Chapter 17
The Heir
I lurch forward, hoping to grab Balmora, but she’s gone. A strangled sob comes from Quincy beside me. Screams tear through the air from the secondborn attendants behind us. I force myself to look over the edge, hoping to find her clinging to a ledge, but the tide is out, and the stones that support the base of the fortress are uncovered. Balmora’s body is a mangled mess on the rocks far below.
The wind beats my hair against the sides of my face. I turn away and catch Quincy before she can look over the balcony wall. “Don’t,” I whisper, holding her to me in a hug. I can’t tell which of us is shaking worse. Quincy whimpers softly, the quiet crying of a girl who has been taught not to show her sorrow. I gaze toward the tower. Reykin is standing on the threshold to the balcony. By the grim expression on his face, I think he witnessed what happened.
With long strides, Reykin crosses the balcony alone and peers over the low wall. Rogue isn’t with him, and I wonder numbly where my puppy is. Reykin’s expression is blank, betraying nothing of what he’s thinking.
Alarms peal, distant at first, but growing steadily closer. Death drones converge around us, rising to hover around the balcony. Their bone-jarring tones rattle my teeth. Reykin gets between me and them. My Halo stingers arm and behave aggressively toward the death drones. The air grows foul with the noise of drones.
Reykin’s physical presence buffers me from the chaos. His shoulders arch around me like a shield. Carefully, he herds Quincy and me back inside the tower, away from the death drones. The Halo stingers drift with us. Armed Exo and Iono guards enter the tower bedroom. Balmora’s secondborn attendants flutter around, some crying.
The pit of my stomach aches when I cast a glance at Gabriel again. I’ve been wrong about so many things, but especially him. I can’t decide if he was noble or a coward. The one thing he is now is gone.
“This way.” Reykin directs me to leave, but we’re stopped by the guards. Using his moniker, Reykin contacts Dune, and moments later, the leader of the security team gets orders from my former mentor to bring me to the Halo Palace.
“Quincy comes with me,” I growl, trying to hold back my tears. It’s strange, this ache. If I could pinpoint its source, I might be able to do something about it, but it’s all-encompassing.
We’re escorted from the tower. On the way out of the fortress, Reykin collects Rogue from the lap of a middle-aged secondborn woman with a gap between her teeth. The puppy is completely passive, in the grip of a serious nap. I want to bury my face in his fur, but I dare not touch him. I’m not good at loving. I’m only good at killing. Death. Destruction.
“Sad to see him go,” the woman says with a grin. In my daze, I mistakenly think she means Gabriel. But then she holds up the puppy and hands the bundle of love to Reykin. He nods, and we cross the shallow water over the sandbar to a waiting aircraft.
Inside the airship, I huddle next to Quincy. Reykin sits beside me. We’re so close that our thighs touch. I still hear my heart in my ears. The puppy sleeps soundly on his lap, intermittently wagging his little tail. Reykin watches me. Shame heats my cheeks. I should never have accused him of murdering my brother. Gabriel did that himself. All I want to do is lay my head against Reykin’s shoulder and sob for the brother I once loved. That Gabriel was worthy of my tears, but I know my brother wasn’t that boy anymore.
“I’m sorry I accused you,” I croak. “I thought . . .” I look away so I won’t cry.
Reykin’s warm fingers close over my hand. “Not a poor assumption, given what I’ve said to you in the past.” He squeezes my hand. “How long?” he whispers. I know what he’s asking. How long has my brother been at the fortress, right under his nose?
“Since the night you gave me Rogue,” I reply.
“Who knows?” he asks. I indicate Quincy with a dip of my chin. Her cheek rests against my shoulder. “Quincy?” he beckons. The girl doesn’t lift her head, but her arm around mine grows tighter. “How did Gabriel come to be in the Sea Fortress?”
Her voice is monotone and distant. “Do you mean the dead man?”
“Yes,” Reykin replies.
“I don’t know. I only found him like that this morning,” she lies. “Secondborn Commander was on the wall of the balcony. She was distraught, so I ran to get Roselle, hoping she’d be able to help.”
“Do you know who the man was?” he asks.
She shakes her head. “His moniker says he’s a Sword, but I didn’t look at him closely.”
No one can know what we’ve done. Now that I’m firstborn and the heir to The Sword, I might get off with some ridiculously light punishment, but Quincy could be killed for helping to bring Gabriel and Balmora together. I can’t let that happen. We stick to her story or she dies.
“Quincy,” Reykin says softly, “did you know that this puppy is magic?” Quincy side-eyes Rogue, then looks at Reykin. His face shows no hint of humor. “It’s true. Nothing bad can happen to you while you’re holding Rogue. He’s special like that. Do you want to try it and see?”
She looks back at Rogue. Reykin lifts the puppy, holding his little warm body out to Quincy. She doesn’t move at first, but then her arm slips from mine, and her small, shaking hands take the furry creature and bring him to her chest. She presses her cheek to the top of his head, and Rogue’s floppy ear caresses her skin. A silent tear slips down her face.
Our aircraft touches down on a hoverpad connected to the floating halo. Reykin keeps everyone at bay from Quincy and me. With his arms locked around us, he escorts us inside. The guards here seem different, and the reason isn’t immediately apparent until we get to the first security checkpoint. The hostile, suspicious stares that normally greet me have changed to surprise and open curiosity. The golden light of my moniker means I’m now treated with deference.
By the time we reach Dune’s apartment, I’m trembling. My skin is chilly. I keep replaying everything in my mind, questioning my decisions. If I’d gone to Balmora and pulled her off the wall before she had a chance to tell me Gabriel’s message, she wouldn’t have been able to jump. If I had stayed with her and helped her convince Gabriel not to take his life, they’d both be alive.
I’m shaken from my daze to find Dune in front of me. His look of concern is genuine, but it’s concern for me, not for Gabriel or Balmora. He doesn’t share the pain of my brother’s loss. Dune may try to comfort me, or he may not, but one thing is true: he wanted this. This is the best outcome the Gates of Dawn could have imagined. But I am unraveling. I feel as though if you pull a frayed piece of me, I’ll unwind into ribbon.
“The Virtue has been alerted,” Dune says. “He understands that Balmora is dead and that it’s confirmed suicide. He’s going to want to know what she said before she jumped.”
“She gave me a message from Gabriel,” I reply. I sound distant, even to myself.
“What was the message?” Dune asks.
“She said Gabriel wants me to follow the crow to the trees in the sea.”
Dune’s expression grows more intense. “Do you know what she meant by that?”
“No,” I reply, “but the only ‘crow’ I know is Agent Crow.”
A woman’s shrieks echo in the corridor outside Dune’s apartment. He turns to look, and the door is thrown open by a disheveled woman. Her long blond hair is half set, as if she were interrupted in the middle of grooming. Clad only in a long jewel-colored robe, Adora storms into the drawing room.
“Where is she?” The Virtue’s wife howls, and then her eyes fall on me. “You! What have you done?” Her voice is high-pitched, overwrought. I shudder at the snarl on her beautiful lips. “My daughter would never kill herself! She was too strong for that! You killed her!” Adora thrusts her finger at me. Deep lines of sorrow appear around her mouth.
My head shakes involuntarily. “She was my friend,” I whisper. Hot tears fill my eyes. “I tried to save her, but she—”
“Liar!” Adora’s agony shimmers. Tears drown her eyes. She lunges forward to slap me, but Reykin captures her and thrusts her arms behind her. “Let go of me!” She jerks and twists, but Reykin easily holds her. He nods his head to the Fated Virtue’s bodyguards, who have trailed in after her. They come forward to hold her off.
Then The Virtue storms into the room, tight-lipped, flanked by his personal bodyguards. “Adora!” He tries to hug her.
She wrenches away from him. “You promised me that if I agreed to keep her locked away in the Sea Fortress, nothing bad would ever happen to my baby. You lied! You’re a liar!” Adora spits viciously at her husband. “You’re all liars!”
The Virtue motions to his bodyguards. “Take the Fated Virtue back to her apartments,” he says. “Call for a physician. Have her sedated.”
Gently but firmly, the Exo guards pull Adora away. Her wailing and threats of retribution recede, but the air remains stained with them.
The next few hours are complete chaos. The Virtue paces, grilling me with questions about Balmora’s death. Both Quincy and I present the facts of her death without revealing the treasonous part about arranging Gabriel and Balmora’s reunion. Most of the questions he asks us are about things I pretend not to know. Ignorance as a defense is weak and unacceptable to The Virtue. I fear for Dune’s furniture as the brutal despot crashes around the apartment, laying waste to all the most fragile appointments.
“You were supposedly her friend,” he rages, almost toppling over a delicate table and sending an iron bowl filled with orbs crashing. The noise feels like slaps to my already taut nerves as his anger escalates from vein-popping to murderous.
“We were friends,” I reply with a distinct lack of emotion, not because I’m unemotional, but because I’ve forced them all down. “But we’re also Transitioned secondborns. Relationships cannot be intimate. It’s unacceptable to form deep attachments to anything outside one’s duties.” I use the law as a fallback. If they’re going to create ridiculous rules, I’ll throw them back in their faces.
“You expect me to believe you’re a robot?” he asks. “I’ve seen you fight. Your passion is why you excel, not your detachment!”
I’m stunned for a moment, not sure how to defend myself from an accusation that’s so true. Movement by the door draws my attention. Two firstborns from The Virtue’s administrative team creep into the room. Both are young, lithe females wearing terrified expressions. The one with the Virtue-Fated moniker inches forward and interrupts The Virtue’s scathing tirade. “Excuse me, Clarity Bowie.” Her timid voice quivers.
He whips around at the disruption. “What is it!” he bellows.
“Exos found this in Secondborn Commander’s tower room.” She holds up a palm-size hologram recorder. “It contains a message from your daughter.”
“Show it!” he roars.
“But, Your Excellence, it’s a very private kind of—”
“Play the bloody thing!” Spittle flies from The Virtue’s mouth.
The woman scurries forward, placing the recorder on the floor in the space between them. She activates the message. Holographic light projects up from the cylindrical metal base. Balmora’s image appears.
“Hello, father,” she says in a brittle, condescending tone. She’s wearing the white nightgown she died in. Her hair, beautifully mussed as if she has just woken up, frames her tear-stained cheeks. Puffy eyes attest to her crying. She is perched on the edge of the bed in the Fate of Seas tower. Gabriel’s corpse is visible behind her, resting against damask pillows. “It may come as a shock to you that I’ve been in love with Gabriel St. Sismode since I was very young—and he loved me. We kept it a secret from you and Mother, not by choice, but because you and your perversions forced us to.
“Gabriel has always been kind and gentle, a man who hated being the heir to the cruelest Fate of the Republic. Unlike you, Father, he never thought my being secondborn was a curse, or that it made me inferior. He loved me despite my birth order. We were going to change the world together, he and I, but now it’s too late. He’s dead, and I’ll be joining him soon. So I won’t waste much more of your time with my insignificant prattle. I know how you hate that.
“Gabriel made me promise I’d give you a message from him. He said his mother is set to bring a wave of war and terror to your shores, the likes of which you’ve never seen. He said there was no way for him to stop her. He believed that only his sister is cunning and strong enough to do that. So he’s stepping aside as the heir to the Fate of Swords. He took his own life so that Roselle could take his place.” Bitterness shows on her face. She swallows hard. “Personally,” she growls through gritted teeth, “whatever monsters Othala is bringing, I hope they destroy you and your entire dynasty. Good-bye, Father. May your death be long and painful.”
The hologram projection blinks out. The Virtue’s mouth is unhinged, resembling the severed head from the bronze statue in the Trial Village, locked in its last moment of horror.
“She’s mad,” he whispers. The Virtue clears his throat. “If Othala wants a war with me, she’ll get a war.” He points at me. “I’ll see that you become The Sword, Roselle. You’ll lead the Fate of Swords. Secondborn soldiers will follow you, not your mother! After all, you were one of them!” To the two trembling assistants, he barks, “Assemble all the Clarities of the Fates Republic, except for Swords. I want a meeting today! Roselle shall have a private suite in Upper Halo. I need her close to me at all times. Move!” The assistants scatter.
I’m herded out of Dune’s apartment. Quincy and Rogue get diverted by a pair of The Virtue’s assistants. Before they go, the assistants assure me that they’ll take Quincy to my new apartment to await me.
Dune and Reykin flank me as we pass through security and into corridors I haven’t seen before. The hallways don’t make sense at first. The outside of the hovering structure appears to be hollow, but to my complete amazement, it isn’t. The architecture is circular, but it’s solid throughout, with surfaces that give the illusion of sky.
Arriving at The Virtue’s command post in the center of the Halo, I realize that Upper Halo is a massive airship. I can’t imagine what it’s like flying a building, but I’m certain that my Class Seven pilot’s license doesn’t cover it.
Inside the war room, The Virtue argues with Dune over strategy for the meeting he intends to hold with the other Clarities. Eventually he informs the other Clarities that my brother has taken his own life and that I have elevated to firstborn status. Holographic images of the Clarities extend jovial congratulations. Through all of it, I nod in acknowledgment but say nothing.
All the Clarities, except for my mother, have been apprised of my brother’s death. I steel myself for the virtual meeting with Othala, but nothing could have prepared me for her appearance when her holographic image alights in front of us. Seated behind her glass desk in her Sword Palace office, she slouches in her seat with a cocktail in reach. Her red-rimmed eyes stand out in the light of the holographic image. She looks as if she hasn’t changed her clothes in days. Her hair is limp and oily. Deep lines of grief carve the sides of her mouth and line her forehead. Her sorrow causes my heart to bleed anew. I have come to despise my mother, but something inside of me is still crushed by her sorrow.
“Return my son to me and I won’t torture you, Fabian,” she says, her voice deep and raspy, her words slurred. “Do it now and I’ll give you a quick death.” She lifts the fat tumbler to her lips, drinking a large gulp.
“You’re in no position to—”
“I’m not finished, you blubbering man-child!” my mother screeches. She lurches to her feet. “Send me my son’s murderer, Roselle, so I can eviscerate her myself. Then, and only then, will I not pluck out your eyes and feed them to my maginots!”
“You’ve gone insane! How dare you speak to me—”
“I dare, you pompous ass! You won’t last a day against me now.”
Fabian ignores her threats. “No one had to murder Gabriel, Othala. He did it himself. The first thing he’s gotten right in his miserable life! Now we have a competent heir to Swords.”
“You’re blind and stupid, Fabian!” my mother replies. “Roselle will always be ten steps ahead of you. I’m actually doing you a favor, and you don’t even know it. Send her to me along with my son’s body.”
“I don’t think so. I need the right St. Sismode on the throne of Swords to stabilize the Fates and quell the open rebellion. With Roselle in charge, every secondborn Sword soldier will leap to do her bidding. They’d follow her off a cliff. She’s one of them. No one will lift a finger if you go against her. Your army will turn on you in an instant.”
“And she’s your best hope?” Othala laughs derisively. “You’re a fool. You’ll never be able to control her. She’ll run circles around you, and you won’t even know it. Won’t you, Roselle? Just like you did by aligning with the Rose Gardeners right under our noses. You had one job. All you had to do was die. If you had, Gabriel would be alive. This is all your fault.”
Her words tear open my invisible wounds, but I don’t rise to her drunken logic. Instead, I ask, “Who are your monsters, Mother?”
She smiles sadistically. “Oh, you’ll find out,” she rages. “You’ll all find out! And stop calling me ‘Mother.’ I never wanted you! I demanded artificial insemination so that I wouldn’t have to touch your father again. Did you know that? Did you know that every moment that you grew inside of me was torture? Every time I look at you, all I see is Kennet. I couldn’t wait for you to Transition so I could get rid of your pathetic face. You look just like him. An evil little spawn. I had fun planning your death. The Fusion Snuff Pulse was supposed to be the perfect cover, but I was betrayed. Dune protected you. He joined The Virtue and let you live. He’s a coward, your mentor. But now, killing you seems too kind, Roselle. No, I should keep you alive long enough for you to understand what it’s like to be married to someone you despise. Maybe I’ll have you give me an heir to raise before I cut your heart out. How does that sound?” She cackles with glee. “I have just the man in mind. I think he’d be up to the challenge, too.”
My stomach roils. I fear she means Agent Crow. “I’m sorry that you were hurt, Othala,” I reply, “but I think you know me well enough by now to see that I have no intention of ending up like you.”
“How dare you pity me, Roselle! You think you’re better than me? I’ll make sure you know what a disgusting little insect you are.”
I bury any outward sign that I’m affected by her drunken raving. Inside, though, I grieve for her and loathe her at the same time.
Othala looks back to The Virtue. “Send Roselle to me, or pay the price.” Her holographic image winks out.
The Virtue wears a stunned expression. He expected my mother to cower on her knees, begging him to spare her life. The fact that she didn’t confirms that she’s in a much stronger position than anyone imagined.
The Virtue calls for his advisory council, including Dune, Walther, Clifton, and Grisholm, along with Grisholm’s closest advisors, which includes Reykin. Most of The Virtue’s inner circle now are either Gates of Dawn or Rose Gardeners, or they’re simply the inept, privileged offspring of other members of the aristocracy. The Virtue is surrounded by his enemies, and he doesn’t even know it. I almost pity him.
As the advisors assemble, Grisholm enters with Reykin. The Virtue-Fated firstborn shows no outward sign of grief over the passing of his sister. I wonder whether he will blame me, too, or has Reykin explained what happened? I’m about to ask him when I hear a deep voice say my name from the doorway.
My heart flutters as my eyes meet Hawthorne’s. Dressed in an Exo military uniform, he’s a striking figure. I bite the inside of my cheek.
Striding directly to me, Hawthorne offers a military salute. “Firstborn Sword,” he greets me, using my new title, “as your acting first lieutenant, may I offer you my condolences for the loss of your brother?”
His formality reminds me not to show weakness. “Thank you,” I murmur, feeling my cheeks heat.
He kneels on one leg, bowing his head. “I’m here to pledge my loyalty to you as your acting right hand.” When he looks up, I nod in acknowledgment. Hawthorne rises, towering over me. “It’s essential that we discuss nominations and appointments to your Heritage Council. Do you have a private space available for this discussion?”
Reykin pushes his way between Hawthorne and me. “No one trusts soldiers from the Fate of Swords,” he says. “Especially those in the aristocracy. How can anyone be sure that your loyalties don’t lie with Othala St. Sismode?”
Both Hawthorne and I are startled by Reykin’s insinuation. “As acting first lieutenant,” Hawthorne barks in a clearly military tone, “I’m here to swear my allegiance to Roselle St. Sismode, the Firstborn Sword.” His agitation is palpable. “My loyalty is to her, first and foremost. It’s my duty to enact the protocols between the Heritage Council and the heir to the Clarity of the Fate of Swords. You will not interfere with that duty, Star, or you will be subject to our laws.”
Reykin isn’t intimidated. He goes nose to nose with Hawthorne. “She doesn’t go anywhere alone with Sword-Fates.”
“She is a Sword-Fate,” Hawthorne counters, “and she has a duty to uphold.”
“I can speak for myself,” I interrupt. “Thank you, Firstborn Winterstrom, for your concern. I’ll discuss my future council with Acting First Lieutenant Trugrave. Alone.”
I pull Reykin aside for a private word. “Reykin, you know I’m capable of handling myself with Hawthorne.”
“Never forget that he has had divided loyalties in the past,” he insists.
I want to dismiss what he’s saying, but it’s true. “I’ll keep it in mind.” To diffuse his anger, I place my hand on his heart. His rough fingers cover mine. It does something to me. My belly flutters. Surprised by my response to his touch, I pull my hand away and drop my eyes. “Thank you for your advice,” I manage.
I request a private room to meet with Hawthorne. A firstborn Exo shows us to a lounging room filled with soft, fat chairs. Coverage of the Secondborn Trials training camps plays on every screen in the room. It makes me want to scream and throw things at the walls, but I keep my frustration locked down. Hawthorne already thinks I’m a Fate traitor. I don’t want him to think I’m a raving lunatic as well.
“How are you?” Hawthorne asks, taking a seat. I sit in a chair next to his. He doesn’t take my hand—doesn’t touch me.
“I don’t know.” I swallow hard against the lump in my throat. “Numb, I guess. Scared. Confused. I shouldn’t be surprised, but I am. I’d hoped that Gabriel would somehow come through his addiction. You warned me that he wouldn’t. I should’ve listened to you.”
“What can I do to help you with your changeover to firstborn?” he asks. “I have some experience with it. It takes a while to get used to it.” His eyes soften. They have a silver tint to them in this light.
“I don’t plan on getting used to it, Hawthorne, but you know that.”
He looks around. It’s possible that we’re being monitored, and he knows it. “I’m in, you know,” he whispers, “for everything.”
My eyebrows rise in surprise. “Everything?”
“Whatever you want, Roselle. I’ll fight for it—for you.” He reaches out and covers my hand with his. He squeezes, and I grind my teeth so I don’t sob.
“I need you to put together a list of candidates for Heritage Council positions and a list of who currently fills them,” I tell him. “I don’t care about rank and privilege. I want smart people, not entitled ones. I want inter-Fate advisors, not just Swords. To start with, I want you to focus on finding the most innovative Stars and Atoms. I’m looking for forensic investigators not affiliated with Census. And I need a list of all Census holdings, maps of bases, lists of personnel, budget reports. I want to know where Census allocates its assets.” He frowns and begins to take notes on his moniker. I stop him with a hand on his sleeve. “We can’t use monikers to communicate or to do research. I need you to devise another form of communication. Census is inside most of our systems.”
“What other form of communication?” he asks, grinning. “Carrier pigeons?”
I sigh. “Write it down if you have to, but burn it when you’re done. We no longer use monikers for anything. Do you understand?”
“Yeah, I got it,” Hawthorne replies.
“Before Gabriel died, he warned me about my mother,” I continue. “He said something . . . he said, ‘Too many zeros.’ Do you have any idea what that could mean?”
“Zeros?” Hawthorne holds his hand to his forehead. “I heard him say something like it before, but only in drug-induced ramblings about freedom and freewill. None of what he said before I left made any sense.”
“What about Census?” I ask.
Hawthorne drops his hand. “I haven’t been back to Swords. Your mother wants me dead. Reports from my friends tell me Census is everywhere in Swords now, like they own the place.”
“I think they do, Hawthorne. I think they’re Othala’s allies.” I lean forward and put my elbows on my knees, holding my chin in my hands. I stare at his eyes. They’re cloudy. He must be as tired as I am.
“What do you plan to do about that?” Hawthorne asks. He’s as close as he can be without touching me.
“I don’t know yet.” I scrub my face with my hands, trying to think. “Census is entrenched everywhere that secondborn Swords are. They’re the roots of every Tree on every Base. They control our monikers—they have access to our communications. They have a stranglehold on every Fate, not just Swords. The advantage is theirs. We have to take out their leaders.”
“We don’t know who they are,” Hawthorne says. “Census acts like every one of them is a leader.”
“Census has leaders,” I insist, “or you never would’ve gotten me away from Agent Crow when I was his prisoner. He answers to someone higher up, or he would never have let me go.” There’s a faraway look in Hawthorne’s eyes, and I wonder if he’s thinking of Agnes and what Agent Crow did to her for helping me. I reach my hand out and tangle Hawthorne’s fingers in mine. “Remember when I promised you that I’d help you kill Agent Crow and avenge Agnes when the time was right?”
“Yes,” he replies.
“The time is now, Hawthorne.”