CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

THE GREAT HALL IS ALREADY HALF FULL of guests when I try to slip in unnoticed. The party doesn’t match the opulence and grandeur of the Exhibition during training, but no Finca del Mar party would be complete without talented musicians, vibrant bouquets, decadent foods, and an ample supply of chicha.

I don’t recognize many of the guests, so I scan the clusters of women dotting the room, looking for an easy entry point. Nari seems deep in conversation with someone who could be a relative. I need someone to converse with, primarily to avoid having to talk with those I’d rather evade. Top on my list of dodge-at-all-costs: Grandmother, who stands shoulder to shoulder with Jamara, introducing her protégé to a group of influentials, including my Aunt Julissa. I’m so intent to skip the potential of encountering them that Bri —who sips a glass of chicha with several Senators at the opposite end of the hall —becomes a viable option. I load a plate with fruit tartlets and chèvre and try my luck.

Shockingly, as I approach the group Bri breaks away and takes my arm, all familiar-like, so that anyone watching would think we were the best of friends reunited after months apart. But this is Bri, and as she guides me casually across the room, I know she’s up to something even before she leads us into the unoccupied dressing room where Dom Tourmaline styled me just this morning.

With the door closed behind us, she drops the facade like a hot rock. “What the bats happened?”

“What?”

“What? What could you possibly have done to screw it up? You had it. We all knew you were her choice.”

“I thought you didn’t want me to win.”

Ignoring my deflection, she continues a puzzled tirade. “You were the only one who completed your test. Nari couldn’t do it, Jamara got stopped short, but you . . . I thought you . . . didn’t you . . . ?”

“Yes, I did it,” I snap miserably, throat tightening with anger. “I shot him.”

Genuine confusion softens Bri’s hard expression. “Then what happened?” she asks again, barely above a whisper.

I stall a moment, weighing how much to tell her, if anything. But what does it matter now? Apart from my promise to Torvus not to tell anyone about them, I’m under no obligation to hide the truth. Besides, Bri already knows about the raids —she was on the same patrol that chased the column of smoke to the burning finca.

“I read Tristan Pierce’s journal, Bri. I found it, and I read it, and I discovered there’s a lot of things we haven’t been told. She caught me with it.”

A subtle shift occurs between me and my fellow Candidate from Amal. Perhaps now that I’m no longer a threat to her, she can stomach me easier. Or maybe we’ve been through too much together for her to keep up the act any longer. Whatever her reasons, she drops the bravado, the obnoxious needling. At least for now.

“What did it say?” she asks.

I take a deep breath and hope to Siyah I’m not making a mistake.

“A lot of things. Mostly that Gentles aren’t born dull-headed and lazy —they’re made that way by a vaccine. I think it’s that shot they give the babies at the Center.”

She tugs at a strand of hair as she considers this information. Her mind must be spinning. Why wouldn’t it be? I’ve had weeks to put the pieces together —and a whole unconventional childhood to prepare me to see the Gentles as human. But strangely, she doesn’t seem very broken up over the revelation.

“So what?” she finally counters. “They have to keep them from becoming Brutes somehow, right? Whether it was all at once ages ago, or whether we have to keep doing it over and over, either way, we’re keeping Gentles from becoming Brutes. Why would knowing that keep Teera from choosing you?”

I consider her question. I turn it over and over, then back to front again. I realize I’m afraid of the answer, terrified by the implications of my doubt.

“I guess because she’s not sure which I think is better.”

Bri slaps her forehead and lets her fingers drag down her face, finally resting over a gaping mouth.

“Not sure which is better? Monsters who hurt women or Gentles who serve them? Yeah, tough choice.”

“It’s not that simple.”

She shakes her head in disbelief. “Maybe your mother did turn you soft.” But there’s no sarcasm in her voice. Pity instead, which is always worse.

The only way to convince Bri I’m not crazy would be to tell her about the Brutes I met, which I can’t, not without breaking my word. If she could hear Jase’s easy laughter, or watch the way Rohan tended to my shoulder, if she had witnessed the cubs tromping innocently through the Jungle, or listened to the drums and cheers around the fire, then maybe she’d be as conflicted as I am.

“What if they weren’t all monsters?” I send the probe out gently, pretending I just thought to ask myself this very question.

“Then the foremothers wouldn’t have had to do what they did,” she says with confident finality. “But if you’re asking those kinds of questions —geez, Reina —it’s no wonder you scared off Teera.”

“I didn’t say . . .”

“Shut up,” she cuts in with a hint of the old Bri. “Whatever you said or didn’t say, you’d better get out of here. Soon. If she chose Dom Evil because she can’t trust you, you think she’s going to let you just walk away, knowing whatever you know that she doesn’t want you to know? Hmmm?”

“She’s my grandmother,” I start to defend, but I don’t need Bri’s epic eye roll to tell me what a stupid argument that is.

“And even if she doesn’t invent some reason to dispose of you,” she continues, “Jamara will have no problem finishing what Adoni interrupted. Once that witch is Matriarch, none of us are safe. I bet she’ll even finish off Yasmine, just to be cruel.”

I cringe at the thought of Jamara’s probable rampage of revenge. “Where are you going to go?”

Bri shrugs. “Doesn’t matter. Figure I’ve got a year at least until she takes over Nedé. Teera doesn’t give five rats about me. She didn’t even test me, remember? I’m no threat to her. But she might change her mind if she catches me talking to your traitorous butt. We’d better get out there.” She pauses as she reaches for the door handle. “Don’t get yourself killed, okay?”

“Yeah,” I say. “You too.”

A few steps outside the dressing room we part, taking opposite, nonchalant paths through the crowd to minimize any association.

I wander aimlessly at first, pretending to be absorbed with my hors d’oeuvres and the nearby musicians. A flavor, or scent, or chord —something triggers a memory, and I’m transported to the dance-drama at the Exhibition in this very room —the tale of one woman whose bravery changed everything. They made Tristan seem so perfect. A brave hero, liberating women everywhere from the Brutes’ evil.

I wanted to be like her then. I wanted my bravery to change the course of history too. That was before I found her journal —filled with nightmares and self-doubt —and discovered the price she was willing to pay for safety. It was before I danced around a fire ring with Brutes. That was before “bravery” ended in murdering my best friend. Before I failed.

The room grows hot, and I amble closer to the double doors that exit into the garden. Surely I’ve endured enough polite nods and awkward wandering to get credit for not being a sore loser. I’m ready to get out of here. But I don’t reach fresh air before catching Jamara’s watchful eye. Victoriously attached to the Matriarch, she appraises me coolly, her back straight as a teak tree, her thick arms protruding like branches from the green tunic falling to her ankles. She purses her full lips, and her nostrils flare slightly. Teera’s quintessential understudy. I don’t know whether to laugh at the blatant plagiarism of intimidation techniques or to be afraid. No, I won’t give her the satisfaction of fear tonight, but I’m not stupid either —I’ll stay as far away from Jamara Makeda as I can manage. Starting now.

I slip outdoors into the fading light of evening and inhale sharply the heavy, plumeria-tinged air. It fills my lungs like freedom. Strings of lights make up for the fading sun, reflecting off waxy leaves and illuminating the mosaic tiles underfoot. My feet follow the familiar path while my mind wonders about another familiarity: my sister Jonalyn. I wish I could ride all the way to Bella Terra tonight —to see her and Mother, Cassia and the new baby, too, to sleep in my old bed and wake to Ciela’s stupid rooster. But home is the first place Grandmother would expect me to go, and while I have no reason to think she’d come after me, Bri’s words have me nervous. Besides, the time has come to choose my destiny. The Succession proved a timely delay of the inevitable, but I can’t avoid the decision any longer. And after today, I don’t want to.

The stables are quiet and empty, dark too, with only traces of the last ambient light of day. No stablehand oils saddles in the breezeway, or rakes stalls, or brushes horses, and hope flutters in my chest. It’s late enough that Neechi could have simply gone to his quarters for the night, but still, there’s a chance he listened. And I’ll take what hope I can get.

Callisto nickers, and I head straight to her stall, letting her nuzzle my cheek and giving her velvety nose a kiss. No surprise, she’s smooth and clean, and a circle of rope hangs on a peg outside her gate next to my rucksack. She stamps a hoof restlessly.

“What’s wrong, girl? You anxious to go too? I don’t know why. Neechi spoiled you rotten.”

She stomps again, then shakes her head. I reach a hand out to calm her, but her agitation makes me nervous. Does she sense something?

Not wasting any time, I lead her out of the stall, slip on the neck rope, shoulder the leather sack, and make a straight shot for the Arena.

Darkness settles over the barracks by the time I knock on the rust-red door marked with a faded yellow 2. A slight lapse in planning —I hadn’t accounted for the fact that the Arena would be deserted for the night by the time I arrived, or the unfortunate fact that I didn’t actually know where Trin lived. Lucky for me, I chanced upon three Alexia strolling past the paddock where I took the liberty of turning out Callisto for the night, and they pointed me in the right direction. This plan is really going to stink if she’s not home.

I’m about to knock a second time when the lock clicks and the door swings inward. An unfamiliar Trinidad appears behind it, dressed in a silk camisole and simple linen shorts, arms bare of metal bands, her copper-tipped curls stretched straight in a miniature ponytail perched atop her head. Only her peculiar gold eyes hint at the fierce Alexia we witnessed today in the Arena.

“Reina?”

“Hey,” I begin awkwardly. I’m aware of the chance I’m taking, and it makes me self-conscious. It’s not like Trin and I are friends. She did take me under her wing during training, and she seemed genuinely glad I didn’t die in the Jungle, but showing up at her private quarters is territory we’ve never covered. I clearly don’t have many options at this point.

“Can I come in?”

She shrugs, then steps back from the door to let me pass. I exhale in relief. This is a start.

The apartment might fit inside my room at Bella Terra, with only a bed and dresser in one corner, a compact table and two chairs under a window, and a small sofa, all made from matching hardwood.

Once Trin closes the door behind us, she relaxes some. “I can’t believe she didn’t choose you.” Just like Trin to get right to the point. “I thought for sure she’d choose you, Candidate.”

I chuckle, precisely because it’s not funny. “That makes two of us.”

I invite myself to take a seat on the sofa, and Trin pulls out a chair.

“So what does Adoni think of her new boss?”

It’s her turn to smirk. “She’s not happy about it. Apprentice Makeda seems just the sort of woman who would order you to turn around so she can stab you in the back. But Adoni has . . . bigger problems at the moment.”

I nod impartially, knowing better than to ask, wishing she’d explain more. But I have a pretty good guess what shape those “bigger problems” take, and where one of them is now.

She glances at my bag. “So, what brings you here?”

A flush of unexpected nerves betrays me, and I have to squeeze my hands together to keep them from shaking. I take a steadying breath. Might as well be out with it. “I want to join the Alexia.”

She leans over her knees, resting her chin on splayed fingers as she considers me.

“Why?”

Why? Such a simple question, and once I had a simple answer. When I used to press Dom Bakshi for help deciding on a destiny —exasperating her with my indecision —I wanted to join the Alexia because they were bold. Daring. The antithesis, I thought, of Materno —of my mother and what I assumed she wanted for me. Then, during Candidate training, I discovered the Alexia were even more than I thought —that they, perhaps more than any other destiny, strive for the Virtues I myself want to embody.

But now? Now that I’ve seen Teera’s tight grip on the defenders of Nedé —know of her plans to use the Alexia to annihilate the Brutes —why would I willingly align myself with the sword in her hand?

I close my eyes, remembering how easily she coerced me into doing her bidding, scared she could do it again. No —I didn’t shoot Tre for Teera’s sake —I did it for him, for a greater good. I did it because I still care about the Virtues. And as long as most of the Alexia do too, maybe Nedé has a chance to right its wrongs. It’s worth the risk.

I sigh, slowly, trying to tease out an explanation that will make sense to Trin.

“Because,” I say, “as long as women like you wear the bow, I believe the Alexia can still be the destiny it was when your nana carried her dagger.” And that’s true —as much truth as I can give her tonight.

Trin nods slowly, deep thought and casual clothes giving her a strangely ordinary appearance. Yet even now, stripped of costume and bravado, my unlikely mentor commands respect.

“You can talk with Adoni in the morning,” she says, standing. “You have somewhere to sleep tonight?”

“No.”

“It’s too late to get you into the barracks. You can have the couch.”

She doesn’t wait for an answer before pulling a thin blanket from a tiny closet and throwing it at my face. “You better not snore.”

The next morning Trin finds me a proper Alexia vest to complete the pants and boots from Dom Tourmaline I’m still wearing, then sends me to get my horse while she fillets two avocados in her miniature kitchen. The creamy green flesh replaces a proper breakfast during the short walk to the Arena. By the time we cross under the now-familiar stone archway, the air already lies hotter and heavier than a pregnant sow.

The expanse of gravel and training apparatuses already bustle with a growing crowd of Alexia, more than I expected.

Trin inclines her head, sweat already giving her mocha skin a dewy sheen. “We get the week’s patrol orders today. You should talk with Adoni before she thinks you’re crashing the party.”

The Alexia leader isn’t difficult to find. Counting the thick, black braid looping from the top of her head down one shoulder, she stands almost a full head above the others. I lead a slightly antsy Callisto across the Arena floor toward her. I muster confidence as I approach, which I find less difficult than on the first day of Candidate training. Adoni’s still slightly terrifying, but I believe I’ve earned some measure of her respect. At least, I hope I have.

When she sees me coming, she doesn’t stop sharpening her short sword until I’m close enough to see the individual black and green scales on her dragon tattoo. The beast curls around her bicep and over her broad shoulder, reminding me why she’s in charge around here.

There was a time when I wondered whether my indecision meant I was made for something outside the confines of a single destiny. But standing here among these strong, capable, virtuous women, I suspect I could spend my whole life just trying to do this one justice.

I clear my throat, then swallow the last of my pride. “You told me once that if things didn’t work out with the Succession, I’d have a place with you. Does the offer stand?”

She slides the blade into a sheath dangling from her belt as she straightens, expressionless. Then, with the slightest twist of her mouth she asks, “Did you forget that offer didn’t extend to your mutt?”

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid she’s going to show up Nyx.”

I smile, but regret the quip as soon as it leaves my mouth. Adoni isn’t exactly the kind to appreciate a good joke. And the truth is, I know I’m going to have to let Callisto go. I’ve known for a long time, however stubbornly I’ve resisted. My fingers instinctively curl around the strands of her two-tone mane. It’s time to choose my destiny, even if that means parting with the best horse in the course of human history.

“I do remember,” I admit. “And if she can’t stay, I’ll take her to my mother’s finca as soon as I get the chance.”

Adoni nods, then looks me up and down, appraising my build. “You need more training,” she sniffs. Then, to someone behind me, asks, “You want her?”

Trinidad stands watch behind me, suited up with bow and quiver. The Alexia second-in-command scrunches her nose in false reluctance, rubbing a hand over a gold armband. “I guess I could, if no one else will take her.” She winks at me.

Adoni doesn’t react to the familiarity between Trin and me. “Once she’s ready, assign her a detail.” Then, to me, “Avoid notice if you can. Get that horse out of here, and whatever you do, don’t show your face at the Finca.” She thrusts her forearm toward me. I take my time reaching out, allow myself to feel the press of each finger into her sinewy muscle, and savor this moment I’ve dreamed of for far too many years. “Welcome to the Alexia, Reina Pierce.”

And with that, I’m in.

I don’t know what I’m going to do tomorrow —how I’ll move forward under the crushing weight of what I’ve done, tormented by the realizations plaguing me. But today I’ll honor Tre’s memory.

Protect the weak.

I’ll trade the wooden sword he crafted for me years ago for one of steel, exchange my ipê-string bow for the precision weapons of the Alexia.

Safety for all.

I’m one of them now. I’m finally one of them.

Because power without virtue is tyranny.