I wondered how I hadn’t seen it before, how I hadn’t recognized him for who he was. But how would I have? He was a prince—a male. There were no monuments constructed in his honor, no flags or monies depicting his likeness. And I had no particular interest in the royal lineage. There was no reason for me to recognize his face.
In a rush, the sounds around me were back, as if they had never been absent in the first place.
Claude reached for my arm, gripping it too tightly as he hauled me up to my feet once more and began dragging me toward the entrance.
I jerked away from him, suddenly furious. “I’m not going anywhere with you. I’m staying right here.”
He didn’t touch me again, but he towered over me, glaring, intimidating. When he spoke, he didn’t address me, but rather turned to Max. “We need to find out what she knows.”
Angelina clutched my hand, and I wondered if she’d somehow understood the meaning of his actions, if she’d sensed the tension in his voice.
I wondered what he meant exactly by “what she knows”? Was it possible that Max had confided his suspicions in Claude?
I lifted my chin, refusing to give him the satisfaction of knowing how hard my heart beat or how cold my blood ran.
Fortunately, at least in that single moment, Max’s was the only answer that mattered, and he shook his head. “She stays here with her sister,” he stated in a voice that was unyielding—and regal. And I couldn’t believe I hadn’t picked up on that before.
I narrowed my eyes, refusing to look at any of them as they departed, Max leading the way and never looking back.
I simply remained quiet, ignoring the conflicting emotions that warred within me, refusing to entertain the thousand questions that swirled in my head. I concentrated instead on keeping Angelina tucked safely at my side.
XII
I don’t know how long I stood there, or how long the people around me planned to remain on their knees, but for far too much time none of us moved. This time when I heard the sound of footsteps, they came from an entirely different direction and carried with them none of the thunder that Max’s army had.
All I knew for certain was that when I looked up to see who approached, I saw the last person I’d expected staring back at me.
Xander. And he stood before a motley group of men and women who remained behind him, hidden within the darkness the underground passageways provided.
Whatever I’d felt about Xander before was now overshadowed by Max’s deceit. I wasn’t sure I felt anything at all for the moment, save a dull glimm B th `ed behinder of relief.
We were no longer alone, my sister and I.
They’d come not from the entrance, but from the rear of the tunnels, from the deserted channels that had once been traveled by trains that ran beneath the city. Xander strode forward with quiet confidence to where we waited, his own army small in contrast to the one that had just vacated the tunnels. Angelina huddled against me, squeezing my leg.
“What are you doing here? How did you find us?” I asked when Xander was almost upon us.
But he just lifted his finger to his lips, silencing my questions. “Just come with me.” There was no other explanation. He held out a hand, and I had to make a decision. It wasn’t a difficult one, though. I didn’t want to stay where we were, surrounded by all those people who’d just witnessed what had happened with Max. I couldn’t bear to see the questions in their eyes.
When I stepped forward to take his hand, I felt Sydney at my back and realized she had no intention of being left behind, and we followed Xander as he drew us into the passageways that cut a path through the blackness.
I had no idea where we were, but it was magnificent. Breathtaking.
It was more like an underground city than a tunnel by the time we’d finally reached our destination. People—Outcasts, I assumed—moved freely around us, their lanterns creating near-daylight conditions even in the middle of the night.
Like the clubs, color filled nearly every space, but here the colors came in the form of carpets, mismatched clothing, and blankets that were strung everywhere, creating barriers that were used in place of more permanent walls and doors, a means of privacy amid the confusion. I smelled rich spices and tobacco, and smoke and food, as well as the moist earth that surrounded us. The acoustical sounds of stringed instruments melded together with shouts of laughter and crying babies.
A small boy scooted past us, squeezing between Sydney and me as he ran from an older child—girl or boy, I couldn’t be certain, the chin-length curls could have gone either way. I watched as mothers rocked their babies while toddlers played at their feet, and as men gathered to play games of chance. There was the familiar bustle of commerce and steady chatter. It was a little like standing in the middle of the crowded marketplace, save the absence of a blue sky overhead.
The activity was ceaseless. And the only language I heard spoken was Englaise.
I felt instantly at peace.
“What is this place?” I breathed, setting Angelina on the ground to walk beside me as I marveled at the chaos all around.
We stopped to see an older girl drawing lines in the dirt, while a group of children dressed in what I could only describe as patchwork clothing began dividing into teams, readying for a game. The girl’s fingers were coated with layers of grime, and her cheeks were pink with exertion as she concentrated on creating the large, perfectly shaped squares.
Xander smiled. “This is my home.”
A woman marched up to meet us—or rather, to greet Xander—and I realized that I’d seen her before; she was the bartender from Prey. Her bl J th a Her bl ue hair was evident even in the unnatural glow of the gas lamps.
“Charlie, this is Eden.” Xander introduced the two of us, and I nodded at her, trying to recall if I’d ever before seen eyes so black. I was sure there were no others like them in all the world.
I had the strangest feeling that the bartender—Eden—didn’t smile often. Her teeth were bared just a little too much as she attempted to appear hospitable.
Yet another reason the Outcasts didn’t live within the rules of normal society, I thought as I tried to smile back at her.
Angelina stayed close, as always, and Sydney was practically on top of me.
Xander pulled us along, with Eden following right behind. “Don’t worry, you’re safe here.” Then he smiled kindly at Sydney when he said, “We’ll take you back home once the sirens have ceased.”
I stopped walking, my heart stock-still within my chest. “How do you know it’s not an attack on the city? How do you know that the sirens will just . . . stop?”
Xander’s grin had the same predatory quality I’d seen at the club. “Because we were responsible for the attack on the city. We made them go off.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. It didn’t make any sense. Almost less sense than a subterranean city. “Why? Why would you do that?”
He sighed. “Come with me, Charlaina. We need to talk.”
It wasn’t hard to convince Angelina to stay with Sydney in the room that had been prepared for us. From what I could tell, there were very few individual accommodations, so I was grateful that one had been set aside for us. It was dank and smelled of cellar dirt, but at least there were suitable sleeping pallets.
I was still worried about Sydney’s injuries. She looked more and more like she might need medical attention, and I could only hope that some rest might do her good.
Before I left them alone, I pressed a gentle kiss against Angelina’s cheek. It was a chance to speak to her with no one overhearing. “Don’t do anything to help her, Angelina. I need you to keep your hands to yourself.” But when I pulled back, I could see worry in her eyes, and I knew she didn’t want me to go. “I’ll hurry back as fast as I can. I won’t be long,” I promised.
Angelina knew I spoke the truth. I could never lie to her, and she quieted down at last, silently agreeing to remain with the girl.
As I passed, I stu
died the armed woman who stood guard outside the small chamber’s entrance. She was more intimidating than any soldier I’d ever seen. Yet another extravagance afforded us by our host.
“Who are you? Who are all these people down here?” I asked, now that Angelina was no longer around. “I mean, I get that they’re Outcasts, but how did you all end up together?”
Xander settled down behind a makeshift desk, a sturdy-looking wooden table with pockmarks and peeling varnish. On it, an odd assortment of colorful maps and charts were strewn haphazardly. We were in an office of sorts, another chamb J th ar chamb er carved into the ground around us. “They’re not all Outcasts, Charlie. Many of them have chosen to be here. Yes, some have left their class, deciding they’d rather live freely among the Outcasts than adhere to the strict rules of society, but others . . . well, let’s just say that others are leading double lives.”
“What do you mean? Why would they want to live in two places at once?”
“This isn’t just an underground city, where people are free to come and go as they please, a place with no rules,” he explained, sitting forward, his elbows on his desk. “You still don’t get it, do you? These are people with strong beliefs. We’ve all come together because we have a common goal—a common enemy. You’re sitting in the headquarters of the resistance.”
He was watching me, and I knew he was waiting for my response, but my brain felt suddenly sluggish, and my thoughts were slow to process what I’d heard.
Finally Xander broke the silence. “Do you understand what I’m telling you, Charlie? We are the revolutionaries.” He grinned then, his teeth flashing white and his scar stretching taut. “And I’m their leader.”
His words dangled in the air. “What are you talking about?” I finally scoffed. This was some sort of elaborate hoax. But then I looked at him, really looked at him. And I noticed the sense of power he wore, radiating off him like heat, and I wondered why I hadn’t noticed that at the club. Maybe I’d been too preoccupied by his strange silver eyes. Or maybe I’d been too concerned with Max. Whatever it was, Xander waited for me to catch up. “You’re . . . you’re not joking, are you?”
He shook his head solemnly. “I’m really not.”
“How many of you are there?” I asked, still trying to make sense of everything he’d just told me, my head reeling with nebulous, unformulated questions.
He studied me as intently as I did him. “Here? Thousands. The underground city stretches for miles, we have access points hidden in every part of the Capitol, and we have nearly as many escape routes as we have soldiers willing to die for the cause.” He smiled at his boast, and then added, “Outside the Capitol, we have encampments in almost every major city in the country. We’re bigger than you realize. Bigger than the queen realizes.” His eyebr
ows drew together, his expression was grave. “I can’t fail, Charlie. I can’t let these people down. They’re counting on me.”
I didn’t know what to say.
It didn’t matter that his reasons seemed sound, or that he truly believed his cause was just. It didn’t matter that I thought Xander was a decent man trying to make a difference in this world.
He was a criminal. He was the leader of a rebel movement bent on destroying the very foundation of our country. If he succeeded, if by some inconceivable stretch of the imagination he was truly able to overthrow Queen Sabara, then the country would be thrown into chaos. Everything we believed in, everything we’d ever been taught, would become obsolete.
It had been tried before. And it had failed.
Without the kind of magic t Js i amagic t hat only a queen was born with, we could never survive.
THE QUEEN
The queen waited in hushed anticipation. She did not appreciate the calm.
When, at last, the door to the chamber opened and Baxter strode inside, she breathed an imperceptible sigh of relief.
“Has he spoken?” she demanded to know. “Have you broken him yet?”
Baxter hesitated, not a good sign. “No, Your Majesty,” he apologized, ducking as low as his belly would allow. “Not yet. We believe we’re close, however.”
She weighed his statement, his sugared reassurance of triumph, against the very real possibility that they would kill the boy before securing his cooperation. At the moment she needed all the information she could get about the resistance; killing anyone who might have valuable information would be counterproductive.
“Bring him to me,” she finally stated.
Baxter raised his head. “Your Majesty?”
Her eyebrows lifted, and her lips tightened.
Baxter cleared his throat, clearly recalling his position. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
She watched as he clumsily exited the room, and she wondered how much longer he could possibly be of use to her. He’d outlived his predecessors by years, but he was beginning to cross lines now too, to question his queen, even if only in thought. That in itself was treasonous. Cause enough for a death sentence.
Maybe, she thought, the new queen would have room for a traitor like him among her ranks. A sly smile found its way to her lips as she ignored the ache in her bones.
If only they could find a new queen in time.
The boy had to be carried into the room. He was incapable of standing before his queen, and she questioned whether he would have stood even had he been able to.
She had first received word of the boy from her spies, an intricate network laid throughout the city. They were distributed among every walk of life: the Counsel class, vendors, servants, and even within the ranks of military personnel. They knew how to gather information, using rewards and the promise of glory to coax her subjects into turning on one another.
She knew that the boy himself was no threat to her, that he was a nobody. But he had information to offer, or so she’d been told.
She gave the signal, and he was released by the guards. He dropped in a heap at her feet, whimpering softly as he clutched his ribs. His eyes were swollen, mottled with dark bruising, his lips gashed and bloodied. And these were just the injuries that were visible.
She did her best to sound gentle and reassuring. A difficult task, since her heart felt nothing for the boy. “You’re a fool. You’ll tell us what we want to know if it kills you,” she uttered.
He didn’t look up, and she took that as an indication that his wits were still intact, since she’d spoken in the Royal tongue. She dismissed J th ar chapab the alternative, that he was already too damaged, that he was no longer capable of responding to words in any language.
She tried again, this time in Englaise, in hopes of gaining an answer from him. “We don’t want to hurt you,” she lied. “We just want the girl.”
His head inched up cautiously. He opened his mouth to respond, but only an arid whisper escaped his mangled lips. His expression bore defeat.
Fury quivered through her. “Idiots! Give him water! You bring me a prisoner without preparing him properly?”
Baxter gave the signal, and a serving girl rushed out the door to fulfill their queen’s command. As she waited, the queen watched as her grandson entered the chamber, followed by his loyal guards. He looked smug, as always. And ineffective, as was to be expected of any male heir.
She was enraged that he’d slipped away from his guards yet again. He might only be male, but he was still a member of the royal family. There were rules to follow, precautions to take. It was bad enough he’d stooped to the ranks of the military.
She stopped herself from narrowing her gaze at him, reminding herself that personal matters were best handled in private. An insubordinate grandson could be dealt with at another time.
Maxmillian knew his place, of course, and he waited silently at the back of the room as she attended to the matter at hand.
The boy drank greedily, water dribbling from his lips onto his bloodstained shirt. When he was too weary to swallow any more, the queen resumed questioning him. “We know you’ve been associating with a memb
er of the resistance. I promise you that all of this ends if you’ll only give us her name.”
His head lolled unsteadily as he tried to meet his queen’s gaze. “I don’t know who you’re talking about,” he rasped.
A sliver of a smile settled over her thin lips. “Come now, boy, your denials are pointless. Our information is accurate, I assure you. If you’re not sure which friend we speak of, then name them all. We’ll find her ourselves.”
He shook his head; it wobbled from side to side. “I won’t. You’re asking me to implicate everyone. I can’t do that.”
The queen jumped up, towering over the boy’s crippled body. She was quivering now, as rage consumed her. Of course she was asking him to incriminate his friends! She needed to find the revolutionaries, to squash them before they could cause further damage to her country. She needed to stop them. She needed names!
“Tell me! I command you to tell me!” she shrieked, spittle foaming at the corners of her mouth. She held out her hand in front of her, pointing at the boy’s throat and then balling her crooked fingers into a fist. She was surprised by the sudden show of emotion, surprised that she was eliciting the use of magic, but she was unable to check herself in time.
She could feel the current of her own power tingling from the tips of her fingers and stretching toward him, wrapping around his throat like a taut ribbon of electrical wire.
The boy’s body went suddenly rigid, every muscle contracting as he struggl J th ` from ted for air. His hands clawed at his neck as his eyes rolled back in his head. His fingers dug into his flesh as if they could excavate an opening through which he could breathe. He had no idea what he was up against.
His queen watched dispassionately, unimpressed by his display of self-preservation and momentarily exhilarated by her demonstration of power.