He doesn’t look at me, but he blinks. And that blink releases a tear that rolls down his cheek and splashes onto his lap.
“And, you know,” I continue, tasting the sweet flavor of freedom already. “We’ve had a rough last couple years. But before Father died, we were kind of close.” The words come easier when I think back to our childhood. “We were a team. It was you and me against the world. You and me against Father. You and me against…Ember and the Resurgence.” I lick my lips, reliving those memories. “When you released me and had me pose as Ember, I thought things were looking up. Despite what Krin said, I thought maybe I could brush what you did under the rug and we could be a team again. But then the Resurgence took me and cleared my mind. And I thank God for that.” I swallow hard, drag my hand across my forehead, the weight of my hatred being lifted. “Before we die today, I want you to know that I’m sorry for the pain you must have experienced with Mother’s neglect and Father’s abuse.” I drop my hand and look at him. “Father messed you up, too.”
I’m realizing just how much, and I’m beginning to wonder if Titus had it worse than me. He didn’t have Krin like I did. He didn’t have someone there to build him up, encourage him, dry his tears, and point him in the right direction. And with that realization, my last drop of hate evaporates.
He doesn’t say anything. He stares at his hands while his throat convulses in a swallow. But then he looks at me, a gaping sadness burning in his eyes that tugs at my soul, and by the tears blurring his pupils, I know something in him has broken, and that brokenness has resulted in a change taking place.
I only wish we could live long enough for it to transform him.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE
AURORA
“Open the gates!”
A voice reverberates from the intercom, flooding the stadium and echoing through the hall where Titus and I wait for our executions. I have no idea what to expect. We’ve been armed with daggers, and we each carry a sword, but Titus said there are rarely survivors. So what’s the point of defending myself? Whatever is going to happen will not be pretty. And maybe I should look for a way to end it quickly.
The glass shield slides open and I step out into the sandy arena. The crowd’s cheering invades my ears and makes the ground beneath my feet tremble. I can feel the vibration of their excitement coming up through the sand, trembling off the walls. Sunlight pours into the arena, glinting off weapons and tools randomly scattered around the arena. I step into the sun’s rays, allowing the warmth to spill across my body one last time before the cold fingers of death claim me.
Do these people know who we are? Do they even know about Ky? Do they cheer for our deaths because we cured the people they used for their entertainment? As my eyes adjust, I look around the balconies. The crowd is one giant frenzy of bloodthirsty viewers. I have never seen so many people gathered in one place. Rows and rows of seats encircling the stadium, layers and layers of overexcited people, bleachers stacked one hundred stories high, and not an empty seat among them.
My heart begins to pound. I don’t know if I could even fight with all this noise. I squeeze my fists to keep my hands from shaking, then I wipe my hands on my pants. This isn’t good. Not good at all. I have never seen so many people in one place. I have never heard so much noise in my life. It’s overwhelming, consuming my senses, until all I can focus on is my heartbeat…and what will happen when my heart ceases beating.
“Keep walking,” Titus says, shoving me lightly. “You’re making yourself look naïve.”
And maybe I am naïve. I always thought I was at the top of the line, but I realize I’m nothing more than a village girl among these people. A large JumboTron hangs in the center of the arena.
Swallowing my fear, I lift my chin, feign the courage Titus beat into my head for so many years, and walk to the center of the arena. When we arrive, I turn to face the masses. I find the box where the important people sit in the front center. Prometheus and the others who were at the table determining our fate stare down at us. I imagine they’re his family members, like Summer. Probably advisors. They lean back in their seats, some of them with legs crossed, just waiting for the show to begin. I find Summer, straight blond hair gleaming in the sunlight like a crown of gold. It’s impossible to miss her. She doesn’t sit, but stands, hands gripping the ledge. Does she regret not helping us sooner? She could have taken us back out of the cupola, but instead she stamped our necks and sent us into the makeshift prison. Now there’s nothing she can do against her grandson.
Across the vat of sand another, door opens. A single girl steps out. Shoulder-length brown hair, thin profile.
Ember.
My heart shatters. Prometheus told us he had her. I guess I was hoping he was lying. And now Ky has no leader. Rain—oh what will become of Rain? Losing Ember a second time will kill him.
God, this is not how this was supposed to go. What of the new dawning? What of the ember that was supposed to turn into a flame and burn the old system? I can’t help but feel like we completely let Mother down.
Ember looks just as overwhelmed as me, spinning around, taking in the masses. She stumbles to the heart of the arena, meeting us below the JumboTron.
“What happened?” I ask, my voice breaking, because all of this is too much. This isn’t just the end for me and Titus and Ember. It might be the end of Ky.
“They kidnapped me.” Her jaw clenches and she casts a cursory glance at the audience. “This reminds me of a larger version of the prison pit in Frankfort.”
A prick of guilt eats at me. To think she saw us the way we see Nashville is…eye-opening. Sickening. And I watched her. I watched her on the screens from my bedroom. I watched her every day she was in the arena, and I did nothing to save her.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m sorry for putting you through that.”
Her eyes meet mine. “It wasn’t you who put me through it, Aurora.” She glares at Titus, and the look in her eyes is enough to kill someone. I understand her anger. Titus made her life miserable, burned down her orchard, and killed her best friend right in front of her. I suddenly wonder what compelled me to forgive him hours ago.
Ember looks at me again, her expression softening. Then what comes out of her mouth next shocks the breath out of me.
“Don’t give up,” she says. “We’re going to get through this, and we’re going to get Gideon when it’s done.” A fire rages in her eyes. She looks like she could take down every citizen of Nashville with her bare hands. She looks like a person who has walked through fire and come out unscathed.
“How can you be so sure?” Hope wells up inside me. “Is someone here to rescue us?”
“I don’t know.” Her jaw clenches as she glares at the crowd. “But if I learned anything in Frankfort Prison, it’s that you should never give up, even when you think death is knocking on your door.” She looks at me again; the determination in her coffee-brown eyes offers the first drop of courage I’ve tasted since I was locked up with Titus. “I almost died several times in Frankfort, but made it out alive. And then I did die, and here I am. You have to push, push, push, never give up, keep going until your hope and determination break past the chains of death.”
“Wow,” Titus says, the familiar mockery lacing his voice. “Never took you for a fighter, sister. You’ve got some bite for someone whose only goal was to run away and hide across the river.”
She spins around. He saunters toward her, his lips twisted in a mocking grin. But when he gets close enough, she lifts her fist and cracks it in collision with his nose. He covers his nose and hunches over. The crowd goes wild.
“Looks like we won’t even have to instigate them,” a voice says on the intercom. “They hate each other enough to kill each other off!”
A mixture of laughter and cheers reverberates from the audience. Titus straightens, a stream of blood dripping from his nose. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. I briefly recall what Prometheus said in hi
s office hours ago. About how exciting it’ll be to see who turns on whom, and who protects whom. We’re just proving him right. They might not even have to stick the plagued on us if we end up killing each other off.
Ember’s grinning from ear to ear. “I’ve been waiting forever to do that. No Defenders to defend you now, huh, Titus?”
“I’m still stronger than you and could kill you with one blow.” Pulling out a dagger, he lunges toward her, his hand lifting in the air, but I leap between them.
“Hold on,” I say, looking at Titus. “This is what Prometheus wants. He wants us to fight each other to the death.”
“So be it.” Titus practically spits the words outs. “If we don’t take each other down, he’s going to kill us anyway—by worse means.”
“And you would kill your own sister?”
Titus laughs sardonically. “Ember is not our sister, Rory. Perhaps by blood, but she’s a shoddy traitor.”
How easily he falls into the old way of thinking with Ember in front of him. “Remember Mother’s letter,” I say, wanting to see the Titus I saw last night, the one I forgave not long ago. “She wanted you to lead, Titus. She believed in you. She hated herself for leaving you.”
His eyes find mine again, and the sanity slowly replaces the blind rage.
“Mother loved us all equally. Ember had no idea Mother was with the Resurgence until after she was imprisoned.”
He lowers his hand and steps back.
“I know you don’t believe her, but she really had no association with the Resurgence until after she was set free by you. She was an innocent who had no idea who she was or why you hated her.” I don’t know why I bother trying to talk sense into him when we’re all about to die. I just know we can’t die like this. We can’t die with all this baggage hanging over our heads, with all this hatred rifting between us.
“It’s time to make peace, Titus. Ember is our sister. She’s our blood. Forgive her…the same way I forgave you.”
He looks at the ground, conflicting emotions warring in his eyes. I glance at Ember. She looks confused, but her hatred for Titus is still burning in her eyes. After everything he’s done to her, I’m not sure if she’ll ever be able to forgive him.
“Is it true?” His voice is raw as he looks at her. “Did you really—” His voice cuts off and in the moment that he looks past her and at the crowds, I think I see a sheen of tears. He swallows and looks back at Ember. “Did you really have no idea that Mother was a part of the Resurgence? Or that she abandoned us?”
She releases an estranged laugh. “Or that Walker was my uncle? Or that the Proletariat were brainwashed?”
He stares at her, guarded yet completely uncertain.
“All I knew, Titus, was that Mother was hunted down when I was eight and burned on the Rebels Circle. All I knew was based on bits and pieces my dad told me: that Frankfort kept all the goods for themselves and cared nothing for everyone who lived outside the cupola. And he was right. You were living in luxury while the rest of us were starving and overworked.”
He shakes his head. “Don’t…don’t try and guilt me. You had the better life, and you know it.”
She releases a laugh of disbelief. “How can you say that?”
“Have Mother or your fake father ever struck you? Have they ever told you how worthless you are? Or how no one could love you anyway, so don’t even try to gain anyone’s respect, just make them fear you? Let’s face it, Ember. You’re the one who lived the life of luxury here. Not me. And certainly not Aurora.”
Her eyes widen, and I can see a hint of understanding and a dash of pity.
He wipes the blood from his nose with his wrist, and his wet lashes glitter in the sunlight. “But Aurora’s right. I can’t…I can’t die with this darkness eating at my soul.” He lifts his eyes to hers. “I forgive you for being the chosen one.” He shrugs and looks away. “And I’m sorry for all the times I hurt you.”
Her mouth drops open, but no words come out. She just stares at him like he turned into a pillar of fire and shakes her head in disbelief.
Boos of boredom sound from the audience.
“Make something happen!” someone shouts.
“Let’s end it!”
“This is no show!”
Then the gates begin groaning. My shoulders tense, and I turn in time to see the plagued step out.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO
AURORA
There are exactly four doors, one on every side of the arena. Ember came from one end, Titus and I from the other. And the plagued are stumbling out of the other two doors. They’re so disoriented, their steps uneven and shuffled. The little hair they have left on their heads is white. Their skin is flaky like snow and their clothes ragged—proving they’ve been locked up for weeks. Maybe months. I feel sick, knowing these people used to belong to Ky. That these were my people—the people I was meant to save.
I was too slow.
They stumble into the sunlight—roughly twenty from each door—and the crowd goes wild.
This is it. This is how we’re going to die—victims to our own people. Titus didn’t care enough to spare their lives, and they’re here to get revenge.
I back away until my back hits someone. I freeze and glance over my shoulder to see Ember’s back flesh with mine. Somehow her presence is calming. Like we’re in this together. Her hands find mine and her fingers link through mine, and a surge of courage pours through me. Call it twin-bonding, but I feel complete with her beside me. Her presence gives me affirmation. It gives me hope in this incredibly hopeless circumstance. And with my hope, a plan begins forming. My eyes dart around the arena, landing on the weapons and tools randomly scattered on the sand.
“We can do this,” I whisper. I turn to look at Ember and Titus, and shout this time. “If we work together, we might live through this.”
The plagued have spotted us, and are running now. I don’t have much time. I grab a rope laying in the sand next to me, and gesture for Ember to grab the other end as I toss it to her. “Pull the rope taught, and we’ll run toward the first group. The front line will trip over it, the ones behind will stumble over them.” I look at Titus. “You kill them when they fall. Then we’ll do the same to the second group.”
Nodding her understanding, Ember grips the rope in her hands and runs in the opposite direction until the rope is pulled tight, then I suck in a deep breath, and we begin bolting straight toward the plagued. My heart pounds harder with each step I take. The rope is slick in my palms, and I wrap it around my hand several times as I run so it doesn’t slip. Our lives depend on this trick.
We reach the front of the line and I pull with all my strength. The weight of the oncoming plagued yanks the rope, but I stop running, dig my heels into the sand, and pull back, glad Ember’s holding her own on the other side. The first line falls, faces flat onto the sand, the plagued behind toppling on top of them.
Titus doesn’t waste any time. He picks up a sword from the scattered weapons on the ground and expertly begins slicing of heads like he’s done it a thousand times.
Blood pours out of one victim’s artery. Then another. Red, thick blood, pours out of where the victim’s necks used to be and pools in the sand. Three—four—five—six have been beheaded, and Titus isn’t slowing down. I squeeze the rope until my fingers ache. My reaction is to keep pulling it, like I’m still tripping the plagued, but when I look across the bodies, Ember isn’t even holding her end of the rope anymore—she must have dropped it in favor of self-defense.
The bodies of the beheaded pin the rope down. Headless corpses. I have the sudden urge to throw up. I drop the rope. The edges of my vision go black. All I can see is blood and sand, blood and sand, blood and sand—and then only blood.
I turn my head just in time to see Ember slice off another head with an axe she must have found in the sand.
More blood.
A faint ringing sounds in my ears. The ground shift
s beneath my feet. I’m about to fall when I feel strong hands clasp my shoulders.
“Not now, Rory.” Titus’s hands shove me forward, and I stumble into the sand, falling on my knees. I feel life rushing back to my head, and my vision clears just enough to see that I’ve fallen in a crimson puddle.
Again, I feel Titus’s hands grip my shoulders and force me to my feet.
“You can do this,” he says, sweat making his dark hair stick to his forehead. “You’re invincible, remember? Isn’t that what Krin always said?” His eyes are on fire, green emeralds flashing in the sunlight. “You are fearless.” He thrusts the rope back into my hands and I grip it. “Think of Gideon,” Titus says. “Fight for him. Don’t look down. Don’t look at the blood. Just make them fall, and move on. I’ll come behind you and slaughter them.”
I nod and begin stumbling forward. Carnage is all around me. The rancid stench of death fills my nostrils. As the ringing in my ears begins to cease, I can hear the cheering of the audience. I sway slightly, shake my head to clear my vision, just time to see that the rest of the plagued from the other side of the arena are coming at us. The rope is anchored beneath the weight of the lifeless, but I still have enough slack to use on the second group. Gripping the rope in my hands, I bolt into a sprint, racing around the other group until I’ve completed the circle, then I pull tight. They clumsily fall to their faces. Titus wastes no time as he begins beheading them. I scan the arena for Ember—and find her pinned beneath another victim. Grabbing the dagger in my belt, I bolt toward her.
I am fearless. I am invincible.
I don’t know where my sudden courage comes from. Why my queasiness has somehow vanished. Perhaps it has something to do with seeing my twin losing to her attacker, but anger fuels my actions and I’m racing, sprinting, leaping into the air, and toppling the plague victim just before he bites Ember. I grip his shoulders and we roll, roll, roll. He thrashes against my grip, then rips free and whirls around just as I draw my blade and stab his jugular. With no sense of pain, the stab doesn’t faze him. Great. I have to actually behead him.
white dawn (Black Tiger Series Book 3) Page 39