WE USED TO SPY TOGETHER. Me; my sister, Aya; and Mother. Sometimes Father, too, all of us hiding secret notes to each other under the fancy silk upholstered chair in the family room, listening at doors to hear the maid’s gossip, me and Aya attempting to sneak into their self-criticism sessions. Father would try to hide the twinkle in his eye as Aya and I fell all over each other laughing when we came back to report to Mother. Just fun and games, though now it seems I should have taken spy games as some sort of warning long before Mother disappeared in a bloody terror. Who else but a traitor would teach her daughters to pass secret messages, to hide in doorways and listen to the Thirds talk for fun? Maybe she was training us, hoping we’d take after her, be part of her network.
Or maybe they were just games. Was this man there, lurking in the background of my childhood, watching us play?
We had lots of hand signals, but Mother made this one up. Two fingers over a closed fist meant danger. To freeze.
“Where did you learn that?” I snap, then immediately wish I had held my tongue. My hat was lost in the scuffle outside, and I find myself with one hand to my cheek, covering my birthmark as if that might somehow negate any connection I have to Jiang Gui-hua.
“Jiang Sev.” The man’s eyes hold mine fast. “I’m sorry I frightened you. There are rumors in the Third Quarter you are responsible for the bomb that destroyed the Aihu Bridge.”
“That I did what? The bomb fell from a plane, for Yuan’s sake. Tai-ge was there. . . .” And Tai-ge told me to stay inside. Not to draw attention to myself and it all would pass. But here I am, sitting with a man who must have anti-City leanings if he’s trying to help a Fourth, and especially a Fourth with my parentage.
The man continues, “On top of that, three different families in this neighborhood have had kids stop responding to Mantis, and you know whom people will blame. If you are recognized outside the orphanage, you might not make it back there alive. It was dumb luck that my informant managed to tell me you’d gotten away before anyone saw you.”
“Your informant? Who are you?” My panicked heartbeat races faster and faster.
“We need to get you out of here.” He folds back the rug to reveal a wooden plank in the stone floor. When he pulls it up, there is just enough room to climb down an iron ladder into darkness.
I have no intention of going down the black hole to Yuan knows where with a man who just dragged me into his own personal counter-Liberation study. There is only one place it could lead for me, and execution does not sound good. “Look. I don’t know who you think you are . . .”
He doesn’t look up. “My name is Yang He-ping. Dr. Yang.”
The name nudges some long-sleeping memory at the back of my mind, but I’m too frightened to pull it out. “I don’t care. I don’t know how you learned that sign or what you have to do with my family or where this stupid tunnel leads. I am not a traitor, whatever my stars say.”
Dr. Yang smooths his salt-and-pepper hair away from his face. Lines crinkle around his brown eyes. I’d guess he’s somewhere around fifty. Despite the three metal stars perched high on his shoulder, his hand is marred by a series of crisscrossing white scars where his hand marks should be, as if the wielder of the knife couldn’t decide where he belonged and gave him five, six, seven marks and hoped he’d fit in somewhere. I finally notice that the crinkles are not only the beginning of his age showing, but part of the smile stretching across his face. “I didn’t ask you to lead a revolution, girl. I just want to help. Though if I hear of any job openings, I’ll let you know.”
“You’ll help me get back into the orphanage? Somehow, without anyone noticing, even though they already know I’m out of my room? How?” I can feel a smile crack through the fear pounding at my head. But it is a giddy, uncontrollable smile. Hysteria. I nod toward the ladder. “Where does this even go?”
“The old City. This City was already hundreds of years old by the time Yuan Zhiwei led our people up here to hide, each generation building over the dead bones of the last. There’s a whole world left over from Before. It’s not a safe place to take a stroll, and the sewers leak through in places, but the Watch doesn’t bother much with patrolling down there, and it’ll get us to the library. No one will look for you there.”
“The First library?” I feel my eyes widen in shock.
“The library will get you within a few streets of the People’s Gate, between the First Quarter and the marketplace. The orphanage isn’t too much farther, and I might be able to organize a distraction that will allow you to climb back into your room when no one is looking. Through the kitchens, maybe?”
“What should I tell them when they find me snug in my bed? I had a bathroom emergency and no one noticed the door locked? And . . . the library? Only Firsts are allowed in there. If the Watch really does think I’m behind that bomb, and then Chairman Sun finds me skulking around underground or browsing shelves of anti-Liberation propaganda, my head would be on display at Traitor’s Arch before sunset. No trial. Just an ax.”
“You know they don’t use axes anymore, Sev. Capital punishment is much more refined these days.” Dr. Yang points to my hood. “You’re lucky it’s already cold enough we can get away with hiding your face. It’ll just look like you’re trying to stay warm. Take off your stars, keep your hood up, and walk as if you know where you are going. I can tell you which streets will get you back. It’s your only chance.” And with that, he starts down the ladder, not even checking to see that I follow him.
Truth be told, I don’t need directions. I have been to the library many times. With Mother, before . . . everything happened. The books lining the shelves are from Before. Corrupted by selfish ideology and philosophy from outside our land. Only Firsts are allowed inside, using the information to aid in their scientific research, their minds too high above it all to be tainted by impure ideals. But I know where all the fairy tales line the shelves. Row upon row of books filled with fanciful illustrations. Fairies, gnomes, witches and wizards, dragons, beautiful maidens in distress, and great heroes charging in to save them. I lived through knight duels and army raids, whispering ghosts and talking foxes, evil spells and jealous stepmothers. It’s sad that all those books are restricted to incorruptible Firsts. Kids in the Third Quarter could use dreams with some color.
I still remember settling into my favorite chair, just below the huge picture window, light seeping through the thin-cut jade and onto the floor in a beautiful display. Every hour or so, the colors rearranged themselves into a new picture. When I was very young, my mother and I pretended to capture the lights and take them home with us. Once, Mother gave me a shard of red-tinted jade, bound into a necklace. “This way you can always take the light with you.” The image of her beautifully curled hair softly glowing in the colored lights would be forever engraved in my mind.
From that day forward, I always wore the necklace. Yet it somehow disappeared with everything else I loved the night SS took me.
My stars are heavy in my hand. I don’t remember taking them off.
“Sev?” Dr. Yang calls from halfway down the ladder. “We don’t have a lot of time.”
Rough crosshatching on the rungs bites into my palms as I start down the ladder. Stupid, to follow this man. As stupid as wanting to see the library one more time. To stand in front of the picture window and remember life before I fell Asleep. Dark closes around me, the damp air becoming warmer as we descend. When my feet finally find the dirt floor, the overpowering smell of sewage has me gagging. Echoes of running water climb up from deep ditches that frame our narrow walkway. A faint light blossoms in Dr. Yang’s cupped hands, throwing dark shadows across his face. “This is just a quicklight, so it isn’t going to last long enough to get us out of here. If you run, you’ll get lost. Stay with me, and I’ll get you to the ladder that will take you into the library basement.” Dr. Yang pulls something out of his coat and sticks it in my pocket, the shadows too dark to catch a glimpse of the gift. “Those might come in handy. Just keep your chin up and don’t let anyone look you in the eyes.”
Butterflies in my stomach morph into kicks of fear every time the light flickers or my guide makes any noise. Our footsteps are the only sound I can hear on top of the faint chattering of rushing water. The dark seems to press in on me, clouding my lungs with misty fog. I’ve always been so afraid of the dark.
We pass several ladders rising up from the path, Dr. Yang breaking a new light each time the one in his hand starts to dim. We don’t stop, my companion confident at every turn, until we come to a ladder marked with a large golden circle on the lowest rung. Dr. Yang fumbles in his pocket again, producing another quicklight. He bends it in half to break open the center and watches closely as the chemicals mix, glowing a cheery yellow. Shoving it into my hand, he points up.
The metal rungs disappear into the cloud of dark above me. Stalling, I raise my light high to look around us, the yellow glow hinting at graceful curves of stone just behind the ladder. Some kind of statue. But Dr. Yang doesn’t give me a chance to look closer, pushing me toward the ladder.
I push back and look at him. “Why are you helping me?”
Dr. Yang is quiet for a moment. When he does answer, his voice is small. “I knew your mother. She was a good person trying to do good things.”
“She was a traitor. She might as well have killed my father and younger sister with her own hands, and this . . . whatever is happening today is her fault. Mother deserved what the Circle did to her.” My voice bites at my throat. She is the one who made me what I am. Infected. Fourth.
“Luckily for you, I disagree. Ready to go up?” When I nod, he lays a hand on my shoulder. It feels awkward, as though he is trying to comfort me. “I’ll be in contact. Good luck.”
The rungs of this ladder are much smoother, worn with age. After climbing for a few minutes, I look down to see if Dr. Yang is still at the bottom. I can see his light, but the flare is surprisingly small, sending shudders up my spine. Switching my eyes to the darkness in front of me is almost worse as the quicklight illuminates a gargantuan set of hands, palms together and pressed against a giant’s bare chest, the upper portion of the statue I saw at the bottom.
If I’m only as high as his hands, then how much farther do I have to climb? Gripping a smooth metal rung with one hand, I wave the light above my head, catching glimpses of a square chin and elongated earlobes, like the religious figures that appear in so many of the history books that landed in the First library. Religion. Yet another corruption the Firsts say led to our destruction Before. It never quite made sense to me that a belief in something more would have been our downfall, but Yuan Zhiwei knew what was best for us when he banned religion from the City. That’s why we still follow his teachings.
Looking up so high at the statue bends me over backward, making my head feel as if it’s falling even though I’m latched to the ladder as tightly as a tick in a mangy dog’s skin.
The Da’ard has begun to wear off, so the dull throb in my sides has turned into a sharp pulse each time I raise an arm to pull myself up to the next rung. Darkness seeps into my clothes, each eruption of pain a bite or a scratch from the inside. My breaths come in short bursts of pain. When my head finally hits the ceiling, I almost lose my grip on the top rung of the ladder, my sweaty palms slipping against the cold metal bar. As I jam my hand up against the rough stone ceiling, my quicklight catches the gleam of a smooth metal handle poking out of the rock a few feet away.
The statue’s head looms beneath me, its eyes closed in quiet meditation as the handle above me turns too slowly. The rusted pieces screech as they grind together. I push up, and the hatch falls open with a thud, sending a cloud of dust down into my face. I sneeze and drop the quicklight. Stomach turning, I have to lean into the ladder and close my eyes to stop my head from spinning at the light’s long descent. My arms and legs shake as I pull myself up through the hole and collapse on a floor so thick with dust that every breath is like trying to inhale cotton. I crawl away from the hole, heave myself up onto what feels like a chair, and pull my shirt up over my nose. A few deep breaths, and my racing heartbeat begins to slow.
After a few minutes of battling the dark, my eyes adjust and I can discern a faint line of lighter black on the floor, which I follow until I find an actual light, deep in the library’s basement. Two dusty staircases up and a few minutes of wandering later, I come to an open room that I recognize, with a wide staircase leading to the main stacks. Black marble, just like the rest of this place. Imposing and coldly beautiful.
The picture window I remember so clearly overlooks the staircase, stopping me as a mix of longing and revulsion fights its way up my throat. The jewel cast of the light as it filters through the paper-thin cuts of stone folds down around the rows and rows of books, their colors so familiar. A beautiful maiden is pieced together in the jade, her curls tumbling from a bed of sleep.
Stuck forever.
Mother always told the story with a dramatic sigh, as if the princess pricking her finger on the spindle and falling asleep wasn’t the tragic end to the story, just an unfortunate pause that passed her fate on to the imagination of the listener. Aya and I would make them up together, hiding under our covers, whispering back and forth until Father came with threats of no sweet bao for dessert the next day if we didn’t go to sleep. Aya would say the evil fairy would be sorry and wake her up, then become her servant as penance. Or that little birds cheeped in her ears until she woke up, and the princess threw water on her royal parents to bring them back from the spell. My favorite idea, though Aya always stuck her tongue out and wrinkled her nose whenever I told it, was that a prince would kiss her awake in true fairy-tale fashion, and the whole kingdom would open their eyes along with her, the evil fairy’s spell broken.
But that isn’t how the story ends. The princess pricks her finger, falls down as if dead, and her family and the whole kingdom rot away around her bit by bit until it’s a place of the dead, a place for ghosts and monsters. She’s the one who sought out the evil fairy, and those are the consequences. She deserves her fate.
I look up at the window. It’s a relic from Before, when we mixed books and tales with people from far away. Before the world was us against Kamar, the Outsiders who poisoned our air with SS. The picture changes every few hours, all the tiny pieces somehow rattling to a new spot like a kaleidoscope of trained butterflies. For some reason, the library survived the purges of everything from Before when Yuan Zhiwei claimed the City as a safe haven. Setting foot inside is like stepping back in time. Geometric designs on the walls are richly painted in reds and purples, and the supports holding up the roof are carved with dragons and phoenixes, all legends that have been forgotten.
My hand reaches toward the picture window before I can control myself, brushing the woman’s long curls. She doesn’t look like Mother, but her eyes are closed just the same. Asleep. Dead to the world, and yet still stuck here because of her crimes.
A low cough echoes through the room. I jerk my hand back, knocking two books down from the low shelves as I spin around in panic.
A young man watches me from the other side of the room. His high collar boasts one red star. I feel as though I’ve seen him before, but I can’t place him.
He doesn’t look surprised or upset, just a little embarrassed to have caught someone trying to climb a bookcase. Licking his lips and pressing them together, he seems to be trying to keep his eyes on the floor, but they flick up to my face a few times. I am still frozen to the spot, caught like a mouse in a trap.
The picture transforms behind me, the lights dancing to their new places on the floor. Jade pieces realign into a young girl cowering before a black, fanged beast. The change wrenches me back to life.
“Excuse me,” he starts, “were you looking for—”
“Nothing,” I interrupt. Heart pounding, I nod to him and walk toward the front of the library with my nose in the air.
“Wait!” He’s walking after me, the polite smile pasted across his face starting to slip.
I walk faster, the young man only a bit behind me in the twists and turns through bookshelves, though he doesn’t yell for help. By the time I push through the library’s outer doors, I’m almost at a run. Outside, I duck behind the statue of Yuan Zhiwei, his broad shoulders dusted with snow. His ax points down Renewal Road, toward the City Center building.
The young man comes out after me, looking up and down the street, his face striking a chord in my memory yet again. Was he one of the librarians from when I was young? But I immediately discount that idea. He’s much too young for that. And if the Watch is looking for me, it stands to reason they know about it even this far up in the First Quarter. After the young man passes my hiding place, I walk in the opposite direction, slipping behind the library into the strangled maze of lanes backing most of the government buildings in this quarter. Third entrances for the window cleaners and floor waxers.
Going in the direction the young man went would mean passing through the main gate at the end of Renewal Road and trying to cross the bridge that spans the river over to the City Center, which would be a good way to get caught. And I’m glad I can’t go that way. I can’t face passing the City Center and Mother in her living coffin over Traitor’s Arch. Not today. Maybe not ever.
The back streets are still familiar. Walking with my eyes on the paving stones, I join the steady stream of Thirds moving through the narrow lanes, jobs done for the day. Thirds with the odd Fourth scattered through. The Fourths keep their gaze down, whatever rehabilitation they had to go through that allowed them to remain inside the City leaving their expressions blank. Each step seems measured, as though if their stride stretches an inch too far, some First will notice and reassign them to one of the Outside farms or mine labor. Or worse, banish them to the wilds Outside to scavenge what the City and Kamar leave behind. Never able to sleep soundly or stay in one place, because then the other Wood Rats will find you.
To land an assignment in the First Quarter, these Fourths must be reformed indeed, though I think even Firsts have a hard time selling toilet cleaning as glorious labor for the Liberation down in the Third Quarter. A woman jostles my arm as she hurries past. She looks back apologetically but does not stop, almost running to keep up with the flow of workers headed for the gate.
The People’s Gate is a sort of back door, allowing Thirds easier access to the First Quarter. It’s beautiful, the black marble favored throughout the First Quarter relieved by gray sculptures of men and women holding the base of the columns that form the only direct portal through the wall that divides the First Quarter from the Third. A bridge fits into the gate’s mouth like a tongue, spanning the river to allow free access to the marketplace.
For all their beauty, the statues supporting the gate have always struck me as odd. I suppose when the Liberation Army first built the gate, they still thought of Third workers as the center of society, happy in the labor that enabled the City’s survival. It seems almost silly to see carved scenes of bricklayers singing through their efforts and factory workers smiling as they present the fruit of their labors to all who walk by. The Third Quarter wasn’t such a happy place earlier today. Maybe trying to sing with a lungful of brick dust really takes it out of you.
I don’t much want to sing my way through the long hours I put in at the canning factory. My hands are permanently chapped from the steam, and sometimes it seems as though my back will never unbend from hunching over the jars all day.
It isn’t a bad job. Tai-ge’s family put me there, and I’m grateful. Better than anyone connected to my mother deserves. But when Comrade Hong was presented with the honor of rehabilitating such a high-profile traitor, she wasn’t willing to have me track welding dust into the house or cough linen fibers from the textile mills onto her clean dishes.
There’s a line at the gate now, each of the workers undergoing a quick inspection by a set of Watchmen before they are allowed to leave. There have never been Watchmen guarding the People’s Gate before.
My hand, thrust deep inside my coat pocket against the cold, closes around something hard. My attention on the gate, I don’t look down to see what it is, vaguely remembering that Dr. Yang shoved something into my pocket while we were underground.
The Reds pull the woman at the front of the line aside, the flash of four stars at her shoulder sending pulses of alarm up and down my throat. When I finally glance down at the object in my hand, I gasp and throw it away from me with a hiss. A single red star.
I crouch down to look at them, lying on the street. So harmless-looking. Dr. Yang is deluding himself if he thinks I can run around wearing these when a single glance at my hand, or a glimpse of the birthmark on my cheek, would have me on the ground with my elbows tied together before I could even say hello. My fingers close around them, and I stuff them back in my pocket before the workers in line at the gate have the chance to notice.
The setting sun drags shadows long across the narrow streets, all the way to the orphanage’s peaked roof, which I can see just over the wall. Was this really Dr. Yang’s plan, depositing me in the First Quarter and hoping I might be able to sneak past the tide of Watchmen searching for me in the lower quarters? How can I get back to where I’m supposed to be? And if I disappear, the Hongs, the Outside patrollers, the bloody Chairman himself will think I really was responsible for that bomb. My days of waiting for the ax to fall will dwindle down to single digits.
Across the street from me, a crumbling dragon guards the entrance to a First home. His forelegs stretch around the lintel, but each of his clawed paws are cut off with a deep cross chiseled into the stone, ending in a gray crumble.
The statue’s mangled paws grasp at my mind, a thrill of fear dancing down my spine. If I miss my dose of Mantis tonight, it won’t matter what the Chairman thinks I did. I might not make it through the night. The family that lives here might not either. The entire block could be dead in their beds by morning.
The red star comes back out of my pocket. I can’t think of another way. This must have been what Dr. Yang meant for me to do.
I pin the star to my coat with shaking hands and take a step toward the gate, but a hand grabs my shoulder and tugs me back. I gasp in pain as my ribs seem to grate against each other. The Da’ard must have completely worn off by now. The person gripping my shoulder wears a dark woolen coat, thick hood casting shadows over his face in the failing light. A red star sits on his shoulder, snarling at me like a snake.
“What do you think you are doing?” I whisper, trying to keep my voice from the guards.
He waves to the Watchmen lounging by the wall. “If you try to go through the gate, they will arrest you.”
Fighting the gentle pull of his hand toward the alleyway, I stand straight as Dr. Yang advised, my voice taught with a First’s impatience. “I have an important errand to run in the City Center, and if I don’t . . .”
The boy glances back at me, and I catch a glimpse of white teeth in what I think is a smile. “Don’t kid yourself, Jiang Sev. I wouldn’t be surprised if all the Watchmen in the City are out looking for you right now. They don’t go by halves when it comes to dangerous fugitives. Dr. Yang sent word for me to meet you. The situation up here has escalated.”
My stomach twists when he says my name paired with Dr. Yang’s. If this First isn’t arresting me for wearing a single star—for even being in the First Quarter—then I’m not sure I want to be walking with him. “Dangerous fugitives? I’m sixteen. I’ve lived in an orphanage helping encephalitis lethargica patients for the last eight years. I am the prime example of what the reeducation campaign is doing for Fourths. The Hongs are teaching me what it means to be a part of a real family. I work at a canning factory every single day to support the war effort.” I jerk my hand out of his to show him my chapped fingers. They look much more impressively worn with all the extra scrapes and slivers left over from the bridge. “That all screams ‘loyal comrade’ to me. I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“Tell that to the Watch.” He looks up the street, where an elderly couple is ambling toward us, hand in hand. “Come on. Let’s get out of here before someone decides that two people running around with their hoods up look suspicious.” He leads me into a side street and produces a hat and a scarf. “Put these on. It’s cold.”
“You think a scarf covering half of my face is less conspicuous than a hood? With a manhunt on?” I twitch my hood back and pull the hat down low on my forehead, then wrap the scarf a few times around my neck, tucking the last loop up around my chin. My hair is tight against my cheek, hiding the birthmark.
“Womanhunt. If anyone walks by or tries to talk to us, we’re a couple out for a walk, understand? Follow my lead and try not to say anything.” He pulls back his hood. Somehow, I’m not surprised to see the young man from the library. He inspects the scarf and the hat, one hand hovering next to my cheek where my hair hides the mark. “Don’t worry. I won’t kiss you or anything.”
As an answer, he yanks me back into the street and sets a very slow pace. A stroll, like the older couple just passing us. The man gives my companion a knowing smile as we emerge from the alley and stops. “I thought that was you, Yi-lai. Care to introduce me to your friend? I don’t think we’ve met.”
Yi-lai’s lips part in a grin and he says, “Of course. Premier Sutan, meet Wenli. Her family just came back in after a round overseeing the farm at Lunzi.”
“Oh, the Outside farms. I’m so glad I’ve outgrown having to take my turn overseeing our operations out there. We need the food, and those Seconds and Thirds need First oversight, but just being Outside . . .” The Premier gives a theatrical shiver and looks at me as if expecting me to say something. When I don’t, he smiles again and says, “How do you like being back in civilized company, Wenli? What are your parents’ names? If they are working with the propaganda team, I’ve probably already met them.”
“Um, no.” I manage to choke the two words out from behind my scarf. “They’re scientists. Working on biogenetic weapons. Our name is . . . Chen,” I say, picking one of the most common names in the City. I hope he takes the stumble as a sign of nervousness. It isn’t every day you meet any member of the First Circle, much less the City Premier.
“With General Hong? If I come across your parents, I’ll tell them what a beautiful girl you are. Smart, too. You have good taste.” He laughs and winks at Yi-lai. “Tell your father hello for me, son.”
“Yes, sir.” Yi-lai makes his nod almost a bow.
“Oh, and I heard something from the Watch an hour or so ago.” He puts a hand on Yi-lai’s shoulder, his voice a shade quieter. “Take your friend home. The Jiang girl is making some kind of trouble down in the Third Quarter. I doubt she would try to come all the way up here, but there’s no sense in taking the risk. Not with the family’s history.” He pats Yi-lai’s shoulder, his eyes already wandering away. “I’ll have to go talk to the General. He must be so disappointed. After all the years they invested in that girl . . . a spy and a murderer, just like her mother. But don’t you two worry. The Watch will have her up on the Arch with her eyes closed next to Jiang Gui-hua before you can say ‘Sleeping Sickness.’ ”
Every word drills holes into my chest, and my breaths begin to come out as sharp bursts of fog in the frozen air. Yi-lai’s grip on my arm tightens, as if he’s worried I might lash out and hit the Premier. But the Premier takes his wife’s arm and nods to both of us before leading her down the street.
Yi-lai lets out all his breath at once, as though he’s been holding it the whole time. He pulls my arm through his and we walk linked together, moving up the Steppe, the highest section of the First Quarter in the City. “You okay?” he whispers.
“He . . . he doesn’t even . . .” I can’t make myself say more, waiting for the slow burn of anger to smolder down before trusting my voice.
“Yeah, he’s sort of a miserable old bag, isn’t he?” Yi-lai gives me a cautious, concerned sort of look when I don’t answer, but doesn’t attempt any more discussion as we climb higher into the First Quarter, where all the scientists and the First Circle live. Lights bloom all around us in the dusk, street lamps lighting our way up the hill toward the massive homes. Massive like the library, tiered hip-and-gable roofs peek up over the walls surrounding each First family compound.
When my voice doesn’t feel as though using it will break glass, I finally end the silence between us. “You’re quite chummy with the Premier, aren’t you? Members of the First Circle don’t stop for just anyone.” I grip the stolen red star on my collar, the points like a knife on my palm. “Yi-lai, right? Now that we’re involved, would you like to tell me a little more about yourself? And maybe why you’re helping me, especially now that I’m suddenly a murderer and a spy instead of an annoying little Fourth?”
The stressed look is back on Yi-lai’s face, and he doesn’t seem to be listening very closely, concentrating instead on the paving stones under our feet. The quick pace he’s set is becoming more and more difficult as my ribs grind against each other. “Would you mind slowing down, at least? I’m kind of broken. It’ll be harder to keep up the act if I start crying or something.”
He immediately slows a little, but not enough. “Not scared, are you?” he asks.
“Scared out of my mind, and no, that is not meant to be a joke.”
“Why would that be a joke?”
“It’s sundown.”
He looks blank. “Are you scared of the dark?”
“Um . . .” I’m starting to feel eyes on me, peering over the walls of each home we pass. “I have to take Mantis at daybreak and nightfall or . . .”
Yi-lai stops our speed walk up the hill and looks me dead in the eyes. “I didn’t even think about that. What are we going to do?”
“Well, if I start to go funny, you could probably take me. I have two broken ribs. And I think you’ve got me on reach.” I stretch one arm out as if to compare, but a wave of nausea and pain washes up from my ribs at the movement, forcing me to carefully arrange it back by my side.
“Are you listening to yourself?” He laughs in disbelief. “Your head is on the line and . . .”
“Yours too. In more ways than one at the moment,” I say.
Yi-lai shakes his head. “I’m just surprised. If the Watch ever comes after me, you won’t find me cracking jokes.” Pursing his lips, he says, “We probably have Mantis in the house, but I don’t know where. We’ll find it.”
“You aren’t infected, I’m guessing?” He shakes his head and we continue to walk, passing homes that seem to be getting more and more ornate, the lights glowing out from the windows with warmth. Something about his outline seems familiar, every house we pass washing his features with lamplight. His eyes and mouth especially send a sting of recognition across the back of my mind.
Wait.
I stop, my mouth clenching shut. He doesn’t break stride, giving me a questioning tug when I don’t follow.
I know where I’ve seen him. Yi-lai sits in the huge painting set opposite Traitor’s Arch in the City Center. Yi-lai and his father, the Chairman. The words come out in a strangled whisper. “You’re the Chairman’s son.”
He doesn’t quite meet my eye, pulling my arm a bit harder in an effort to start me walking again.
“You are. Sun Yi-lai. I knew I’d heard that name.” The Chairman’s family is almost the stuff of legend, like gods from Before living up above us in a flare of glory, hardly ever finding it necessary to show their faces. I put a hand to my forehead, nausea blooming in my stomach like an acid bouquet. “Why did you keep me back from those Seconds at the gate? Is the Chairman going to put me back to Sleep? Like her?” I pull away from him, glaring. “I didn’t do it! I didn’t have anything to do with bombs or with SS or anything that happened—”
“I want to help you.” He squares off, looking down at me. “But I won’t be able to do it if the Reds hear you yelling.”
I blink at his use of the Seconds’ nickname. I didn’t know Firsts called them that too. “Why, then? Why in Yuan’s name would you help me?”
He looks at the ground. “You look just like her. Your face, anyway.”
Goose bumps prickle down my arms.
“I didn’t ask how you recognized me,” I hiss. “I asked why you’re dragging me from the library, one of two places guaranteed to land just about any non-First comrade in a prison cell, to the other: the top of the Steppe.”
“Look, Sev.” He grabs my hand again, and we start walking. “I know you didn’t blow up the Aihu Bridge.”
“That isn’t an answer, or even logical. Where are you taking me? How am I supposed to just blindly follow you?” And what does she have to do with it?
He shrugs. “Where else can you go?”