white dawn (Black Tiger Series Book 3)

by Sara Baysinger

  What if I really am the villain?

  It’s times like this I wish Forest were here. He knew me. He knew Titus. He could understand my misunderstanding. I was never attracted to him, but he was a good friend and mentor. Because I don’t know if I’m really good, or if I’ll turn out just like Titus because he trained me.

  But I never agreed with his leadership tactics. I never thought it was right to build an empire on the shoulders of people who were unaware of their circumstances. I never thought it was right to have such a huge gap between the rich and the poor. I mean, all the citizens of Ky started in the same place at the beginning. None of us had possessions. All of us were just trying to survive. It wasn’t until the antitoxin was created and distributed among the politicians that they decided to keep it all for themselves. It wasn’t until the politicians realized the power they could exercise over the rest of the nation that they stuffed the rest of the antitoxin away for themselves and their families. At the chief’s consent.

  And now here I am, paying for Grandfather’s mistakes, cleaning up his mess. I could have taken the easy road, I suppose. I could have done what Titus told me to do if he died—kept things as they were and appreciated my wealth. You live in so much comfort, he’d say, when he came to visit me in the basement that was my home. You’re never starving, but feast off the best foods in the country. You don’t have to break your back to work. The Proletariats do all the work, unaware of their circumstances, and those of us who are aware don’t have to work. We can soak in our place in society. No need for guilt, Rory, he’d say, when I questioned his ethics. They have no idea. God gave us this power. God put us here. God made them dumb and us smart so we could thrive as a country.

  For a while, I wondered if God was good. If I wanted to follow a God who chose to make some people dumb and compellable and chose others to be born into wealthy lives of the Patricians. Titus would call God our father, but the only father I’ve known was abusive and careless. I didn’t want that in my life.

  But when Titus brought me a Bible at my request, I realized, God is more like what I would imagine a mother to be than a father. Tender. Caring. Empathetic. Both men and women were created in God’s image, after all. And in the passages I read, God was likened to a mother bear, a mother hen, and so many times described as a mother comforting her child. I imagined God like Krin. And after I had Gideon—when I became a mother myself—that’s when I understood the depth of God’s love for me.

  I realize, none of what happened in Ky is God’s doing. She cares too much for her people to punish them. Everything that happened in the past, from the beginning of time, was our own doing. God was there, always guiding, always comforting, occasionally interfering but never forcing change. And she always chose the side of the weaker race. She always went against the stronger force. So when I think of the loving God I’ve read about, I realize she’s for the Proletariats, not the Patricians. Blessed are the poor. Blessed are the peacemakers. Blessed are the persecuted. It’s the Proletariats God lives among.

  Not the Patricians.

  So tearing down this system, this large, invisible gap between the Patricians and the Proletarians is exactly what God would want. And that alone is a perfect reason to open the minds of my people and stop the persecution of those who don’t agree with the system.

  I step out of my room, renewed, reset, and filled with a new purpose. I think it was good to get away from Frankfort. For the first time since living in the caverns, I feel like I’m thinking clearly. And it’s so refreshing, this mind clarity. This absence of an ongoing list of petty things showered on me by politicians. There’s only one thing on my mind, currently. One. Thing.

  And that’s the freedom of my people.

  A huge crowd is gathered on the town square when I step out of my hotel. Last night’s feast was nothing less than a celebration. Now, cheers reverberate through the streets, and the people bow as I pass. Chale takes his place beside me, my bodyguard. My friend.

  “Your people love you,” he murmurs in my ear.

  And those four words fill me up. Less than a week ago, Rain was telling me how much my people hated me. I guess I was catering to the wrong crowd. I was trying to give more to the people who had everything, when I should have been giving something to the people who had nothing. The reverence in the people’s eyes steals my breath away. Chills flesh out across my skin, because I did not expect this. THIS is what Titus told me would happen if I took his place as chief. The people are “trained” to love you.

  But this is no brainwashed loyalty. This is true reverence. Real admiration. Authentic love. It’s like an invisible force has filled my people, consuming all the gaps between them and rushing over me, and I can literally feel their love. Tears prick my eyes, and when I smile, they slip down my cheeks. Seeing my people this happy fills my cup to the brim. This is not fake joy. Everything about this moment is real. Titus had no idea what he was missing.

  Chale opens my car door, but the vehicle is empty.

  “Where’s Rain?” I ask.

  “I haven’t see him yet today. Would you like me to go find him?”

  I grit my teeth, the joy I felt moment ago slowly evaporating. I hadn’t seen Rain since my speech last night. He was pissed, that was obvious enough. But when isn’t he pissed? I imagine him running away, escaping the clutches of his new chief—me—and heading back to Indy. I wouldn’t blame him. If he truly feels that trapped, then good riddance. But I can’t leave without at least making sure he’s already gone.

  “I’ll get him,” I mutter. I head back inside. The floorboards creek beneath my feet as I walk down the hall toward his room. One thing to add to my to-do list, along with getting medication and fresh food for the Proletariats, is fixing their living conditions. These crumbling buildings are unacceptable.

  I approach Rain’s door and knock. No answer. I twist the loose knob and shove the door open, surprised to find him in his bed. He’s lying on his stomach, the blankets twisted messily around his waist. I look closer at the welts on his back. Where did those come from, anyway? They look old. He took the beating at least a year ago, maybe longer. Which means he would have been fifteen or under, since he’s sixteen. Who would be so cruel to whip a young boy? Is this why he has such a difficult time trusting people?

  I shake the chill hanging in the air. We have a whole other county to un-compel today, another speech to give tonight, and we seriously need get going.

  “Rain,” I say. When he doesn’t respond, I say his name louder. He turns his head so he’s facing me, but his eyes remain closed, his face soft and innocent in sleep, not the usual scowl that graces his features during the day. I’m half-afraid that if I approach him to wake him, he’ll kill me.

  I am fearless. I am invincible.

  Taking a deep breath, I approach his bed and gently tap his shoulder. Nothing. I kneel down so we’re eye level, so I won’t completely startle him when he wakes. It’s so strange being this close to Rain without his hatred directed at me. I understand his mistrust. I get why he wants to kill me. It’s almost admirable. If he didn’t want to stick around, he didn’t have to. He could hightail it out of Ky with no problem. But he’s still here for his people. If there was any doubt in my mind about completely wholesome, selfless people not existing, then it’s gone. Because Ember and Rain might possibly be the most selfless, most heroic two people I have ever met.

  And that makes it impossible to fully hate Rain.

  I gently run my hand up his arm. “Time to wake up, Rain,” I say in a gentle voice. My hand roams down his muscular forearm, and I squeeze his hand. “It’s time to go.”

  His eyes crack open, still bleary in sleep. Sleepy Rain looks kind of hot. For the first time, I think I see what Ember saw in him, and it terrifies me.

  “Ember?” His voice is husky, and I suck in a sharp breath. I open my mouth to correct him, tell him who I really am, when he reaches up and caresses my face. And his touch shocks t
he words out of my head. The way he’s looking at me, like I resurrected from the dead and he can’t handle losing me again—no wonder Ember fell in love with Rain. He adored her.

  He stares at me a moment longer, confusion clouding his eyes, but then he must realize what’s happening, because he blinks several times, devastation taking place of the confusion, and his hand drops from my face like a cold fish. He jerks into a sitting position, his face contorted in disgust and disbelief. I step back, my heart pounding from his gentle touch, from the glimpse of the Rain that Ember saw: Rain the passionate, Rain the compassionate.

  “We’re—we’re leaving…now,” I say.

  He stares at the floor. Nods. Clears his throat. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

  “Are you okay?”

  His eyes snap to mine. Once again cold. Detached. Angry.

  Bloodshot.

  “I said I’ll be down in a minute. Holy Crawford.”

  He’s clearly hungover. I don’t think I have it in me to speak to Hungover Rain. So I nod and leave the room.

  While I wait in the vehicle, my phoneband illuminates. I click open the message from Walker.

  There was a riot today. Word got out that you cut ties with Nashville, and the Patricians raided the food bank. But we have everything under control, so don’t rush back.

  I heave out a sigh and lean back. What will it take to please the shoddy Patricians? Placing Titus back as chief? No, placing Ember back as chief. I chew my lip, brainstorming on how to calm the hurricane when I return to sunny Frankfort.

  When Rain finally exits the building, he doesn’t even acknowledge the cheers of the people. Chale shuts the door behind him, then takes the driver’s seat while another bodyguard takes the passenger seat. Now that word is spreading of what we’re doing, more protection is needed. Because who knows what the politicians are going to do to stop this? People are pissed that I’m gone. They’re pissed that the parties aren’t serving their favorite exotic foods. They’re pissed about a lot of things, and now I’m not there to fix them.

  Rain shifts in the seat beside me. His shirt isn’t all the way buttoned. Neither are his cuffs. His hair is disheveled. He gives me a grumpy look.

  “Got a problem, Chief?” he sneers.

  I quickly look away. “Looks like you had a rough night.”

  “Well, yeah. What do you expect? My brother is dead. And I woke up thinking I was looking at the face of the girl I love, only to find out it was my worst enemy.”

  “Worst enemy?” I ball my hands. “Even worse than Titus?”

  He looks at me, offers a lazy grin that holds absolutely no humor. “At least Titus was authentic.”

  The barb hits its mark. He stares at me long and hard, his eyes cold as ice, and I refuse to look away. His sneer fades, and I catch a glimpse of his pain just before he finally breaks eye contact. I wonder if he blames me for Forest’s death, too. I wonder if he’ll blame me for everything that goes wrong in Ky from now on. Seems to be the place of a leader: to take the blame for everything.

  The drive to the next county doesn’t take long. We set up the stations and begin giving all the injections at nine o’clock. Rain stays far away from me, thank God. Because I don’t think I can handle any more Rain today.

  But rain comes. It pours from the sky, through the smog, big fat drops splattering on the road and soaking the clothes of the people waiting in line. The smell of wet pavement rises up to meet me, but I stand my ground. I let the rain soak my hair, drip into my eyes while I oversee the injections, and I can’t help but smile. It’s almost like God herself is cleansing Ky of its filth, like she’s promising the freedom that’s coming. So I shove down any bad feelings Rain stirred. And think of this day as a new day, a dawning of a new era, because after this week is over, all of Ky is going to finally—finally be set free.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  RAIN

  “It was Aurora all along.” Ember’s voice shatters through my dreams, her eyes pleading with me to let her rescue her twin. “You’re the one who told me I am the Garden and God is the Sower. Don’t you understand? I am the dirt. Aurora is the seed. I’m here to prepare the way, but she’s the real leader. She’s the one who’s supposed to redeem Ky. I’m incompetent, but she’s been trained for this.”

  “Stop!” I shout.

  “She’s the one who’s meant to lead this country, Rain. I’m supposed to prepare the way for her.”

  “No.” My voice is raw. I can’t breathe. “I won’t allow it!”

  “Weren’t you the one who told me to be more selfless?”

  “For your country, not a damned traitor!”

  “Sorry, Rain.”

  She releases the railing of the bridge.

  And drops into oblivion.

  * * *

  Two weeks drag by.

  Two weeks of watching the people of Ky regain mind clarity.

  Two weeks of upheaval in Frankfort, according to James. The riots haven’t ceased, and when the Patricians found out what Aurora did to their precious tigers, they burned down the prison. Yet, Aurora marches on with her mission, not letting this news break her. Every day, she gives the same speech about Ember, talking about her death as if it were something heroic.

  It wasn’t heroic.

  It was a mistake. A. Complete. Waste.

  After nearly mistaking Aurora for Ember that morning, I checked out. I’ll stick around. Make sure Aurora does the work she promised and does it well, but once the last county is cleared, I’m done. I want nothing to do with her. I’ll even help the Patricians take her down. I’ll kill her myself, and this time Mcallister won’t stop me.

  Will you?

  Those two words, whispered into my mind, stop my train of thought. Because, after watching Aurora these past two weeks, I’m not sure if I’m going to be able to actually kill her this time.

  I’ve been studying her closely during this trip, looking to pick up any dropped phrases, any slipped actions that’ll confirm my belief: that she is, in fact, working with Titus. But the more I watch her, the more I catch glimpses of what Walker and Ember saw in her leadership, the more I see the vulnerability and willingness to be good that James sees. Because every day on this trip, she’s been the first to wake, the last to sleep. She spends every waking moment doing menial labor—helping pitch tents, carrying boxes of vials, comforting those newly vaccinated—no matter how small or large the task, she takes it on. And if I didn’t associate her with Titus—if I didn’t see Ember lying on the ground with the jaws of a black tiger around her neck every time I looked at Aurora, I would almost admire her.

  Almost.

  But it’s an act. Titus was an excellent actor, and Aurora is too much like him. Better than him, even. Far be it from me to be blinded by her act only to watch this country go down in flames. I have to remind myself that it’s because of her I had no mother. It’s because of her Forest and Ember died.

  The drive to the next town square is tortuous. Because the next county on our list is the Community Garden.

  Ember’s home.

  “There was another riot,” Aurora says, looking at her phoneband. She shakes her head while her bottom lip disappears—she’s deep in thought. “I guess if the chaos is staying within the cupola, we shouldn’t worry about it interfering with distribution of the antitoxin.”

  I look out my window. Wish she would stop talking.

  “I was thinking…” Her voice is softly spoken beside me, and I refuse her the satisfaction of looking at her. “I was thinking that, maybe, if you feel up to it…we could visit Ember’s tombstone after the injections.”

  I don’t feel up to it in the least. “Whatever you want.”

  “Or, if you’d rather not go, I could go alone. Before we head out.”

  “I’ll do whatever you want.”

  She releases a small sigh and leans back against the car seat. I decide to ride in a different vehicle on our next trip. I don
’t care how much of a fit she puts up. Because riding with the girl who essentially took the love of my life’s life, is the very definition of hell.

  “I’ll go alone then.”

  The forlorn note in her voice tugs at something buried inside me. I want to look at her. I want to see if she’s human, if she actually feels. I want to see if my rage has blinded me and if there might be some good in Aurora. But then I force myself to remember when she attacked Ember in the caverns, how she took Ember’s name, how she refuses to kill Titus time and time again, and I know—I know she’s no better than Titus. And I don’t want to risk her pulling the wool over my eyes, too.

  “Medusa,” I mumble.

  Her head turns sharply toward me. “Excuse me?”

  Finally, when I think my guard is tough enough to resist penetration, I look at her. And grin. “You’re like Medusa.”

  “The girl with snake-hair that turns people to stone?” Her puzzled expression doesn’t go unnoticed by me.

  “Yup. One look into your”—I lift my fingers and to air quotes—“innocent eyes, and you turn people’s brains to stone so they can’t even think clearly.”

  Something shifts in her eyes. Like she can’t decide if she wants to keep playing the part of an innocent victim, or if she wants to snap back to her true sadistic form.

  “Aw,” She finally says, that sick Whitcomb smirk on her face. “Do you feel the pull, Rain?” She leans in closer, focuses her gaze on my eyes and lifts a brow. “Am I close to turning your brain to stone?”

  I narrow my eyes. Cross my arms. Lean my head back and pull my hat over my face, hating her humor. Besides, the last thing I want to see right now is Ember’s home flashing by in a blur—just like every memory I have of her, every day. And we’re passing through the pine forests. The very place Ember turned herself in to my brother. My brother, who arrested us. I guess that’s why losing Ember is so much more difficult than losing Forest. Forest turned his own brother over to his death. Ember gave her life up for her enemy.