“He’s annoying,” I mutter.
“Is that why you saved him on the battlefield? Because he annoyed you?”
“I couldn’t kill him like they wanted me to—like a coward would kill.”
“So, you saved him instead. That’s why you’re the one who will change our future.”
“I love my brother,” I blurt out.
“I’ll do everything in my power to save Gabriel, but he’ll never be The Sword. He’ll have to accept that.”
“He’ll never accept it.”
“Then that’s on him. Do you want me to call a medical drone for your neck?”
I touch my throat, where my blood has mostly dried. “The assassin shouldn’t have tried to slit my throat. He should’ve just stabbed me from behind—thrust his knife through my nape.”
“You wouldn’t have made that mistake,” he replies.
“I should’ve killed the third one.”
“No, taking him alive was optimal. You would’ve followed him into the water had Reykin not stopped you?”
“Of course.”
This brings a small smile of approval to Dune’s lips. “Reykin was right to stop you,” he says. “You cannot take risks like that. Your life is very important.”
Dune and I talk late into the night. He asks me questions about the past year. He’s especially interested in Clifton Salloway and the Rose Garden Society. I don’t seem to know anything more about the Sword secret society than what Dune does already, but I’m not sure, because he isn’t as forthcoming with his information about the Rose Gardeners as I am.
“You haven’t spoken much about Hawthorne,” Dune says.
“We’re friends,” I reply with a shrug. I feel very protective of Hawthorne. Members of the Gates of Dawn have been watching us—Daltrey admitted as much.
“He helped you when you needed him.”
“That’s how it is when you’re a secondborn soldier. We have each other’s backs.”
“But he’s firstborn now.”
I don’t like what he’s implying. “You’re basically firstborn, Dune, but you’re still loyal to thirdborns.”
“Be cautious with Hawthorne. The lifestyle of a firstborn of the aristocracy is seductive. The longer he’s a part of it, the more he may get to like it.”
Dune’s words anger me, not because he’s wrong, but because he’s right, and in direct opposition to what my heart wants. The thought of not being able to trust Hawthorne again tangles with the love I feel for him and puts me in an even fouler mood.
“I’d like to speak to Hawthorne,” I say.
“That’s not possible now. Trust me, it’s better this way.”
My hands form angry fists, and I rise from my seat abruptly. “If you’ll excuse me, the evening has caught up to me, and I wish to rest now.”
“Of course. Forgive me for keeping you so long.”
I wave my hand, dismissing his apology. “I missed you, and I wanted to see you.”
“I’ll make time for you whenever you need me, Roselle.” Dune lifts the whisper orb from the table. The iridescent bubble around us bursts. “I’ll walk you to your apartment.”
“I can manage it on my own.”
“I know you can handle yourself, but I’d feel better if you weren’t alone.”
“I insist. I’m not a little girl anymore.”
I’m out of step with our new relationship. Dune wants us to pull the pin on this world and watch it explode. He’s willing to risk everything for change. I’m worried about who will be left standing.
Disappointment shows in his eyes. “A lot has happened in a year, hasn’t it? At least allow me to walk you to the lift.” I nod. Dune escorts me to the opulent foyer. “Rest for a day, Roselle. Grisholm’s training can wait.”
“I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to hear that.”
I retreat into the glass elevator car. When I look back at Dune, there’s sadness in his eyes, just like on the day we were forced to part. This man, no matter what he says to the contrary, will always be my mentor—or much more than that. Before the doors close between us, I lurch out of the elevator and into his arms. He squeezes me tightly, resting his chin on the top of my head.
“You’re my father, Dune,” I whisper so only he can hear me. He acknowledges my words with an even tighter hug. When he lets go, I enter the elevator and descend from the halo.
Chapter 4
Phantom Star
It takes me a while to find my way back to my apartment from the glass lift. I get confused and lose my way. All the small conveniences of my moniker, such as navigation maps, become huge irritations the moment I no longer have access to them. I finally end up asking an Iono guard for help. He summons a mechanized domestic to lead me to my corridor. The tall, lanky android with its holographic humanoid face and features is foreign to me. We never used them at the Sword Palace. My mother never trusted them, calling them a “security liability.” She barely tolerated the maginots. I see her point. If the enemy were to infiltrate automated soldiers, an entire army could be turned in a single moment. If the automated soldiers themselves gained a greater awareness of “self,” the result could be the same.
My apartment’s corridor is cordoned off and crammed with Iono guards who have probably been here since just after I reported the attack. One of the guards behind the barrier lets me through when he recognizes my face. Hovering stingers are positioned on either side of the door of my apartment. As I near them, they don’t react to me.
My moniker is scanned, gaining me entry. Inside the apartment, a swarm of Exo guards investigates the crime scene. Among them is Firstborn Jenns. She’s on the balcony outside, staring out into the garden below. A couple of Census agents are also there, recording their findings using databases accessed through their monikers. They were probably called because the corpses didn’t have monikers. I stay as far away from them as possible without appearing to.
A team of Exos and drone cameras documents the scene. They’ve already removed the bodies. Now they’re pawing through everything in the apartment, but it doesn’t bother me. I don’t have any personal items here because I was taken from the Fate of Swords during the middle of the night and not allowed to pack. Everything I have has been provided by The Virtue.
I lean against a wall near the entrance to the drawing room and watch the activity. An hour later, the investigation winds down. Exos and Census agents trickle out until only Firstborn Jenns and a few of her people remain. She comes in from the balcony and secures the door. “The assailants’ DNA profiles aren’t in any of our databases. It’s as if they don’t exist. Census was called, and they’ll be handling that aspect of the investigation. Expect questions from them.”
Dread over speaking to a Census agent makes my stomach clench. “Who do you expect is involved?”
“All signs point to Gates of Dawn.” I know she’s wrong, but I refrain from saying as much because I have no evidence to the contrary. “We’ll post stingers in the corridor and by your balcony for now. Extra Iono patrols will remain in the garden, but don’t expect that to last. Grisholm doesn’t like a large security presence. He cherishes his privacy.”
“I’ll be fine,” I reply. “Thank you for your help, Firstborn Jenns.”
“Call me Vaughna. If you need me, contact me on my moniker.”
“I can’t. Mine has been restricted.”
She points at Phoenix. “Then send that little guy to find me.”