Dom catches up with me in the hallway, her shorter strides rushing to keep up. “I’m going to head over to La Puissance tonight. Maybe you should join me, help take your mind off things.”
“The last thing I need is to spend my evening with a bunch of Uprising sympathizers. I can’t believe you patronize such an establishment. The gold you spend there goes directly to funding our enemies, to providing room and board to the Gifted.” The little food I managed to eat curdles in my stomach.
She grabs my elbow, yanking me to a stop in the grand foyer, my shoes squeaking on the pristine marble floors. “Your bias against the Gifted is truly wearing thin, brother.”
“I’m not biased.” The defense is automatic, even if we both know it’s not true. But we have laws regulating the Gifted’s use of their powers for a reason. We know why such laws are necessary, better than anyone.
“She was an outlier, Cal. The rest of the Gifted are not like her.” Her voice softens, as it always does when we broach this subject.
Dom was six when our mother died, I was ten. Mother was tossed from her horse and a Gifted healer was brought in to save her. For a short while, it seemed like her Gift would work, but at the last minute, something changed in her. Rather than healing my mother, the Gifted woman sat by and watched Mother choke on her last breaths. She listened as my father begged her to do something, as I sat in the corner and sobbed. And she did nothing. When my mother’s chest stopped rising, her heart gone still, the Gifted stood calmly, looked to my father, and said, “The penance has been paid.”
I didn’t understand what her words meant then, and I was too afraid to ask. All I knew was the chill that raced through me as she delivered them so calmly, as if sitting by and watching my mother die meant nothing to her.
Now I know that the woman was attempting to make some kind of statement, lodge some kind of protest against the restrictions in place against her kind, even though they were enacted long before my father took power. All she really did was prove the need for those very laws.
I shrug off Dom’s hand, forgoing the easy escape in favor of turning back toward my rooms. “Do what you wish with your own time, Dom, but don’t expect me to come along. Don’t expect my coin to fund the people trying to destroy everything this family has built. Some of us have responsibilities to think about instead of focusing on our own pleasure.”
I don’t have to see her to know my words have scored a direct hit; the soft intake of her breath is enough to let me know. I regret the insult immediately, but I don’t take it back, striding up the stairs as quickly as possible. Putting distance between us, between all the things I can’t bear to think about.
Death Toll Begins to Climb as the Uprising Presses Further Into Avon’s Four Provinces
Authorities from Venezia and Talia have reportedly asked for military support from Kalmar and Scota in light of the Uprising’s most recent attack. The Uprising’s forces were able to strike two of Avon’s four provinces on the same night, taking both Venezian and Talian leaders by surprise.
Though the Uprising officially declared war on the four provinces of Avon one year ago, it has not been until recent months that violence truly began to erupt and escalate.
“We have tried all peaceful means of communication,” said Uprising leader August Sotello in a statement this morning. “The leaders of Avon have chosen not to respond. Because of their inaction, we will be forced to resort to less subtle means of making our point.”
There is no word yet on the number of casualties, but at least several hundred lives have been lost so far.
3
Cate
Harold’s dire warningis all I can think about for the several days that follow. Even the official word of the monarchs’ surrender isn’t enough to distract me. What will happen to Andra and me if the club is forced to close? What will happen to Meri and Tes, the rest of the girls, Gifted and not, who call La Puissance home?
In many ways, living in the club has kept us sheltered. Our location in Stratford City, the center of Avon, has kept us from having to endure the horrors of most of the fighting during the Uprising, as most of the violence was focused on the monarchs. Living here has also kept us insulated from extreme enforcement of the laws against the Gifted. While none of the monarchs can claim kindness toward their Gifted populations, Scota has at least stopped the senseless murders encouraged in some of the other provinces, and they don’t kill the pregnant Gifted like they do in Talia and Venezia. If the club closes and we are forced to return to our birthplaces, what will that mean for the girls from the more dangerous provinces?
Despite the Uprising’s victory and the promise to restore our rights, these things take time, and we will not be afforded protections overnight. Neither will prejudices long held magically disappear.
I’m so lost in my thoughts, wallowing in the possible scenarios and their implications, I don’t see Bianca rush into the kitchen, where I’ve been too busy thinking to eat much of my breakfast, my tea and toast already gone cold.
“Cate, come quickly. It’s Andra.” Fear lines Bianca’s green eyes, and she doesn’t need to elaborate or ask twice.
I’m out the door before she’s finished her sentence, racing up the creaking wooden back stairs to the room next to mine. I shove through the door and find my twin sister curled up in a tight ball on the chaise longue, rocking so violently I’m surprised she hasn’t fallen to the floor.
“Cool water and a towel,” I command Bianca, grasping one of Andra’s chilled hands in mine. “It’s okay, I’m here. I’m right here.” I whisper soothing platitudes, smoothing back her sweat-soaked hair from her sticky forehead.
Bianca hands me the requested items, then bolts from the room. She knows what’s coming and doesn’t want any part of it. She also knows enough to keep anyone else from entering the room.
Dabbing Andra’s clammy skin with the damp towel, I continue to whisper. “I’m here. You can let it out now. I’m here.”
Her grip on my hand tightens, and when her mouth opens, it’s not my sister’s voice that rings out. Her words are guttural and ragged, several octaves deeper than her usual tinkling pitch. “Things bad begun make strong themselves by ill. What’s done cannot be undone. Foul whisperings are abroad. Unnatural deeds do breed unnatural troubles.” Andra’s body spasms, her limbs releasing their tight grip as she collapses flat on her back on the chaise.
“Shhhh, shhhh. You’re all right.” I dip the towel in the cool water once more, wringing out the excess before placing it on her forehead.
Her chest heaves with stilted breaths for several minutes before returning to its natural rhythm. Her eyes remain closed, but her voice returns to normal, though her words come out in the barest of whispers. “What did I say?”
I hand her a glass of water. “Nothing that made any sense.”
