Wings

Father gives a curt nod. “It’s very generous of you, Commander.”



Emissary Bradshaw puts his hands on my shoulders, inspecting me up and down. “My dear, haven’t you grown up?”



“That tends to happen,” I say, a touch harsher than I meant. Emissary Bradshaw is a close friend of my parents, and I can’t help but shift the feeling that they were conspiring together to keep Ash away from me. He probably thought he was helping them, but he was hurting me in the process.



Emissary Bradshaw’s ever-smile wavers. “Well, yes, I suppose it does.” His blue eyes slide past me, and his grip tightens painfully on my shoulders. “What are you doing here?”



I turn, wondering who he’s talking to.



Lucinda snarls back at him, her black eyes burning with hostility. “Long time, no see.”



“You know Lucinda?” I ask Emissary Bradshaw.



He lets go of my shoulders. “Lucinda and I go way back, don’t we, sweetheart?” She looks daggers at him. “I don’t suppose there’s any point trying to hide it; I presume Lucinda’s already told you everything. When we were teenagers, we met in the woods outside Amber Hills.”



“Wait . . . what?” I say, putting two and two together. “You’re Patrick Langdon?”



He nods.



“Why did you change your surname to Bradshaw?” I ask, confused.



“Oh, Edmund insisted on it. The Langdon name brought back too many bad memories for him,” he says, strolling over to a cabinet near the fireplace. “Can I get you a drink? I would normally have my Darkling servants do this, but they were all sent to the Tenth last week. Edmund promised to send me some more Workboots, but they haven’t arrived yet. This war is so inconvenient.”



“That’s one way of describing it,” Ash growls.



Emissary Bradshaw casts his gaze toward Ash, properly noticing him for the first time. “Ah, and this must be the infamous Phoenix.”



“In the burnt flesh,” Ash quip. “How come you’re working against Purian Rose? I thought you two were best buddies after he saved your life in Amber Hills.”



Emissary Bradshaw makes a scoffing sound. “I owed Edmund a debt of gratitude and we shared the same thirst for power, but friends? No. I’ve never forgotten what he did to my sister. Catherine was my whole world.” A dark emotion flitters over his features, and for a brief moment I see the boy he was back then: angry, vengeful, hurt. “Besides, Edmund has no head for business. He’s running this country into the ground with these damned wars. It’s time we replaced him with someone else.”



“And that person’s you?” Ash says flatly.



“I’m the most qualified man for the position,” Emissary Bradshaw says.



I catch Ash’s eye and he frowns. I know what he’s thinking: Emissary Bradshaw might have the most experience, but that doesn’t mean he’s the right man for the post. Can we really trust a man who helped write the Book of Creation, which claims Darklings are demons? Is he honestly the best person to lead our new government? I don’t think so.



“Well, now that we’re all caught up, let me show you to your rooms,” Emissary Bradshaw says.



We find a room for Garrick and lay the injured man down on the bed. Dr. Craven changes his bandages while the rest of us find places to sleep. We’re not short of options—there are easily fifteen bedrooms in the lavish apartment. Ash and Beetle stay in the living room, and Emissary Bradshaw escorts me and Day to our bedrooms, which we’ll share with the boys. Tucked under my arm is the glass jar with Theora’s heart. Day smiles wistfully as we stroll down the wide corridor. She brushes her fingers over the expensive gilt wallpaper and antique furnishings.



“If Mama could see me now,” she mutters. Not so long ago, it was Day’s ambition to become the emissary of the Dominion State—a dream her mother, Sumrina, actively encouraged, as she wanted a better life for her daughter. “Well, at least I made it here, albeit as a wanted criminal hiding from the law.”



I laugh, nudging her with my hip, and she grins.



Emissary Bradshaw shows Day to one of the standard guest rooms and then leads me to the plush suites farther down the corridor. On the way to my room we pass a white door with a blue glass doorknob. The door is ajar, and I hear a girl crying inside the room. The sound is muffled, like she’s sobbing into a pillow. Emissary Bradshaw closes the door and gives me an apologetic smile.



“That’s my maid. The poor girl isn’t feeling well,” he explains.



“I thought your servants had gone,” I say.



“Just the Darkling ones. Don’t worry, my maid’s very loyal. She won’t tell anyone you’re here.” He places a hand on the base of my spine, a little too low for my liking, as he ushers me away from her room. We stop in front of a door with a red handle. “Here we are, sweetheart.” His hand skims over my left butt cheek, and anger flares through me.



“What do you think you’re doing?” I say.



He raises his hands in a placating gesture. “My dear, it was an accident.”



I narrow my eyes, not believing him for a second. “Well, accidents will happen. Just not twice,” I say firmly. The message is clear: don’t touch me again.



Emissary Bradshaw’s mouth tightens. “Enjoy your room.”



He turns on his heel and strides down the corridor.



I enter my bedroom and slam the door behind me. The jerk! I place the glass jar on the nightstand, then go to the bathroom and splash some cold water over my face, muttering curses under my breath. I debate whether to tell anyone about what happened, but decide against it. My parents would be furious, and let’s not get started on Ash. I’d hate to think what he’d do to Emissary Bradshaw if he knew he’d copped a feel, after everything that happened with Sebastian back in Black City. No, as much as it grieves me, we need Emissary Bradshaw’s help right now, so I’ll keep the incident to myself. But if he ever, ever tries a stunt like that again, I’ll rip his damn hand off.



Once I’ve calmed down, I pull out the items from my jumpsuit pocket—the black syringe case, a bottle of heart medication and the yellow-handled knife I stole from the UG—and place them carefully beside the sink.



I take my medication, then head back to the living room. Lucinda is curled up in one of the leather chairs by the fire, and Yolanda is in the seat beside her. Their faces have been scrubbed clean, but they’re both still wearing their dirty jumpsuits. Sitting by his mother’s feet is Elijah. Yolanda is stroking his russet hair while he plays with the single gold band around his left wrist. He lifts his topaz eyes when I enter the room, and there’s a deep, aching sadness in them. I give him a small smile and join Ash on the sofa, nuzzling up against him. I can hear his steady heartbeat beneath his jumpsuit. Ba-boom, ba-boom, ba-boom.



He plays with one of my curls. “You okay, blondie?”



“Mm-hmm,” I say noncommittally, still mad at Emissary Bradshaw.



I gaze about the room. Sigur and Roach are playing a game of chess at the small table nearby, bantering with each other, while Beetle and Day share one of the leather seats to our right. They giggle and whisper to each other.



The gold doors open and my mother, father, Dr. Craven and Emissary Bradshaw enter the room, deep in discussion. They sit down. The chair creaks slightly under Emissary Bradshaw’s weight. It’s hard to picture him as the handsome, ruthless hunter Lucinda described him as, but the steely look is still there in his blue eyes. We all turn toward him. It’s time to talk business.



“So here’s the situation. We have to bring down Purian Rose, but our soldiers are all dead and we have no weapons,” Emissary Bradshaw says. “Any ideas how we do it?”



Mother nods. “We’ll tell the world what Edmund really is. Under Sentry law, no nonhuman is allowed to take office; he’ll have to step down.”



Lucinda lets out an impatient sound. “We already tried that. We don’t have any proof.”



“That’s not strictly true,” Emissary Bradshaw says, glancing at Mother.



She nods, and he hauls himself out of his chair and walks over to the self-portrait above the fireplace. He removes the painting to reveal a safe inset into the wall behind it. He opens it. Inside are numerous folders, wads of cash, and some jewelry. He passes a red folder to me.



Ash and I flip through the file, looking at the charts and photographs. It’s a file on my sister, Polly. Everything about her is here: her birth certificate, DNA reports, a lock of her hair in a vacuum-sealed bag, another lock of black hair in a second bag labeled EDMUND ROSE, photographs of Polly’s injuries after she was tortured the night my father faked his own death. My heart cramps. There’s a digital disc too.



“What’s on here?” I ask.



“Recordings of my . . . er, meetings . . . with Edmund.” Mother looks nervously at my father.



His head snaps up. “What? You recorded them?” His face turns bright red, and we all shift uncomfortably in our seats. “I don’t . . . I can’t . . . I have no words! How could you?”



“It was insurance!” Mother replies. “I was worried about my job, Jonathan. Office romances rarely end up well for the employee. I wanted to have a bargaining chip, in case he tried to fire me.”



Father shakes his head in disbelief.



“Oh, Mother,” I mutter, disappointed in her. It’s so typical of her to always be thinking about her career, even when it comes to having a torrid affair, but I guess we should be grateful for her scheming nature. It’s all the evidence we need to hang Purian Rose.



“I’m sorry, Jonathan,” she says.



Father turns his back on her and stares at the fire roaring in the hearth, his hands balling into fists. Lucinda and Roach read the file and their expressions harden.



“Did you know what Purian Rose was, when you were with him?” Day asks in her typically blunt fashion.



Mother flushes, but to her credit she answers. “Not at that time, no. It was only during the pregnancy that Dr. Craven and I figured it out. There were a few rather obvious signs that Polly wasn’t human.”



Before I can push her to give details, Roach slams the file on the table.



“Why the hell didn’t you release this years ago?” Roach demands.



“Because I didn’t want the world to know that my eldest daughter was . . .” Mother cuts herself short and takes a shaky breath.



“What? A nipper?” Ash says.



“No,” Mother replies tersely. “I didn’t want the world to know she was Purian Rose’s child. Don’t you see, either way, she was at risk? If the Sentry won the war, they would crucify her for having mixed blood. And if the Darklings won, she’d be killed for being his daughter. I was trying to protect her.”



I don’t doubt she was trying to protect Polly, but I suspect she was protecting herself too. If the truth ever came out that she had borne a child with a man who had Darkling blood in him, she would’ve been labeled a race traitor by the Sentry government and executed. Mother takes the file from them and lightly traces her fingers over a photo of Polly.



“When I joined the Sentry rebels last year, I realized there was no need to make this information public, since we had so many weapons at our disposal. We could take down Purian Rose through force, and I could protect my family and my reputation in the process.” She shuts the file. “It doesn’t matter now. Polly’s dead and my career is in tatters anyway.”



“If this fails, the Sentry will hang you for being a race traitor,” I say quietly.



She laughs. “If this fails, we’ll all be executed. We have nothing to lose.”



Except our lives, I think grimly.



My parents and Emissary Bradshaw discuss how they’re going to release the information to various news outlets across the United Sentry States. Once it’s released, as the most senior emissary in the government, Emissary Bradshaw would automatically be put into power. As they speak, Roach’s foot keeps bobbing up and down irritably, while Sigur quietly takes it all in. Lucinda and Yolanda share a disapproving look with each other.



“What about the Wings plot?” I say. “When are we releasing that information?”



Emissary Bradshaw smiles patronizingly at me. “I think it’s best we sit on that information for now, sweetheart. The evidence on Polly is enough to remove Edmund from office and put me in power.” He folds his hands over his large stomach. “It’s not going to be easy winning over the existing cabinet—things would’ve been much simpler if we’d seized power by force and replaced the cabinet with men loyal to me, like we originally planned—but since that’s not an option now, we have to play this very carefully.”



Ash stiffens beside me.



Mother nods. “If we release the Wings evidence, it’ll cause a lot of unrest in the cabinet and with the people of this country,” she adds. “We want a smooth transition into power. Once Patrick’s in office and has won the trust of both the cabinet and our citizens, he can start making preparations to end the war. It might just take a few more months than we originally planned.”



“Months!” Roach says, her freckled face turning red. “That’s not good enough!”



I glance at Day and she frowns at me, shaking her head slightly in despair. I rub the Cinder Rose tattoo on my wrist. Ash was right; this isn’t what we’ve been fighting for. I don’t want to replace one Sentry government for another, but what choice do we have? Ash looks down at me and nods toward the hallway door.



“I need a break,” I say, getting up. Mother lowers her lashes. Father is still by the fireplace, refusing to look at her.