He wraps me in his arms. “The guards who did this to you will be punished, I promise,” he whispers.
I break the hug. “Don’t you see? It’s not about the guards or revenge. It’s about having your dreams smothered, day after day, until there’s nothing left.”
“I used to think the same way.” Taking my hand, he leads me out onto the balcony and points to the pockets of gatherers slowly filling the Square below. “The people need someone to look after their interests. They can’t do it themselves.” He turns the finger on himself. “We give them structure … a purpose.”
I pull my arm free. “And just what is that purpose, Cass? Huh?” My hand sweeps the path leading from the onlookers up to the dais. “To be cattle in the slaughterhouse just waiting for their turn in the meat grinder? That’s not living. You of all people should know that. Think of what happened to your family.”
Hurt flickers in his emerald eyes. “But it’s not going to happen to me, and it doesn’t have to happen to you.” He turns away and storms back inside, heading toward an elaborate wooden cabinet built into the alcove wall.
I’m at his heels, like a Canid at its master’s side. “You say that, yet you serve the very government that recruited you and destroyed your family in the process.”
Unlatching the cabinet doors, he pulls out a decanter of blood-red wine, sets it on the shelf beneath, and digs out two crystal goblets, handing me one.
I examine the glass, staring at him through a prism of haze before shaking my head and setting it down on the shelf. “These past few years I’ve told myself you were only doing what you had to do to survive, to come back to … the Parish. But now it sounds like—”
His thumb flicks the carafe’s stopper off with a loud pop. “Like what?” His brows arch. “Like I’ve been brainwashed—is that what you’re thinking?” Sighing, Cassius watches dark crimson gush from the carafe as he tilts it over his goblet. “I assure you I haven’t been.”
“I was going to say, it sounds like you’ve forgotten what life in the Parish is like.”
The decanter clangs against my unused goblet as he puts the wine back on the shelf. “Of course I haven’t forgotten. I survived Recruitment, remember?” Half his drink disappears in one gulp.
“And you shouldn’t have had to. The whole Recruitment process is barbaric.”
“The Recruitment is a training method, Lucky. Five candidates who fit a certain profile are chosen to bypass the standard draft and given the opportunity to serve in an accelerated Special Forces program. Facing the Trials fosters competitiveness in those candidates who have demonstrated exemplary strength and would be an asset to our military, while at the same time sending a very important message to our citizens.”
“Yeah. Be careful who you love as it may cost you your life,” I grumble. “Sounds like you’ve been memorizing the marketing manuals.”
“No. It’s a much more complex message than that. Don’t value personal attachments over civic duty; doing so could cause our society to become fragile and susceptible to utter collapse, like it was before the Ash Wars. Is that so wrong, Lucky? And, if the effect of the Recruitment is to diminish the chance of the populace coming together and rebelling against the government—by neutralizing potential threats through recruitment and frightening people into avoiding emotional attachments—that’s just an added bonus, right?”
He lets loose a sigh. “The Trials weed out the weak links. There are limitless opportunities for those who are resourceful, independent. Look at what I’ve achieved.”
I throw up my hands. “Wow. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear I was listening to a public information broadcast on the wireless!” I head back to the couch and drop down, crossing my arms. “The Recruitment is state sanctioned murder.”
He coughs, nearly choking on his second swig of wine. “It’s not murder.” He marches over and plunks down next to me. Scarlet droplets from his glass bleed onto the white marble floor. “Every Recruit is given an equal opportunity to advance to the next level of their training.” He holds up his hand before I can protest. “Yes, it’s unfortunate that the Recruit who achieves the lowest score after each round must undergo the Culling—”
“Stop sterilizing it!” I hug my knees. “The loser of each trial has to choose between the lives of two people they love, and if they can’t do that, all three of them die. That’s sick.”
The color of Cassius’s face matches what’s left of his drink. “Yes, they die. Is that what you want to hear, Lucky? Is that raw enough for you?”
“How can you defend the system? They made you choose your mother’s life over your father’s. What kind of people would make a kid do something like that?”
The glass drops from his hand, shattering into a million pieces. A ruby pool spreads at his feet, sliding toward the poster lying nearby. As he watches it, his face turns to stone.
“I tried to save them both, Lucky. I’ve replayed that last round in my head every night since.” He turns to me. “You don’t know how much I wanted to be the first Recruit to ever make it through every round with both of their Incentives intact and become an Imposer.” Pools well in his eyes. “My father … he understood at the end. I … I saw it on his face. He wanted me to be strong, beat the others.”
His expression melts and I see the Cassius I remember, a frightened sixteen-year-old selected during the Recruitment ceremony two years ago. “Oh, Lucky, why couldn’t I save him too?”
I touch his shoulder. “I’m so sorry. You had to go through something no one should ever have to. Don’t you see? That’s how they break you.”
He tears away. “But they haven’t broken me. Don’t you see? I can beat them at their own game. Now that I’m Prefect, I can change things, make a difference. And to do that, I need you.”
“For what?” I lean back against the cushions.
He scoops up the poster. It unspools, the images now tainted red. “These insurgents. So far every attempt to infiltrate their nest has met with failure.”
“I still don’t understand what that has to do with—”
He rolls the poster back up. “This propaganda that was in your possession when you were taken into custody—”
“I already told you, it’s not mine. You have to believe me.” My pulse thrums in my ears.
Cassius smiles and squeezes my knee. “Of course I believe you. I know you of all people would never lie to me.”
I shift my weight, but I can’t get comfortable.
He leans in. “All I’m asking is that you seek these rebels out, ingratiate yourself to their cause.”
“So you can go ahead and flush them out? They’ll be executed. You know that.” Digory’s face haunts my mind. “I won’t be a part of that, Cass. I don’t want to get involved in this civil war. All I care about is my brother being safe.”
He sighs and lets go of me. “You totally misunderstand my intentions. I want to put an end to the violence. There’s no reason why both sides can’t come to the table and work through these issues in peace.”
I shift onto my knees. “You aren’t going to arrest them?”
He swivels toward me, resting on his folded legs. “Things are going to be different, now that I’m Prefect, I swear it.” His fingers tangle with mine. “I want what you want. Things to change. If these rebels continue to operate on their own, then they will incur the Establishment’s wrath. Prime Minister Talon will wipe them out. I can prevent this, but to do so, I need you to act as a conduit.” His smile is soothing. “You’re a Parish boy. Hardworking, well-liked. You fit the profile of what the rebels look for.”
My eyes narrow. “And in return, you’ll protect Cole by making sure I’m not recruited?”
He releases a long breath. “This isn’t a quid pro quo, Lucky.” He leans in, his eyes taking my own hostage. “I’d have prevented you from being recruited no matter w
hat.”
“You promise, all you want to do is talk to them, Cass? I mean, that’s it? No interrogations? No torture?”
“None of that.” He bounces off the sofa and pulls me to my feet. “I pledge to you on what we mean to each other, which is the one thing in this entire world that I value the most.”
All my unease, my fears, evaporate with those words, and I feel ashamed for ever having doubted him. I feel myself glowing. He does still care. He’s still my Cassius …
And the idea of a truce, of real change in the lives of the Parish’s citizens, is too tempting. I can talk to Digory first and explain Cass’s offer. He’ll know what to do. And if he refuses, no one gets hurt. It’s not like I’d be getting involved in anything.
I smile. “All right. I’ll see what I can do. But it’ll take time. I can’t promise anything.”
Cass grins, brushing the hair from my eyes. “Just knowing that you’re going to make the effort means everything to me, Lucky.” He hugs me tight. “It’ll be just like old times. You and me against the world.” His smile is infectious.
“Yep. You and me,” I say.
“Which reminds me.” He reaches into his pocket. “I have something for you.” He pulls out a silver chain. Dangling from it is a pendant, bearing an engraving of two hands clasped together. He moves behind me and places it around my neck.
I hold up the medallion and marvel at every detail. “It’s magnificent, Cass! I can’t accept—”
“Nonsense! I had it molded from the silver pin I was awarded as the last Recruit left standing.” He snaps the clasp together. “The thought of one day giving this to you has kept me going the last two years.” He moves around in front of me, his eyes admiring. “Promise me you’ll wear it always.”
I grip the chain. “I promise.”
A loud gong reverberates throughout the room, buzzing through my skin.
Cass groans. “Time to prepare for my Officiation duties.”
My eyes travel longingly to the dining table. “Do you think I could take home some of that leftover food, for Cole and Mrs. Bledsoe?” I’m prepared to beg if I have to. Pride can’t fill an empty stomach.
He claps his hands together. “I have a better idea! The Recruitment gets underway within the hour. I’ll have a security detail escort you back to pick them up and return you to the Citadel. The three of you can watch the procession from my private box. There’ll be plenty of food and refreshment for all.”
Dampness smears his image. I blink him back into clarity. “I’ve missed you so much.”
His smile is radiant. “Me too. This is going to be a
new beginning, Lucky. A new beginning for the Parish. For the Establishment. But most importantly, a new beginning for us.”
Eight
The lumbering steam coach transporting Cole, Mrs. Bledsoe, and myself back to the Citadel ebbs to a crawl about twenty feet in front of the tower’s massive iron doors. Rods and pistons screech to a halt. Coughing up a final shroud of vapor, the vehicle stops dead. When the haze clears, I almost buckle under the weight of the stares coming from the crowd jammed into both sides of the street for today’s ceremony. Fear and confusion as to why the three of us have been singled out for this special treatment is plastered on most of their faces. But it’s the piercing glares scattered throughout the pack that force my eyes away in shame.
Cole springs from the cab. “Hurry, Lucky! We’re gonna be late!” he cries over the clamor of the throng. He tugs my hand with both of his, urging me from the carriage.
“Take it easy, buddy. We’re just on time. The parade’s about to start. You haven’t missed any of it.” I hop to the ground. “Hey, what say you pretend I’m a caballus and ride me up to the observation box?”
He claps and jumps up and down a couple of times. “Can I, Lucky? Please?”
I scoop him up onto my shoulders, ignoring the pain. “Next stop, the Command Center, Sir!”
Cole tugs my ears. “Giddy-up!”
I turn to Mrs. Bledsoe, who’s still sitting in the coach. She looks even paler in the bright afternoon sunshine. “You’re so good with him,” she says. “Reminds me of you and your father.”
I take her hand and guide her out of the transport, into the hover chair that Cassius has so generously provided.
She fidgets in her seat, eyes suspicious. “I really don’t need this contraption, dear. I can walk. I’m not an invalid.”
“Nobody says you are.” I tug the seat belt snug around her. “Think of it as being queen for the day. We’re here to serve your every whim.”
She coughs into her handkerchief. “If I fall off, you’d better catch me.”
Our Imposer escort punches a button on one of the armrests. There’s a puff of exhaust from the propulsion unit underneath the chair.
“Oh!” Mrs. Bledsoe exclaims. The chair rises a few feet off the ground.
“I wanna ride the flying chair!” Cole’s heels tap against my chest.
My head twists up. “Hey. Behave yourself, or the ride ends now.”
He buries his face in my hair.
I squeeze his foot. “If you’re a good boy, you can ride it on the way back, deal?”
He bounces on my shoulders. “Deal!”
My eyes shift between Cole and Mrs. Bledsoe. “Everyone ready?”
“Yes!” Cole shouts.
Mrs. Bledsoe wheezes. Her gaze crawls up the tower. “Not really, but let’s go.” She fiddles with the controls of her chair and it swerves toward the Citadel.
“This way,” the Imposer commands, then swivels on his heels and marches through the iron gates.
Taking a deep breath, I’m about to follow Mrs. Bledsoe across the threshold when a familiar figure in the crowd catches my eye.
Digory Tycho. His hair is hanging wildly about his face, framing his clenched jaw. The intensity in his eyes causes my heart to race.
I squeeze my passenger’s ankles. “Cole, why don’t you go inside? There’s something I need to do first.”
His heels dig into my chest. “Not fair! I wanna stay with you!”
I hunch down and pry him off me, setting him gently to the ground. “No whining. Mrs. Bledsoe will be with you. I’ll follow right behind, I promise. Don’t I always keep my promises?”
His lips thrust into a pout. “Yup.”
“Okay then. Go on now.”
I slap him on the butt and he runs toward Mrs. Bledsoe, whose forehead has sprouted more creases as she stares first at me, then at Digory. I mouth the words I’ll be right there and watch as Cole takes her hand, and then he and the hover chair are gobbled inside.
Before I even have the chance to fully turn around, Digory’s tugging my arm, pulling me into an alcove on the side of the building under the scowl of a stone gargoyle. He eyes me up and down. “You’re okay! I heard you’d been captured by the Imps. But that’s impossible. You’re here, safe.”
I poke my head out of the niche and peer around the corner, scanning the crowd to make sure no one’s listening. But they’re all riveted on the procession winding down the boulevard. I melt back into the shadows. “Actually, you heard right. I was taken in for questioning. But everything’s fine now. It was all a misunderstanding.”
Digory’s eyes taper into slits. “How’s that possible? No one gets released on good behavior.”
I shake my head. “It’s a long story and I don’t have time to explain right now.”
There’s a loud whinny from one of the caballuses in the procession, followed by a few screams. One of the bystanders is barely pulled out of the beast’s path by the crowd. Its rider, Prior Delvecchio, gallops ahead without even a look back. I huddle closer to Digory so he can hear me above the commotion. “There’s something more important I need to talk to you about. Remember when you asked me why I was breaking curfew?”
He nod
s, still looking at me funny.
“There was someone here I had to see. Someone I needed to ask for help.”
His eyes brush the Citadel’s walls, painting them with contempt. “There’s no one inside this … this place … who would help anyone.” When he looks back at me, understanding dawns on his face, mixed with fear. “But if you got released, it must mean you’re cozy with one of the higher-ups. And the only person with that kind of authority is the new Prefect, Cassius Thorn.” He slaps his forehead. “Of course! You two! I remember. You were always together before he left the Parish … ”
My pulse sprints. “How did you know—?”
He grabs my hands. “Believe me, Lucian. He’s not the same anymore. No one who could rise to that position so quickly could ever be.”
I pull away. “He’s not like the others. He wants to help.”
Digory backs away. “What are you talking about? What did you tell him?”
“Relax. I didn’t tell him anything. It’s what he told me. He wants to change things. He really does care about the citizens of the Parish.”
Digory sighs. “And you believe that?”
“It’s true. He wants to meet with the leaders of the rebellion, have a face-to-face, hear their grievances, reach a compromise.”
Digory crosses his arms. “How exactly does he plan to accomplish this?”
“Through … ” I clear my throat. “Through me.”
“You mean through me, don’t you?”
“What?”
He moves close again, squeezing my arms. “You didn’t tell him about what we talked about, did you?”
“Of course not!” I shake myself loose. I notice several onlookers giving us the eye and lower my voice. “All he did was ask me to pave the way. I didn’t promise him anything. That’s why I’m telling you now. I wanted to run it by you before—”
“Before you report back to him?” Digory’s face is on fire. “Have you forgotten what they did to that kid in the alley?”
The Culling Page 5