“When I become a politician,” he says, squinting his eyes against the sunlight. “I’m going to design a building in each county where people can go specifically to watch the sunrise and sunset.”
I smile. “Sounds like you want to be an architect, not a politician.”
“Architects can’t decide what to build or where to build it, Ember. They just design it. They brainlessly follow the rules and instructions that Congress makes.” He looks back toward the sunset. “I’d make sure everyone got their food rations on time.” He smiles a little. “And new shoes to wear every year. Nice clothes…. We’d all celebrate Christmas like they do in Frankfort.”
I snort. I can’t help it. “Now you really are dreaming. You don’t even know how they celebrate Christmas.”
“Defender Shepherd told me they have parties and string pretty lights throughout the city.”
Lights throughout the city. Two hours after sunset is all the electricity we receive here in the Garden. Why would they waste it on decorative lights? Frankfort is full of strange customs I’ll never understand. I stare at the sunset beyond the buildings of the city and wonder what it would be like to fly away from this place to pure freedom.
A repetitive clicking brings me back to the prison cell. Through the dim blue light, I can just barely see the older man in the cell across from mine staring at the wall, tapping his ring against the floor. I wish he would stop. I wish he would consider the rest of us who have to endure that quiet, yet incredibly annoying sound. Because for a moment, I was free again. I was in the apple orchard again. For a moment, I was able to forget where I am and what happened today and what my future holds.
Now I have to wait wait wait for hours while I chew a hole through my cuticles and wonder what I could’ve done better, what I should’ve done better, why Leaf didn’t consider how his death would affect me, and why the shoddy inferno I’m still alive.
***
Time is such a strange and imperceptible thing. Seconds bleeding into minutes bleeding into hours until so much of it has crept by and you’re left wondering when you lost count. Every second is the same. Every second is created equal. But time…time slows down and speeds up without giving a second thought to seconds. Time slips through our fingers like minnows. Time creeps through the cracks like sap through bark. Time can seem like a heavenly blessing or an infinite march to our death.
Time controls us.
And I don’t know how much time has gone by since I was locked in this cell. A day, maybe. Possibly two. Or perhaps only a few hours stretched too long. But my shoulders sag in relief when the metal door finally opens and a Defender steps through.
He lets down all the shields and the other prisoners begin leaving their cells. The lioness-girl bolts out and pushes past everyone else like she knows exactly what’s going on. Are we headed to our executions? Why is she so eager to face death? But being locked up so long has made my muscles crave exercise, and I pick up my pace and follow Lioness down the hallway. She’s a fast runner and it’s hard to keep up. But it feels so good to run.
We reach an intersection of paths, but two of the halls are blocked off by Defenders, so I follow Lioness down the only open hallway. The other prisoners’ footsteps echo behind me, and I pick up my pace as to avoid getting trampled on. We take another turn, and another, until we finally reach a hall with bright light streaming from the end.
I follow Lioness up the flight of stairs and am met with blinding sunlight. The light spills over my arms and my face. It seeps into my skin and ignites my bones until I’m quite certain I’m on fire. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath of fresh air and let it out.
When I open my eyes again, I realize I am standing in the arena, the sand pit, the vat surrounded by thirty-foot walls. The air is warm, like spring, which is strange since it’s nearing the end of November. The sun casts enough shadow to make me think it is either late morning or early afternoon. Defenders stand along the walls, watching with guns ready to shoot.
Across the arena, more doors open. More prisoners pile out, squinting against the blinding sunlight.
“Better soak up the sun,” Lioness says as she saunters past me. “We’ve got less than a week before Death Day, and there’s no guarantee we’ll have another chance to get outdoors.”
I stare at her as she jogs around the arena. Thanks for reminding me that I’m going to die. Because for the briefest moment I forgot. For a moment I was lost in the heat of summer and the sun and everything beautiful.
But now I remember. I’m going to die.
And the sun doesn’t seem so bright. Everything turns a little grayer. And suddenly it’s getting too hard to breathe and the world is spinning and the injustice of the system makes me angry, and the anger courses through my veins, and I’m suddenly running. I’m racing along the stone wall of the arena. And I’m focusing only on my next step, my next breath, my next heartbeat. I focus on the air rushing into my face and the sand beneath my feet. I race until the muscles in my legs burn and my lungs gasp for air, but I don’t slow down. I keep running. Inhaling and exhaling and replenishing bad air for good. I keep telling myself that everything’s going to be okay.
I find myself full circle back at the front gate, slow to a trot, then stop and hunch over, dragging fresh air into my starving lungs. My body hurts, but it feels good to be free. Once I catch my breath, I straighten. I don’t know how much more time we have, but the thought of being locked in that cell for another night keeps me moving, so this time I choose a slower pace than a full sprint around the arena.
Inhale. Exhale. Replenish bad air for good.
Everything’s going to be okay.
The main gate opens. A group of ten people steps in, guarded by Defenders. Patricians, by the pressed slacks and fancy vests they wear. I immediately recognize Perseus, the guy who assigned me to the Rebels Circle, and I slow to a stop. Why is he here? Why are any of them here?
Someone shouts to my left. A brawny man, the one who was clicking his ring against the concrete floor, races toward the Patricians and collides into the one closest to him and pummels him to the ground. He lifts his fist to punch him, but the Defenders are on him in an instant, pulling his arms behind his back. They don’t shoot him. Instead, one of them whistles a tune, another smaller gate flies open.
And a black tiger leaps out.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
My heart takes a violent twist, but I don’t run—can’t run—can’t even take my eyes off the first black tiger I’ve ever seen. It’s much bigger than I imagined, its giant head as high as my shoulders. Just one pounce, and I would lie flat beneath his weight. But it’s the strangest and most fascinating beast I have ever laid eyes on.
It’s the purest black, glossed with midnight hues. Like raven feathers intertwined with those of a crow. It’s black ink on charcoal, obsidian on onyx, ebony cloth variegated with shades of richest velvet. It’s black on black on black on black, and I can just make out the stripes shimmering in the sunlight like shadows in the dark.
It’s beautiful. It’s exquisite. It’s completely and utterly terrifying.
And it’s looking right at me.
But there’s another whistle, and somehow, the black tiger knows exactly what to do. It crouches toward the prisoner. The prisoner that the Defenders now release. And the prisoner stumbles in the other direction, but this only seems to fuel the tiger’s courage. It pounces after the prisoner, then leaps into the air, claws outstretched, and pummels the prisoner to the ground. Grabbing its victim’s head with its mouth, it twists violently, and I quickly look away, but not before I hear a snap.
Death.
Death looks like this. A mangled body. Limp arms and legs. A spirit gone. And my hands get clammy and sweat beads on my forehead and I’m barely breathing and my heart is beating too fast. The tiger drags the criminal’s limp body back into the cell. I cover my mouth, fighting down the sickening bile threatening to rise up.
And I turn around.
And run.
I bolt into the shadows of the wall where I’ll remain unnoticed by these Patricians who don’t seem to care that a man died right in front of them. I run, and I wish that I could disappear. Because right now, in the very moment, everything is completely hopeless. Despair is too real. I wish the planet would open up and swallow me whole so I don’t have to feel this way I don’t want to feel this way everything about this moment is wrong.
Someone steps in front of me, and I dart right, but too late. My shoulder collides into the intruder, and I stumble to the ground. I jerk into a sitting position and glare at my interloper.
Shaggy auburn hair. Mocking gray eyes. Chiseled features, high cheekbones, and a newsboy cap.
“Rain,” I breathe.
His brows shoot up. “Twenty-four hours in the prison pit, and you still remember me. I’m flattered.” He grins and steps closer, offering me his hand.
I stand without help. “Your features are distinct.” I dust off my pants. “How could anyone forget eyes so cold or a smirk as arrogant as yours?”
“Ah.” He crosses his arms, taking on a casual, mocking pose. “I didn’t really take you for a Bitter Betty.”
“My name’s not Betty,” I snap. “And you didn’t exactly help me out in front of the judges, so, yes, I’m bitter.”
“Well, of course I didn’t help.” He leans in and whispers, “See, I don't usually help murderers.”
“Interesting.”
“What’s interesting?”
I look at him full on and cross my arms, mimicking his casual pose. “You don’t help so-called murderers, and yet, here you are, sentencing people to their deaths. Just like a murderer.”
His smile flattens. “I didn’t sentence you to death.”
“No. I suppose not. You’re just a messenger boy.”
His auburn brows shoot up. “You have a lot of bite for a Proletariat. You do realize I’m Patrician, yes?”
“Oh my word. It’s so ridiculously obvious.” I un-cross my arms, plant my hands on my hips, and give him a once-over. “Shiny black shoes? Straight slacks? Button up shirt? I heard you were too callow to choose a career, yet you wear a gray vest like a shoddy politician.”
He chokes out a laugh, then quickly smothers his mouth with his fist and looks away. He looks back at me. His gray eyes are shining with brilliant humor, and he removes his hand from his mouth. “I met you only yesterday, and you already know more about me than half the Patricians.”
“You can thank Captain Mcallister for that,” I say, not caring if I get the shoddy Defender in trouble.
He snorts. “Oh, Mcallister. He’s gonna pay for talking about me like that.”
I wonder what he means by that, but then decide that I don’t really care.
“It’s pathetic, really,” I say. “To find someone who has the option to choose his career, and he can’t even get himself to make a decision.”
“Word gets around, doesn’t it?” His smile vanishes. “I may not have chosen a career yet, but at least I didn’t throw my life away for the sake of some pathetic rebel.”
My veins ignite, and my anger is a train heading straight for my skull. My fist clenches, and I lunge toward him, but he grabs my wrist and twists it painfully.
“Stand down, Carter,” he commands.
But my anger is blinding and my other fist cracks in collision with his jawbone.
He releases my wrist, covers his jaw, and groans. “Son of a jackal!”
“Enough!” A Defender grabs my arm in a painful grip. Then there’s a whistle.
The small door opens again.
And a black tiger leaps out.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I’m dead, I’m going to die, the black tiger is sauntering toward me and it’s going to kill me—
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Rain steps between me and the black tiger, holding out his hand toward the tiger. “Stop.”
Someone must have a remote that connects to the collar around the black tiger’s throat, shocking it just like my electroband shocks me, because the black tiger halts in his steps.
“Send him back,” Rain says. And Defenders immediately begin prodding the tiger back toward the door with sticks.
Rain turns to look at me. His eyes are sharp, filled with obvious surprise and maybe a little bit of anger. “Are you out of your shoddy mind? Do you want to die today? Right now? This very moment?”
I swallow my heart back into my chest. Rain nods at the Defender. “Take her back to her cell.” He looks back at me. “It’ll be much more entertaining to watch you die on the Rebels Circle than by the claws of a black tiger.”
The Defender grabs my arm and leads me toward the entrance to the arena. I don’t know what to think. That tiger could have snapped my neck like it did to the other criminal, who attacked a Patrician. But Rain stopped him. And I’m not sure if I’m supposed to be grateful or resentful.
I glance back at Rain and try to figure him out. No mocking smile graces his features now. Instead he stares after me, his hand nursing his jaw. I turn around and feel a small smile tug my lips. I can’t help it. It feels kinda good putting these snotty Patricians in their places.
***
The roars. They’re echoing through the corridors of the prison again. Deep. Guttural. Blood-chilling. And I’m half afraid the black tigers will break down the door and devour us all. Then I hear another scream, the sound of utter fear, but it’s silenced in less than a minute.
And so is the roar.
And then it’s silence silence silence and the violent pounding of my heart until I feel that strange pull again. That desire of something unknown begging to be known. What is it? Who is it? And why didn’t it rescue that poor victim just now?
“Thirteen.”
I look up. The big, brawny man in the cell beside mine is looking at me. “Why’d they put you in here?” His voice is deep and quiet, like gravel. “I mean, what’d you do that earned you a spot on the Rebels Circle?”
“I—I’m accused of killing a Defender.”
“You?” He snorts. “How the shoddy tarnation did a little thing like you manage that?”
My mouth drops open and I bite back a crude reply.
“I mean,” he continues. “The Defenders are as big as me, and they carry guns. I’m just trying to figure out what sort of magic you cast to pull off such a crime.”
“I didn’t do it.” I squeeze the words through gritted teeth.
“Ah, yes. We’re all innocents here, aren’t we?” His eyes crinkle with a friendly smile. “My name’s Judah, by the way. I would shake your hand, but I don’t really want to get shocked, know what I mean?”
Small talk? I gauge his expression, try to read why he’s suddenly interested in talking. I mean, we’ve been stuck in these cells for, well, I’m not sure how long, and he’s not offered so much as a scowl in my direction. But, hey, what harm could come of small talk? At least it will get me through the next few days.
“I’m Ember.”
“You ready to die, Ember?”
I immediately regret talking to him. “What kind of question is that?”
“One you should probably be considering.”
I look away, stare at the blue-tinted floor, at the long shadow cast by the panel in the center of the room. “I guess so,” I finally say.
He laughs. “No, I don’t think you are.”
I look sharply at him.
“Some people in here have given up,” he says. “Just a few days trapped in these cells and they’re already dead inside. But not you. You’ve got bite. I saw you running around the pit like a soldier training for battle. And I saw you punch that Patrician.” He carefully studies the stalls around us, then scans the ceiling, then he looks at me and leans in closer. “You see, Ember, I think we can work together.”
“Toward what, exactly?”
He lowers his voice another notch. “I-I think we can get out of this place.”
This snaps me to attention an
d I sit up a little straighter. “How?”
“You know that door in the arena that the Patricians come through to watch us?”
I nod.
“That door slides shut as soon as the last Patrician walks through, but it’s our only escape out of here. Between you and me, we can manage to escape.”
I straighten. “What would I have to do?”
“When they spit us out in the pit again, you stand as close to that door as the Defenders will allow. As soon as that door opens, you bolt in.”
“And get shot? No thanks.”
“So you really are ready to die then?”
“No. That’s why I won’t do it. Because I’m not ready to die.”
He stares at me, shrugs, leans back against the wall, and stares ahead. “There goes my ticket out of here, then.”
The hopelessness in his voice makes me feel guilty. “Why don’t you do it?”
“Because you’re faster than me and half my size. You’ll slip into that hall before the Defenders even get a chance to know what’s happening. Your small build makes you more sly than a mouse. And you’re fast.”
“Fast?” I can’t believe my ears. “How’s being fast going to help me, Judah? You saw that tiger today. He was faster than anything I’ve ever seen.” I blow out a breath and lean my head back. “They’ll sic that black tiger right on me, just like they almost did today.”
“No, listen—” Someone groans, and Judah clamps his mouth shut. We both glance across the room just to see one of the prisoners flop over. Judah’s gaze locks with mine, but his voice has lowered. “The next time they let us out, you go into that hall. You press that button, and—”
“How do you know there’s a button?”
“I just…I know this place.”
“How?”
“None of your business. Now, when you press that green button,” he says. “The doors will stay open for one minute longer. Ash and I—”
“Wait. Who’s Ash?”
He groans. “So many questions.”
“Well, I’m not going to blindly follow your plan until all my questions are answered. Now who’s Ash?”
black tiger (Black Tiger Series Book 1) Page 8