Once we’re back in the Lower, I take the lead. I’m tired of always following Dorian around. I’m staying a good two paces in front of him, each stride taken with purpose. Determination. It’s time I start finding my own way.
Problem is, my intense desire to see the Sindaco doesn’t extend to my navigation skills. I don’t know the way. Not yet. But I know where I want to go. Who I need to see.
I hang a sharp right.
“That’s an interesting choice,” Dorian says.
“Yep.”
“You do know I’m well aware you’ve got no idea where you’re headed.”
“Yep.”
“Okay. Just checking.”
But as much as I want to take charge after feeling so utterly helpless the past twenty-four hours, I stop, look back at Dorian. “Am I even remotely close to finding the Sindaco’s office?”
“Well…” Exaggeratedly, he rubs his chin with his finger and thumb, as if considering I might be close. Then he drops his hand, shoves it in his pocket. “No.” He leans in. “Not close at all.”
He’s being playfully cocky, which makes me want to laugh, but I don’t have it in me. It’s becoming a theme, Dorian making me smile and laugh. I like it.
Nico does—did—that too, but I suppose that’s over now. Our friendship, years spent side by side, our kiss, it might as well have been a dream. Maybe it was.
“But,” Dorian continues, “the Sindaco’s not in his office.”
I place my fist on my hip. “How do you know?”
“Well, it’s Monday, and he spends Monday evenings in the map room preparing missions for the week.” He says this like everyone knows this information.
“Map room?”
“Mmm hmm…”
“And are we close to this map room?”
“Yes.”
“So I was on the right track. Just a little … misguided.”
He eyes me, holding back a smile. “Misguided … Yeah, if that’s what you want to call it.”
“Yep.” I slow my pace. “But, just to be fair, you should lead the rest of the way.”
He throws a crooked smile in my direction. “Never thought you’d ask.” He pivots and makes a sharp left.
“And in this map room,” I start, “would there, by chance, be a map of, oh, I don’t know, the Lower?” Sure would be handy right about now.
“Not a chance. No maps, no paper trails.”
Of course.
A few more bends and we stop before a metal door. There’s an open padlock hanging from the handle. The door’s cracked open a few inches, golden lamplight spilling out into the tunnel.
Dorian makes an “after you” motion with his arm, but then steps in front of me. He whispers, “Are you all right?”
I just stare. He could be referring to about a hundred different things.
“Your grandfather, Nico, coming back here, it’s been a heavy couple of days.” I’m not looking at him, but when I do catch his eyes, he’s looking straight into mine. He’s suddenly all serious, no games, no jokes.
“Yeah, I’m all right,” I say, knowing I sound unconvincing. He crinkles his forehead like he doesn’t believe me, like he’s waiting for more. “I’m all right…”
“I’m not sure repeating it is going to make it true.” His words are gentle, his brow furrowed as he looks down at me.
I look up at him, meet his gaze. “Well … Okay … Not really. But for the first time in a long time, I’m not wandering. I’m passionate about something more than fishing—not that there’s anything wrong with fishing.” He laughs softly. “I mean, it’s going to be hard. I still have a lot to process, but … I’m where I need to be, and I know Poppy would agree. So … With that…” I stare at the door.
I take a breath, straighten my shoulders, and push open the door.
Dorian wasn’t exaggerating. In this room, which is really a medium-size cave, is a mural that extends nearly the entire length of the wall, a map of Bellona.
I know the Sindaco knows I know everything …
That Dorian sent him word of what happened, how I overheard their conversation about him being my father, and that we went back to the Upper. No doubt he’s heard about Poppy.
From this point forward, no more secrets. I’m so tired of lies and deception even if it is meant to protect me. Especially if it is.
I stride across the space right as he glances up from the papers scattered on the table before him.
If he’s at all surprised to see me, he doesn’t show it. He does stand. Places his palms flat against the rickety wooden table and then steps around it, pauses, and walks toward me.
I’m flooded with at least a thousand emotions at once. Questions of Why did you leave me? Force my grandfather to lie for you? Thoughts ranging from I can’t trust you to I’ve missed you all my life to You missed my entire life. But I try to force it all down. This is delicate. Something that should be eased into. Most of all, he’s a stranger to me. Someone I just met who hasn’t given me any reason to trust him.
We’re walking toward each other, set to meet in the middle of the cave. His steps are calculated, cautious. Mine are strong on the surface, unsure underneath. We both stop dead when there’s about a foot between us. But the distance is so much greater.
The Sindaco lifts an eyebrow and dares a glance. He must know I’m angry with him. That I know the truth he’s my father, that Poppy was killed. And if he doesn’t assume I’m upset by all of that, he’s an idiot or only concerned with himself, which is worse.
I catch his eye and blurt out, “You lied.”
So much for easing into things.
He glances away for a moment, then turns back to me. “I did,” he says. “I’m so sorry.”
I refuse to say it’s okay, because it’s not. I wait for him to continue speaking. He’s the adult. The Sindaco. The one who lied. I deserve answers not apologies. “It wasn’t right.” Again, he looks away. “But it was necessary.” He steps a few inches closer, clasping his hands behind his back. “Please understand that, Veda.”
My name, so familiar, doesn’t feel right leaving his lips. “I don’t understand. Not really.” Maybe not at all. I look away, cross my arms over my chest, hold tight. “Why did you send me to be raised by Poppy?” I ask, my voice monotone. Robotic.
“Please, can we sit?”
“I’d like to stand.” Somewhere behind me, Dorian shuffles his feet or kicks a bit of gravel or sets down his lamp. I’d forgotten he was there.
“Of course. And Dorian?” The Sindaco motions behind me.
“He can stay.”
The Sindaco nods. He breathes deeply in, then back out. “I loved your mother. I loved her more than there are stars in the sky. More than life itself. When she died, I lost everything. Don’t get me wrong, I had you, thank the Moon, but … I wasn’t strong enough.” He shakes his head, emotion softening his voice. “I wish I could have been. I did the best I could at the time. But for that—for not being stronger—I’m truly sorry.” He pauses. “The reason I sent you to live with your grandfather instead of keeping you here was to protect you. The less you knew, the safer you’d be. Whether I was right or wrong, I’m not sure, but I stand by it. I knew you’d be loved, well cared for, and that you’d be raised with empathy and compassion, that you’d be taught valuable skills. Mostly, I was certain you were safer up on the island because your connection to the Night was undetectable. Your identity was safe. What I didn’t foresee was the Imperi, that they’d turn to such ruthless lies and destruction. That I’d have an even harder time convincing you of everything when you returned here. So, you see, I may have physically left you, but, in my mind, never truly. It was always my intent to be reunited.”
“Yes, but couldn’t Poppy have at least told me you were alive? Explained how my mother died? Anything?”
He’s already shaking his head before I finish. “My father is vicious, despicable. Thus far, you’ve seen a somewhat reserved Raevald. But I lived with him. Was raised by him. I know what goes on behind closed doors, and you now know an extent of it. I could never, never, risk exposing you to that. Had he found out you were my daughter, the child of his traitorous, embarrassment, coward of a son? He’d have killed you and Poppy immediately.” He swallows hard. “I don’t regret keeping all of this from you, because it was the only way I could ensure your protection.”
“Well, it only half worked because he got to Poppy anyway.” With the mention of my grandfather, that wall I put up when I walked in here starts to crack.
He furrows his brow, takes a deep breath in, and looks at me, remorse softening his eyes. The Sindaco takes a step closer and lifts his arm as if he’d like to pat me on the shoulder, console me, but isn’t quite sure how.
I take a step back so there’s no question where I stand in wanting his consoling. When I do, I feel the warmth of Dorian’s hand on the middle of my back. It’s only a fraction of a second before he removes it, but the reminder he’s there means everything.
Just as my vision’s going blurry thinking of Poppy, this horror of a day, I spot all the maps on the Sindaco’s desk, possible battle plans. Then, farther back, displayed atop a shelf, is an atlatl spear. One I can only imagine belonged to my mother.
I steel myself.
“I want to fight.”
The Sindaco counters my demand by taking his own step back. “No. Absolutely out of the question.”
I step forward. “Because I’m the Lunalette or because I’m your daughter?”
“Both,” he says, raising his voice considerably. “And because I’m in charge here and you fighting won’t help our cause.”
“What about my cause?”
“Your cause is predetermined. Fated. I can’t change that.”
Well, I can. “You’re telling me the prophecy states the Lunalette won’t fight?”
The Sindaco turns and walks toward his desk. “It’s not that simple.”
“He’s right, Veda,” Dorian says.
I follow. “Then explain it to me.”
He stops behind his desk, turns to face me. “I thought we settled this your first night here.”
I let out a low “ha” under my breath. “You settled it. I never agreed to anything.” I can see Dorian, who’s shoulder to shoulder with me now, staring right at me. Silently pleading I shut up.
The Sindaco sits, rakes his hands through his hair. “I see…” is all he says before he begins shuffling through the papers again.
I look over at Dorian, who shrugs, shakes his head. Thanks a lot, officer.
I step forward so I’m standing right in front of the desk.
The Sindaco peers up at me, takes a deep breath in, then out again. “I will not allow you to fight in battle. If anything happened to you, it would be the end of the revolution before it began. You don’t yet see it, you haven’t been here long enough to believe it, but your presence here is everything.” He stresses the word by staring more deeply into my eyes. “Veda, by coming to the Lower, by joining the Night, you’ve single-handedly put this revolution into motion. You’ve given the true soldiers—those who’ve been training to fight this war for years—renewed hope.” He shakes his head no. “I cannot in good conscience risk that.”
“Or is it because of what happened to my mother? How she was captured in battle?” As soon as the words leave my mouth, I know I’ve probably crossed a line. I don’t look at Dorian. I don’t want to see his expression.
The Sindaco sets his sights back down at his desk, rubs his chin again, this time more aggressively.
“I apologize … I know it must be difficult, but she was my mother. I didn’t know her, but it still hurts she’s gone, especially knowing how she died.” My throat closes around the last word, images of Poppy’s own execution flashing behind my eyes. I open my mouth to keep talking, but he puts his hand up as if telling me there’s no need to continue. “It wasn’t meant to sound so careless,” I manage.
“I know.” He meets my eyes. “But there’s truth to it. You’re exactly right. When your mother was killed, yes, it sparked the first war, fueled our anger and our vengeance, but it also drained every ounce of hope we had. I don’t want to repeat that and certainly don’t want you to lose your life.”
I’m not sure if it’s physical exhaustion or pure emotional fatigue, but my legs are suddenly jelly. I can’t stand any longer and slide into the chair behind me.
Dorian’s watching me the entire time and sits as well. When I look over he seems to check in with his eyes, leans forward, brow knit, like he’s asking me if I’m okay.
I nod and he looks like he’s about to speak when the Sindaco starts talking again. “I’m prepared to make a deal with you, Veda.”
“All right…”
“You may not fight in battle—” I open my mouth to argue, but he beats me to it. “However, I will send you up on a mission. With Dorian.”
“What kind of mission?” I ask.
“Information gathering … I haven’t sorted all the details yet, but I’ll let you know as soon as it’s all set.” I nod. “In the meantime, Dorian—”
“Sir?”
“We talked about it a while ago, but please get Veda trained on a weapon.” He says it like there’s some backstory between the two of them.
“Of course.”
But before I can pry or ask which weapon, the Sindaco cuts the entire conversation off.
“Now”—he rubs his puffy eyes with the heels of his hands—“I’ve got so much to do … Missions to hand out … Information to sort … I’ve got a pile of coded recon data to decipher…” His voice is low, speaking more to himself as he stares at the stacks of papers before him, and I decide not to press him anymore. For now, I’ll save the rest of my questions for Dorian.
As we’re walking out the door, the Sindaco calls Dorian back, murmurs something I can’t quite make out, except I definitely hear the word weapon.
The minute we’re out of earshot of the map room, Dorian looks over, eyebrows raised. “That got intense.”
I throw my arm in front of Dorian, forcing him to stop.
“What aren’t you telling me?” I say.
Dorian’s still staring down at my arm, dramatically rubbing the place my elbow slammed into his chest. “Gah—you could be gentler, you know.” He looks me in the eyes, smile flirting at his lips. “Actually, don’t. That’ll come in handy in training.”
I only stare.
“I can see you’re not in a joking mood.”
“Not even a little bit.”
“And I assume you’re referring to what the Sindaco said about your weapon?”
“I am.”
Hands up in surrender, all pretense gone, Dorian says, “Listen, it’s a secret—”
“But—”
“But a good secret. A surprise.”
“I don’t like surprises good or bad or in between.”
“You only need wait another five minutes … The Sindaco told me … It’s in your room.” He singsongs the last part.
I sigh, roll my eyes, but I’m smiling on the verge of laughing at how completely ridiculous he can be. “Fine.”
When we enter my cave, unchanged from how I left it, he lingers at the door, fingering the rough stones that line it like a frame.
“It’s there, underneath the mural. A welcome-home gift from us to you.”
“Us?”
“The Night, the Sindaco, me.”
I glance over my shoulder, catch his eyes. He’s watching me, waiting for my reaction I suppose.
I walk farther into my room and quickly realize Dorian’s still lingering at the doorway. “Are you coming in?” I call without looking back.
“I thought you’d never ask.”
He can’t see it, but I roll my eyes. Not out of annoyance, but because I knew he was going to say that.
I immediately notice a package wrapped in brown paper leaning against the wall beneath the mural. I walk up to it. Stare down at it. My name is scrawled messily on it in black ink.
“Did you write that?” I eye Dorian.
“I did.” Which I can assume means he wrapped the oddly shaped gift. I can’t deny the thought of him sitting Sun knows where, trying to figure out how to cover this awkward, pointy thing, is equal parts funny and hopelessly endearing.
“Did you swear a lot while trying to wrap all that?”
He laughs. “Definitely.” When I glance over at him his face is the slightest pink.
I sit down on the mat and he joins me. I pick up the package. It’s heavier than I expect, and something inside clinks together like wood. I quirk an eyebrow at Dorian.
“My Moon, V, open it already!”
I laugh. “I take my time with gifts.”
He breathes in through his nose. “It’s torture to watch, just so you know. But I’m coming to you if we ever need an explosive removed.”
“Noted.” I grin, continuing to take my time. Even more so now.
I untie the string and remove it. Then, strip by strip, I unwrap the brown paper.
What I find beneath the double layer of wrapping is unexpected.
Exhilarating and terrifying at once.
A worn leather quiver of spears and a hooked throwing device, the handle adorned with a glass five-pointed star the colors of the Sun and moon combined. Sparkling flecks of gold and silver swim within the star, a length of black leather wrapped around the handle as grip.
An atlatl. My mother’s atlatl. Instantly, my eyes prickle because I can’t believe it. I grew up thinking this weapon was a thing of legends. Lost to the past, forever gone just like her. It’s the one item I ever linked solely with my mother. This atlatl is to her like my fishing pole is to me. It’s everything. A tool. A weapon.
I blink a few times. Stare at it on the floor before me when I realize I’ve not given off any reaction good or bad. I look over at Dorian, who’s eyeing me right back, unsure.
“It’s…,” I start, then stop to take a breath. “I’ve only ever seen one photograph of my mother. She was holding this weapon. I used to sneak into Poppy’s room after he went to work and gaze at it for hours. I’d make up stories about going hunting with her. I’d fish and she’d catch game and then we’d come home and make stew and bake bread.” I smile. “Long after dark, I’d often awaken to sounds outside. I’d lie frozen in my bed, terrified of the Night sneaking into my room and snatching me. But then I’d imagine my mother with her atlatl standing watch, and it would always calm me.” I gaze back at it. Run my fingers over the smooth wood. “Poppy always told me she’d used it to hunt for food.” I turn and face Dorian. “I’m assuming that wasn’t true.”
He shakes his head, slightly humored. “No.” Still, he’s watching me. “So, you like it?”
“My Sun, Dorian, I love it. It’s almost too special to actually use.”
“What?” He must think I’m serious the way his jaw hangs lax.
“I said, almost. This weapon was meant to be used. It would be a disservice not to use it.”
“Right.” Satisfied with my answer, he looks deeply into my eyes, which sends a buzzing from my chest to my stomach and back up again. “You’ll get your chance tomorrow. First thing.”
I move closer to get a better view of the weapon, and when I do, not only is my leg pressed against Dorian’s, but my hand is now resting on his knee. I hear him take a breath in like he’s about to speak, and I glance over. He’s staring down at the place where my outer thigh is against his, then, when he realizes I’m watching, moves his gaze to the atlatl.
“Have you ever used one?” He motions to the weapon.
“No,” I whisper, my voice suddenly hoarse. My heart is pounding in my ears because the heat from his body radiating into mine, even at the slightest touch, sends goose bumps down my arms. I’m shivery and too warm and my cheeks are burning and my stomach is fluttering all over the touch of his leg.
Instantly, I scoot away. “I should get some rest.”
“Of—of course. Long day,” he stutters, perhaps just as confounded and intrigued by all the sensations as I am. He stands up, starts for the door. “Sleep well, Veda.”
“You too,” I say, not looking back, still sitting in the exact same spot and position, working to regain my breath.
A moment later, when I glance over my shoulder at the doorway, he’s vanished.
Without thinking, I run after him. “Dorian?”
He’s only a few steps down the tunnel and pivots to face me.
“I never thanked you for being there for me … after Poppy. I’m glad I wasn’t alone and I’m glad it’s you who was there.”
Something that looks a lot like adoration passes over his face, and my butterflies begin to stir. He steps closer. “You’re welcome. I’m glad I was there too.” His expression is soft, intense. The yellow glow of his lantern beaming up, casts him in a golden warmth.
If this were a fairy tale, it’d probably be the moment we’d kiss.
But this isn’t a fairy tale.
I bite the inside of my cheek, swallow really hard. “Sleep well,” I say.
He smiles shyly, like he knows what I’ve been thinking. “You too.”
I force myself to walk away.
And like that first day we met, I glance back. He hasn’t moved, eyes still intense, slight grin on his lips.
I return his look with a small smile, then walk straight back to my cave.
If I were at home, I’d throw myself onto my bed and think about how embarrassing and exciting that exchange just was.
Except I’m not at home, I’m in a cold, damp cave.
Instead, my thoughts busily consumed with the past few moments, I unpack the bag I brought along and place my things from home on the rock ledge next to the glass pantera and sun figures, the little girl’s embroidery. Poppy’s pipe, the photo of us, and the scrap of pillowcase all now line the shelf. An altar in its own right.
I don’t immediately go to sleep like I should. Instead, I pull the picture of my mother and her atlatl out of my bag, lean it against the weapon.
Long into the night, lying on the wooly mat, I look at the photo, imagining fighting alongside my mother, working together to defeat the Imperi. Staring into her eyes, despite the image being fuzzy, I can see they’re the same dark green as mine. But fierce, so much fiercer than I’ve ever felt.
Then I think …
Would she stand for being forced not to fight in a battle she was destined to lead?
I think not.