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“Get rid of that,” Cormac orders as he heads back toward the motocade. “I want us at the capitol building in five minutes.”
He doesn’t look at me when I follow him, but he waits for me to climb into the transport. Instead I stand in front of the van and plant my hands on my hips.
“That was unnecessary,” I say. My voice is shaky, betraying my rage.
“You have blood on your hands,” he says, gesturing for someone to bring me a rag.
“Someone should have blood on their hands tonight,” I say in a low voice. “It should be you.”
“That’s what I do to traitors,” Cormac says. “You’d do well to remember that.”
“Then do it to me,” I dare him, smacking my chest with my fist so he knows where to aim. “Because that man asked a question, and you killed him. I ripped apart your world, Cormac. It’s only fair.”
“Don’t tempt me,” he snarls. But it’s an empty threat. Instead he pushes me aside and climbs into the transport. Cormac needs me to cooperate with his wedding plan to distract Arras and prevent future episodes like this in the other sectors. Of course, he’s after more than a bride. He’s hoping for a powerful ally. But it will take more than threats to control me.
I don’t follow him. Instead I watch as they drag the man’s body to the side of the street. They don’t bother to bag him like they did my father. In a few hours, his wife will come looking for him. She’ll bring their daughter, because no mother would leave her young child alone in a blackout. Maybe she’ll find him dead in the street, with no clue what happened to him. And then she’ll turn to the Guild for security and hope. Never knowing it was they who betrayed her.
I’ve seen my father’s blood pooling on the floor. I dream of it. The sticky blood, black like tar, that can’t ever be erased. I’ll live the rest of my life with that memory—burned into my mind at sixteen.
His daughter will live with death, too. She won’t even have a childhood.
But as we move through the Eastern Sector another thought sends a chill down my spine.
The girl probably won’t have to live with the memory for long.
FOUR
A TALL IRON FENCE WRAPS AROUND THE Eastern Ministry, the complex that contains the sector’s offices. A guard steps out and clears us for entrance while two more men open the gate and then secure it behind us. Despite the lack of power for operating the gate, the capitol offices must have some type of generator because a few electric lights blink in the windows. To an ordinary citizen they probably look like beacons of hope. To me they’re warning signals.
I have no idea what to expect once we’re inside. Cormac was tight-lipped after our altercation in the street. The grounds of the Ministry are lush and wild in the dark. It’s impossible to tell whether people and animals are moving through the gardens or whether it’s the blackness playing tricks on my mind.
We pile out of the transport and Cormac taps my goggles. I pull them over my eyes and the world is red. Despite the total darkness, I can now see everything in front of me. Cormac glows like an ember.
“We’ll check the perimeter,” Hannox says.
“For what?” I ask.
“Bombs, armed rebels—”
“Cosmetic-less women!” I cry in mock horror.
“This isn’t a joke.” Hannox’s eyes narrow. “If you can’t get your priorities straight—”
“You have a blackout,” I say, moving toward him. “The citizens ar
e in their homes scared. You killed a man in the street. All because some women refused to do what you told them to? Get your priorities straight!”
“We have no idea what to expect in there. It’s standard policy to check out a building and its surroundings before the prime minister enters it, even when there isn’t an active rebellion in the immediate vicinity,” Hannox explains through gritted teeth. I’m pretty sure he’s visualizing strangling me.
“There’s no rebellion here.”
“What do you call this?” Hannox says, waving his hands at the blank sky.
“A few Spinsters taking a break?”
“Adelice.” Cormac’s invocation of my name is a warning, but I don’t stop.
“Believe me, there’s no armed revolution waiting for you in there,” I say. It’s as though they can’t comprehend that someone chose not to obey, as though dissent could only be violent. I’m certain if a group had planned a full-blown revolution the streets would not be empty now.
