“Why did you do it?” he demands.
“I don’t know what you’re—”
“Cut the crap. I saw you give that race traitor the cyanide pill.”
“You did?” I say, stunned. I thought I’d been so careful. “The boy was in so much pain. No one deserves to die like that.”
“He was a race traitor, a Darkling lover. He deserved everything he got,” Sebastian says.
“You’re one to talk.”
Sebastian’s fist clenches, and I know I’ve overstepped the line.
“That’s different,” he says.
“How?”
“No one will ever find out. Will they?” he says.
“Your secret’s safe with me,” I reply, not that he deserves my loyalty. But I don’t want to get him into trouble, no matter how badly he hurt me, and he knows it.
He takes a deep breath, calming himself.
“You’re lucky it was me up on that stage and not Kurt or one of the other Trackers,” he says. “They wouldn’t think twice about reporting you to Purian Rose.”
My heart leaps into my mouth. “You’re not going to tell on me, are you?”
“Of course not. I’d never let anyone hurt you,” he says. “But you have to be careful, Natalie. Don’t give Purian Rose another excuse to hurt you or Polly.”
Sebastian tenderly strokes my cheek, and for a moment I let him, remembering the reason I used to love him. He was so kind and gentle with me after my father died; it was exactly what I needed. Then I recall the reason we broke up and slap his hand away, ignoring his wounded look.
I pick up the Book of Creation from his dresser. “What are you doing with this?”
“I thought I’d read it and see what all the fuss is about.”
“You know it’s a load of insane, rambling bullcrap written by Purian Rose, so why bother?” I say.
He shrugs. “It might improve my chances of getting a promotion if I follow the faith. I don’t have to actually believe in it. I just need to have read it.”
Everything he does always has to benefit his career somehow, including dating me. I toss the book on his dresser and head to my room, checking on Polly along the way. She’s sound asleep. The medication they put her on makes her drowsy, so she sleeps a lot.
In my room, Day’s lying on my bed next to my cat, Truffles, reading the latest issue of Sentry Youth Monthly. Truffles softly meows at me. I’m struck by the sight of Day with her feet kicked up in the air, ankles crossed, flicking through the fashion section of the magazine, just the way Polly used to do. It’s like a flashback from my past. I swallow hard.
Day sits up. “You okay, Nat?”
“You just reminded me of my sister for a second. The way she was before she got hurt.”
I press Truffles close to my face. I love the way he smells; it’s so warm and comforting. He lets me hold him for a minute before wriggling free and making a beeline for the rug.
“What happened to your sister?” Day asks.
“She got tortured.”
Day’s eyes widen. “By whom?”
Something warns me not to tell her the whole truth.
“An enemy of my father,” I say. “He ordered Polly’s torture to punish my father and made us all watch. It was horrible. It was my fault she got hurt.”
“I don’t believe that for a second.”
“It’s what my mother thinks, and she never lets me forget it. Mother loved Polly so much more than me; she thinks I’m a waste of space.”
“I’m sure she doesn’t feel that way.”
I don’t say anything. Day has no idea how my mother treats me, how she has to make every decision for me because she thinks I’m incapable of doing anything on my own.
“How’s MJ doing?” I ask her, to get the focus off me.
She shrugs. “He has his good days and his bad ones. Thanks for the painkillers—they'll really help.”
I lightly touch her hand. “I’ll get you some more whenever you need them. Okay?”
She nods, her chocolate-brown eyes watering.
“Let’s change the subject to something more cheerful. We’re supposed to be having fun,” I say.
Day smiles awkwardly. “So . . . erm . . . what do we do at a sleepover, exactly?”
“Have you never been to a slumber party?”
Day pushes her glasses up her nose. “I don’t really have time for them. I’m always studying.”
She doesn’t look at me, and I wonder if the real reason she’s never been to a sleepover is that she doesn’t have any friends other than me. I open up my bedside cabinet and pull out my makeup kit and secret stash of candy.
“Well, it’s obligatory that we paint our nails, eat candy and talk about boys,” I say.
I choose a pretty coral pink nail varnish from my makeup bag and begin painting Day’s nails.
“Sebastian’s quite attractive,” Day says, getting into the spirit of things.
“I suppose. We dated for a while, but we split up a few months ago.”
“Why?” she asks.
“I walked in on him having sex with another girl.”
“That’s awful!” she says.
“You don’t know the half of it,” I mutter.
“Why would he sleep with another girl, when he had you?”
I blush. “Well, I’m a . . . we didn’t . . .”
“You’re a virgin, aren’t you?”
“Day!”
“Sorry, wasn’t I supposed to ask that?”
I laugh. “It’s a little blunt. Yes, I’m a virgin, but that was no excuse for him to cheat on me.”
“No, of course not. He’s a total jerk.”
She lies against the pillow, blowing on her nails.
“Are you a virgin?” I ask.
She blushes furiously. “No.”
My mouth drops. I didn’t expect that.
“What was your first time like?” I ask.
She sighs. “Sort of crap, really. It wasn’t romantic like in the books. It was uncomfortable and squelchy, and neither of us knew what to do. Plus it was super embarrassing being naked in front of Beet—” She cuts herself short, but the damage is already done.
“You slept with Beetle?” I say.
“Yeah,” she whispers. “On my fifteenth birthday. It was a complete mess. We thought we were in love. Then his parents were killed, he started hanging out with Ash and doing Haze, and that was it. I wasn’t important to him anymore; all he cared about was getting high and helping out with the ‘Darkling cause.’ I hate Ash Fisher. He took Beetle away from me—he ruined my life.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It doesn’t matter. I’m so over him.”
“No you’re not.”
“Maybe not, but what’s the point in loving him anymore? We just can’t agree on anything. You heard us earlier in history class. How can two people who are so opposite to each other ever be happy?”
“I don’t know,” I say quietly. An image of sparkling black eyes crosses my mind. What is going on with me?
* * *
After we eat dinner in my room, I put on an old movie, but we’re both too tired to watch it after such an eventful day and agree to call it a night. I lend Day one of my nightshirts, and we get ready for bed.
“Sorry I didn’t get a chance to introduce you to my mother,” I say, unrolling my sleeping bag. “She works such long hours . . .”
“That’s fine. I didn’t agree to stay over tonight so I could meet her; I wanted to hang out with you.”
I beam. My friends in Centrum only visited when my mother was around. None of them have called me since I came back to Black City.
“I’m having a fun time. Maybe we could do it again?” I say.
“I’d like that.” Day climbs into my bed.
It doesn’t take long for Day to drop off, but I lie awake, tossing and turning in my sleeping bag on the hard floor. I look at the stars through my open window. They glimmer back at me, reminding me of Ash’s eyes. Why do I keep thinking about them? Why am I thinking about him at all? He’s a twin-blood, for His Mighty’s sake. I roll over so I can’t see the stars anymore.
Truffles pounces off the bed, landing on me.
“Ouch! You little pest,” I say, picking him up. “You want to go out?”
He meows in response.
I get up and open the balcony window as quietly as possible. Truffles slips from my hands and climbs onto the balustrade. I tickle him under his chin and go back to my sleeping bag, leaving the window open to let in some cool air. Within seconds, I’m asleep and dreaming.
* * *
I’m inside the cave again. I don’t know why I’m here, but I get a sense I’ve done something very wrong. I’ve stolen something, but what? I have to find it, they want it back. Panicked, I search for the object inside the cave, but it’s empty. There’s nothing here but those sticky, warm, pulsing walls and . . .
A whimper.
Fear rises in my throat.
In the center of the cave is a small child. The child is naked except for the green sheet modestly wrapped around its waist. I can’t see its face. All I see is a shaved head. A boy? Who is he? Somehow, I feel I know him.
The walls start to contract. I know what’s about to happen. I have to get out of here. I try to move, but my feet are stuck in the spongy earth. The cave starts to close around me. Panic boils over as the walls get closer and closer, until they’re squeezing me. I can’t breathe, I’m being suffocated—
Screams fill my mind, so loud they’re deafening me. But they’re not my screams. They’re coming from someone else. Somewhere else. Day!
* * *
I start awake, fear ripping through me. Day stands on the bed, yelling her lungs out as she points toward an object dangling from the light above me. Something warm and sticky drips on my cheek. I glance up. At first I don’t know what I’m looking at, then I start to make sense of the mangled shape above me: patches of white fur, a paw, an ear.
Before I scream, I’m able to notice one thing:
Truffles’s heart is missing.
12
NATALIE
AFTER TRUFFLES’S MURDER a few days ago, Mother decided the best way for me to get over his death was to spend my Saturday shopping with our housemaid Martha and Sebastian. She even gave me thirty coins, since I didn’t have any cash after she cut off my allowance. That’s her answer to everything. Why deal with my feelings when she can just fob me off with money?
“I bet it was a member of Humans for Unity,” Sebastian says as we walk down Bleak Street toward the station. “It’s the kind of despicable thing they’d do.”
I sigh, tired of having the same discussion with him. Yesterday he was certain it was the Legion Liberation Front. The day before that, he thought it might be some psycho stalker. I had a few of those when we were living in Centrum; it just comes with the territory when you’re the Emissary’s daughter. None of the options makes me feel any better about the fact that a cat murderer broke into my bedroom. How did they even get in, when my room’s on the top floor?
“But why kill Truffles? He was just an innocent kitty. Why did they have to rip his heart out?” I say.
“They were probably sending your mother a message, letting her know what could happen if she doesn’t listen to their demands and bring down the Boundary Wall,” Sebastian replies. “Just be grateful it was your cat and not you.”
I can’t get the image of Truffles’s twisted, battered body out of my head. All that blood, just like the night Father died . . . My chest starts to tighten with panic. I take a deep breath, trying to remain calm. Martha gives my hand a gentle squeeze, and I’m grateful for the small act of kindness.
The city streets are buzzing with activity. The boundary negotiations started today between Mother and the Darkling ambassador, Sigur Marwick, so protesters have swarmed into the city, either to support the government or to rally against them. If Humans for Unity really did kill my cat, all they’ve done is shoot themselves in the foot. Mother doesn’t respond to threats. If anything, it strengthens her resolve.
Footage of the opening of boundary negotiations is being broadcast on the giant screens on the rooftops around us. The news report shows Humans for Unity protesting outside the Boundary Gates as my mother is greeted by Sigur. They both enter the Legion ghetto.
A female voice booms out of the screens. “And now a message from your government.”
The story cuts to a still picture of Tom Shreve and Jana Marwick, their charred bodies bound to the crosses. All the citizens stop and gaze up at the screen. Text scrolls below the image: To sin with a Darkling is to sin against His Mighty.
I shiver.
The steam-powered streetcar pulls up at the Bleak Street station, and we hop on. It’s crammed with commuters, and we barely manage to squeeze on, pushing through the jungle of bodies to find somewhere to stand. I regret wearing Ash’s heavy coat, but I don’t own many Workboot clothes, and I don’t want to draw attention to myself as we trade for supplies in the market. Thankfully, I managed to persuade Sebastian to wear his civilian clothes, so it will be easier for us to blend in.
The tram slowly rattles through the city, spewing white clouds of steam into the air. Every few minutes, we pass an armed checkpoint or a Sentry tank rumbling down a road, and I lose count of the number of Sentry guards patrolling the streets. Civilians hurry past them, heads bowed, and scurry inside as quickly as they can. Down one alley I see the burned-out shell of a Sentry truck and several smashed windows. Violence is already spreading through the city, and it’s only the first day of negotiations. It’s like the war never ended.