“Did he say anything? His name, perhaps? Or, or if he was working for the Resurgence?”
I wonder why he so desperately needs to know who my rescuer is. So he can thank him? Or so he can hunt him down for going against the law?
“I don’t know, Forest,” I snap. “I didn’t really have time to interview him while I was running for my life.” I suddenly feel tired. Irritable. Annoyed that Judah died and I almost died and all Forest wants to know is who rescued me.
“I’m sorry.” He blinks several times. “I’m so sorry.” And he pulls me into another therapeutic hug.
We stand there for a few minutes. Because my brain is numb and Forest seems to understand my need for silence.
When an inappropriate amount of time goes by, I release him. “So, why are you here?”
He stares at me a moment. Swallows. Opens his mouth and closes it, like he’s not sure how to phrase whatever he wants to say. “I wanted to know why you didn’t tell me your secret.”
“What secret?”
“That you’re a Patrician.”
“Are you kidding?”
“Do I look like I’m kidding?”
“You know who I am. Where I grew up.” I release a shallow laugh. “You know I’m a farmer’s daughter without a coin to my name.”
“Oh, Ember.” Forest offers a sad but gentle smile, his eyes beckoning me to open up to him about something I don’t even understand. “You don’t have to pretend anymore. The whole world saw it broadcasted on the main station. Live. Your secret is out. And I wanted to be the first to talk to you about it.”
“What secret?” The words are squeezed through gritted teeth, because right now I really just want Forest to spill whatever is on his mind and quit acting like I know exactly what he's talking about.
His smile fades. “Do you really not know? Is it possible that you don’t even know?” His golden brows arch. “Or are you still trying to hide it? You can trust me, you know.”
“The only thing I know,” I say, “is there was a fire in the dungeon. Someone came to our rescue. And now here I am, still stuck inside this shoddy prison.”
“That’s only because they don’t know what to do with you yet.”
I study at him. Try to figure him out. Try to figure out whose side Congressman Forest Turner is on. But he just stares back, an open book of vulnerability and amazement and excitement and maybe even a little bit of regret and sadness all in his blue eyes. And I don’t understand. So I look down at my hands, the only two familiar things in this uncertain place. But they’re covered in blood. Judah’s blood. And now I really do feel sick.
“How about set me free?” I look back at him. “I think I’ve endured enough punishment for my actions.”
“You’ll get another trial.”
“Will they listen this time?”
“Yes. Yes, of course they will. I’ll make sure of it. And, if they decide you’re innocent, they’ll want to test you before releasing you.”
“Test me…for…what, exactly?”
He narrows his eyes, like he’s trying to figure me out as much as I’m trying to figure him out. “Ember.” He says my name slowly, carefully. “You’re a Patrician. You communicated with the black tigers. Don’t you understand? Only Patricians can do that.”
Has everyone lost their shoddy minds in Frankfort?
“Don’t you remember what happened last night?” he asks.
I look away. Yes. I remember. I remember Judah lying in the street. I remember the life gone out of his eyes. I remember blood oozing from his wounds, spilling onto the concrete like crimson tears.
Forest steps closer, tips my chin up. “You told the tigers to leave, and they did. They were in hunting mode, too, and are usually a bit harder to control when they’re on the hunt. They still listened. Don’t you understand? You have more power than the average Patrician.”
“Power?” I jerk my chin from his fingers, hating that his mere touch makes it impossible to think clearly. And I try to understand what the shoddy inferno he’s talking about. But I understand very little here in Frankfort. One thing does grab my attention, though: the possibility of freedom. “So-so they’re going to give me a fair trial this time?”
“You’ll be cleaned up.” He spares a glance at my blood-coated hands, winces, then looks back at me. “The trial is this afternoon; the test will take place tomorrow. You’ll definitely pass.” He reaches out and brushes a strand of hair behind my ear. “Then you’ll be one of us.”
One of us. One of who? The politicians? The Patricians? A free person? Or will I return to the Community Garden? I let out a breath of resignation and sink back into my chair. I’m so confused and too tired and grief-stricken and just plain numb to care.
“I’m sorry for what you’ve been through, Ember.” Forest takes the chair across from mine and studies me for a moment, then leans forward and clasps my blood-coated hands in his clean ones. “I know this is hard for you. I can set up a counseling session, something to help you forget the pain of what you went through in prison, if you want.”
Forget the pain? Like three days in a tiny cell could be wiped away. Like watching my friend die by the claws of a tiger could just be forgotten.
Forest’s wristband blinks. He looks at it, then releases a heavy sigh. “I have to go. I have a meeting in ten minutes.” He stands and stares down at me. “A Defender will arrive to take you to your trial. I’ll try to get out of my meeting early so I can be there. Then, if you pass your test tomorrow, they’ll accommodate you with an elaborate hotel room in the heart of Frankfort.”
“And if I fail?”
He laughs. “I don’t think you’ll fail. I know you’re Patrician by the mere fact that you remember our conversation in the tavern.” He bows formally, then places his fedora on his head. “Until next time, Miss Carter.” He walks out of the room, leaving me with more questions than answers. Free? One of them? Tested?
Communicate with tigers?
Everything Forest told me whirls around in my brain like a puzzle that doesn’t fit together. What’s the test? Do I want to pass? Or do I want to stay under the radar, as I was taught, and appear as a commoner? And how can I plan on passing or failing, if I don’t even know what to expect from the test?
I sink back into my chair and wrap my hands around my arms, fighting off the chill that hasn’t gone away since Leaf’s death.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
This trial goes much better than my first. Forest meets me there, and I’m infinitely grateful for his calming presence. He takes his place beside me on the podium. The judges actually listen to my defense, and there’s even a lawyer to speak for me. Just like how the first trial should have gone.
I’m proven innocent—my actions declared a mistake born out of hysteria and shock. Then I’m sent to a temporary bedroom until my test.
I step into the shower where I wash off the filth of the past week. Hot water pounds onto the back of my neck and slides down my spine. I’ve never had a hot shower before. Just cold baths. This water pours from the faucet onto my tense muscles, and I melt.
I should be excited that I’m innocent. I am excited. But now there’s a new problem. Like me being Patrician and having to take this…test. What’s the big shoddy deal, anyway? I always thought Patrician meant rich or part of an elite family. I’m neither of those, yet Forest acts like being Patrician is something people don’t choose. Like it’s something that’s in their blood.
I don’t sleep too well all night. The next morning, Mcallister enters and leads me out of the room for my test. I’m wearing fresh clothes. Elaborate clothes. A dress, to be exact. I’ve never worn a dress. This one is comfortable and stretchy and fits to my form like a second skin. It’s midnight blue and probably the most expensive thing I’ve ever worn in my entire life.
Mcallister takes me outside to the street, and I breathe in the fresh air. I love the outdoors, the smell of the wind. But it’s warm out here. Where’s the snow? Where�
�s the cruel chill of winter? The trees of the median…their leaves are still green. Has time flown by while I was underground?
“Mcallister,” I say as he opens the door to the jeep for me. “What month is it?”
“December.” He closes the door behind me and takes the passenger seat. The driver veers the vehicle down a crowded street away from the stadium.
“Are we getting a warm front?”
“No.”
“Does it ever get cold in Frankfort?”
“Not with the cupola.”
“The what?”
“The dome covering Frankfort. Haven’t you heard of it?”
I shake my head, but I do remember seeing the gold transparent dome covering the city.
“The cupola controls the weather,” Mcallister explains. “It never gets hot or cold here, but stays seventy-two degrees, rain or shine.”
Huh? “How?”
“That’s like asking how a jeep runs. The answer requires a full course on the subject, and I’m afraid I don’t have the time to enlighten you.”
I lean back and stare at the scenery passing by, the beautiful glass buildings shimmering in the sunlight like gold. No wonder they call Frankfort the golden city.
“I guess you didn’t get punished too badly,” I say.
“Excuse me?” Mcallister looks at my reflection in the rearview mirror.
“Rain said you were going to pay for talking about him, for telling me about how he can’t get himself to choose a career.”
I can just barely make out a hint of a smile on Mcallister’s face. “Did he now?” He doesn’t seem the least bit bothered. Which means Rain must not have as much power as he thinks.
When we arrive at the capitol compound, I stare in amazement at my surroundings. The median is brimming with red and gold flowers. Long-trunked trees, the kind that leaf out at the top, line the side of the road in perfect organization. A wide, perfectly kept-up sidewalk runs parallel to the tree line. On the other side of the sidewalk is a sea of green, green grass, mowed to perfection. Excellent landscape for gardening. In fact, they could grow a good amount of food on that piece of land. Enough to feed a couple hundred people for the summer. Or even fence it in and keep a couple cows on it. So why are they just using it for grass?
The vehicle pulls around a rotunda and parks on the curb, and I can’t take my eyes off the capitol building. Because it’s big and frightening and possibly the most beautiful building I’ve ever laid eyes on. Whitewashed stone walls—not glass like the majority of the buildings in Frankfort—give it an antique look. Dome roof, pillars lining the front, and so many stairs leading up to the arched doorway.
Mcallister opens my door. “This is where you’ll take your test.”
“Wait,” I say. He pauses and looks back at me. “The test…do I want to pass it or fail it?”
He offers a smile that almost looks sad. “That’s entirely up to you.”
He leads me up the many stairs. We arrive at a red-brick patio, and I glance to my left. Across the green lawn, hidden behind another row of long-stemmed trees, is another stone building.
“That’s the Chief’s mansion,” Mcallister says, taking note of my gaping. I don’t know why he bothers telling me this. I kind of wish I didn’t know, because the Chief’s mansion is the size of a hotel, and it’s kind of disgusting that one man lives in all that when my family of four was crammed in a three-room cabin.
I follow Mcallister inside. We walk through a shield, right past two Defenders, and up another flight of stairs. I’m once again standing in awe of my surroundings. Everything is made of white marble: The walls, the floor, the ceiling. In the center of the chamber we step into is a bronze statue with the name “Chief Quentin Whitcomb” engraved at the base. I can see clear up to the dome roof, a good eight stories high. Marble stairways branch off to my left and my right, and elaborate balconies overlook the foyer. I can see clearly from one side of the building to the other, everything is so open.
We cross the chamber, down one hallway, and then Mcallister opens a large, old wooden door and gestures for me to go in.
Taking a deep breath, I step into the room. It’s dark, the only light beaming in from a sliver of a window along the ceiling. Small blue lights blink in all four corners of the room. Cameras. The door slams shut behind me, making me jump, and I wonder how long I’m supposed to wait in this gray, eerie room.
“Ember Carter.” An agonizingly familiar voice cuts into my thoughts. Exuberantly musical. My shoulders tense, and I slowly turn around to face Rain.
“So nice to see you again.” He steps into the light. His auburn hair falls into his gray eyes, and he carries a tablet in hand. He looks every inch the Patrician, from the crooked newsboy cap on his head to his crisp vest and pressed slacks and leather shoes. His lips curve in a line of pure arrogance. “I see you’ve proven me wrong.” His voice drips with sarcasm. “You are innocent. You do have some bite. Oh, and you can communicate with black tigers, too. How utterly fascinating.”
I bow at the waist as is customary in the presence of the Patricians, though I don’t hold any respect for Rain. But I have a test to pass. I offer a small smile, even though I’m screaming inside. I want this test to be finished, I want to pass—I think—and I’ll do whatever I must in order to make that happen. Even if it means sucking up to this son of a jackal.
“You look absolutely dashing in that dress.” Rain sweeps his gaze over the length of me, and I feel my face blush to my roots. Rain jerks his chin to a metal chair at the far side of the room. “Have a seat, Carter, and we’ll get started.”
I cross the room, my footsteps echoing off the floor, and sit in the chair, grimacing at the cold metal pressing against my bare legs and arms. Why is Rain, of all people, my tester? Is this some sort of trick? Some form of sick torture in itself? I would honestly prefer anyone to Rain. Give me cruel Defender. Give me Mcallister. I’ll even take Chief Whitcomb over Rain.
“First, I have a few questions about your past,” Rain says. “Then I’ll need to take your blood.”
“Do you begin all conversations with background questions and phlebotomy?"
Rain narrows his eyes, then types something on his tablet. The fact that he’s already typing something when I haven’t even answered his question makes my heart sink. I squeeze the armrests with my hands. My pulse throbs in my fingertips.
“Who are you parents?” Rain asks, not looking up.
“You couldn’t find that information in the public record?”
His glances at me, his jaw clenching and unclenching. “Are you going to be this difficult through the entire test?”
“Maybe.” I know I promised myself to suck up to Rain, but my patience is already wearing thin. Rain seems to have this effect on me. There’s something about him that brings the worst out of me, turning me into some insolent child. I hate it. “Tell me why I have to take this test.”
“Just answer the shoddy question, Carter, or I’ll tell them you failed and have you sent back to the Rebels Circle.”
So I do have to pass.
“You have that kind of power?”
His lips quirk up in a cold smile. “I have every bit of power necessary to determine your fate.”
His words send a shudder up my spine and I believe him. I believe him completely. And the fact that my life is in the hands of this—this weasel, makes me sick to my stomach.
“My parents are Tracy and Andrew Carter,” I say obediently.
“And their careers?” Rain asks, typing on his tablet.
“My dad manages the apple orchard. My mother is––was––a seamstress.”
He nods, but doesn’t look up. “Brothers or sisters?”
“Elijah. My brother.”
“Children?”
A shocked laugh escapes me. “Seriously? I’m a little young to have children.”
He looks at me and smiles a little. “Of course. So is that a no?”
“Correct,” I say, mimicking
his Patrician accent. “That is a no.”
He smirks and shakes his head as he types something on his tablet. “Mother’s maiden name?”
Maiden name? “I have no idea.” That sort of information isn’t important in the Garden. She was taken away before I ever got a chance to ask her. And Dad never seemed interested in talking about her past.
“So…just Tracy. Hm. Oookay.”
“Is this the test?” I ask. “You asking me a bunch of pointless questions?”
“No. This is a questionnaire. We haven’t even gotten to the test yet.”
Splendid. “Can I go home after the test, though? I mean, am I really free?”
“Depends.”
I blow out a frustrated breath. “Depends on what?”
“Your results.”
My results. My test results. Which I apparently have to pass.
“How do I pass?”
His lips twitch into a smile. “Wouldn’t you like to know? But I’m afraid I can’t dispense that information, Miss Carter. I can assure you, however, that you want to pass this test.” He pins me with those gray eyes. “Your life depends on it.”
No pressure.
Without looking at me, he asks me a few more general questions about my home, my age, where I was born. All easy answers. I’m sixteen. Born on the kitchen floor of our cabin with the neighbor’s help—according to Mom. All the hospitals were too far, and that’s why my birth was never documented in the city. But why does Rain need to know all this?
“I’m going to take your blood now.” He presses a button on his white phoneband. “Come on in, Nando.”
The door opens, and an older balding man wearing a white lab coat enters with a black kit. He kneels by my chair and pulls out a syringe. My mouth goes dry. I’ve never gotten a shot before, and the thought of the large needle piercing my skin makes me squirm. He expertly wraps a tourniquet around my upper arm then grips my forearm and inserts the needle at the inside of my elbow. I wince at the prick and almost look away, but not before I see blood filling the canister.
black tiger (Black Tiger Series Book 1) Page 13