The Reformation

by Garggie Talukdar

  “Point made,” he grunted, and Athe released him. “So I’ll just shut up and look pretty?”

  “I bet you’ve had years of practice, waiting on the Immortales hand and foot and all.” He could hear her smirk, and he fought back the urge of knocking her out. She was helping him, and knocking out people who were helping you, was not polite. “Come on, rigas. We don’t have a lot of time.”

  Apparently, being the younger sister of a rebel leader had its perks, because no one questioned Athe marching who their most valuable prisoner probably was, around wherever-the-hell-they-were. Jax really hated not being able to see his surroundings; he was an interpersonal person who drew conclusions from observing his environment. And this sack over his head was not helping him determine how this rebel base looked, or how the people behaved, or better yet, where the hell they were.

  “What is happening?” Jax hissed, immediately straightening when he felt the pressure of a knife against his thigh.

  “Sit tight for a little more, Highness. We’re almost safe,” she hissed, and Jax gritted his teeth.

  Now to find out whatever safe meant.

  …

  After anxiously listening to a spit-fire conversation rapidly conducted in a language Jax didn’t recognize, the king felt himself being hauled up stairs, his left leg that had a particularly deep gash on it, protesting as they climbed what seemed to be the 11th stairwell. Thankfully, they stopped, and Jax felt a breeze hit his skin, leading him to guess that they were outside.

  “Okay; don’t be too shocked if there is a random girl who is very armed beside you. She’s helping,” Athe said, and after Jax made a confirming sound, the rough sack that was blinding him was lifted off.

  What he saw, gave him goosebumps.

  It was a city, unlike anything Jax had ever seen. They were on top of a building, which in turn was on top of a hill with a sharp cliff that overlooked hundreds of houses paving the way to stunningly blue waters. And positioned around him on the cliff were ancient buildings with columns that told of age and the charm of a world past.

  But what really took Jax’s breath away, was the fact that this image that he saw was only constructed by his brain to fill in the holes. Because this city may have once been beautiful but now it was now destroyed. It was unlike any of the Razed that Jax had ever seen. This city wasn’t just rubble and despair; it was a ghost, a phantom of what may have been, and rather than sadness, he tasted hopelessness in the air.

  This place was gone.

  Apparently, Athe understood what was racing through his mind at that moment, because she opened her arms, showing the city in shambles around her. “Welcome to the Razed city of Athens, my namesake.”

  “Athens?” Jax murmured, searching for any familiarity with the name. “I’ve never heard of such a place.”

  “It is in Greece,” Athe explained, not looking the least bit surprised.

  Athens, in Greece? “No way,” Jax stated, turning around to see his surroundings once more. “This is supposed to be Submerged.”

  “But it is not, is it?” There was slight silence, a moment filled with the phantom wails of the people that probably died years ago in this death-city. Jax didn’t expect Athe to offer much more, so he was shocked when he heard her voice pipe up again. “Athens is a secret, concealed heavily from NNR. Frankly, we didn’t want to be a part of the nation, so we let the rumours spread, and have become a myth to all but ourselves.”

  At first, Jax didn’t quite understand. But didn’t he and his family do the same with Mayble? —ensured that her name was lost in the echoes of history, because it hurt less for no one to remember who she was than to provoke an old wound?

  So Jax didn’t say anything more on the matter, instead choosing to raise an eyebrow at the random girl who indeed was very armed that was supposedly helping, despite her murderous look.

  “Florida Glimour,” Athe explained. “Cousin of mine, and on the same side as us. Call her Flo, or else prepare to get used to the feeling of not having a head.”

  Flo just glared darkly at him.

  “Does your family have a penchant for naming their kids after Razed cities, or are you three just coincidental?” Jax finally asked, his voice still was too cracked and weak for his liking.

  “Our family just knows where its loyalty lies,” Athe replied, pulling out a knife. “And it is not with you, King Jaxcon.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong,” Jax correctly, calmer than he felt. “Your loyalty lies with the rebellion and does not lie with those who ignore the Razed.”

  “I see no difference,” Athe said stiffly, though Jax doubted the sincerity of her words.

  “You do. In fact, I bet you knew the gravity of your elder sister kidnapping me,” he started, suddenly feeling sure of himself. Flo had quickly brandished a gun as Jax stepped closer to Athe, but the girl was quickly waved back by her cousin. “You knew that I was heading to a meeting that could’ve helped the Razed, didn’t you?”

  “A signed agreement helps no one,” she said, though Jax could see completely through it now.

  “Who’s the black sheep in the family, Athe?” Jax asked, all the pieces of the puzzle falling into place. “It’s you, isn’t it? You fight for the cause, but you understand the importance of negotiating and keeping the peace while doing it. That’s why you’re helping me. You hate me, but you know that I’m a better king than any of the potential heirs after me.”

  “Like I said, His Royal Highness is smarter than he lets on.”

  “And like I said, His Royal Highness has lived a week past coronation.” Jax didn’t back down his gaze, making Athe the first to break their staring competition to say something to Flo in that same foreign tongue from before. When she turned back to him, her gaze was heavier than before.

  “Flo will remain here with you. I’ll be back soon, and by then, we shall have means to get you out of here,” said Athe, leaving before Jax could process that she was speaking to him.

  That left him alone with Flo.

  “What’s this agreement my cousin spoke about, rigas?” Flo finally asked, surprising Jax with her American Republic accent.

  Jax awkwardly shuffled to the building, so he could sit back against the wall. “A meeting with all the Governors, so they could agree and implement a movement I wished to start about the Razed. Having them all meet in one place is rare, but I of course missed that occurrence because of my lovely surprise party conducted by Paris Avelapoulos. Completed with free torturing,” he said bitterly.

  “You sound confident that the Governors would agree.”

  “Not everyone is as bad as you demonize them to be. It’s ignorance, rather than hatred, that is the root of the problems that surround the Razed. I wanted to start changing that.”

  “Does the same apply to the race of immortal beings?”

  Jax froze, his body immediately ready to spring into action with this new threat of information, his pain momentarily subsiding.

  Flo chuckled at his sudden change in disposition, and apparently his uneasiness made her comfortable enough to sit across from him. Jax also took note that despite this action, Flo still had her gun level with his heart, ready to fire if needed.

  “Don’t worry; I was alone in the room when you fessed that up, delirious in pain.”

  Jax’s bound hand uncomfortably slithered down to his pocket, grabbing the handle of his still hidden pocketknife, the hardness of the handle familiar and grounding. “You were there when I was tortured?”

  “The king of NNR being tortured is the rebel equivalent of the Ball. Heard that went well, by the way,” she paused. “I prevented Paris from writing any more than Killer King,” she muttered, eyes fixated on the cut skin of Jax’s forearm. The sincerity in her words made Jax take a leap of faith and let go of the pocketknife, still deep within his pocket, allowing his muscle to uncoil slightly.

  “I am not thanking you, but I appreciate the act,” Jax told her, slumping against the wall he was propped up
on. “If you’re worried that I’ll make Athens a part of NNR and send the WOLVes here, I won’t.”

  “That’s a stupid move. The faster you shut down rebellions, the longer you stay on the throne.”

  Jax licked his torn lips. “Maybe I don’t want the throne.”

  “A king who doesn’t want power? You’re a rare breed.”

  “A rebel who’s willingly helping the king? I could say the same about you.” She nodded, looking mildly impressed. “What’s the plan to get me home?”

  “We’ve acquainted ourselves with a certain duchess with a flight certificate.”

  “Jo?” Jax breathed, scarcely believing it.

  “Lady Joann, yes. As soon as your foot leaves this building, you’re on your own. Also-”

  “Flo!” Both Flo and Jax looked up to see Athe turning around the corner, wielding a machete glinting wickedly in the afternoon sun. “The plane will be here in minutes. But Paris is suspicious as well.”

  “Shall I ready the boat?” Flo asked, standing. Athe nodded, turning back to the door, twirling her blade expertly around her fingers.

  Jax was shakily making his way to his feet as well when Flo grabbed him by shoulders, nearly rocking him off of his feet again. “I don’t know why Athe wants to help you and risk lives while doing so, but I have one thing to tell you rigas. Make it count.”

  With one last glare, Flo jumped off the side of the building, leaving Jax to watch in wide-eyed horror. “Did she-”

  “Don’t worry,” Athe chided him, not even looking back. “She knows what she’s doing. Do you?”

  “All I know, is that Jo is getting me, and from here I’m on my own.”

  “Good. Flo explained then,” Jax bit back a barely, still feeling disoriented and very, very confused.

  “What about you? Now that you’ve deified Paris’ orders?”

  There was a voice that was unmistakably Paris Avelapoulos’ that echoed up the stairwell, understandably and much to Jax’s dismay, pissed.

  “I think I’ll soon find out,” Athe dryly stated, and before Jax could attempt to make the closest thing to an apology he could, given their current situation, she pointed off in the distance. “Your ride is here.”

  Jax looked towards where she was pointing, and true enough, there was a plane. He nodded, moving away to get ready to board, but not before one last word with Athe.

  “Thank you. And you know Avelapoulos, I think you should start a rebel base of your own. Maybe then you can fight for what you want, the way to want to fight for it.”

  Athe didn’t smile, though her eyes softened. “We will see.” She lifted her machete, cutting through the tight bonds that clung his wrists together. “Hurry.”

  With nothing left to say, Jax flashed a small smile before turning to where Jo was to pick him up, and not a moment too soon either. Jax had just got in and had a hasty reunion with his cousin when the first round of rebels spilled out onto the roof, leaving Jo with no choice but to fly away.

  They had left Athe there, alone, where she would likely fight until death or capture, adding one more person to the list of those lost because of King Jaxcon Gallagher.

  Suddenly, flying over ruins was never more fitting.

  Forty-Five

  “ARE we sure that she can pull it off?”

  Stel was hesitantly pushed up against the wall by Fey’s door, attempting to still her breathing so she could hear the disinterested, skeptical voice of January clearer. Were they talking about her?

  “It’s true they don’t act identically-”

  “Z!” a female voice exclaimed, and due to the Manaroan accent, Stel could identify it as Fey.

  “Right now,” Z continued, purposefully drawing his words out. “But this is the only choice. We’re in too deep.”

  “And we’ll be in in much deeper is she doesn’t pull this off. What if she’s on Elix and she blows it? Sure, she’s dead, but the Treaty would be broken. Everything gone.” Jan resolutely stated again, and Stel was completely certain they were talking about her.

  “We aren’t signing the Treaty,” Fey said, curt and stubborn.

  “You don’t get to decide that,” January calmly corrected, his serious tone holding another element that Stel couldn’t quite place. “Celine gets to decide, majority gets to decide; but you, Fey Downcley, are not the sole decision-maker in this matter. Hell, the only decision that matters, is that of King Jaxcon, House of Gallagher. And I don’t care how smart you may be, how wise, how stupidly stubborn—you do not have the authority or right to make that decision, Fey.”

  “The Treaty makes us pawns in the Immortales’ game of chess. Do you really want that, January?”

  “That Treaty is the lesser of two evils.”

  “What’s the other evil?”

  “World War IV. Complete destruction of the world as we know it. Utter annihilation.” Jan paused, composing himself briefly, and Stel took the moment to close her gaping mouth, reconsidering her opinions of January. Stel almost missed the next words in her deep thought, but she managed to catch enough of January’s gravelly tone. “I support your plan—not to the degree of not signing the Treaty—but I’m doubting our choice of an inside person.”

  Stel felt her nails curl up into her palms, but even she really couldn’t be mad, because she doubted their choice as well. It had only been a week, but even then, she knew how incompetent she was. But it was a matter of life and death, and if there was anything Stel was, it was a survivor. She would manage.

  “What’s wrong with Stel?” Fey asked, a gravelly bite accenting her words.

  “Fey,” Celine warned, cautious and reprimanding.

  “We only have so much time, and she’s nowhere near where she should in her learning.”

  “It’s only been a few days,” Z cut in, but Jan went on.

  “Not to mention, her stealth skills? —good for nothing. As shocked as I am to say this Downcley, she’s a more stubborn learner than you.”

  “Hey,” Fey cut in, but January made a clucking noise with his tongue and if Stel just peaked her head around the corner, she was sure she would see the cool, casual disinterested expression on January’s face; lips pursed, grey eyes narrowed and focused.

  “Hathaway!” Stel felt her entire body freeze up, momentarily forgetting how to operate her lungs, and perform other necessary bodily functions. “I can see your foot.”

  She snuck a quick look down at her shoed foot, and true enough, there it was; the betraying appendage crossing over past the door frame and into the view of the Strategists occupying the room.

  Cursing her inability to listen to Jan’s lessons, she decided to follow Celine’s, holding her head up as a (hopefully) pleasant smile graced her features. She then stepped into the doorway, into the sights of 4 inquisitive and overdressed people, clad in black mission clothing in comparison to her pyjamas, which were softer than anything that she had ever owned before.

  Except she didn’t own it. That was one of her main reasons for her weariness. As beautiful as everything may have been, as luxurious as it all was, it didn’t belong to her. And every second she spent walking these pretty halls, eating food that filled her stomach, wearing soft fabrics, she felt as if a little more of her belonged to them. And while Stel grew up with virtually nothing, she wouldn’t dare give up ownership of herself to anyone else.

  “Good evening Celine, Z, Jan, Agent Downcley,” There was slightly more contempt hanging off of that name. Even after only a few days of training, Stel found that her initial distrust of the girl who had insisted to be called Agent was rooted in enough truth for Stel to call it justification. Fey was easily the hardest pusher in the terms of Stel’s tutelage and that was saying something, because January was an obsessive perfectionist. Something about her seemed forced, and while Jan was brutal and unfriendly, he was most certainly not a liar.

  Fey on the other hand, seemed to be a compulsive one.

  “Miss Hathaway,” Agent Downcley addressed, lips pursed. “W
hat brings you here?”

  “I’m a light sleeper. I went for a short walk to clear my head, but this place is enormous and still incredibly unfamiliar. Plus, all the doors are damnably identical. If any of you could point the way to the door that leads to my room, I’d happily be out of your way.”

  “How long were you there for? And why didn’t you ask for directions beforehand?” Fey asked, ignoring Stel’s attempt, but the girl knew how to be a scrappy survivor, so she made sure that her façade of innocence didn’t for once falter.

  “It sounded like a serious matter that you were discussing. And I also didn’t want to get into trouble for wandering around during the night. Walking aimlessly about when I should be sleeping doesn’t exactly help me win your trust when you all highly suspect I’ll run away any minute.”

  In their defense, she was always contemplating escape.

  January just narrowed his eyes, stepping towards her, while the other three just stood and watched to see what the man would do, unmoving. “You would be excellent in the Immortale court. I’m guessing that’s a result of Downcley being absolutely ruthless on you during training. Your conduct is perfect, and you appear to be picking up other’s body language as well. But what Fey cannot teach you,” January said, pointing to his lips, “is what comes out of your mouth. I can tell you were lying immediately.”

  Stel crossed her arms across her chest, feeling defensive. “You are a walking lie detector,” she huffed, relaying the information she picked up from Z the other day when she was learning about hacking.

  “I may be. But even without it, I would be able to tell. Rule number one about lying; never lie to a person when they expect you to, and if you must, at least tell a lie that they don’t expect you to say. They’ll be able to catch you in a second if they are aware and alert to hear a certain falsehood from you, so don’t give it to them. Instead, tell them what they want to hear. It’s so much easier to swallow arsenic when it tastes like sugar.”