black tiger (Black Tiger Series Book 1)

by Sara Baysinger

  “Then what’s the problem? I mean, doesn’t being the chief’s sister give you an out? Aren’t you allowed to do whatever you want? Why not take advantage of your new status and live the hell out of life?”

  He’s right. I don’t have to go to any speech. The last thing I want to do is dress up in uncomfortable clothes and surround myself with more Patricians and then be in the spotlight for however long Titus wishes to put me there. And after that lecture from Olivia…well, I really don’t want to go to any more festivities.

  “Fine,” I say. “What sort of historical site do you have in mind?”

  He grins. “It’s a surprise.” He takes a swig from his flask and winks. “Meet me in the lobby after dinner, yes?”

  I feel a wicked grin spread across my face. There are few things that I like more about Rain than I like about Forest, but this is one of them. His spontaneity. His recklessness. And this will give me the perfect opportunity to say goodbye to him forever.

  “I’ll meet you,” I say. “But you have to promise not to say a word about it. The last thing I need are people going on about you and me…” I roll my eyes. “Together.”

  Rain’s lips quirk up into a knowing smile. “Come, Ember, who do you think is the king of classified info around here? Me.” He taps me on the nose, and the gesture is so playful the tension eases. “This will be our little secret.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  When eight o’clock finally rolls around, I leave the room to meet Rain, slightly excited about the surprise. He said something about a historical site.

  I step out of my room, and the Defenders immediately take their places behind me, as they’re instructed to do. Titus assures me it’s for my safety, but I think he’s still a little suspicious that I’m working with the Resurgence. And I don’t fight him. I don’t refuse the Defenders. Because I need Titus to trust me if I want him to leave me alone the rest of my life.

  Rain is waiting outside, leaning against his vehicle, his arms crossed, his vest unbuttoned, and his newsboy cap slightly crooked. He looks just like he did the first day I saw him, when he led me out of prison and brought me to Frankfort.

  He looks at the Defenders and rolls his eyes. “Can you send your guard dogs back, please?”

  I look back at them. “They’re instructed to watch me.”

  “So? You have Patrician blood. Brainwash them into un-watching you.”

  Oh. I forgot I could do that. “I-I don’t know how…to…manipulate them.”

  “Ah. Well. Let me show you.” He looks at the Defenders and says, “Thanks, but I’ll take her from here. Go back into the hotel and play Rock-Paper-Scissors until Miss Carter returns.” And without question, they bow and return to the hotel.

  “Wow,” I say. “That was easy.”

  “Eye contact and an order. So, so easy.” He opens the passenger door for me. I’m surprised he has any manners at all.

  I slide into the front seat, then he takes the driver’s seat.

  “So where are we going?” I ask.

  He looks at me and grins. “To church.”

  “Church?”

  He revs up the engine and pulls out onto the street. “Didn’t know there were any more around, did you?”

  Church. The very word is ancient. All religions had been banished hundreds of years ago, though Dad told me some people still worship their deities in secret. But with the banishment of religions came the burning of churches. I didn’t know any still existed.

  “Why are we going to a…a church?”

  “Everyone needs a little culture in their lives. Religion is a huge part of our history.” He shrugs and turns down another less-populated street. “Besides, the building’s pretty dope. And it’s one of the few places not wired with cameras.”

  “So, it’s abandoned?”

  “Yes. There’s a part of Frankfort that’s been completely abandoned. This church is a part of that…abandonment.”

  The vehicle glides smoothly through the city. I let out a breath once we’re a good ten blocks from the hotel and everyone who resides there. The buildings eventually become older, evolving from beautiful glass to chipping bricks. Weeds sprout out of the sidewalks, and the traffic thins. Rain turns down a street eaten away by age. Then he slows the vehicle down and parks in front of an old brick building. The front of the building is tall and square, with the shape of a castle on the top, and a t standing tall on the roof. Three, long stained-glass windows line the side of the building.

  “It’s beautiful,” I whisper.

  “Wait ‘til you see inside.”

  I follow him up the steps to the quaint arched red doors, one of the few parts of the church that isn’t crumbling. Wrapping his hand around one of the brass handles, he pulls with force, and the door creaks open. When I step inside, I’m greeted by the musty scent of mildew. Paint peels off what’s left of the crumbling walls. A gaping hole in the ceiling allows sunlight to flood into the sanctuary. The wooden benches are crumbling, and the carpet is disintegrating. Light shines behind the stained-glass windows, creating a rainbow glow from the glass. But despite all the oldness, this place is arcane, carrying within itself a certain…nostalgia.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?” Rain asks from right behind me.

  All I can do is nod.

  “This is one of the few churches in Ky that hasn’t been burned to the ground,” he says.

  “Why did they keep it around?”

  “I’m not really sure.” He shrugs and slowly begins walking ahead, between the benches, his hands shoved into his pockets. “I suppose it’s smaller than the others. Humble. And this part of the city had already been abandoned. The government saw no threat in this place.”

  I follow him toward the front of the church. Above the podium is a picture of a man hanging by his hands on a post. Blood drips down his arms and feet. It’s so gruesome, so incredibly disturbing, that I have to look away.

  I step up onto the stage toward the podium. An old book lies open, and I touch the pages, but they crumble beneath my fingertips. Notes on the page tell me it’s a songbook. I read the faded words. O come, O come Emmanuel, And ransom captive Israel, That mourns in lonely exile here, until the So…. The rest of the words fade out on the page.

  “That’s my favorite hymn.” Rain steps up beside me.

  I catch a whiff of his peppermint breath. “You know it?”

  “Mm-hmm. They may have burned all the churches down, but a lot of the hymnals were kept and taken to Frankfort Library for culture’s sake. Every hymn in those books alludes to this religion. Every verse speaks a message. And this specific song, ironically, is an advent hymn.”

  “Meaning…”

  “It’s a Christmas song.” He grins. “And next week just happens to be Christmas. What are the odds of you learning about this hymn now?”

  “I—I don’t think I could ever learn it. See?” I point at the place where the words fade out into the crumbling page. “I can’t even read past the second line.”

  “But you have this exact hymnal in your hotel room, yes? I believe I gave it to you the other day at the library.”

  “Oh. Yes.”

  “Have you cracked it open yet?”

  I chew the inside of my cheek. “No.” Honestly, I was too interested in the other stories to bother looking at songs from the past. “But I don’t think it would matter. I don’t understand half the words in the first line. Emmanuel? Israel? Is this another language?”

  “They’re words from another lifetime. Israel represented a tribe, a chosen people of God.”

  I tense. It’s so strange hearing someone talk about God, or religion at all, when that kind of talk has been banned for so long.

  “Emmanuel means ‘God with us,’” Rain continues. “It’s a name representing God’s son, who made it possible for God to be with us in a very personal way by dying on a cross.”

  “Cross?”

  He dips his chin toward the picture of the man hanging limply on a s
take. “The thing that looks like a little t is called a cross. It’s the old world’s version of the Rebels Circle.”

  “And God’s son died on it? So he could be…with us?” This reeks of contradiction.

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Because people were forgetting about God, and he wanted to draw them back to Himself by becoming one of them. Hence, the name, Emmanuel, God with us.”

  “But, isn’t God supposed to be all-powerful? Like, why didn’t he just rewire the people’s brains so he could control them and keep them from forgetting him?”

  “Kind of like the way the chief controls the Proletariat?”

  My mouth clamps shut.

  Rain sighs. “God wants to be our companion, not our puppeteer, Ember. So, in order to show the people a new way of living, a way of love, he sent his God-Son, hoping to strike up a relationship with each individual human so he could know them in a personal way.”

  “By dying. On a cross.”

  “Yes.”

  “Why? Why does he care?”

  Rain stares at me. Blinks. “Because he loves us. Because he didn’t just throw a bunch of random humans on the planet and find entertainment in watching them figure their pathetic lives out. He chose each human specifically, individually, with much thought and pride and…affection. God knows you, down to the very last blood cell. And God wants to be known by you on an intimate level.”

  And I feel it. The pull. The longing for something higher, bigger, more powerful and all-consuming and there’s no denying it. There’s no denying the presence filling the gaps in the atmosphere surrounding me, filling the cracks in my spirit and in all the empty spaces in my soul, and I want to ask—I want to ask who this God is and why he cares about me and how can I find him and when can I set up a meeting with him.

  But then I realize I’m being drawn into ancient mythology, not reality, and I look away from Rain. I clear my throat. I think of the pure ridiculousness of his words.

  “It’s a shame God’s son died,” I say. “It was a waste. Nobody in Ky has a personal connection with God. Not anymore.”

  “At least not that you know of. But tell me, Ember. Haven’t you ever experienced the power of nature? Haven’t you ever felt another presence standing near—so near you felt like it knew you? God is everywhere. From the strokes of nature to your beating heart. His Spirit is all around us. Haven’t you ever…experienced a voice calling out to you in the wind, in the trees, in the music of nighttime field frogs or in the warmth of the sun? Haven't you ever watched the life bloom in the Garden, and wondered where that life came from?”

  “It came from seeds,” I say. “Which came from the sower.”

  “Yes.” Rain steps closer until I feel his peppermint breath on my ear. “You are the Garden, Ember,” he says. “And God is the Sower.”

  And now I’m not breathing. Because I always imagined it like that. Like me being the packed dirt wanting to grow something useful, just waiting for the seeds to drop and take root. Waiting, like the apple trees I’ve grown up watching, to produce fruit.

  “So…so, where is he?” I say when I find my tongue. “Where is…God?”

  “Here.”

  My eyes dart around the dim room, finding no sign of another being, then land back on Rain. I lift a brow. “He’s invisible?”

  “But you feel Him, don’t you? You can sense him calling out to you?”

  “Or I’m just a little creeped out right now because we’re in a haunted church with a picture of a dying corpse, and you claim there’s a spirit lingering around here.” I chuckle. “No wonder the chief abolished religions. He was saving his people from their own madness.” I release another nervous laugh.

  But Rain’s not laughing. He just stands there staring at me. Unblinking.

  Until he does blink. Then he looks away. “You’re right.” He looks around the room, his eyes landing reverently on the picture of the man on the cross. “The one thing we don’t need in this dire government is the hope that after this life comes a perfect eternity.”

  Does Rain really believe in all this stuff? Somehow I can’t imagine a cynical guy like him buying into myths. But then, Rain is full of odd surprises. And the way he talks about this God being with us, right now in this very room, is unnerving, because religions are something most people laugh at nowadays. And Rain certainly isn’t laughing.

  I release a shuddering breath, shake the strange feeling, and glance at the rest of my surroundings. An alabaster bowl sits on a shelf, collecting dust. A small sculpture of a baby angel lies crumbled on the floor. Pillars line the walls. A small table stands just in front of the podium, holding an old brass candleholder, a silver chalice, and a plate. It almost looks like someone lived here and dined alone at that table. An odd shiver rushes up my spine.

  “This place is…eerie,” I say.

  “I know. That’s why I like it.”

  I study Rain as he steps back down from the podium and walks toward the tall stained-glass windows, studying them like a painting in a museum. And the realization hits me. Rain––the nonchalant, reckless boy––has a soft spot for art, music, and ancient cultures. My heart stirs at the sight of, not a politician’s son who’s content with the world as it is today, but a lost boy yearning for the way things used to be. That’s why he reads all those classics. That’s why he knows that old hymn.

  That’s why he sometimes talks like he’s from another time.

  “So, why did you bring me here?” I step down from the podium and walk toward him. “Surely not to talk about God?”

  “I wanted to talk to you about Titus.” He turns to look at me. “Now that you see Titus as your brother, what do you think of him?”

  “Um…He’s still the same person. So I don’t think much of him.”

  “No?”

  “No. He’s not fixing the starvation issue. He kills people who challenge him without a just trial.” People like Judah and Leaf.

  “The chief and his Patricians believe criminals deserve their executions,” Rain says. “That it’s a just punishment.”

  “So, you’re defending them now?”

  “I’m not defending them. But perhaps the Patricians only need someone to shed light on the truth. They need someone to show them the very real conditions of the rest of Ky, and then push them into taking action against it. They need to be shown another way to live.” He slowly walks toward me. “And who can do that better than a farmer-turned-royalty?” He smiles a little. “Who can do that better than a girl who grew up in these very unfair conditions, and then rose to the place of power?” He stops right in front of me. “Who better, than you, Ember Carter Whitcomb, could flip this government on its head?”

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  “Me?” I laugh, though there’s nothing humorous about his words. They are simply ridiculous. “I am one person. I may be able to open one person’s eyes, like Forest’s, but not an entire city’s.”

  I step away from him and run my fingers along the chipped wall. The paint crumbles beneath my fingertips. “If I say one thing about the injustices of Titus, I would be considered a rebel. He already has his suspicions about me working with the Resurgence, even though I told him that I know very little of those people. Titus made it clear he wants me out of his way. If I stuck my nose into his ruling methods, I would be considered a threat by him and burned upside down on the Rebels Circle, because I seriously don’t think he holds any measure of affection for me.” I look back at Rain. “I’m sorry, but I would rather keep my life a few more days than risk it for nothing.”

  “Nothing?” His laugh is hollow. “Nothing? How many people’s eyes would be opened to the truth, Ember? There are too many people here for Titus to fight against. The Patricians are the shoulders on which he stands. But what happens if those shoulders were removed?”

  “Titus falls.”

  “And with his fall, a new leader would have to be elected. And you, with your royal blood, would be just the c
andidate. If you could make the people love you more than Titus, if you could step in, shake this government so much that the people adore you, you could establish a new government. A new way. Justice and freedom. Now tell me this, Rainbow Eyes, is it worth your life to save an entire nation?”

  Words evade me. Would I risk my life if I knew I could save millions of people? If it meant offering them a new system, a new way of living? If it meant bringing justice to the Proletariat?

  “There is no certainty,” I say. “Even if I did shed light, even if I did die for the sake of justice, there is no guarantee that anything would ever change. And I can’t risk my life with no guarantee of change.” I chew my lip, wishing that he would stop staring at me like I just beheaded his pet tiger. “I just want to get home to my family, Rain. I don’t want to get entangled in politics. I don’t want to interfere with Titus’s way of ruling. I just want to go home. I just want to be free.”

  “But will you ever really be free?” He steps closer and wraps his long fingers around my chin, tilts it up until our eyes meet. “After all you’ve seen here—the unlimited food, the comforts, the luxuries—will anything ever be the same?”

  He’s standing so close, I lose all train of thought, and I jerk my chin from his grasp, turn around so I can think. What’s Rain asking of me? To stand up against the chief? To give up my life? It’s too much. Too much for me to take on. I was raised to live a simple life, make simple decisions. But since coming to Frankfort, nothing has been simple.

  Forest wants me to work with the chief.

  Rain wants me to defy the chief.

  I only want to go home and forget everything.

  And that’s exactly what the chief wants, too. So what’s holding me back?

  Rain places his hand on the small of my back. I can feel his warm breath on my neck, and the warmth spreads through my body, and I close my eyes, trying to remember how to breathe.

  “Ember,” he says from behind me. “Look at the window.”

  I open my eyes and lift them to the long stained-glass window in front of me. Something about the art moves me, makes me feel small and makes me want to do big things.