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“We below folk know all about the dust sickness that Chenoa brought on us,” Mary said in a commanding voice. “We’ve seen it with our own eyes. And if you’re anything like me, you’ve had nightmares about it ever since.” She started to pace around Chenoa, circling her like a cross-examiner. “This isn’t just something she brought on the women who agreed to carry her poison dust into the Outlands. It’s something that got brought back to those women’s families. Children. Babies, even.”
Chenoa grunted and smirked. Mary broke off and turned to address her.
“You think babies dying is funny?” Mary asked. Chenoa leveled her with a look. Anger seemed to gather around the old woman like a cloak. “Speak,” Mary urged. “Give us some reason why you did what you did. I’m trying to give you a chance here, or would you rather I just let my people string you up?”
For a moment it seemed as if Chenoa would remain silent on her own behalf. She looked out at the mob as if it were happening to someone else, and then nodded to herself as if she already knew the ending to this story.
“I’ve always been good with numbers,” she said in a soft, dry voice that carried. “I’ve always been able to look at numbers and equations and understand them. Always been able to see through the numbers to the truth hidden behind them. I don’t know, maybe it’s a kind of magic. How many children do you think I’ve had, blond city woman?” she asked.
Mary was taken aback by the question. “I don’t know,” she replied.
“Four. All dead in their first year.” Chenoa’s voice was even and empty, her words pressed flat by the weight of the grudge within her. “My first babe starved to death. Belly swollen and so weak she couldn’t even cry anymore. She just made this mewing sound, like a kitten.” A long silence spilled out of her and swept over the crowd. “My middle two were taken by the Woven and the pox got my youngest. You ever see a baby die of the pox, blond city woman? No, you haven’t. The witches wouldn’t help us Outlanders when the pox came, but the below folk, they got the medicine ’cause they’re citizens.” Chenoa laughed, her head settling deeper into her shoulders, like a bird’s in a rainstorm. “You below folk are acting like you invented suffering, but how many of your children were lost by what I did? A few hundred? How many hundreds of thousands of our babies starved, were taken by the Woven, or died from the pox . . . or maybe you’ve done the math and think your pink babies are worth a thousands times more than our brown ones?” Her mouth pressed into a sneer. “Well, I’ve done the math, too, and I got some different numbers. One number in particular.” Her eyes dropped to the ground, all the fire suddenly snuffed out of her. “Four.”
When it became clear that Chenoa would say no more, the crowd began to shout their grievances at her again. There had never been anything she could say that would have persuaded them not to hang her, and the fact that they pitied her only served to anger them more. A rock was thrown. Then another.
Oh my God, they’re going to stone her, Una said in mindspeak. A score of Outlander braves notched arrows into their bows.
Tristan addressed the coven in mindspeak. Lily, can you jump us out of here?
Jumping might be our only option, Caleb agreed.
Jumping won’t stop them from killing one another, Lily argued.
We can’t contain this, Rowan said.
I brought them here to fight together, not one another. I can’t just let them riot.
While Lily looked around at the mounting chaos, she met Lillian’s eyes. Lillian turned away from her, unyielding. She wanted Chenoa dead. Samantha dithered her way into the center and stood next to Chenoa. She looked out at the crowd, wringing her hands and trying to duck as rocks sailed by. Lillian took a step forward to stop her, but Samantha moved even closer to Chenoa.
“You can’t have both, Lillian,” Samantha said, suddenly calm. “You have to decide. Chenoa or Grace.”
Samantha stared Lillian down. She was chillingly sane and in control of herself. She didn’t back down until Lillian finally looked away. Knowing her job was done, Samantha seemed to unravel. She shuffled off into the crowd where Juliet hastily corralled her and took her away.
Lillian turned to the crowd, raising her voice so everyone could hear. “I need her,” she shouted. She stepped forward, stood in front of Chenoa, and raised her hands. “Listen to me—I need her.” The sound from the mob died down. “When we get to Bower City, we are going to be facing a force too large for us to conquer. That’s a fact. Our only hope is to use the last remaining bomb against the Hive, and Chenoa is the only person who knows how to detonate it safely.”
Surprise, confusion, even sounds of dismay arose from the mob.
“But Alaric promised the western city would be our home,” shouted one of the Outlanders.
“Mary promised us the same,” said a ranch hand. “What good is fighting the Hive if we’re just going to blow up the city when we get there? We’ll still have no place to live.”
“We came out here to fight for a home,” someone else added stridently, touching off an avalanche of responses.
Alaric stepped out next to Lillian and quieted the crowd. “Let us consult with the leaders from all factions before we make any decisions,” he said. “Everyone make camp until we’ve had a chance to discuss the best plan of action.”
The crowd began to disperse, but Lily could hear the grumbling and feel animosity mounting as they went.
CHAPTER
13
Toshi walked casually down the hill toward the trolley line. It wasn’t easy to walk casually. In fact, just thinking of what it meant to act casual stopped him from being able to do it.
A Worker landed on his shoulder. Then another. Toshi forced hims
elf to breathe in and out. He thought of the color green and recalled the sound of rain. When he opened his eyes again, the Workers were gone.
The Hive had been on edge for almost a week now. The Warrior Sisters had come down from the high watchtowers that had kept them out of sight, and they now hovered over the streets or clung to the rooftops and to the sides of the buildings. Workers were quick to swarm, and more than one panicky citizen had been anesthetized with a sting, collected by a Warrior Sister, and never heard from since. Any elevated emotion could call Workers to you for closer inspection. Toshi was even setting them off in his sleep now. He’d wake, drenched in sweat, to find his body completely covered in them like a living blanket.
