a Rider showed up, all the ones old enough to flirt invariably did--even with Ivan, who never flirted back.
He didn’t mind their flirting, but he never particularly wanted it, either. So he was surprised to discover he missed it as he waited for Maricela, who’d disappeared into Grace’s room.
None of the acolytes rushed to him with wide, worshipful eyes. No one practiced awkwardly adorable pickup lines or stared at him for too long before dissolving into giggles with their friends. The students who did see him averted their eyes and hurried their steps, and the whispers they traded sounded somber. Even fearful.
Too many of the girls would have attended the ball. God only knew what stories they’d brought back--or how much the stories had grown in the telling. He was only getting the barest taste of censure and suspicion, and the muscles in his neck were already tight with strain.
He wasn’t entirely sure how his mother had survived years of this.
“Ready!” Maricela emerged from Grace’s room with a wide smile that faltered when she noticed two acolytes whispering at the end of the hall. She pinned them with a pointed look until they rushed off, chastened.
He had something his mother hadn’t: a protective Rios hovering next to him. “It’s okay,” he told her softly as they started for the stairs.
“No, it isn’t.” A muscle in her clenched jaw jumped. “If they don’t have anything better to do, they can pray.” Her voice lowered. “Pray I don’t find out what they were saying.”
The fierceness of her response made his chest ache. Ivan had never doubted that his fellow Riders would drop everything to have his back in a fight, but no one fretted over inconsequential slights. Maricela looked fully capable of wheeling back around to deliver a blistering lecture defending his honor, and that wouldn’t do a damn thing to kill the rumors.
It’d probably start a few new ones, though. Rumors Ivan couldn’t afford. “Come on,” he said, steering her toward the exit. “If we want to get there before it’s too crowded, we have to leave soon.”
She followed him without argument. “I can’t believe we’re actually going.”
Neither could he. It had taken him three days to satisfy himself that his security precautions were sufficient, three days where he’d been careful to make his arrangements outside of Maricela’s presence. It would spoil her glee in their secret, spontaneous trip to find out it was neither a secret nor spontaneous, and Ivan intended to protect her joy as ruthlessly as he did her safety.
Even with his plans, he was still walking a line. The only Rider who knew what he was about to do was Ashwin. And while Gideon hadn’t expressly forbidden this...
Ivan was under no illusions. His leader would not be thrilled to find out that Maricela’s trusted bodyguard was about to take her into the heart of the city.
The car he’d taken from the Riders’ garage sat in the gravel parking area behind the temple. It was inconspicuous, black with four doors and subtly concealed solar panels to recharge its near silent engine. It would blend in with the other vehicles in Eden while looking too mundane to present a tempting target for thieves.
Thieves wouldn’t know Ivan had stocked the trunk with enough gear to hold off a small army and survive a siege.
He opened the door for Maricela, and she climbed into the back with the linen bag Grace had given her tucked tight against her chest. The moment he slid behind the wheel, she leaned up over the back of the seat. “I forgot. I don’t have any money.”
“Don’t worry.” He started the car by pressing his thumb to the biometric key, then reached for the envelope he’d tucked between the s
eats. “Eden’s citizens mostly use their bar codes to transfer money, but they have these credit sticks, too. A lot more people are using them now that trade’s open with the sectors.”
“You thought of everything.”
“That’s my job.”
“Uh-huh. Hang on a second--” Her voice grew muffled, and he glanced in the rearview mirror just in time to see a flash of white as she pulled her dress over her head.
Ivan tightened his fingers around the steering wheel and forced his eyes to the winding road that led away from the estate. The tinted windows would keep anyone from seeing inside the car, but nothing protected Ivan from the soft brush of fabric over skin and the temptation to let his gaze drift back to the mirror as she stripped in the back seat.
“What’s it like?”
Her words were still muffled. He snuck another look at the rearview mirror and caught a glimpse of her breasts hugged by her bra before her borrowed dress dropped down her body. “What, the market?”
“Eden.” She climbed over the seat, her skirt riding up to bare one thigh only inches from his face. “The city.”
Focus. He had to focus on the narrow road lined with sprawling apple trees, not the fact that he could smell the floral soap on her skin. “Like nothing you’ve ever experienced. You can see the skyscrapers from outside the walls, but it’s not the same as standing at the base of one. They’re massive.”
She settled in the passenger seat and smoothed her dress. It was dark, dark blue, with a high neck and sleeves banded with black lace. She looked like a prim and proper Eden housewife--except for her hair. No demure, modest woman in Eden would have shiny brown hair tumbling wildly around her shoulders. “What about the people? I’ve only met refugees.”
“They’re reserved. Controlled.” They reached the end of the long driveway, and Ivan turned onto the road that would take them to where the north gate had once stood. “Some of that’s changing now, though. You should know that better than anyone.”
“A lot of people are converting to the Prophet’s religion,” she agreed. “I suppose, after everything that’s happened, they need to believe in something.” Her hands curled into fists on the leather seats. “It makes me want to tell them the truth.”
“The truth?”
“That the Prophet was a hypocrite. An opportunist. A con man, when you get right down to it. Everything that came out of his mouth was garbage.” She turned toward him on the seat, drawing one leg beneath her. “I believe in what they teach at the temples--most of it, anyway. But only because Gideon and Isabela have tried to fix it.”
It was casual blasphemy of the highest order, the kinds of words that could still get a person shunned by their neighbors and all but exiled from the sector.
And Ivan had thought the same damn thing in his darkest moments. When he’d come home to find his mother curled in on herself again, too guilty and tired and numb to force herself into her daily routine.
He’d challenged her once, when he was thirteen and angry and starting to feel the bite of being a social pariah. He’d shouted at her that the Prophet was to blame for his daughter’s death. Ivan’s uncles may have kidnapped her, but the Prophet was the one who’d decided to sacrifice her, who’d thrown away his own blood because it wasn’t convenient to save her.
It was the only time in his life his mother had struck him. She’d slapped him across the face, the shock of it doing more damage than the blow itself. And then she’d grabbed him by the collar and told him to never, ever speak ill of the Prophet again.
He never had.
Maricela worried her lower lip with her teeth. “I’m sorry. That was a stupid thing to say out loud, even for me.”
“No,” he said slowly. “No, it’s just...I never expected to hear anyone say it.”
“I guess not.” She slid closer and laid her head on his shoulder. “But silence doesn’t change reality. The Prophet wasn’t a good man. Not like you.”
That, he couldn’t let stand. “I’m not a good man, Maricela.”
“Yes, you are.”
I kill people. I’m good at it. It’s all I’m good at.
The words stuck in his throat. He’d worked so hard to give her this--the illusion of freedom, a few moments where she didn’t have to be a Rios, where she wasn’t responsible for any souls or lives but her own. He couldn’t ruin it for her with his guilty confession.
He wished he had Zeke’s wit or Reyes’s clever charisma. His attempt to change the subject was awkward and obvious. “Well, one thing I’m definitely good at is bartering. People are scared of me. Zeke says I have resting murder face.”
Maricela laughed. “He’s just jealous.”
Ivan wasn’t sure jealousy was a concept Zeke comprehended. He was perpetually impressed with himself in an easy way that felt alien to Ivan. He wouldn’t have just accepted Maricela’s compliment. He would have shot back that he was a great man, and he would have meant it.
Maybe he was jealous of Zeke.
The first signs of civilization appeared ahead of them, the newest constructions on the edge of the inner sector. The border was creeping out faster than Ivan could ever remember, devouring the scrubby hills and empty expanses. Soon, it would be encroaching on the borders of the smaller family estates, and Gideon would have some hard choices to make.
Ivan couldn’t blame the people who wanted to flee the confines of the city. The closer they got to Eden, the narrower the roads became, and the taller the buildings climbed. It was claustrophobic here, this close to the city. And it only got worse as they drove onward.
For the first time in his life, he used words to distract himself. Not for the sound of his own voice, though--he craved the sound of hers. “Have you figured out what you’re going to buy yet?”
“Maybe nothing.” She shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t really need more stuff.”
His lips twitched. “Maybe wait until you see what kind of stuff they have to sell. Our markets don’t have anything like it.”
Her brows drew together and her nose wrinkled, as if the very suggestion that Sector One didn’t have anything and everything a person might want or need was offensive.
The tickling urge to smile only grew. “Sometimes it’s interesting. They have a lot of pre-Flare antiques. I’m hoping to find a new book for my mother.”
“Really? What does she like to read?”
“Old cookbooks. That’s what she does at the temple. She cooks.”
“Then we have to find some. I’ll help you look.”
This time, the sensation in his chest was too sharp to be an ache, and he finally recognized it. Years of numbness stretched between now and the last time he’d felt this, as a young boy in a cold, dark street, his face and hands pressed to the baker’s display window as his empty stomach rumbled.
Longing.
He ruthlessly forced it down as they rode through the open gates and past the empty checkpoint. He didn’t have time to brood. Until they were back on the estate, his total focus had to be on keeping Maricela safe.
Navigating the slow-moving traffic in the crowded Eden streets took plenty of focus on its own. He’d mapped out the route in advance, but maps failed to capture the sheer cluttered chaos of Eden. Glass buildings shot dozens of stories straight up, blocking the sun one moment and reflecting a thousand painfully bright rays of it in the next.
And the people. They seethed on the sidewalks and bolted across the street, and Ivan nearly ran four of them over by the time he maneuvered his way to the market’s parking deck.
Maricela stared silently out the windows, her eyes wide as she struggled to take it all in. Even once they were parked in the dark solitude of the deck, she twisted her hands in her borrowed skirt and said nothing.
Ivan slid his hand over hers. “If it’s too much, we can go right back out the gate.”
She shook her head. “I’m not scared, just a little nervous. But that’s silly, isn’t it?”
Eden had been the scary monster
that sector parents used to frighten their children for generations. Sometimes he was surprised any of them managed to venture there. “No, not silly at all. But you’ll be with me, and I won’t let anything happen to you, okay?”
“It’s not that. It’s just...” She laid her hand on his cheek. “I’m realizing lately how very small my world has been.”
Her fingers were soft. Her skin smelled like her lotion, something vague and floral he couldn’t place and would never forget. He turned into her touch and brushed a kiss to her palm. “Let’s go make it bigger.”
Her eyes got even wider when they stepped out into the sunlight again, with no glass and steel between them and the rest of the city. Maricela clung to his arm, then slowly slid her hand down to twine her fingers with his.
No one stared. No one gave them a second glance except for one prim-looking matron dressed in silk and dripping jewels, who looked at their joined hands and loudly sniffed her disdain. She did the same thing when she passed a couple sitting on a nearby bench, fingers linked and knees touching.
Physical affection was still scorned by the upper classes of Eden, but a gentler sort of morality had trickled down to the middle class. Ivan could hold Maricela’s hand and attract nothing worse than passing disapproval--disapproval no one would have dared to show if they knew who Maricela was.
He tugged on her hand to guide her down the sidewalk. “How does it feel to have rich ladies snubbing you?”
She laughed, delighted. “Better than I dreamed.”
“Good.”
Eden had changed in the nine months since the revolution. Not that Ivan had been inside the walls more than a handful of times before they’d fallen, but all the surviving Riders had been there in the aftermath. People had scurried about their business, their faces wary and suspicious. Those who weren’t wary had been dazed by the sudden freedom.
A lifetime of repression wasn’t fixed overnight. But he and Maricela passed a park where children chased each other and laughed, and when they reached the edge of the market, he was struck by the sound of it, a low rumble of people shouting greetings and luring customers and bartering.