Rise An Eve Novel

eleven



“THE LIEUTENANT SAID THE SOLDIERS OUTNUMBER THEM three to one.” Aunt Rose pushed her eggs around her plate, prodding them along with her fork. It was the first time I’d seen her without makeup. The skin beneath her eyes was a dull blue, her lashes barely visible.

“What matters is we’re safe here,” Charles said. “There are a hundred soldiers surrounding the Palace, maybe more. No one is getting into the tower.” He glanced sideways at me as he said it, as if I could confirm its truth.

I stared down at the thin piece of bread on my plate and the small pile of eggs beside it. My appetite had gone, but I still felt nothing. My father had been too ill to speak with me the night before, but the Lieutenant had assured everyone the siege would be suppressed within a day or two. They were already rationing, though. No supply trucks could come in from the Outlands, so the kitchens had been locked. One of the Palace workers, an older, spindly woman with glasses, had been given the unfortunate task of answering requests.

We sat there, pushing the food around our plates, listening to the sounds of the City below. The gunshots could still be heard, even from the top of the Palace tower. Every now and then the fighting was interrupted by a quick, hollow pop that raised goose bumps on my arms.

Clara broke the silence, her voice tentative. “How is he?” She didn’t dare look at me as she said it.

Rose kept her eyes on her food, letting the fork rest for a moment on the edge of her plate. “No better, no worse,” she said. “You didn’t discuss his illness outside the Palace, did you?”

“No, Mother.” Clara shook her head.

The blood rushed to my face, my cheeks hot. Someone passed through the hall, the sound of their footsteps getting louder as they neared. I kept my eyes on the door, waiting for Moss to enter. Where was he? He could’ve been injured in the siege, or hiding out with the rebels. He could’ve been caught. There were so many possibilities of why he wasn’t here now, in the Palace, but I tried to steer my thoughts away from the most terrifying of all: What if he had betrayed me?

I could barely breathe. The room was too hot. The sight of the food sickened me, the eggs stiff and cold. “I’m not feeling well,” I said, pushing back from the table. “I can’t . . .”

I didn’t bother finishing the sentence. I just got up and left, the horrible, hopeless feeling following me. Maybe it was better to go now, despite the uncertainty. But how could I leave Clara here, or Charles? If what the Lieutenant said was true, if the army would be able to defeat the rebels, then they’d be safe after all. I was the only one in danger.

I started toward my room when a voice called out behind me. “Princess Genevieve,” the doctor said. “Your father would like to speak with you.” His small, black eyes watched me from behind thick lenses. He looked tired, his shoulders stooped, his face pallid.

“I’m not feeling well. I can’t right now,” I said, turning to go. “I’m sorry.” I started away, toward my suite, but he followed after me, reaching for my arm.

“He may only be awake for an hour or two,” he said. He gestured back to the other end of the hall. “He said it was important.”

We walked in silence. I didn’t resist any further. I knew how strange it would seem to the doctor if I refused to speak to my father now, when he was so sick. I held one hand in the other, squeezing the blood from my fingers, trying to fight the doubt that still held me.

“The tests have been inconclusive so far,” the doctor offered, as we approached my father’s suite. Two soldiers stood outside. “We’re narrowing it down, but he’s stable for now.”

I could smell the bleach from the hallway. Inside it was worse, undercut by the stench of sickness, which still lingered in the air. I started toward the doorway and was surprised to see my father sitting up in bed, the curtains open, the room unbearably bright.

He looked frail, his skin papery and thin. In the sunlight he seemed paler, his gray-blue eyes translucent. His lips were cracked so badly they bled. I turned to the doctor, but he’d gone. The front door of the suite fell shut, leaving the two of us alone in silence.

I couldn’t bring myself to ask him how he was or stand there pretending this hadn’t been what I wanted. Instead I just sat at the end of the bed, folding my hands in my lap to keep them from shaking. It was a while before he spoke.

“You lied to me,” he said. He studied the side of my face.

The back of my throat was so dry it hurt. It was impossible to tell what he knew, or how; if I could sidestep around the facts, or if there was no way out.

“I don’t know what you mean,” I said, hearing how pathetic it sounded, even to me.

“I don’t believe you anymore, Genevieve.” He fingered the tape on the back of his hand. A plastic tube snaked out of it, connecting up to a limp bag of fluid. “I stopped believing you a long time ago. As I’m sure you have me.”

“Then why bother asking?” There was little use now in pretending. We’d sunk into silence, the resentment building these past months, more natural than anything else. Even my pregnancy couldn’t change that for long.

He let out a low rattling sigh, resting his head back on the pillow. “Tell me—is there more than one tunnel leading into the Outlands?”

“I already shared with you everything I know about the dissidents’ plans,” I said quickly, keeping my eyes locked on his. “Caleb didn’t tell me anything beyond what I needed to know for us to leave.”

“Explain to me how they’re coming into the City,” he said. A thin trickle of sweat came down the side of his forehead, catching in the hair above his ear. “The north gate still hasn’t been compromised, despite all their efforts. And yet there are thousands of them inside the walls. Thousands.”

“I don’t know,” I repeated, more forcefully this time. “And we can do this again, with the Lieutenant here if you want, but nothing will change. I don’t have anything more to tell you.”

Slowly, without saying anything else, his body relaxed into the pillow. He looked smaller somehow, his arms thin beneath his loose nightshirt. “They won’t take the City. I won’t let them,” he said. He didn’t look at me. Instead he stared out the window, at some indistinguishable spot near the east wall. “It will end soon.”

I ran my hands through my hair. I’d never wanted to scream so loud or so long. The army from the colonies would not arrive. My father knew about the other tunnels in the Outlands. So where was Moss now? Where was I to go? Were the tunnels clear for me to pass through, or would I be caught there by rebels coming into the City, unaware that I was on their side?

I sat there, on the edge of his bed, listening to the faint sound of gunfire in the west. There was only one question that mattered now, as he lay there, between sickness and death. If he was right—if the rebels were defeated—would I be counted among them?