The silence feeds me as much as the breakfast. It’s easy to forget out here. To feel lost in another time. I relish the detachment, even with the usual worries clinging to the corners of my mind. What happens now? I still haven’t figured that out.
And, for a little while, I don’t have to.
“Bison,” Gisa says softly, raising a hand to point across the geyser basin.
I tense up, ready to spring. If one of those beasts gets too close, it’ll be my responsibility to get Gisa out of here safely. My lightning prickles beneath my skin, ready to unleash. It feels almost unfamiliar these days. I haven’t been training or sparring, not since we returned to Montfort. I keep telling myself I need the rest. Bree and Tramy keep telling me I’m lazy.
The bison are far off, fifty yards at least, and lumbering slowly in the opposite direction. The herd is small but impressive, a dozen at least, all shaggy and dark brown, moving with surprising grace for things so big and heavy. I remember my last encounter with a bison. It wasn’t exactly peaceful.
Gisa returns to her sketch, thoughtful. “Davidson’s guide told me something interesting.” The premier was good enough to send an escort with us into the valley.
“Oh, what’s that?” I ask, not taking my eyes off the herd. If they bolt, I’ll be ready.
My sister continues to chatter, oblivious to the possible threat currently picking its way across the basin. I’m quietly happy that she doesn’t know enough to be afraid. “She said that once, the bison were almost gone. Thousands upon thousands hunted and killed, maybe millions, until only a few were left on the entire continent.”
“That’s impossible,” I scoff. “They’re all over Paradise, and the plains.”
“Well, that’s what the guide said,” Gisa replies, sounding annoyed by my dismissal. “And it’s her job to know what goes on up here.”
“Fine,” I sigh. “So what happened?”
“They came back. Slowly, but they came back.”
My brow furrows, confused by the simplicity of her answer. “How?”
“People,” she says bluntly.
“I thought the people killed them—”
“They did, but something changed,” she replied, her voice sharpening. Now I think she despairs of my comprehension. “Something big enough to . . . change course.”
I don’t know why, but I’m reminded of something Julian taught me once, long ago.
We destroy. It’s the constant of our kind.
I’ve seen that firsthand. In Archeon, in Harbor Bay, on every battlefield. In the way Reds were treated and are still treated across the continent.
But that world is changing.
We destroy, but we also rebuild.
The bison move off, slowly disappearing into the trees on the horizon. Seeking new grasslands, oblivious to two small girls sitting at the edge of the water.
They returned from slaughter. So will we.
As we make our way back to the cabin, now sweating beneath the heat of the rising sun, Gisa chatters on about everything she’s learned in the past week. She likes the guide, and I think Bree does too, in more ways than one.
My mind wanders, as it usually does in these small moments. Drifting back through memory, and forward too. We’ll return to the Montfort capital in a few weeks. I wonder how different the world will be by then. It was already unrecognizable when we left. Evangeline Samos, of all people, was living in Ascendant, last I heard, as an honored guest of the premier. Part of me still hates her, and her family, for all they took from us. But I’m learning to live with the anger, to keep it close without letting it eat me alive.
Slowly, I touch the stones pierced along my ear, naming each one in turn. They ground me. Pink, red, purple, green. Bree, Tramy, Shade, Kilorn.
I couldn’t stay, I think again, for the thousandth time. I still don’t know if he’ll wait for me.
But maybe, when I go back . . .
My fingers brush the last earring, the newest. It’s another red gem, red as fire, red as my blood.
I will go back.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
People keep asking what it feels like to finish a book series, and I keep telling people that I’m waiting to feel something. I thought the experience left me numb, but the sensations of something are creeping up. Relief, of course. Anxiety. Fear. But most of all, gratitude. So much gratitude I can barely even make sense of it.
My deepest and most sincere thanks go to my family, for making the beginning, middle, and end of all this possible. It’s easy to look back and see the moments where my life changed, and you were integral to each. Thank you to Mom, Dad, and Andy, to the Aveyards and the Coyles, for everything you’ve done for me, and will continue to do.
I refuse to get sappy or emotional while thanking my friends, largely because they won’t tolerate it. Thank you to Morgan, Jen, and Tori for making sure I never get in too deep. Thank you to Bayan and Angela, to Natalie, to Lauren, to Alex. Thank you to all the rest, too many to name. We’ve been going to the same party for seven years and that is in no way depressing.
Indy is a dog, so this is kind of useless, but thank you. You’re the best girl. I love you more than is socially acceptable or psychologically healthy.
This series has occupied almost six years of my life, and landed me a career I used to dream about. And the books themselves would not exist without some tremendous people who pushed us both along. Thank you to Christopher Cosmos, Pouya Shahbazian, and Suzie Townsend for sparking everything, no pun intended, and keeping this train rolling as smoothly as it can. Thank you to Jo Volpe, Kathleen Ortiz, Veronica Grijalva, Sara Stricker, Mia Roman, Danielle Barthel, Jackie Lindert, Cassandra Baim, Hilary Pecheone, and the rest of the dynamite team at New Leaf Literary. Thank you to Sara Scott, Max Handelman, Elizabeth Banks, Alison Small, and all the heroes of Universal Pictures and Brownstone Productions. Thank you for loving these books as much as we do. All my love to the army at HarperCollins and HarperTeen, doing battle for Red Queen for so long. Thank you to my fearless, ferociously talented editors, Kristen Pettit and Alice Jerman, as well as Jen Klonsky, Kate Morgan Jackson, Erica Sussman, and every person who ever put a fingerprint on an Aveyard manuscript. You’ve made these books what they are. Thank you to Gina Rizzo, who has now successfully guided me through four years of festivals, tours, interviews, and too many airports to count. Thank you to Elizabeth Ward, Margot Wood, Elena Yip, the Epic Reads crew, and all the geniuses behind the Red Queen campaigns over the years. Never thought I’d have a foam sword with my book on it, but here I am. And of course, thank you to Sarah Kaufman for turning what I saw in my head into the most beautiful and iconic covers any author could ask for.
I’ve been lucky enough to gain some friends out of my excellent colleagues. You’ve all been wonderful support in what is a truly weird career. Love and thanks to my Patties, Susan Dennard, Alex Bracken, and Leigh Bardugo, for sharing their friendship, talent, and advice. To Renee Ahdieh and Sabaa Tahir, stars from the start. To Veronica Roth, a beacon. To Brendan Reichs and Soman Chainani, for putting up with me. To Jenny Han, fearlessly leading the way. To Emma Theriault, who helped will this series into being. To Adam Silvera, for suffering four hours of mimosas and not running away from me. To Nicola Yoon, for your steadfast kindness. To Sarah Enni and Maurene Goo, my bright lights east of the 405. To Morgan Matson, for ’bux. To Margaret Stohl and Melissa de la Cruz, dear YALL moms to us all. And to everyone I’ve left out entirely by accident, but I love and thank you just the same.