“That window is made up of broken glass,” Rain says. His voice is lucid, almost musical. “Every distinct color has its own separate shard of glass. And the pieces are put together so perfectly, so precisely, that it creates a picture, a pattern, a masterpiece that only those colors, with those shapes, in that pattern, could create.”
He steps around so he’s facing me. His gray eyes burn into mine like rain clouds, thunderclouds, like lightning searing into my very soul.
“Colors. Shapes. Patterns,” he says. “Three simple things that, if puzzled together, can form something so incredibly majestic.”
I know he’s trying to tell me something, use the window as a metaphor. But what? He begins pacing in front of me, hands locked behind his back.
“Without color, the windows would be plain.” He gestures impatiently with one hand. “No pattern, no order, no rhyme or reason. Everything would be random, chaotic, and kind of ugly. And if the shards of glass weren’t so incredibly unique, if they were just squares and squares and squares of colorless pieces, this window would look like megapixels on a dull computer screen. There would be absolutely no art about it.”
He stops pacing. He looks at me.
And all I can do is swallow and say, “It’s so unlike you to speak in riddles, Rain. What, exactly, is your point?”
He smiles a little, continues pacing. “Those three things––colors, shapes, patterns–– come together to create something…messy, but clean. Something chaotically organized. Something beautiful. Kind of like three other things that, if put together in such a way, could create something beautiful.” He looks at me, really looks at me, and says, “Person. Location. Time.”
He pauses, allows me to process the information. “You are the person, little apple picker. The defiant, outspoken, reckless…” He presses his fist against his pursed lips like he’s frustrated. “Powerful person. Location.” He continues pacing again. “Somehow, by fate or God, whichever you choose to believe, you, a Patrician with the mindset of a Proletariat, were brought to Frankfort, the most influential place in the country, during a time of turmoil. A time when some of the most powerful people—politicians like Forest included—doubt the…ethics of our government.” He speaks faster, his voice slowly rising, becoming slightly more musical. “Common citizens, like your father, are becoming aware of their dire circumstances and looking for another way of life. The government is more fragile than it’s ever been, Ember, and Titus knows it.” He spins on his heel and looks pointedly at me. “Now tell me this, little apple picker, how those three things, coming together so perfectly, aren’t a recipe to create something…beautiful? Like, say, a new society, perhaps?”
“Um…” I swallow hard. Because Rain just crammed a mouthful of thoughts down my throat, and I’m not really sure if I’m supposed to chew or swallow or spit them out completely. Because what he’s proposing is, essentially, treason. And, honestly, I didn’t think Rain cared about the government at all, seeing as he chose not to walk the life of a politician, nor the life of the Resurgence. And I realize Forest is completely wrong about his brother. So, so wrong. Because Rain isn’t shallow. He’s not looking to one-up everyone else. He is a genuine person looking to right what is wrong.
Which is kind of exactly what Forest is trying to do. Do they ever even communicate? Because the only emotion I’ve ever seen between the two is resentment, but they could work really well together.
But my main questions is...why me? Why not Forest, Rain’s brother and Titus’ best friend? Why not Cherry who practically drools after Rain and is studying to be a politician herself? Why have I become his target? Because I’m vulnerable? Or is it just the fact that I’m the chief’s sister? Why would that even make a shoddy difference?
I sigh and shake my head. “What makes you think this would work?”
“Because you have the chief’s bloodline.” His voice has hardened now. It’s not musical. Not soft like it was moment ago. It’s hard like steel. And his eyes…they’re burning coals that look deceptively calm. “You have Alpha Blood.”
“Alpha Blood?” I ask, scrunching up my nose. “What on earth are you talking about?”
He heaves out a frustrated sigh. “Don’t you understand anything? Your bloodline surpasses any other bloodline. You have ultimate control.” He steps closer, and before I know it, he’s got me backed against the wall, and my heart is pounding pounding pounding. He stops inches from my face, his peppermint breath filling the air between us. “Do you remember what I told you about Patrician blood?” His voice is soft again. “How, if you are born with the antitoxin blood in your veins, you can control the Proletariat?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Let me try to explain this in a way a simple little farmer like yourself will understand.” He takes a step back, looks at the floor and skates his thumb along his lower lip. And I’m grateful not to have the intensity of his gaze on me. “There are four blood types. And I’m not talking A or B or AB or O or any of that shoddy stuff. I’m talking, Alpha, Beta, Gama, and Delta. Are you listening?”
Yes, I think. I’m listening. I’m enraptured by your every word, I’m trying to understand this information that was somehow withheld from the rest of the world, and I’m trying to wrap my mind around one more impossible thing that you’re about to lay on my mind like a grenade.
“Okay,” Rain speaks slowly as to a child. “You have more power than the average Patrician. You see, when the antitoxin was first created, there was a special dose made only for the chief. A dose that gave him ultimate control. So his direct commands to the Proletariat would stand above any other Patricians’ command. They did this so there would never be any confusion as to who is leader. They did this to keep control.”
Control freaks.
“What you’re saying is, if the chief gives a direct command to a Defender, and then a Patrician comes along and tries to change it—”
“It won’t work. A Patrician cannot override the chief’s direct order.”
“But you just told my Defenders to go play rock, paper, scissors, and they obeyed.”
“That’s because they answer to a general. Not directly to the chief. Regular Patricians can override other Patricians’ orders, but they cannot override the chief’s orders. However, the chief can override the Patricians’ order. Does that make sense?”
I nod.
“Great. Now, that’s Alpha and Beta blood. Chief being Alpha Blood, regular Patricians being Beta Blood. And then there’s Gama and Delta Blood. Delta is the lowest of the low. The brainless Defenders you see walking around? The laborers who do their work with extra enthusiasm even though they’re working twelve hour shifts for zero pay and even though their children are, um, starving?”
“That pretty much sums up everyone in the Community Garden.”
“Yes. It pretty much sums up everyone in Ky—” He holds up one finger. “—except for us Patricians.” He offers a self-depreciating smile. “So, those brainless inhabiting ninety-percent of Ky are Delta bloods, and easy targets.”
“And Gama? Who are they?”
“Gama bloods are Deltas who took the antitoxin.”
“So, they’re not born with the antitoxin in their blood, but they’ve taken it, and so can’t be controlled anymore?”
“Right.” Rain grins. “Exactly. They can’t be controlled, but neither can they control anyone.”
“So there’s a cure for brainlessness.”
“Yeppers.”
I blink, look at the floor, try to process this very new information. Alpha, Beta, Gama, and Delta blood. And I’m Alpha. And everyone in the community garden is Delta. And the Patricians are Beta. Which would make the Gama people like Judah.
I look at Rain. “Is the majority of the Resurgence Gama?”
He shrugs. “Probably. I mean, they’ve stolen a vast amount of antitoxin—don’t ask me how, I don’t even know where it’s located— and they give it to refugees. Sometimes they’ll kidnap a Defender or two a
nd give them the antitoxin, too, so they can no longer be brainwashed.”
“Wow,” I say. “I’m beginning to like the Resurgence more and more.”
Rain snorts. “Don’t even joke about that. They’re Neanderthals who love nothing more than to watch people die in cold blood. The only reason they rescue Defenders and refugees is to grow their own army.”
I know they’re not Neanderthals. They had more advanced equipment than we do. But I don’t tell Rain that. As for loving to watch people die in cold blood? I have no idea. I don’t know how Jonah Walker thinks, how cruel he could be, because I hardly know him. I shrug and step past Rain. I don’t really like being cornered like this.
“So,” I say. “You’re wanting me to rival my brother, Chief Whitcomb, and possibly take his place as chief.” I look at him and smirk. “And if I succeeded? What then? You want me to work as your puppet? You want to rule the country through me? Is that your true intent?”
He gives a brief shake of his head. “I’ve no interest in leading this country, Ember. But I do know changes need to be made. And I feel like you’re just the candidate for the job, you know, because how long is it going to be before another person is born into the chief bloodline and understands the living conditions of the Proletariat first-hand? And even when Titus does get married and starts popping out heirs, how do we know they will be good?”
“So what am I supposed to do?” I whisper hoarsely. His speech has me eating out of the palm of his hand.
He steps in front of me and tips my chin up. “You assassinate Titus and lead the nation to greatness.”
CHAPTER FIFTY
Assassinate Titus? I choke out a laugh. I can’t tell if he’s serious or not, but he’s not smiling so he must be, and for the first time, I actually wish he would crack a smirk and tell me he’s kidding. But he doesn’t. His gray eyes are so intense, his voice full of more passion than I’ve ever heard from him. My hands tremble.
I clear my throat. “I am only one person, Rain. And Titus is hardly accessible. He’s always surrounded by his shoddy Defenders. Even if I started brainwashing them into letting me by, I couldn’t get through all of them before he ordered one of them to shoot me.” I shrug. “There’s no way I could do this on my own.”
“What if I told you that I have people who can help? What if I said that, within a week, you could be chief?”
I want to laugh out loud. I want to cry. I want this conversation to be over. Because in order to get the attention of a large mass of people, I would have to do something drastic. And the act in itself, to defy Titus, could get me killed.
Would get me killed.
And I’m not ready to die.
I swat Rain’s hands off my shoulders, filled with a certain irritation I haven’t felt since Judah’s death. Actually, make that Leaf’s death. “I just got out of an execution,” I snap. “And you’re telling me to stay here, put my life on the line and kill my brother, hoping a bunch of Patricians will just let me lead? As far as I can tell, the Patricians love their chief, so I don’t think they’ll be very happy about me killing him.”
“They wouldn’t know it was you. You don’t even have to do it. I’ve got it covered. All I want you to do is be willing to take the helm.”
And be chief. A leader. A leader without the education. That sounds like a disaster, like a government preparing to collapse on itself.
“Nope,” I say. “Sorry, Rain, but I’m not willing to die for a plan that might never work. I’m not willing to lead a country to its possible ruin.”
He barks out a laugh. “It’s already ruined.”
I whirl around and stalk to the door. Rain has clearly lost his shoddy mind, and I am officially done with this conversation. Unbelievable. He brought me to this church, knowing I loved art. He’s trying to weasel his way into my heart, acting so intimate, telling me ancient myths and showering me with compliments, like some sort of pathetic romantic.
“Ember!”
Ignore him. Keep walking. Don’t look back.
“EMBER!”
His voice is raw and loud and holds so much authority I freeze in my tracks. My heart is pounding, and I slowly turn around, tears stinging my eyes because I feel like a child again. I feel like a child who’s in so much trouble. And his eyes are the gray waters of a churning sea threatening a hurricane, and he saunters toward me. I try to decide if I should fight or flee but all I can do is stand here and remember to breathe.
“Who do you think rescued you from that dungeon pit?” he says.
My heart lodges in my throat, not allowing any words to exit my mouth.
He stops right in front me. “Who,” he says more gently this time, “set off the fire alarm and led you out of prison the night before your execution?”
“The Resurgence,” I say too quickly. “Walker said it was one of his men.”
“Walker is a liar, and most likely said that to earn your trust.”
“Why would you say that?”
“Because,” Rain says. “It was me. I was the one who rescued you.”
I blink two times too fast. “You’re lying. You’re a liar.”
He smirks. “What can I do to prove it to you?”
Prove it? How can he prove it? I glance at his torso, briefly remembering the tattoo on my rescuer’s side. “Lift up your shirt.”
His head jerks back. And he snorts out a laugh. “Really? If you wanted to see my bod all this time, all you had to do was ask—”
“The boy who saved me had a tattoo on his left side, lower waist. Lift up your shirt.”
He stares at me long and hard, his jaw clenching, then takes the hem of his shirt and lifts it up just enough for me to see a tattoo.
The tattoo. The exact tattoo my rescuer had. A symbol I just learned is called a cross. Except this one is fancier than the simple cross standing on top of the church. This one has intricate designs woven within and a circle outlining the center.
“It’s called a Celtic Cross,” he says, lowering his shirt.
I look at him, putting the pieces together in my head. Because Rain. Rain Turner rescued me from my execution. Which means I owe Rain my life.
I shake my head. “But—but you couldn’t have been the one who rescued me. Why did you—why would you—”
“Because I knew you would prove useful in my plan,” he says. “And, what d’ya know? You’re more than useful. You’re a necessary piece in reestablishing the government. You’re Titus’s sister, the one we’ve been waiting for to execute our plan.”
Something he says echoes what Judah said: when we find Titus’s sister, and if she supports our cause, we’ll have ourselves a new leader.
And I wonder…
“What do you mean, our plan?” I ask.
Rain clamps his mouth shut.
No. It couldn’t be. There’s no way. He just called Walker a liar. But I have to be sure.
“Are you—are you working with the Resurgence?” Because that would make so much sense. Why Jonah came to recruit me in my hotel room. Why Rain’s trying to recruit me now.
“We’re getting off subject,” he says too quietly. “Work with me, Ember. Help me fix this economy. Help me bring Ky to a better place, please.” He holds out his hand, looks at me with so much vulnerability I wonder if this is the same Rain who gave me my Black Tiger Test.
But I shake my head, because fear. Fear is an unwelcome guest that I don’t really want to entertain any longer.
“It’s not worth risking my life.” I squeeze the words through gritted teeth, then turn around.
And walk out of the church.
I’m so over Frankfort and people telling me what to do. So much has happened in such a short time. I need a break. I need time to process Rain’s offer and Forest’s offer and the fact that I’m Titus’ sister. Maybe down the road I’ll be able to think more clearly. Maybe then I could choose a side and muster up some courage to do something. But I just feel like my brain is on survival mode and I need to get
home. I need to be some place safe. I need to decompress.
And then I need to come up with a plan.
The sky has darkened to a dusky gray since we arrived, and a cool wind sweeps in from the street. I stand by Rain’s car and wrap my arms around my shoulders. I wish I was wearing my warm wool farmers clothes, but LeighAnn was so intent that I look nice for Titus’s speech.
Titus’s speech.
Which I skipped out on. For this. Will anyone notice I wasn’t there? Of course they will. A seat with my name on it will remain empty. Everyone, including Titus, will know I wasn’t there. I curse and dig my fingers into my hair. If I was planning on staying on good terms with Titus, I should have stayed on my best behavior. Now, because I skipped out on the speech, Defenders may be watching me more closely when I get back.
Defenders.
How angry will Titus be when he finds out I not only skipped out on his speech, but didn’t have the Defenders with me while doing so?
I have the sudden urge to hurry back, return to my hotel before Titus declares me guilty. Again.
Rain finally steps through the red doors. I wonder what he’s been doing in there this whole time. Praying to his unseen God? I wish I could tell him this God doesn't exist. If he did, wouldn’t we all be living in peace by now? Where is this paradise he promised? Why would an all-powerful God allow a government to erupt into this mess when he supposedly loves us?
I slide into the front seat and Rain starts the engine. As we glide down the street, he slips his flask from his back pocket, screws off the lid and takes a drink.
Unbelievable. “Do you really think you should be drinking right now?” I snap.
“It helps take the edge off.”
“I need you sober while you drive, Rain. Not drunk.”
“Here, have a sip.” He smirks and passes me the flask. “Looks like you could loosen up a bit yourself.”
I shove his hand away.
“Come on, apple picker. Take a drink. I swear, you’ll feel much better if you do.”
black tiger (Black Tiger Series Book 1) Page 30