It takes a few minutes, but I manage to calm my heart, steady my breathing.
Nothing’s happening, I remind myself. No one’s scheming quietly up ahead or measuring lengths of rope to my neck or sharpening a blade. I’ve no reason to think I’m in immediate danger. Not yet anyway.
But we are moving toward something. Someplace.
Keeping my eyes on the line of bodies ahead of me, with Dorian and me in the very back, I know this is the time to get him alone. Perhaps my only chance. I need answers. Now.
Just as I’m calculating how to make a move, get him away from all these Night soldiers, when exactly to bolt down another tunnel and either force him to follow me on his own or find my way out of here, he bids the others goodbye, but a couple straggle behind.
“See you tonight, Veda?” a girl about my height says, her tone sweet and calm, catching me completely off guard as if I’d expected her voice to be low and menacing by sheer association. The fact that she’s wearing a black hood over her head.
“Oh … I’m not sure…”
She nods, giving a small smile and swooshing her short bangs away from her eyes.
The boy, maybe eighteen or so, standing next to her chimes in equally pleasant, “Well, we hope you come. It’s going to be a great celebration.”
But I’m shaking my head. “I doubt I’ll be able to…”
Dorian cuts in before I can politely decline. “Well … it’s not so much a celebration as it is a small gathering.” He shrugs. “Nothing to get too excited about.” He pointedly eyes the two Night soliders, smiles in a reserved sort of way. “You guys need to get back. Veda and I have a lot to discuss.”
They nod respectfully and turn on their heels, march after the rest of the Night soldiers down the tunnel to the left as Dorian and I take the one to the right.
Just the two of us.
“Dorian?”
“Yeah, Veda?”
“Why in the Sun are they acting like I’m here to stay?”
“Were they?” He avoids my eyes.
I quick step in front of him, stretch my arms out so my hands are against each wall of the narrow tunnel, and force him to stop. “You need to explain some things.”
He pauses for breath, gazing down at my lips, and I realize how ridiculously close we are to each other. I swallow, drop my arms, and take a step back. “You’re right.” He finds my eyes, gives a single nod. “Come with me and you’ll get all the proof you need.” He steps forward, marching down the tunnel at a quick pace. I’m fast to catch up, and once again beside him, I catch him looking down at me.
I look right back. “Why do I feel like you’re luring me to my death?”
This, he seems to take seriously. Dorian keeps walking but slows slightly. “Listen. I know what you’ve been raised to believe about the Night, what the Imperi works hard to this day to have you believe about us—I learned it all too.” Now he stops completely and turns to face me. “It’s not true. None of it. Those people back there … Did they seem like monsters to you?”
“Well … No, but…”
“But nothing. I know we just met, that you have no reason to trust me. I promise, once you see the truth you won’t want to go back up there.”
I’m already shaking my head before he finishes the sentence. “I doubt that.”
“Just … a little longer. And if you don’t want to stay, I’ll personally take you home.” He holds his hand flat next to his face. “Night’s honor.”
I don’t trust him one bit.
But I want to.
And what am I going to do? Find my way back to that devil’s den we came down? I’d no sooner get lost or trapped, eaten by fanged groundhogs or a swarm of mud beetles or whatever other horrors live down here. Besides, if he is lying, I’ll have information to take back—and I will find my way back—to share with other Basso to keep them from disappearing at the hands of the Night.
And if he’s being honest? Well, we’ll just see what he has to show me.
“All right,” I say. “But the minute I tell you I’m through, you’ll take me home?”
“The minute.” He gives a small closed-lipped smile.
I nod and we continue on.
When we reach a set of steps, Dorian assures me it’s not much farther. At the bottom of the stairs is a small cavern. Faded murals adorn the walls, depicting nighttime scenes, stars dancing down on dark treetops, the moon a yellow crescent, smiling upon a sleepy forest. If I didn’t know better and if there weren’t four caves like black holes peeking back at me, I’d think the world turned on edge and I was indeed staring at the nighttime sky.
Above each save one of the caves is a wooden plank nailed to the wall, labels burned into the signs. Over the tunnel to the far right is the word SOLDIERS; to the far left, OFFICERS; next to that reads GARDENS; and the one next to that has no sign. A mystery door.
“This way first.” Dorian walks straight for the gardens’ tunnel, which confuses me because how can one grow a garden without the Sun?
We’re in an ink-black tunnel, the only light a flickering bulb several yards away and Dorian’s lantern.
We stop at a wooden door under the flickering light, which goes out.
“Damn generator,” he mumbles, adjusting the bulb to no avail. In the pitch-dark, holding the lantern in one hand, Dorian sifts through that ring of keys. Squinting under the dim light, he finally finds the right one and opens the door. Nothing but darkness claws out at us.
“After you.”
Yeah, right. “No, no, after you.”
Dorian smiles like he knows what I’m thinking and strides past me into the blackness.
Feet planted in the doorway, I’m expecting this “garden” to be a cache of weapons, maybe a block of cells where they keep the Basso they kidnap. Or worse.
But when Dorian cranks something, a metal lever I think, large lamps mounted around the room slowly flicker to life.
What I find before me is indeed a garden.
The plants are duller versions of the crisp, vibrant ones I’m used to seeing up on Bellona. I spot beet greens that are pale yellow. Underripe tomatoes more resembling peaches. And banana trees, the leaves browned, the fruit a muted green.
“Not what you expected?” Dorian asks.
“Would you have expected this?”
He nods. “Fair enough.”
I walk farther into the cavern, taking in more of the space. There are wires trailing like a thick web down one of the cave walls, connecting the lamps to the generator; tubes hooked to barrels that I assume hold water line the perimeter.
“But how does it work? There’s no Sun.”
“No. No Sun. It’s kind of a backward greenhouse. Take a closer look.”
I take a few steps toward one of the lamps. It flickers with intermittent power, but it’s definitely the source of heat and light, the warmth radiating off it intensely and I’m still several feet away.
They’ve created an underground Sun. Fake Sun? Blasphemous in the eyes of the Imperi. In my eyes? Unfathomable, pure magic.
Turning in a circle, I’m able to make out three walls in the far-off distance, the fourth covered with climbing greenery and what appears to be blackberries hanging from the vines.
I move toward one of the large garden boxes where carrot greens peek out of the earth, lining several rows on one side, the other filled with tomato plants, their stalks tied to small handmade trellises. I bend down closer and find what I thought was soil is sand. I touch it, and the delicate granules slide through my fingers. But nothing grows in sand. Not that I’ve ever seen. Yet, I’m staring at a tomato plant; its fruit is small, a muted red, but ripe enough to eat.
Shocked, I look at Dorian. His expression is one of pride.
“We’ve been adapting down here for a while, finding new ways to survive.”
“Survive?”
“Well, we’ve gotta eat, right? And we can’t always risk going above.”
It’s nearly impossible to think of the Night as anything but demons living on insects and vermin, the blood of their captives.
A shiver runs up my spine and I side-eye Dorian.
He catches me staring. “What were you expecting?”
“Oh … I don’t know…” Like I’m going to say.
He walks on, taking long, lanky strides. “Let me guess. You were picturing torture devices? A pit of venomous snakes?”
“No.” Yes.
“But close.”
“All right. Maybe a little.”
When we reach the other side of the cave, Dorian cranks the lamps back off.
“Don’t the plants need light to grow?”
He stops midcrank, the lamps flickering. “Yeah, but someone else tends it in shifts. Electricity is so unpredictable down here, we’ve got to conserve.” He unlocks and opens a similar door as the first.
“How do you have electricity when we barely get it up top?”
He cocks an eyebrow. “We have the Imperi to thank for that.” And he cranks the lights completely off.
“Wait.” I shove my boot in the door before he can close it. Dorian’s eyes bear down on me, and I can’t tell if it’s anger or humor I sense in them. “So, the Night have gardens and not torture chambers. Not here anyway. I don’t see how this proves anything other than that you have a decent source of food.”
“I’m not finished. This was only part one.”
“There’s more?”
“You expected me to woo you into trusting the evil Night by showing you our gardens? Give me a little credit, V.” He lightly tosses a firm, nearly white plum at me, which I barely manage to catch. Something about it, about him, makes my insides both seethe with anger and light up with excitement.
“All right.” I bite into the plum. It’s more tart than I’d prefer, but is indeed a plum, a pleasant sweetness soon taking over the sour. Still, my lips slightly pucker. “What’s next, then?”
“Torture chambers … A toe feast…” He stares a beat, taking in my reaction to the fruit, then grins. “Follow me.”
We take a tunnel that’s one long curve as if we’re circling back around.
“So … Back up on the island … What were you doing out after dark anyway?” Dorian asks.
“What were you doing out after dark?”
“I asked you first.” He slows down, gazing over at me. “And you call yourself Give and Take champion of Bellona?”
I snort. “I don’t believe I ever claimed that sort of fame.”
“Oh.” He shoots a crooked smile my way. I begin to smile back but bite the inside of my cheek to stop, force myself to remember where I am—not in the tunnel up on the island, but belowground. Where nightmares come true.
“I was walking Nico back to his house,” I answer. Dorian stays silent but gives a slight nod. “He’d stayed late at my house to help clean up after the Night of Reckoning.” Another slight nod. “Anyway, we got caught by the Imperi. Nico handed himself over so I could get away.”
“He’ll be fine, by the way.”
“Hope so,” I say. “I think it’s safe to assume worse case for him was an escort straight home. But with the Imperi you never know.”
Dorian shakes his head knowingly. “You mean, we never know.” I sigh. He’s got that right. “Take comfort in who he is, who his family is. They probably didn’t even tell his parents.”
“Probably not.” And I catch myself rolling my eyes. Because it’s not fair, is it? That Nico gets a friendly escort home and I had to run for my life. I’ve always known that’s how it would play out, but I never realized how it’d make me feel if and when it did.
Like less than.
I swallow hard, pushing the notion from my head, regaining focus and coming back to my surroundings, reality, the fact that I’m underground in Night territory. I put my guard back up like a wall, because I definitely slipped a few beats there. “All right, your turn to answer. Why were you out before the Sun?”
“I’m a member of the Night, remember?” This time he gives me a full smile.
But I don’t return it. Instead I lift an eyebrow. “I won’t soon forget.” This wipes the smile from his face, and I swear if the light was brighter I might spot a bit of warmth speckling his cheeks. So cocky. So infuriating. So …
I steal a glance to spot him worrying his bottom lip. Jaw flexed, he runs a hand through his hair, the longer side falling delicately over his ear.
Despite that tiny spark of intrigue daring to awaken those stupid butterflies in my stomach, I will keep him in his place at least until I’m sure I’m not in danger.
He stares over at me, catching me watching him. I look away.
FROM THE TUNNEL, we enter a narrow stairwell. The steps have been pieced together with scraps of wood, metal, what looks like old, broken doors, pieces of discarded furniture. They’re creaky, mostly steady. The cave joins another cave, and before I can find my bearings we’re back at the cavern where we started, stars and moon mural before us. Four tunnels, one of them labeled GARDENS.
“It’s like a labyrinth,” I breathe.
“You have no idea.” Dorian motions to the soldiers’ cave. “This one next.”
“Okay…”
“Ninth room down.”
Room? More like cave. Like a long hallway, cavern after small cavern opens up from the main tunnel as Dorian and I make our way to the ninth one. There are numbers painted on the walls outside each “room.” The air is cool and damp, and water trickles down rocks from somewhere not too far off. Once we reach cave number nine, I hesitate.
It’s dark, bone-chillingly eerie down here alone with Dorian, member of the Night. And suddenly I’m not so sure I’ve made a good choice making that deal with him.
Just as I’m about to back away, take myself quickly down the path we just walked, a group of girls comes up from behind us. They’re chattering. Laughing. The sudden noise puts me on edge, and, on instinct, I hug the cold wall behind me.
They approach and one of them, the tallest, nudges Dorian in the back of his knee, making his leg bow forward completely out of his control.
In normal life I’d laugh at how completely awkward and out of character it is to see him flop forward like that.
But this isn’t normal life and nothing about it humors me.
The girl and I make eye contact and she smiles, two small dimples hooking the corners of her eyes like perfect crescent moons. Under different circumstances, I’d return her smile. Instead, I only nod.
Dorian shoots the girl a seriously devious look. “I will get you back for that.”
“Pfft!” She stops, telling the others she’ll catch up later.
“When you least expect it…,” Dorian singsongs, but in a grave, sinister voice.
“Yeah … yeah…” Ignoring him, she turns to me. “I’m Bronwyn.” She shoves her hand out to shake mine. I hesitate but accept.
“I’m—”
“Veda, I know. I’m so glad to finally meet you. Dorian’s said so—”
“All right…” He cuts in before I can ask how the Sun she knows my name and, more, what in the world Dorian’s been saying about me. “You’ve probably got to get ready, eh, Bron?”
“Oh! Right. See you in a bit!” And she’s gone, fast as she arrived.
I stare over at Dorian, waiting for an explanation about the whirlwind-girl.
“Bronwyn.” I cock my head slightly. “My sister.”
“Ah.” Makes sense.
“She’s a pest.” He shakes his head. “Shall we?”
“Hold on. How did she know me?”
“Remember our deal, Veda? Details?”
I narrow my eyes at the slight edge in his tone. “I do.”
“Well.” He clears his throat, softening his voice. “Inside there…” He nudges his head into cave number nine “… I promise things will make more sense.”
I straighten my shoulders, take a deep breath, and march into the cave, not glancing back.
Inside is a lantern, a couple of candles, a mat on the floor made out of wool or animal skin. Atop the mat is a mound of what appears to be black clothing. But none of that is remarkable in the least.
What does stop me in my tracks is the ceiling-to-floor mural.
Dorian stares at it with me. “Each room has one.”
“Really? It’s beautiful.”
He nods, chest slowly rising and falling but with purpose.
Like the murals I’ve seen so far down here this one too is so much freer, the paint showing movement as opposed to the harsh angles and coldness of the Sun mosaics up on the island. Above me is the night sky, full moon, swirling stars, perhaps a planet or two.
Beyond the stars, on the main wall, is a battle scene. But instead of people with swords drawn, the moon and the Sun are at war. They aren’t personified, but represented by different colors, warm and cool. The Sun is all fire: reds and yellows and oranges. The moon, all ice: blues and purples and grays. Two sides exploding into one mess of color where they meet. And in the middle, at the place they completely touch, is a five-pointed star.
I walk straight up to the star, something about it pulling me closer.
Dorian stands behind me. “The mark of the Moon’s daughter. The one who will lead the Night to victory. Who will ensure we defeat the Imperi once and for all.” His tone is low, soothing, as he breathes the words out.
“That sounds like horseshit,” I say. Dorian literally responds with a laugh, a genuine “Ha!” It catches me so off guard that I allow a small laugh too. “If you’d said that to anyone else, V, they’d have thrown you back up that devil’s den fast as a ground snake can slither.”
“Can you blame me?”
“No.” He steps forward so he’s next to me.
I turn and face him, widen my eyes like, so?
He raises his brow right back.
I blink. “Then you understand why I’m at a loss. Everyone knows those legends are all made up. Stories from long ago, concocted to explain the unexplainable. Like the creation story of Bellona?” He opens his mouth to argue, but I continue before he can get a word out. “The myths I’ve been taught about the Night?”
Dorian takes a long, deep breath in. “All right, that’s fair.” He touches the star. “But this is different. Trust me.”
“How so? And why should I?”
He nods confidently, stepping closer so we’re barely six inches apart. “You’ll see how this is different if you stay a little longer.” He shrugs. “You don’t have to trust me, I understand why you wouldn’t, but I hope you’ll learn to.”
I want to say something smart like “probably not” or “we’ll see,” but the seriousness cast over his face is sobering. Instead, I only nod once.
“Now, remember, you promised you’d hear me out.”
“I did.”
“Please … Sit with me?” He strides to the mat and sits, setting the lantern down next to him.
Potential information, I remind myself. You could help save others.
I sit on the mat across from Dorian, counting down the minutes before I demand he take me back up to Bellona. Because, sure, he might have saved me from a couple of Imperi soldiers. Yes, we made a deal, but I’m gonna need more than fairy tales to settle the favor.
Yet, I’ll hear him out.
“I was born up on the island but spent half my time down here. My parents were Night soldiers, and when my sister was born they decided I’d be raised by my uncle and Bronwyn would live in the Lower with them. I visited, but I was Basso. Still am.” He flashes a smile. “They figured I’d be a better member of the Night for it. Once I was old enough to train, I did. As a soldier, I’m free to go back and forth when safe.”
I realize I’m shaking my head again. “Why are you telling me this?”
“You mean, what’s to stop you from taking all this information back up with you?”
“Well…” I shrug.
“I’ve already blown my cover. You know who I am. My parents taught us that to earn trust, you must give it.” He pauses. “Veda … This is me, handing you some of my biggest secrets. It’s my risk to take.”
“I’m not sure you should.” I hate that I’m suddenly guilt ridden over my plan, that I feel sort of bad for saying his legend is horseshit. I hate that I wish he’d shut up and stop talking. And I hate that I really don’t want him to shut up and stop talking.
“Just hear me out? It’s all I ask.”
My stomach churns over what he’s yet to tell me; still, I long to hear it. “Fine.” And he’s right. It’s his choice to tell me. I’m not forcing him to speak.
He nods, eyes locked on mine. “Part of being raised here in the Lower is being a part of a community. My community. We’re a loyal people. A strong, united people. Family. And like all families, we have a history. Stories that’ve been passed down. But the one that’s been told most … the bedtime story my mother would recite on sleepless nights was about”—he leans in, gazing even more intently over the lantern between us—“the Lunalette.”
“What’s that?” I scoot back a few inches. Because it sounds sinister.
He raises an eyebrow. “You promised to hear me out.”
Shaking my head, I chew on the inside of my cheek to keep from arguing. Because I do want to hear the rest. I release a breath. “Go on.”
“The Night have been around for a long time. Centuries. Since the Great Flood and when the Imperi began showing its earliest signs of hardened rule and oppression under the guise of an almighty and vengeful Sun. For countless years the Night lived peacefully and kept to itself. It was separate from Bellona, its own society, one ruled not by oppression and harsh laws, but as a community working together. Skip ahead a few hundred years and to the current High Regent and things have quickly changed. As Raevald has built up his Imperi force, taken more and more rights away from the Basso, and spread his lies about the Night, we’ve been training for battle.”
“But there was a battle,” I say. “The first war, when I was a baby. The Night killed my parents. It’s how I ended up living with my grandfather.”
He nods knowingly. “I’m so sorry, Veda.” Dorian pauses as if collecting his thoughts, choosing his words carefully. Then he scoots closer, barely whispering. “I know your loss. Growing up without parents is painful and confusing enough without it being under horrible circumstances. But your parents weren’t killed by the Night. I can’t say for certain what happened to them, but they weren’t taken. We don’t take people as prisoners and torture and kill them. I promise.”
“But … No. Poppy told me they disappeared during the war.”
“There was a war, yes. Many battles. We lost half our force.” He glances toward the floor. “It’s how my parents died too.”
“I’m so sorry.” The words come out less meaningful than I intend. I wouldn’t wish that void on my worst enemy. But I’m still caught up in “your parents weren’t killed by the Night.”
“Thank you.” He looks back up at me, eyes even more sympathetic now as I stare through him trying to comprehend exactly what he just told me. “If they were taken, they were taken by the Imperi, not the Night.”
I have no words to give him. He doesn’t have any reason to lie about my parents. So far what I’ve seen down here mirrors the Night he describes. But if Dorian is speaking the truth, what of the truths I’ve been taught?
They’d all be lies.
Many from my own grandfather.
“Are you all right?” he asks.
“Yeah…” I take a deep breath in, then exhale before I speak. “It’s just a lot to hear.”
He nods, brow furrowed. “Sorry … I hadn’t planned to lay this all out like that. I don’t know how or why your parents died, but you deserve the truth.”
“Thanks.”
“It’s literally the least I can do.” He catches my eye, his expression almost sheepish as he glances from me to the mural and back again. “You okay if I continue?” Dorian’s shoulders have softened, his jaw’s less flexed than usual. It’s like he’s at ease. Not tense or on guard. Not like someone who’s lying or deceiving. Unless he’s really good at it. And maybe he is.
But with mention of my parents, he’s got my full attention. “Yes, go on.”
“As I was saying,” he continues. “The Night’s been training for battle since the end of the first war. Preparing to take back the island. But we’ve not been ready until now. We’ve been waiting for something. Someone…” Again, he gazes at the mural behind me. Dorian leans in, resting his elbows on his knees, hands clasped. “The short version of the story is this … Long ago the Sun and Moon were lovers, of one mind, body, and soul, but were forced to split. When the people of Bellona separated, so too did the Sun and Moon. They took sides. Light versus dark. Imperi versus Night. And it would continue that way for centuries. That is, until the Lunalette returns.” Dorian’s eyes drift over to mine.
“Lunalette …” He nods. Yeah, I don’t buy it. Yet I worry the inside of my cheek. “Sounds like just another old story.”
“Is it…?” The way he raises an eyebrow gives me pause. As if he knows I’m kidding myself. But am I? They are just silly stories. No more factual than the ones in my fables book or the lesson-laden nursery rhymes Poppy used to repeat when I was small.
Dorian leans back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. “That’s all I’ve got. The short version of our history. We made a deal. Your move, V.” Ah, there’s the Dorian I recognize. “I know I joke a lot but I always keep my promises.”
I’m stuck. Torn. Split between what I’ve always known to be true and what might actually be the truth. And, mostly, sticking around to figure out which is which.
Dorian stands. “How about this … I’m going to step out, take care of a few things. Why don’t you stay here and think on everything. There’s fresh clothes for you.” He points to the black pile on the floor beside him. “I have someplace to be in about an hour, but I’ll be back to check on you in…” He glances at his hourglass. “Twenty minutes. If you want to stay longer, great. If not, I’ll take you back up.”
Seems fair. Either I stay and find out more or leave. At this point, I feel mostly confident I’m not going to be tortured or fed to anything fanged and poisonous. I pull my shawl tightly around my shoulders, cross my arms over my chest. “I’ll take that deal, but on one condition.” Dorian stares back at me. “Word must be sent to my grandfather letting him know I’m safe.”
“Done.”
I lean forward. “And to Nico.”
“Mmm … I wish we could, but you’re both safer if he doesn’t know.” I wish he wasn’t right, but I know he is. I simply nod.
“I’ll be back in a bit. Meet you outside in the tunnel?”
“All right.”
He smiles close-lipped. Yet the way it reaches his eyes, not in happiness but out of respect, with a certain knowingness, one that conveys, I trust you’ll make the right choice, puts a heavier weight on my shoulders.
Then he turns and leaves.
Alone in the cave now, I take the opportunity to explore things more closely. On the wall next to the mat there are small sections of rocks jutting out like natural shelves. Placed on some of them are stones, crystals, roots … Like the blessings we leave on our Sun altars, but all things from the earth.
When I turn around to face the fresh clothes, something on top catches my eye. Crouching down, I grasp the delicate, sharp-edged thing.
Holding it over a nearby candle, I see that it’s a tiny glass trinket: a small orange-gold Sun. It’s no larger than an inch in width, including the eight sunrays that snake out from the middle. I squeeze it gently in my palm, the sharp points sticking my skin like tiny twigs. I know exactly where it came from and who made it. But I’ve no idea when he slipped it on top of the clothes without me noticing.
Dorian’s sleight of hand aside, something occurs to me. Why in the world would he save me from Imperi soldiers at his own risk, show me the Night’s vegetable gardens, and then bring me to this cave—obviously their personal quarters—if he only meant me harm? And now this? A gift handmade for me in the likeness of the Sun—perhaps a reminder of home? I hold it to my chest, which is warm from the thought of Dorian spending time blowing and shaping this glass with me, my happiness, in mind.
I know what I have to do.
I just hope I’m not wrong.
MY DECISION MADE, I step behind a burlap curtain nailed to the ceiling and change out of my usual clothes into the ones Dorian left for me. The ones the Night wear.
And after running through the woods, sliding down dens, and climbing through caves all evening, getting out of my old clothes is actually a relief.
The Night uniform fits well enough, but it’s strange to be wearing so much black, traditionally a Dogio color. The clothes—close-fitting pants, long-sleeved shirt, and a button-up jacket—are thicker than my other clothes, perfect for staying warm without needing to layer four things on top of one another. They’re worn, a bit faded in areas. I relace my boots and head out of the cave and toward the tunnel. “Dorian?” I call.
“Oh hi!” But it’s not Dorian, it’s Bronwyn. “Dorian sent me for you.” She looks me up and down, likely taking in my new clothes. Bronwyn can’t be more than a year younger than me, but she’s a good five inches taller. A huge smile overtakes her face, those dimples at the corners of her eyes in fine form. “He had to go to the meeting early. Officer stuff.”
He didn’t mention he was an officer. Maybe that was what the patch on his chest meant? “Oh, okay.” Instantly I glance down at Bronwyn’s clothes. She wears the same moon pin on her collar but only has one small stripe affixed to her uniform.
“I’ve only gone on one mission. Soldiering isn’t quite my calling. I’d rather tend the gardens, raise chickens … I’ve switched to learning those instead.”
“Sounds nice.”
“Of course, should battle call…” She bites her lip. “I’m pretty sure I’m not supposed to talk to you about battles and war. Dorian told me not to scare you off.”
“We pretty much covered that already.” She eyes me from her periphery. “But he’s worried about me getting spooked, eh?”
“Hopelessly…” She smiles and the way she says it, it’s as if she knows more about her brother’s actions than she’s letting on.
Bronwyn motions to the right. “This way—” I’m about to ask her to expand on what she meant by “hopelessly,” then decide against it (we did just meet) when we hit a spiral tunnel that corkscrews in a tight succession of turns. Dorian wasn’t kidding when he said I had no idea how much of a labyrinth this place was.
Once through the spiral, Bronwyn and I snake and climb and scurry through the caves, accidentally squishing creepy-crawly bugs I’m so glad I can’t see. It stays mostly dark save our lantern, and I cannot imagine living without the Sun or fresh air day after day.
When I ask Bronwyn about this, she explains, “We take special vitamins made of roots and fruit and minerals from the garden and the ground. Keeps us healthy.” She certainly looks healthy. I’d have no idea she’s been raised underground. “Plus, there is one place on the Upper where we’re able to sneak to, but only a few at a time. We rotate it out.”
“Where’s that?”
“Just a section of beach. On the very edge of the island, beyond the Crag. We usually go right before sunrise.”
“Beyond the Crag? Wait. Isn’t it surrounded by land mines from the first war? The Imperi stored weapons there, planted mines all around it to keep the Night away.”
She only shakes her head. “It’s abandoned now. We dug the mines out ages ago; they’re stored in a special cave though, far away from anything living. As for the Crag, some of our tunnels extend into it. In fact, the Sindaco—head of the Night; you’ll meet him later—his main dwelling is there.”
“Okay…” With each new tidbit of information, my mind whirls. Everything down here directly contradicts everything up there.
“Ah. Finally. We’re here.” Bronwyn stops abruptly. “Ready?”
“For the meeting?”
She nods. Really enthusiastically.
“Dorian said it’s nothing special.”
Nod-nod-nod.
“Just a small gathering.”
Nod-nod.
“Okay … Yeah, I’m ready.”
But something’s strange. Before I can probe her for details, we turn the corner and I’m stopped dead in my tracks. We’ve stepped into a large cavern—the largest I’ve seen yet—and there are five, maybe ten times the number of Night members than Dorian and I encountered on our arrival. This time though, I’m not so much afraid as I am confused. Curious even. Slightly spooked. Because the minute we enter, the air changes. Eyes glance toward me and a hushed murmur becomes audible. It’s not overtly threatening, but notably strange, and I’d bet my only fishing pole it has something to do with me, the outsider. Maybe something Dorian said back in the cave. He did disappear fast afterward.
It’s then I fully take in the space.
There are candles on every ledge and table, some on the floor, enough to illuminate the cave like midday. Following the sight upward, I’m mesmerized by how the light from the flames cascades up the walls and laps at the ceiling. There, I spot another mural. Painted in an arc across the highest reaches of the cave is the moon in all its phases.
Walking in farther I notice there’s a large tapestry hanging from the far wall, its image covered by the crowd and shadows.
Then there’s the people, Dorian’s people. The Night. Monsters of the underworld. But they seem anything but. Sure, they stare, but not rudely. More expectantly. Like they’re waiting. Watching.
It’s a bit unsettling, but I suppose they’re as curious about me as I am about them.
Most smile as Bronwyn and I walk past. Some ask to shake my hand, introducing themselves. Others seem shy within my presence. Everyone is welcoming.
There’s food and drink, music being played on instruments I’ve never seen or heard before. They’re pieced together, hand carved, made of clay. But the music is plucky and joyful and reverberates from wall to floor to ceiling. In the oddest way, it reminds me of the Dogio Ever-Sol Feast at Nico’s house, but completely flipped upside down.
Glancing from face to face, smile to smile, a sea of black clothing beneath the shimmering glow of countless candles, I spot Dorian. From across the expanse, our eyes meet and a curious dancing takes hold of my stomach. It’s a mix of nerves and excitement, the desire to smile in his direction battling with wanting to punch him in the arm for not warning me of all this. Just a small gathering …
He excuses himself from the man he’s speaking with and makes his way over. The commotion from my stomach expands, sending prickly heat up my neck, into my ears.
Briefly, I think of Nico. How he’d feel if he only knew the way my insides suddenly swirled because of someone else.
But, no. It’s only nerves. I’m completely on edge.
As if it knows better, the spinning stills.
Just behind my eyes my last memory of Nico comes into focus. It was only hours earlier that we were caught outside before morning bells. Mere moments ago, he glanced around the soldiers through the darkness at me, expression intense, eyes set right on mine, silently pleading I run.
The stillness where the spinning had churned now pangs with guilt and sadness. I already miss him.
Dorian’s wearing the same uniform he had on earlier, but has added a black sash adorned with even more pins and military ribbons.
He stops before me, blatantly staring at my clothing, small grin playing at his mouth. “The outfit suits you.”
“Don’t gloat,” I joke, and motion to his sash. “And what’s all this?”
“Oh.” He glances down, humbly waving it away. “I’ve done some stuff.” Yet there’s a definite air of pride beneath his words.
“Oooh—moon biscuits,” Bronwyn cuts in. “I’m going to get some. Would you like anything, Veda?”
“I’m fine. Thanks though.”
And Bronwyn scurries off toward a table of food.
“No, no…” Dorian waves a hand toward his sister’s back. “I don’t want anything. Thanks for asking, Bron.” He stares after her, shaking his head.
I laugh. “She must be hungry.”
“Moon biscuits. They only come out on special occasions. Our mother used to make them.”
I nod. I’m not sure whether it’s worse to have known your mother and then lost her or to have never known her at all. “All Poppy ever makes is fish stew. And he uses ALL the parts of the fish he can. Once he tried to make seaweed cookies. They made me throw up.”
“Not much of a baker, eh?”
I laugh. “Not at all.” Then something occurs to me about the biscuits. Something he said that went right over my head when he said it. “Wait. What’s the special occasion?”
“What’s that?” He refuses to meet my gaze, eyes dancing from one corner of the room to the next.
“You just said the moon biscuits are only made on special occasions. So…?” I motion toward the celebration in full swing before us.
“Right.” He glances toward the food table. “I did say that, didn’t I?”
He’s hiding something. I wait for an explanation, but Bronwyn comes striding back, hands full of cookies. “There’s stars too.” She passes a couple to me. They’re small sugar-coated biscuits. The size of a sand dollar. One, the shape of a crescent moon. The other, a five-pointed star. A close replica of the star from the story Dorian told, the mural in the cave, all sharp edges.
Is bringing me here just another attempt to convince me to stay? But why the secrecy? Unless there’s more. Worse.
As I search my mind for bedtime stories about Night rituals, my eyes find Dorian’s.
He’s eating a cookie, as if suddenly starved for sweets, his mouth conveniently full, white powdered sugar stuck to his fingertips. But before he can do or say anything, before I can prod him for more information, for some clue, a hint into what horrors surely await, the crowd quiets, all attention centered toward one man.
“The Sindaco,” Bronwyn whispers near my ear.
The man—the Sindaco—stands still as more and more people gather around him. Hands clasped in front, he wears a sash similar to Dorian’s, but his is crowded with military pins and patches, barely an inch of black fabric showing. His dark hair is fading to silver around the edges, and he wears something no one else does. A flash of red fabric wrapped thickly around his waist, part belt, part ornament.
The Sindaco waits patiently until the entire cavern goes silent. He seems nonthreatening. There isn’t anything about his appearance that screams sinister or dangerous, but something—something—prickles the back of my neck and sends my nerves on notice. Perhaps it’s that he’s wearing Dogio and Imperi colors? I learned from a young age to watch out for black and red. Be on my best behavior in the presence of black and red. Don’t dare make the wrong move in the vicinity of black and red.
Nico, of course, was always the exception. The way he wore it was never threatening. Never with the air of authority or force. Just Nico.
The Sindaco clears his throat, unclasping his hands and placing them on his hips. “What a night.” He glances around the room. “What a celebration.” Several people shout out a “hear! hear!” and “huzzah!” Someone hands the Sindaco a drink and he tips his glass, but doesn’t take a sip. “It’s been too long, but”—he pauses for breath, almost like he’s swallowing his emotion—“well worth the wait. And we have Captain Winters to thank.” He holds his hand out toward Dorian, and I realize Captain Winters and Dorian are one and the same.
Dorian nods, then finds me from the corner of his eyes.
I turn my head fully toward him as several things happen in quick succession …
Bronwyn crunches the point of one of the star biscuits between her teeth.
“Nearly seventeen years we’ve been waiting,” the Sindaco says. The crowd mumbles in agreement. “Finally, the day has come—our Lunalette has returned home.”
As if I’m in a bizarre nightmare, the Sindaco raises his glass directly at me. I glance to my left and then to my right. Surely, he’s motioning toward Dorian, but both Dorian and Bronwyn have stepped away so I stand alone. Stranded. An island in a sea of Night. Collective, expectant eyes right on me.
When I look across the space at the Sindaco, he nods, not leaving any room for interpretation. He meant me when he said Lunalette.
And I’m getting out of here.
I search the nearest route to flee, but before I can get away, the cave erupts in applause, which quickly dies down when everyone realizes I don’t know what’s going on, that I’m about to run for it. There’s soft murmuring, questioning, whispers.
I begin turning away when the Sindaco says something about a star-shaped scar and I stop dead.
Dorian slowly glances over at me. He taps his chest, mirroring the place where my own star-shaped scar is. How could he…?
But a memory hits me square between the eyes like a sharp headache: that day at the Hole … When he returned my twine he saw my scar.
I must be shaking my head no, because he nods an emphatic yes as if reminding me of that horseshit story he told, that he wasn’t lying, that not all legends are fable. His expression, all sensitive-eyed and strong-browed, is a firm yet sympathetic I tried to give you a hint.
But … No.
Hint or no hint. Star or scar.
No.
The Sindaco continues. He’s still staring straight at me, speaking directly to me, but, my heart racing, ears ringing, I only get snippets of what he says. “… We didn’t intend for you to find out this way … It must be a shock … We apologize … Have been waiting so long … Fate … Opportunity … Lunalette … Welcome…”
The ringing in my ears turns to a high-pitched buzzing as my eyes dart from face to face, cave arch to cave arch. I follow the intricately painted phases of the moon, and like a trail of bread crumbs, it leads down the back wall with the tapestry and to an exit.
I bolt straight for the metal door because there’s no way. These people are either terribly mistaken or terribly delusional. Either way, I’m not about to stick around to see which it is.
I’m not their Lunalette.
Whatever that even means.
I’m only two short strides away from the door when a little girl breaks from her parents, rushing right up to me and blocking my grand exit.
I’ve no choice but to skid to a stop or plow her down.
I wouldn’t normally plow a defenseless child down, but this isn’t a normal situation, now, is it? Poor little thing … But she’ll be all right.
I’m about to try my best to skirt around her, accepting she might fall over as collateral.
Until, she stares up at me. Doe-eyed. Defenseless. Pure innocence.
I stop.
Forced to take a breath, I decide whether I’m going to walk right past her or address her. My head tells me not to take a second glance, but it’s too late. I’ve looked down.
She’s tiny, no older than seven, a bit of dirt smudging her nose. Face framed by dark ringlets, when she gives me a well-practiced yet wobbly curtsy, her curls spring up and down with the motion.
“I’m Ruby,” she says, her voice strong and squeaky at once. She hands me a rolled-up scrap of cloth.
“For me?” I say, holding it in my hand.
She nods. But the way she stares, starry-eyed, clearly expecting more, I realize to simply ask if the gift is meant for me isn’t near enough.
Right.
I quickly untie the twine. Ruby watches quietly, her eyes wide as saucers, and I decide, despite the chaos unfolding all around us, within me, that whatever I find inside this cloth, she deserves a gushing reaction.
Unrolling the white square of muslin, I see that it’s a handkerchief, upon it the blue embroidered image of the phases of the moon, the word Lunalette roughly stitched in light purple thread below the careful arc.
I smile down at her and not entirely for show.
“This took you a long time to make, eh?”
Her dark eyes light up. “How’d you know?”
I lean down on one knee to her level. “I embroider too. It’s harder than it looks. If you miss one stitch, then—”
“—the whole thing’s ruined.” She nods emphatically.
“Yes!” I stand back up. “Thank you so much, Ruby. I’ll treasure it always.”
She grins, all teeth, and runs back to her parents, who nod and smile at me.
Slowly returning to the present, when I take a look around, the worn tapestry, now in full view, catches my attention.
Stretched out before me is a battle scene. Not of the moon and the Sun like the painting Dorian showed me back in the cave, but an actual battle scene with people and weapons and blood, one side clearly winning.
It’s in the faded shades of four colors only: mostly black and white, but with flashes of red, one flash of gold. The Night is led by a young woman with the mark of a star over her heart—the solitary bit of golden thread in the entire thing. Unlike the more traditional five-pointed star back on the cave wall, cut out as cookies, this one is less perfect. More haggard. Asymmetric. A near twin to the scar I was given by an adult pantera fish’s teeth when I was two. The losing army is the Imperi. They’re awash in red and black and even more red spilled on the ground beneath them where the edges of the hanging fray.
The cave is quiet, all eyes on me and me alone. As much as I want to sprint straight through that door, somehow I gather the strength to turn and face the crowd.
I have no plan. No words. Just a scrap of muslin, a tightness in my chest, and an angry and confused knot in my throat.
My hands visibly shake, but I clutch the handkerchief between them, clasp it at my waist to calm my nerves. Women, men, and children stare. Some appear to be anticipating something. Something I’m sure I won’t deliver. Others wear confusion, what looks like disappointment; a few avert their eyes when they realize I’m seeing them right back.
The Sindaco clears his throat, thankfully pulling the attention off me. “Veda…” When he says my name, the way it echoes off the walls and all around the cavern makes my insides squirm. In this moment, all I want to do is hide, curl up into a ball, pinch myself, and make this strangest of strange nightmares end. But I’m not asleep. And he continues, “We were so worried we wouldn’t be welcoming enough that I think we overdid it.” He holds his hands up like he’s treading lightly, choosing his words carefully. “You must know we’ve all been awaiting this day, prayed and hoped for this day. We know you’ll need time, maybe you won’t want to stay here a minute longer—” Several someones near the back murmur in dissatisfaction. “No, no…” He glances in the general direction of the gasp. “We mustn’t question fate.” A low mumbling of agreement overpowers the naysayers. The Sindaco turns his sight back on me. “Whatever you choose, it’s what’s meant to happen. We trust in the legend. The Lunalette.”
I nod.
I don’t buy anything he’s saying one bit.
But I nod.
Because I just want this moment to end.
As the Sindaco continues his speech, I’m thankful when the crowd finally puts all their attention on him as he speaks to the future … the revolution … the rising up of the Night … how the Imperi’s oppression was built over centuries and how reclaiming that power won’t happen overnight.
With his words, there’s less disappointment weighing down the air in the room. More hope lightening the space.
Such a fine line with those two emotions.
I BARELY UTTER a word as Dorian, Bronwyn, and I walk back to the caves of the soldiers’ tunnel. I’m in a complete fog, the moments that unfolded in the cavern not an hour earlier replaying in a loop in my mind.
At one point, after asking me how surprised I was by the celebration, to which I reply with something like, “I don’t even…,” Bronwyn reveals she’s smuggled a napkin filled with moon and star biscuits out of the cavern.
“My Moon, Bronwyn. You have a serious problem,” Dorian says, rolling his eyes, but snatches one right as she’s about to pop it in her mouth.
She knuckles him in the arm, reminding me of how much I want to smack him right now. The sheer anger welling up from the pit of my stomach over him not giving me more warning before that total bombardment back there is reaching a boil.
But I talk myself down.
Keep it all in.
Just until we’re alone.
It’s then, as Bronwyn’s going on and on about how they remind her of their mother and it’s so rare they get such a treat and she couldn’t possibly have let them go to waste, that I catch a mutual look and shrug of the shoulders between brother and sister. The gesture’s over me, I assume. Because it’s definitely the unspoken subject at the moment.
Had they expected me to jump up and down? Start writing up battle plans? Enthusiastically plot how to ruin the only home I’ve ever known? I release a huff out of my nose at the thought and they both glance over at me.
I ignore them.
Once we reach cave number nine, Dorian heads inside and Bronwyn mentions she’s going to make tea. But before I can catch Dorian—I’m fully prepared to lay into him the minute we’re inside—Bronwyn says, “Hey, Veda?”
I step back out of the cave and face her. “Yes?”
Her brow is lined with emotion like there’s something she’d like to say, but doesn’t. Or maybe can’t. Instead of speaking, Bronwyn hands me the last of the biscuits. “I’m glad you’re here.”
I look at the small pile of cookies. There’s a crack down the middle of one of the moons, and a few star points have broken off. But I know how much they mean to her. And like with the little girl in the cavern earlier, I’m forced to pause. To venture outside of myself. “Thanks,” I say.
She smiles and I can’t help but smile back.
When I enter the cave, Dorian’s back is to me as he stares quietly at the painting on the wall. I stop right next to him, our arms nearly touching. “What the hell just happened?”
“I really did try to warn you.”
I glance up at him. “With a story,” I snap. My voice is already breaking with emotion, and I refuse to let that happen. To let him see that under the anger, I’m also upset. I take a deep breath, straighten my shoulders, focus on that rage lodged in my chest.
“A true story.” His voice is stupidly soft. As if that’s going to make me less angry. “I’d hoped it was enough of a hint.”
“It was vague at best. And, besides, you know I didn’t believe you.” He continues avoiding my eyes. “Would you have believed me?”
Dorian opens his mouth like he’s going to argue, but only says, “No.” He finally looks at me. “I’d have said you were out of your mind and made you take me home.” He turns and faces me. “I should have warned you about the celebration—I was afraid you wouldn’t go, that you’d demand I take you back up. But, I promise you, celebration aside, I’ve told you everything.”
“Everything?”
He nods. “Everything I know, yes.”
“Does someone else know more?”
“Only the Sindaco.” He eyes the floor. Right. “Take me to him.”
“I can’t, Veda.”
“Why not?”
“He’s very busy … And it’s just not something we do, show up unannounced. I’m supposed to take you to meet him in the morning.”
“I’m busy too, you know. In fact, I might be gone by morning.” This gets his attention; Dorian’s eyes dart to mine. “I need answers.”
“I understand and I know it’s a lot.” I raise my eyebrows. He holds my gaze. “I can’t even imagine, Veda. Look…” He rakes his hands through his hair. “I’ll see what I can do.”
I’m about to tell him he’d better get going on that, when Bronwyn returns with a teakettle and three cups. “Something to relax all our nerves and dilute the sugar from those mounds of biscuits we ate.”
Dorian and I both look over at her.
“… Fine. I ate.” She sets the tea down on the small tree stump serving as a table. “Still, based on the tension in this room, you two could definitely use a bit of moonroot.” No one says a word. “All … right. I’m going to leave this here, then.” Bronwyn pours herself a cup and leaves.
Alone with me again, Dorian fills the remaining two cups with tea. When he offers me one, I refuse. Still holding my cup, he sips his as if to let me know it’s not poisoned or something.
“I know it’s been a long day,” he says. “Just … let me know what you’re thinking?”
“I’m thinking…” With a deep breath, I move across the cave, sit on the mat. Dorian follows, setting my tea on the floor next to us. “You need to start from the beginning.”
He exhales, shoulders softening, then gives a slight nod. “It wasn’t an accident I ran into you the other day at the Hole.”
“Yeah, I put that much together.”
“Right. Well, according to the Lunalette legend, you’re to arrive here on your seventeenth birthday.”
“Tomorrow.”
“Yes. I was given until then to find a way to convince you to join the Night. But … I waited too long.” He shifts uncomfortably. “In all my training, believe it or not, convincing someone everything they’ve been taught is a lie wasn’t part of it. I did my best, but I can’t see how I could have earned your trust like I needed to. That would take years.” Instantly I think of Nico. “Then with the Night of Reckoning, the Offering that followed, the fact that you’re at Nico’s side most of the time … I was about to have to resort to less desirable tactics.”
I furrow my brow. “Like what?” I say through a tightened jaw.
“I was told to do what I must to get you down here safely. So you could see the truth for yourself.”
I gape. Do what he must?
Hands held up in front of him, he speaks quickly. “I swear to you, V, I wouldn’t have done anything dangerous. Whether you’re the Lunalette or not, I would never harm you.” The way he says it stings with honesty, but he’s right, I don’t trust him. I can’t. Especially after hearing his do-anything-he-must plan.
I take my time sizing Dorian up, not moving my sight off him as the silence stretches between us. He’s fidgety. Surely unsure what I’m thinking, worried I’ll take off any minute—and, I won’t lie, I’m enjoying it. He avoids my eyes. Picks at the wool sprigs of the mat beneath us as he fails at stealing glances.
When he finally looks right up at me, it catches me by surprise because it’s like a switch has been flipped. Anxiety wiped clean. Now, brow strong, eyes set on mine, shoulders squared, he looks like he’s ready to accept my answer, whatever it is.
What I give is a curt nod. I still don’t trust him, but I also don’t think he’d hurt me. Not to get me down here and not now. “So, you being in the tunnel when I was running from those soldiers this morning … Planned?”
Dorian’s shoulders soften as if he’s relieved to be moving on, and I wonder how long the guilt’s been eating at him. “My being in the tunnel earlier was one hundred percent accidental. I was spying on Imperi soldiers for information.” He scoots forward. “As if it was meant to be, just as I was getting desperate to get you down here, you literally fell into my lap.”
“Ah … The legend.” I raise a sarcastic eyebrow.
“Fate,” he throws back at me, voice low, confidence unwavering.
It’s then I realize I’ve still got a fistful of cookies. When I open my hand to set them on the ground, only part of one of the stars remains, the rest a pile of crumbs. And as I stare at the one star, something hits me. “Dorian—”
“Yes?”
“If your finding me was one hundred percent accidental and these cookies are such a rarity, how did they know to make them for today?” He cocks his head like he’s not following. “How in the world was the celebration and that mural, all those cookies, ready to go if no one knew for sure I’d be here?”
“I … They were alerted this morning. Tomorrow’s your birthday, the day you’re said to return. They obviously had more faith in me getting you here than I had in myself.”
I’m not so sure I’m buying it. Plus, “What do you mean, return? That’s the second time I’ve heard that. The Sindaco said I’d come home. But I’ve never been here.”
He sighs.
Is he actually annoyed by me? Are all these questions of mine so terribly aggravating? I cross my arms over my chest.
“Listen, you’re the Lunalette. One of us. Even if this is your first time here physically, you’ve always lived here in these caves, a part of the Night.” I shake my head, trying to comprehend it all. Dorian pushes the tea toward me. “Have a sip? It’s Bronwyn’s special concoction. Please, it’ll calm your nerves, help you think more clearly.” This sets me off.
“I am thinking clearly,” I say through clenched teeth, “but how in the Sun can I possibly wrap my mind around this?” I throw my arm toward the mural when, at the same time, Dorian shoves the mug closer. “I don’t need tea—” And I slam my palm into the cup, sending it flying and spilling all over Dorian’s neck and shirt, the ceramic mug shattering against the stone floor.
He swears under his breath and stands, not bothering to clean up himself or the broken cup. “I don’t know what else to tell you, Veda. It’s the truth—I swear on the Moon.”
I look away.
“No one’s going to force you to stay. All we wanted was to give you the truth. Everyone deserves to know the truth.” Dorian sort of nods to himself, then turns to leave, but stops short, glancing over his shoulder. “If you want to go, say the word.” He pauses as if waiting, expecting me to ask him to take me home.
When I don’t (which even surprises me), he walks out.
Still, I don’t run after him but stay in the cave, stare at the painting. I pick up the kettle, open the lid, and sip the tea.
I stand, walk up to the mural. The moon is mostly blues and grays with soft gold highlights where it touches the bright star connecting it to the Sun.
I place my hand over my scar, and it jabs me with a quick burn. Phantom pains, Poppy calls them. He claims injuries like that make a memory just like your mind does when something traumatic happens, but instead of an image, it’s a feeling.
Or maybe it’s more. A sign. A push. I’m not even sure if I believe in that … Dorian had said it was fate we were at the entrance to the tunnel at the exact same moment earlier.
Or was it simply coincidence?
Is there much of a difference?
I look toward the top of the mural. One side is blue sky, the other nighttime, hundreds of golden stars dotting the background. It occurs to me I’ve never really taken the time to gaze up at the night sky while out after the Sun’s set.
Because I’m always glancing over my shoulder on guard, on the run, fearful of being caught or worse.
Between the Sun and moon’s battle is the star, my star, the one I’ve always known and never really thought twice about. So familiar that when I was small and saw other children shirtless on hot summer days along the beach, I always thought their chests looked strange without the small, jagged scar.
But I was different, not them.
And maybe I still am.
There’s a bit of crimson bleeding into the golds and yellows of the star, right down the middle as if the Sun and moon are tearing it in two. A sensation I know well. The pain of being pulled apart, cut down the middle, tugged in opposite directions … My feelings for Nico, being left parentless at such a young age, having the desire to fight for what’s right but fearing the consequences too much to try, to even consider it. Knowing I shouldn’t be out after vesper bells and doing it anyway because we needed food.
Sure, it’s a story. Maybe it’s fate, maybe coincidence. Likely complete horseshit. Truth or fable, who knows, but does it matter if I could finally make a difference for others like me? Those who know too well the torture of being pulled in two?
My scar gives another phantom pain.
Or maybe it’s real.
AT SOME POINT, teapot nearly dry and amid thoughts of becoming a member of the Night, how things might go (good, bad, ugly…), the lies of the Imperi, what Poppy and Nico must be thinking, and that haunting image of the battle mural, I fall into restless sleep.
I awaken to Dorian gently shaking my shoulder, saying my name. “Veda, the Sindaco will see you.”
“What?” I sit up, disoriented. I look at Dorian, my surroundings, everything from the past few hours barreling down on me all over again.
“The Sindaco. I spoke with him and he’s agreed to see you.”
I slowly nod my head. “Okay.”
Dorian lifts the teakettle. “How much of this did you drink?”
“… approximately one kettle minus two cups’ worth … I think.”
“That explains it…”
“What?” Now he’s mad I drank it?
“You … Here.” He walks up to me and brushes my chin, the corner of my mouth. “Powdered sugar.”
Instantly, I glance toward the place where I’d left the pile of broken cookies. It’s mostly gone. “Oh yeah … I ate those. So strange, it feels like a dream.”
“Bronwyn made the tea extra strong. I’d have warned you, but I didn’t think you were going to drink it. Actually.” He meets my eyes. “I wasn’t sure I’d find you here.”
I stare back, my face warming. “I’ve been thinking…”
“Moonroot’ll do that.”
I nod. No kidding. “I’m considering staying. Maybe. Just a little longer.”
His eyes light up, a genuine smile stretching across his face. “I’m so glad.”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself. Absolutely no promises. It’s a lot … I have a lot to consider … To work through.” I narrow my eyes at him. “I’m still very angry and confused.”
“Yes, I understand. I’d be too.” Dorian hands me a canteen of water. I take a long drink and then pour some into my hands, scrub the sleep from my eyes, the sugar from my mouth.
“Let’s meet this Sindaco of yours.”
“Ours.”
“We’ll see.”