Rise An Eve Novel

thirty



MY AUNT ROSE WALKED BESIDE THE SOLDIERS, TRYING TO STAY in front of us, where she had a better view of me. “Don’t do this,” she said. They didn’t turn to look at her as she spoke. “Where is her father? Let me speak with him. He wouldn’t want this, no matter what happened between them.”

The gun was at the small of my back, prodding me along through the main lobby. I processed it in quick, passing glimpses—the ornate pattern in the carpet, the shrouded gaming machines, the two soldiers who stood on either side of the gold elevators. Palace workers were crying, some huddled behind the desk, watching as I passed the great fountain in the center of the entranceway. My face was swollen from where the Lieutenant had struck me, my cheekbone throbbing. After eight hours of interrogation, they’d given up. They wouldn’t stop asking me about the rebels, about where the tunnel was under the wall, about the location of the girls in the wild. I refused to speak, letting the Lieutenant hit me until one of the soldiers stopped him.

“You’re acting without the King’s permission. Where is he?” my aunt asked again. She held on to the ends of her shawl, tightening her grip to steady her hands. In her face I could see the way Clara tensed when she was angry, how her skin grew splotchy and red.

“He has ordered this,” the Lieutenant yelled. He walked behind the cluster of soldiers, motioning for my aunt to step away. “Genevieve is responsible for an assassination attempt on her father.”

My aunt Rose had never paid much attention to me within the Palace walls. She was always so preoccupied with Clara, worrying over what she wore, what she ate, fixing the stray curls that sometimes fell down around her face. I’d never seen her like this—she was practically yelling at the soldiers, each word leveled with a determined fury. I suddenly wished I’d known her better, that we’d spoken more. “You cannot do this,” she repeated, raising her voice.

“The King has asked me to step forward for him in the interim,” the Lieutenant said. “While he recovers.”

My aunt called to someone in front of the main doors, running out to meet him. Charles was arguing with one of the other soldiers—the same one who’d guarded the holding cell for the earlier part of the day. He’d spent hours trying to convince them to put off the execution, demanding to see my father. From the concrete holding room I could hear him, marveling at how carefully he chose his words, not wanting to reveal what he knew. They never responded to his questions, always deferring instead to the Lieutenant. My aunt said something to Charles, pointing as they brought me out of the building. The scene went on around me, but I felt separate, alone. The voices in the front lobby blended together, the words indistinguishable from one another.

They’d tied the restraints so tight I could no longer feel my hands. The knife and gun had been taken from me. They’d stripped me of the uniform, leaving me in the same clothes I’d had on since I left Califia, the front of my shirt now dotted with blood. I watched Charles as I passed, offering him a quick nod, some tiny acknowledgment that he had tried. I didn’t want him doing any more than he had, afraid he’d reveal his real alliances. I was the one who came here. I’d finished what I meant to do. It wasn’t his fault.

The doors swung open, and I was outside, the sun stinging my eyes. They pushed me down the curved driveway, past the long row of narrow trees. The platform was still there, set up at the edge of the road. I scanned the great mass of people assembled in front of it, trying to see if there was any way out. There was a metal barricade, nearly four feet high, that I’d have to climb before disappearing into the crowd. The driveway curved toward the street, a good twenty yards I’d have to run. Even if I waited until we were closer, I’d likely be shot before I made it over.

My legs felt like they might give out beneath me. The soldiers spurred me on, one holding each of my arms so I didn’t fall. It was foolish, I knew somehow, but I was still making lists. Arden would have to be told if I died. I’d want her to know how much I owed her for what she did for Pip and Ruby. Beatrice needed to know that I’d forgiven her before she’d asked. I hoped Maeve, knowing why I’d come here, would allow Silas and Benny to stay in Califia indefinitely. I hoped if there was any way to return to Caleb, I could.

Charles came down the driveway, my aunt right behind him. He walked quickly, following us, his presence making me feel just a little less alone. There were black stains on my aunt’s cheeks, a heavy wash of makeup and tears. I remembered Clara’s words as we made our way north, how concerned Rose must’ve been, still not knowing where she was. I turned to them, waiting until my aunt lifted her head.

“Clara’s alive” was all I said—two words, loud enough so she could hear. I wanted to tell her more—about Califia, about how Clara would return if and when she could. But the soldier yanked my arm, turning me back toward the platform.

As they hurried me to the platform stairs, I glanced up, my gaze settling on the City watchtower. The light at the top of the needle was blinking red—a slow, constant warning. A few people in the crowd had noticed it, too, some craning their necks to see if there was anything happening along the north gate. There was a low, steady hum of voices in the distance. Up above, a man leaned out the window of his apartment, trying to decipher which direction the noise was coming from.

The soldiers ushered me up the stairs, spurred on by the shifting attention of the crowd. Something was happening in the Outlands, even if it was impossible to know what. They spun me around, and I imagined what Curtis and Jo had felt as they stood here, staring out at the crowd. The people had fallen into a strange silence. I recognized a few of my father’s circle. Amelda Wentworth, who had congratulated me on my engagement just a few months before, was standing toward the front, a thin handkerchief pressed to her face. Do something, I thought, watching them all, rigid, waiting. Why won’t you do something?

I pushed back on the soldiers, away from the coiled rope, but they dragged me forward. I struggled to stay standing, my feet barely touching the ground. I saw the Lieutenant out of the corner of my eye. He was staring off to the north gate, at the black smoke that billowed into the orange sky. An explosion went off, the loud popping sound like a backfiring car.

“Let’s finish this,” he said to the other two soldiers. He didn’t look at me as he spoke.

There were more explosions, and shouting filled the air. I realized then it couldn’t be a riot in the Outlands—it was too loud. The crowd started away from the scene, scattering down the main road, back toward their apartments. A few began running, breaking through to the south end of the road, sprinting far ahead. The Lieutenant pushed me forward, trying to get me up on the three-foot wooden box. I resisted him, letting my weight fall, my legs collapsing, trying to make myself as heavy as possible.

“Help me,” he yelled, looking to the other soldiers. They had backed away, their eyes on the smoke coming up from the northern edge of the wall. Another explosion was heard, and there was a great, collective yell. Then the light on the top of the watchtower changed from blinking to solid red, signaling that the perimeter of the wall had been compromised.

“The colonies are here,” a younger man called out as he ran south on the road. The crowd shifted suddenly, knocking over the metal barricade in front of the platform, sending people stumbling onto the sidewalk. A group of women ran toward the Palace mall, hoping to get inside. I pushed back as hard as I could, the base of my head meeting the Lieutenant’s nose. I turned and kicked him, hard, between his legs. He flinched in pain and stumbled backward. As soon as he released me, I started down the platform and into the dense crowd. I lost sight of him only a few feet away, his face appearing then disappearing as more people ran past.

I darted across the main road, keeping my head down, weaving through people as they scattered from the platform. My hands were numb, my wrists still lashed together at the base of my spine. A man in a tattered black jacket knocked into me, quickly registering who I was, then continued on. Everyone was too concerned with getting inside. The first signs of the army could be seen from the north end of the road, a wall of soldiers in faded, mud-soaked clothes. The rebels wore pieces of fabric tied around their biceps, the scraps of red visible in the distance.

I disappeared through the Venetian gardens, winding down the alleyways I’d learned when Caleb and I had been together. With my hands tied it was harder to run, my wrists throbbing from where the restraints dug into my skin. I moved quickly, starting along the back of the building, past the wide, cerulean canals, the sky darkening across their glassy surface. People ran past the bolted shops, weaving under the archways and through the outdoor corridors to stay hidden. Others sprinted into the entrance to the apartment complex, locking the doors behind them. I turned back, scanning the arched bridges and open patio, the wrought-iron chairs scattered across the bricks. I’d lost the Lieutenant somewhere along the way, but a soldier was now coming toward me, his eyes fixed on me as he drew his knife.

I darted down one of the open corridors, the stone pillars flying past as I ran. I finally reached a side entrance of the Venetian, but it was locked, a chain looped through the inside handles. As I took off around the perimeter of the building, I tried the next set of doors, then the next. The soldier broke into a sprint, his pace overtaking mine as I struggled, trying to find an entrance. Within seconds he had caught up.

“Princess,” he said, his knife out. He grabbed my arm and pulled me around, nicking the restraints with the blade. “There. I thought you could use help.”

The blood went back into my hands, the cold, tingling feeling startling me awake. I squeezed my fists shut, trying to get the warmth back into my fingers. He was only a year or two older than me, with buzzed orange hair and a smattering of freckles across his nose. I vaguely recognized him as one of the soldiers who’d been stationed in the Palace conservatory. His gray eyes searched my face, my arms, then drifted down to my stomach. I realized then—he’d known I was pregnant.

He glanced over his shoulder, watching the remnants of the crowd coming from the main road. Another soldier appeared across the canals, at the edge of the bridge, and my rescuer started off again, running east, away from me. He nodded before turning behind the old hotel.

I sprinted toward the Outlands, moving past the monorail, which was frozen overhead. In the distance, beyond the remaining hotels, the land opened up to dry, gray patches of sand. I ran past a parking lot. A few bodies lay there, the blood congealed on the pavement in horrible, blooming puddles. I turned away, trying to keep my eyes on a three-story warehouse ahead of me. A group of eight or so people funneled inside. A woman in a ripped coat was the last one in, and she turned, pulling the door shut behind her.

“Wait!” I yelled, glancing back to the main road. The sound of gunfire was coming closer. “One more,” I said quickly, starting inside.

“Not her,” a man with disheveled black hair called out from just beyond the doorway. “We’ll be tried for siding with the rebels.”

The woman’s face was thin and pale, the skin on her neck loose with age. “Only if the rebels lose,” she said, turning back to him. “She’s pregnant. We can’t let her stay out here.”

There was arguing inside. I glanced behind me, watching as the soldiers from the colonies spread out, starting through the streets. Two darted north, turning before they saw us hovering at the door.

“Please,” I pleaded.

The woman didn’t bother asking the others again. Instead she pulled me past her, into the dark warehouse, and locked the door behind us.