But anyway, it is safe here—isn’t it? No Enhanced. And we’re with Untamed people. Loads of them.
“Sorry,” Corin says a few seconds later. “I’m just stressed. And I need to smoke or something but I’m not leaving you alone now.”
I take several deep breaths. He’s stressed. What about me? He’s not the one who’s going to have to marry a stranger. But I don’t think it has fully settled in yet, that piece of information. I’m not shaky enough.
“What time is it?” Corin asks.
I shrug, and we hear the faint cry of a spirit shrieking.
“Late.” That’s about as accurate as I can be.
Corin grunts, and neither of us says anything more.
About half an hour later, a hand pulls back the drape from the doorway. Three women stand there. One of them is the pregnant woman from the showers.
“Seven must come with us,” she says. “Manning’s orders. She cannot stay here. We will put her in with the girls.”
I start to get up, but Corin grabs my hand.
“No,” he says. “She’s staying here.”
“But she must sleep—”
“She is staying here. Go.”
I’ve never heard so much authority in Corin’s voice before, and part of me is shocked by just how much force and power was in those five words. I turn to him, hear his heavy breathing.
“But—” another woman says. She seems to be the only one of the three who isn’t pregnant. I look down at my stomach. A part of me wonders if I’ll be pregnant soon. The thought does not make me feel any better.
“Go now.” Corin stands up, flexes his fingers.
The women disappear, and more spirits outside scream.
He looks at me. “Don’t do what they tell you,” he says. “Stay with me.”
I nod, wondering how easy this will be in practice. What happens when it’s Manning and his men standing there? We can’t win then. And we can’t leave.
You show any signs of attempting to escape, and I’ll kill you.
I draw my knees to my chest, curling up until my spine feels funny. The prickly feeling setting out across the bridge of my nose means I’m close to tears. Corin sees, and he sits next to me. Doesn’t put his arm around me though, just stares straight ahead.
“It will be all right,” he says.
I sniff, don’t know how he can say that. It won’t be all right. I know that now.
And now it’s too late, the countdown has started.
We sleep on the leaf mattress. Or, at least, we try. Both of us lie there, side by side, under a thin blanket, but not touching. Every so often, Corin’s breath catches, and he clears his throat loudly. I watch the flickering skylight for hours. When I do get to sleep, I dream of fire and magma. I’m being chased, and serpents’ tongues keep getting me. Wherever they touch my skin, they leave huge welting marks, but they’re in the shapes of letters. Jagged letters that construct words I don’t understand.
And then—then everything changes.
I’m in a room, standing at one side. It’s dark, but it’s getting lighter. Like the sun is rising, but too quickly. Shapes start to appear. Bulky shapes. A bed, on the far side.
And a man in it. A man chained to it.
I walk closer.
I see his face. What’s left of it.
My muscles tense.
I look at his forehead first. He still has the line of blood across his forehead. The line of blood that was the first thing I saw, when he fell. Now, that line of blood is dry, like it’s been painted carefully on in permanent dye, and has become part of his skin. My jaw clenches.
Then I force myself to look at the rest of his face.
His left cheek is gone—I knew that—but in my memory, I’d pictured the injuries a lot better than they are. I’d forgotten how much tissue and flesh had been exposed. How you can see his teeth, like little marbles, and the edge of his jawbone, peeking through the gap where his cheek should be.
Something in my stomach shifts, and I feel bile moving, rising up, burning. I cough, and then I’m retching, turning away, insides heaving.
Blinding hot flushes pull through my body, and I reach out for something, anything to steady myself on. My fingers catch onto something—a metal bar—and I grip it, grip it until my knuckles burn.
It’s too hot in here. The metal’s too hot. I pull my fingers away, and then I realize what I’ve been holding onto: a trolley. A trolley full of devices and vials and….
I go cold.
Augmenters.
I turn back to my brother, heart pounding.
He’s lying there, eyes open, staring. Eyes that are Untamed: clear, proper eyes. Eyes that—
I feel something strange wash across the back of my head, like silk, as I look at him. A lump forms in my throat, a lump I can’t swallow. I stare at the chains around his ankles and wrists, follow them to the bedposts. There’s a blanket over his stomach, folded so it covers most of his abdomen. I am glad. I don’t want to see the wound there.
“Three?” My voice cracks, and I reach out for him, my fingers stretching.
But he doesn’t react—not to my voice, or my touch—just stares straight up, not moving. I lean over him, try to ignore the injuries, until he’s staring into my eyes, and I can see every detail of his face. Every detail that makes my stomach turn again.
“Three! It’s me!”
My tears splash down onto his face. I am crying. Crying huge gulps. I pull at his hand, but his hand’s just…heavy.
Heavy.
Heavy and warm.
I go cold.
No.
His body? No. Can’t be… Why bring his body here, when they left so many? Why chain him up if he’s… If he’s here, he’s got to be alive.
Esther was right.
My chest shudders, and I swallow down the rising bile quickly. Pain pulls through me, and I know I’ve made the biggest mistake of my life—one I’ll never be able to forgive myself for.
Oh Gods.
I left him. Left him here. In the compound. And we always rescue each other.
Only I didn’t.
I didn’t even try to rescue Three.
I reach out again, needing confirmation. I press two fingers against the inside of his wrist, and I wait. I listen to the rushing in my ears, feel the pounding of my own heartbeat, and—
There.
I swallow hastily, but saliva goes down the wrong way. Just a trickle. But it’s enough. I pull my hand away, and I’m spluttering, eyes streaming. Can’t breathe. Can’t get any air.
I move backward. Just a step at first. Then another and another. And I’m turning, running. I get to the door. I’m shaking, sweat covers me. And I can’t get my fingers to work. My grip just slides off the handle, and I’m crying. Can’t open it. Can’t get out. But I need to.
I look back, and I don’t know why I look back. But I do. And I see Three, my brother. And I see him chained to the bed, and I see his chest rise and fall.
Oh Gods.
Get out.
I flinch, feel something move inside me. And then I manage it: I grab the handle, and I yank the door open. It creaks. But I don’t care.
I’m running. It’s a corridor. A long hallway with a white marble floor and pale blue walls and a ceiling with too many fluorescent lights that watch me. And there are people. Figures walking up and down, near me, but I don’t care.
And—
They’re Enhanced.
I slam to a halt. Don’t know how I missed their mirrors. I stare at the nearest person: a young woman. Her eye-mirrors shine.
“How’s he doing?”
The voice makes me jump, makes the hairs all over my body stand on end.
No.
I shake my head. No.
But it’s his voice. It’s Raleigh’s voice.
He’s behind me.
I turn, see him, see him walking toward me. No—not toward me, he’s going for the door. The door to Three’s room.
Raleigh’s with two women. They’re holding things. Implements. He nods at one of them, and I wait for him to see me, wait for him to pounce.
But he doesn’t. He looks right through me, like I’m not here.
“Yes, his heart is stable now,” one of the women says. “Dr. Andy did well. Good, old-fashioned surgery.”
I keep watching Raleigh. His countenance looks more youthful than ever—mid-twenties at the most, as if he’s somehow younger than he was the last time I saw him. But appearance means nothing, I know that. They use augmenters to stop themselves aging, take off the years, do whatever they want. It makes me wonder how old he really is, and suddenly I see him as an old man, wizened skin, hunched over, trembling.
And then the image is gone.
Raleigh steps into Three’s room, and the two women follow.
I hear his words as clearly as if they’re spoken in front of me. They resound through me, burn themselves to the insides of my ears.
“Start the facial reconstruction. We’ll convert him after.”
“But it wasn’t a Seeing dream?”
It’s dark, yet I know Corin is staring at me. Of course he would be, after what I told him. His words—a Seeing dream—pull through me, and I wish he hadn’t said that. We’re only separated from the next sleeping Zharat by the fur drapes, but what if one of them is awake? What if they hear? What if they kill me?
Maybe you deserve it. You left Three there. And you’re not doing a thing to help. You’re just holed up in safety.
I shake my head, claw at my skin. I’m soaked, soaked in sweat, and the air’s too thick, too muggy. I can’t breathe properly.
“Sev?” Corin’s voice is soft. Reminds me of velvet. “Was it one?”
“I don’t know.”
“You didn’t see a bison.” His voice is low. But not low enough.
“I didn’t look for one.”
His clothes shuffle as he moves closer, puts an arm around me, pulls me to him. My breath catches in my throat as I rest my head against his chest.
“It’s just a nightmare, Sev.”
My neck clicks. “But it felt real… It felt…different.”
“It can’t have been a Seeing dream. They’re for warnings of imminent danger that affect the Seer—that affect you. Us.”
He’s right. That’s what Seeing dreams have always been for.
“But the one about Raleigh having my eyes was more of a general warning, Corin. And that other See—” I stop myself from saying the word. “That other dream I had wasn’t about danger we were going to be in.” I gulp, know I’m speaking too loudly.
Corin pauses. “No. But that one was still warning of imminent danger—a conversion attack. Your nightmare tonight wasn’t.”
I shake my head. “But Raleigh’s last words!” Start the facial reconstruction. We’ll convert him after. “Three’s going to be converted. It’s the same! It was a warning. A proper warning.”
I start to pull away from him, need to get up. Need to get out of here, need to find Three. I try to remember the details of the dream, work out which town Raleigh’s got Three in, but everything’s blurring together. Mixing life and death and pain and hurt.
“Just calm down.” A harder edge creeps into Corin’s whisper. “It wasn’t a Seeing dream, Sev. You didn’t see the bison. It was just a nightmare. You said it yourself, Three’s dead.”
“But Esther—”
“You don’t believe Esther,” he says, “because you saw it yourself. He was shot—what was it?—twice.” He squeezes my shoulder, but it’s my bad one, and I flinch. It’s been acting up more than usual since we had to run through the Turning. “It was just a nightmare. If the bison was there, the Gods and Goddesses and benevolent spirits would’ve made sure you saw it. Sev, it was just a bad dream, sent by evil spirits, playing with your grief.”
I take a shaky breath. My lips feel strange, as if they’re buzzing. Like I want to say something, but can’t.
“It’s just the stress of everything,” Corin says. “The battle, the grief, and coming here. What Manning said about you having to marry someone soon.”
His words bore into me. I stare at the dark drape ahead, feel pressure in my ears.
The marriage.
Oh Gods. I’d forgotten. How had I forgotten?
“Look, no one else is going to get you,” Corin says a moment later. “Manning said we’ve got two days until the men fight for you. And I’ll win—I’ll do whatever I have to. And, Sev, nothing will change between us.”
My bottom lip quivers.
“I mean it. All that talk of babies—I’m sure as hell not expecting to become a father anytime soon. So it will be okay.” He pauses for a second, then places his hand over mine. “Nothing will happen that you’re not comfortable with.”
I find myself nodding, but it doesn’t feel real. I wrap my hands in the thin blanket, study the murky impressions of my fingers in them. Then I stare at him, how can he be so sure?
“I mean it, Sev. I promise.”
“You shouldn’t make promises that you don’t know you can keep. No one should.” My voice wobbles. “What if you don’t win?”
I swallow hard, and I know I’m only asking because I’m trying to distract myself. Distract myself from the bad dream.
Corin’s voice darkens. “I will. Don’t worry about that. Don’t worry about anything.”
The next morning, the music is loud for our welcoming ceremonies. Too loud. Drums and maracas. I don’t like it. I try to cover my ears as Corin and I walk toward the gathering room—the widest of the tubes—but I can’t. The noise is too big, too definite. The drums are like a countdown…a countdown to my brother’s conversion.
I swallow hard, feel sick. But it was just a nightmare. Because Corin’s right, the bison wasn’t there, so it can’t have been true.
The Enhanced haven’t got Three.
My brother’s dead.
And I don’t know whether that thought should make me feel any better or not. All it does is make my stomach feel uncomfortable; I’m glad I haven’t had any food yet. I don’t feel hungry at all, don’t feel like I can ever eat again.
“It’s all right,” Corin says, but he doesn’t sound like he thinks it’s all right now.
The moment we get to the gathering room, Manning pulls us over to the side. His braids are greasier today—like he’s oiled them—and his hairline appears to have receded even farther since last night. He’s also holding the hand of a small child who looks vaguely like him, and two other young boys follow us at a distance. Their hair is the exact same shade as Mart’s,
Manning’s eyes narrow, flicker between Corin and me. “I hope this ain’t a sign of things to come.”
“What do you mean?” Corin keeps his voice neutral.
Manning glares at Corin, then at me. “Disobeying rules.”
Three men step up around Manning, flanking him, and the children shrink away to the far side, where many more sit.
“I’ll let it go once.” Manning’s eyes brush over me. Tingles run down my spine. “But this evening, and tomorrow night, Seven will sleep in the space for the unwed girls.”
I feel Corin tense up next to me.
“But after that, she’ll be with me,” he says. “Just like she should be.”
Just like she should be.
There’s something about Corin’s words—or maybe his tone, I don’t know—that makes me shudder a little. Like I’ve got no say in this. But I know Corin has got my best interests at heart. The Zharat men haven’t.
Manning’s lips curl. “After that, Seven’ll be married. She’ll spend the nights with the warrior who wins her.”
“Which will be me.” Corin stands a little straighter.
Manning smirks. “I advise you not to be so flippant with me again, man. I could have you punished for spending the night together, but I won’t.”
“How very kind of you.” Corin’s voice drips with darkness.
Manning doesn�
��t reply, just holds Corin’s gaze for a while. I stand there, uncomfortable, shift my weight from foot to foot. A lot of people are looking at us now; they’ve stopped, formed small groups around the gathering room. Even the music has quieted down.
“If you disobey our rules again, we’ll kill you,” the man to the right of Manning says. He looks a lot like Manning: the same hooked nose. A brother, maybe. He bares teeth that have been filed into points.
Manning smiles before stepping nearer to him. The two men exchange words for several moments, and everyone else is silent. I look at Corin. He gives me a smile that I think is supposed to be reassuring. Manning and the other man step away from each other, and the Zharat Chief leaves, calls several small children to him on the way out.
The man with the pointy teeth turns his gaze on Corin. “You, get over there. And you,” he barks at me, then points behind him. “Over there. We will start the welcomings soon, and you need to get ready.”
Corin’s arm around my shoulder gets heavier. Then we’re pulled apart. Hands grab me—male hands—and force me away from Corin, steering me to the right, behind the men.
“Hey!” Corin shouts. “Don’t touch her! Get off her—don’t touch her!”
I twist around, see him disappearing behind a new crowd of Zharat.
“Behave,” a low voice snarls into my ear.
I nod.
The men take me to the back of the gathering room. The black rock here isn’t as smooth underfoot, and there are huge boxes near the wall. A woman sits on one of them. I breathe a little deeper. Just the sight of her makes me a little more comfortable. She looks friendly, and she smiles at me—might be the first Zharat I’ve seen smile, after Nyesha. Maybe all the women are happier than the men. Then I remember Clare.
This woman has blond hair, clear skin, and a petite frame. She’s probably about Esther’s age, or maybe a bit older.
Then I notice she’s got the beginning of a baby bump under her pale orange shirt, and it makes my chest tighten a little. All the women here seem to be pregnant or nursing, as if that’s our only function as women. I swallow, uneasy.
“Get her ready.” The man holding me shoves me toward the woman. “Find a suitable outfit for her. Manning’s decided she’s to wear the best red.” He seems to relish saying those words, as if it’s a big announcement.
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