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Shit.
I hold my hands up in surrender, vowing to destroy every single one of them.
Just as soon as I get away and ensure Hel's safe, and far away from this city.
I didn’t take Reiks seriously enough when he warned us that this rebellion was nigh. Now I'm paying the price.
* * *
From my perch, I watch in silent horror as the city explodes around me.
Left and right, the buildings detonate one after the next in a cloud of dust and fire.
I think about the map, and I know then what it was Zale strived to prevent.
He failed, but even if he had been successful, his effort would have come far too late.
I need to get back home. From here, with a clear view of the city, I can tell no one bothered to bombard the lanes. And no wonder. If the noble men were right, and this horror comes from commons, they aren't about to attack their own.
I don't know what makes me remain just where I am until I see them.
A dozen men, clapping and clamoring in victory as they encircle Zale, pushed forward at spearpoint with his hands bound.
It would be oh so easy to leave him to his fate. Let his reap the consequences of thousands of years of pain and indifference toward my kind. He's the cruel golden son of this broken world, this system that keeps people like me crushed within its talons. Objectively, he deserves this. Something savage inside me tells me to stay out of it. Just watch from a distance. I don't have to do anything at all. Just watch. Like the nobles watch while the plebes starve and suffer. I can finally be one of them. Maybe someone can get me popcorn.
Except I can't bear it.
My instincts tell another tale. In the last weeks, I've gotten to know Zale, and those like him—the demis ruling our world. I've dined with the monsters, feasting on the best cuts rather than the crumbs left over for the common blood. I've even struck up a strange and weak, uneasy friendship of sorts along the way—a day-old relationship wrapped in lies and unsaid truths, ready to be ripped apart at the slightest wind.
And I remember that kiss.
That disturbing kiss.
Beyond anything personal,I know what letting Zale die today by the hand of people like me will mean for tomorrow. The demis aren't on top because of their money, their many comforts, or the fact that their bellies are always full. The one percent rule over us because of power, simple as that. The abilities they were born with cannot be vanquished. Not when it takes a hundred of us to kill the least of them. The world would be painted red with common blood before we dethrone those who wield magic. We might have exiled the gods a thousand years ago, but the only reason why that endeavor worked was because we had their descendants on our side.
If Zale succumbs today, another one ofthemwill take his throne tomorrow. My stepfather, if we're lucky. In all probability, someone far worse. I've seen his court. We'll be exchanging one monster for another. Likely, a worse option.
And as they say, better the devil you know…especially when said devil isn't as bad as I first believed.
I make my choice in an instant, leaving the relative, temporary safety of my rooftop to return to the ground.
I grab a discarded cloak from the floor, three times my size, and wrap it around me. Taking care to run in the same direction as the few confused, scared civilians dashing away from the square, I follow the procession leading Zale away from a distance. I'm one among a million, never worth a second look.
Finally, I reach an empty alley between a laundry and an alcohol store claiming to be open all day and night. It's closed now.
My muscles protest the exertion after so many months of leisure and comfort. I've grown weak.
I've been weak before. It didn't stop me from surviving then. It won't now.
I climb the smooth surface of the wall, hopping on top of the ale pint sign, then jumping atop the balcony on the second floor before the flimsy neon sign registers my weight.
When my feet hit the roof, I drop to a crouch and survey the burning city at my feet.
Funny. Weeksin high town, and I never felt at home. It looked too perfect from down below. Clean, polished, peaceful. Now, there are screams, heavy clouds of smoke, the stench of sweat and blood clog the air, and I finally recognize this city. The rich streets of Magnapolis, the golden capital, isn't much different from the undercity.
My brain kicks in, tying together the maps I glanced at so many moons ago and the layout I see before my eyes. We're perhaps six, seven hundred yards from Royal Lane, but heading there would be a mistake. I've no doubt the men holding the king will waste no time bringing him to their superiors—they're too far down in the pecking order to make a decision themselves. They would have taken the main streets—heavily guarded as they are, avoiding the thick of the battle wouldn't have crossed their mind.
Though my fancy, noble-made boots are hardly made for any type of exertion, I manage to keep my balance as I dart from rooftop to rooftop, scaling the city faster than I thought possible, and unnoticed. Even if anyone would think to look up, the smoke is too thick, and I, too used to moving undetected.
