Meri shrugs. “She needs us.”
“When she realizes we are gone, she will know it was you who helped us.”
“Then perhaps when you see that prince of yours, convince him to make his move sooner rather than later.”
I doubt that prince will be listening to me anytime soon, but I don’t say that out loud. “We’ll come back for you.”
At once, we fall into each other’s arms, an embrace with too many limbs and too many words still left unsaid to be much comfort. But it’s a start.
“Go.” Tes points the way.
Bianca and I support Andra’s weight and head out into the darkness, moving as quickly as we can. The trees swallow us up and I head toward the only solace I can think of. A man who wants nothing more to do with me, but the only person I trust to keep us safe.
As the Killing Period Drags on, Scota Is Left in a Stasis
It has now been several days since King James of Scota died as part of the first sanctioned killing period set in place by the Uprising. According to sources, King James was killed by Harold MacVeigh, the owner and operator of La Puissance, a pleasure club located in Stratford City. Though MacVeigh hails from Scota, he has not lived in the province for many years.
MacVeigh has yet to be officially announced as the Scotan candidate, as the killing period has not yet come to a close. When we reached out to Uprising officials for a statement, our requests were ignored.
Citizens of Scota don’t seem to know what to make of the news, with some expressing regret, others dismay. Many others still seem to be confused as to what happens next.
I took a ride through the rolling green hills of the Scotan province yesterday, ambling down the cobblestone streets of the normally bustling villages, stunned by the lack of activity. It is as if the entire province has shut down for the duration of the killing period.
“We just want some answers,” one tavern owner mentioned when I stopped in for a beer. I was the only customer at the time.
I think all of Scota, and perhaps even all of Avon, echoes his sentiment.
28
Callum
Time passes. Thesun rises in the morning and sets in the evening. I do not have the strength or the desire to count them. To know how many days have passed since I lost everything. My father. My sister.
Cate.
Even as her words replay in my mind, over and over, until they no longer cut me like a thousand knives, I can’t make myself truly believe them, cannot fathom a world where the feelings I have for her are not reciprocated.
Which makes me nothing more than a fool.
Harold remains alive, but unconscious. According to Harold, Lady M has been feeding him a slow-acting poison. He’s grown thinner and paler as the days go by, but he keeps breathing. I don’t think there is much hope for him without a Gifted healer, but I wouldn’t know where to find one, even if I had the desire to try.
“I don’t think he has much time left,” Alex tells me one morning,the clouds outside the one tiny window as gray and heavy as the mood in the room.
I’ve barely dragged myself from the rickety cot that passes for a bed. I know deep down I should care about this news, but I can’t manage to make myself feel anything, content to linger in this state of numbness.
If I let in one tiny emotion, what’s to keep the other, much bigger and more dangerous ones from pulling me under?
A knock sounds on the door.
Alex and I exchange a look.
I haven’t left the safe house since I arrived back from the fortress. Alex has slipped out a couple of times in the dark of night to gather more food and supplies, but no one is supposed to know we’re here.
Did he betray me again?I wonder. But the look of fear and surprise in his eyes is too genuine. He doesn’t know who’s on the other side of that door.
The knock sounds again.
Alex rises, drawing a knife from his boot. I reach for the dagger I keep under my pillow, joining him at the door. I flatten my back to the wall next to it, ready to spring into action if need be.
