Arriving at The Virtue’s command post in the center of the Halo, I realize that Upper Halo is a massive airship. I can’t imagine what it’s like flying a building, but I’m certain that my Class Seven pilot’s license doesn’t cover it.
Inside the war room, The Virtue argues with Dune over strategy for the meeting he intends to hold with the other Clarities. Eventually he informs the other Clarities that my brother has taken his own life and that I have elevated to firstborn status. Holographic images of the Clarities extend jovial congratulations. Through all of it, I nod in acknowledgment but say nothing.
All the Clarities, except for my mother, have been apprised of my brother’s death. I steel myself for the virtual meeting with Othala, but nothing could have prepared me for her appearance when her holographic image alights in front of us. Seated behind her glass desk in her Sword Palace office, she slouches in her seat with a cocktail in reach. Her red-rimmed eyes stand out in the light of the holographic image. She looks as if she hasn’t changed her clothes in days. Her hair is limp and oily. Deep lines of grief carve the sides of her mouth and line her forehead. Her sorrow causes my heart to bleed anew. I have come to despise my mother, but something inside of me is still crushed by her sorrow.
“Return my son to me and I won’t torture you, Fabian,” she says, her voice deep and raspy, her words slurred. “Do it now and I’ll give you a quick death.” She lifts the fat tumbler to her lips, drinking a large gulp.
“You’re in no position to—”
“I’m not finished, you blubbering man-child!” my mother screeches. She lurches to her feet. “Send me my son’s murderer, Roselle, so I can eviscerate her myself. Then, and only then, will I not pluck out your eyes and feed them to my maginots!”
“You’ve gone insane! How dare you speak to me—”
“I dare, you pompous ass! You won’t last a day against me now.”
Fabian ignores her threats. “No one had to murder Gabriel, Othala. He did it himself. The first thing he’s gotten right in his miserable life! Now we have a competent heir to Swords.”
“You’re blind and stupid, Fabian!” my mother replies. “Roselle will always be ten steps ahead of you. I’m actually doing you a favor, and you don’t even know it. Send her to me along with my son’s body.”
“I don’t think so. I need the right St. Sismode on the throne of Swords to stabilize the Fates and quell the open rebellion. With Roselle in charge, every secondborn Sword soldier will leap to do her bidding. They’d follow her off a cliff. She’s one of them. No one will lift a finger if you go against her. Your army will turn on you in an instant.”
“And she’s your best hope?” Othala laughs derisively. “You’re a fool. You’ll never be able to control her. She’ll run circles around you, and you won’t even know it. Won’t you, Roselle? Just like you did by aligning with the Rose Gardeners right under our noses. You had one job. All you had to do was die. If you had, Gabriel would be alive. This is all your fault.”
Her words tear open my invisible wounds, but I don’t rise to her drunken logic. Instead, I ask, “Who are your monsters, Mother?”
She smiles sadistically. “Oh, you’ll find out,” she rages. “You’ll all find out! And stop calling me ‘Mother.’ I never wanted you! I demanded artificial insemination so that I wouldn’t have to touch your father again. Did you know that? Did you know that every moment that you grew inside of me was torture? Every time I look at you, all I see is Kennet. I couldn’t wait for you to Transition so I could get rid of your pathetic face. You look just like him. An evil little spawn. I had fun planning your death. The Fusion Snuff Pulse was supposed to be the perfect cover, but I was betrayed. Dune protected you. He joined The Virtue and let you live. He’s a coward, your mentor. But now, killing you seems too kind, Roselle. No, I should keep you alive long enough for you to understand what it’s like to be married to someone you despise. Maybe I’ll have you give me an heir to raise before I cut your heart out. How does that sound?” She cackles with glee. “I have just the man in mind. I think he’d be up to the challenge, too.”
My stomach roils. I fear she means Agent Crow. “I’m sorry that you were hurt, Othala,” I reply, “but I think you know me well enough by now to see that I have no intention of ending up like you.”
“How dare you pity me, Roselle! You think you’re better than me? I’ll make sure you know what a disgusting little insect you are.”
I bury any outward sign that I’m affected by her drunken raving. Inside, though, I grieve for her and loathe her at the same time.
Othala looks back to The Virtue. “Send Roselle to me, or pay the price.” Her holographic image winks out.
The Virtue wears a stunned expression. He expected my mother to cower on her knees, begging him to spare her life. The fact that she didn’t confirms that she’s in a much stronger position than anyone imagined.
The Virtue calls for his advisory council, including Dune, Walther, Clifton, and Grisholm, along with Grisholm’s closest advisors, which includes Reykin. Most of The Virtue’s inner circle now are either Gates of Dawn or Rose Gardeners, or they’re simply the inept, privileged offspring of other members of the aristocracy. The Virtue is surrounded by his enemies, and he doesn’t even know it. I almost pity him.
As the advisors assemble, Grisholm enters with Reykin. The Virtue-Fated firstborn shows no outward sign of grief over the passing of his sister. I wonder whether he will blame me, too, or has Reykin explained what happened? I’m about to ask him when I hear a deep voice say my name from the doorway.
My heart flutters as my eyes meet Hawthorne’s. Dressed in an Exo military uniform, he’s a striking figure. I bite the inside of my cheek.
Striding directly to me, Hawthorne offers a military salute. “Firstborn Sword,” he greets me, using my new title, “as your acting first lieutenant, may I offer you my condolences for the loss of your brother?”
His formality reminds me not to show weakness. “Thank you,” I murmur, feeling my cheeks heat.
He kneels on one leg, bowing his head. “I’m here to pledge my loyalty to you as your acting right hand.” When he looks up, I nod in acknowledgment. Hawthorne rises, towering over me. “It’s essential that we discuss nominations and appointments to your Heritage Council. Do you have a private space available for this discussion?”
Reykin pushes his way between Hawthorne and me. “No one trusts soldiers from the Fate of Swords,” he says. “Especially those in the aristocracy. How can anyone be sure that your loyalties don’t lie with Othala St. Sismode?”
Both Hawthorne and I are startled by Reykin’s insinuation. “As acting first lieutenant,” Hawthorne barks in a clearly military tone, “I’m here to swear my allegiance to Roselle St. Sismode, the Firstborn Sword.” His agitation is palpable. “My loyalty is to her, first and foremost. It’s my duty to enact the protocols between the Heritage Council and the heir to the Clarity of the Fate of Swords. You will not interfere with that duty, Star, or you will be subject to our laws.”
Reykin isn’t intimidated. He goes nose to nose with Hawthorne. “She doesn’t go anywhere alone with Sword-Fates.”
“She is a Sword-Fate,” Hawthorne counters, “and she has a duty to uphold.”
“I can speak for myself,” I interrupt. “Thank you, Firstborn Winterstrom, for your concern. I’ll discuss my future council with Acting First Lieutenant Trugrave. Alone.”
I pull Reykin aside for a private word. “Reykin, you know I’m capable of handling myself with Hawthorne.”
“Never forget that he has had divided loyalties in the past,” he insists.