“I ended things because I didn’t love you!” The truth explodes out of me in a vicious rush, harsh and angry.And cruel. For six months, I repeated the same lie ad nauseum, just to avoid the hurt now blowing his pupils wide. So much worse than when I accused him of cheating. But what can I say—when Killen’s right, he’s right: I do make bad decisions when I’m cornered. It just so happens that breaking up with him wasn’t one of them.
“No, wait, Killen, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.” I immediately long to take it back. “Killen, please,wait—”
But he doesn’t, and I can’t say I blame him.
The last thing he needs from me right now is more lies.
With the Council’s summons ringing a stern command through the castle, the corridors are a mess of excitement and eager eyes, all rushing towards the court chamber to jostle for the best view of the proceedings.
“What the hells happened to you?” Akari asks as I join her up by the balustrade, smack bang at the center of the gallery, directly opposite the dock where the accused is going to stand. “You look like you’re about to cry.”
“No, I’m—I’ll tell you later.”
“Okay . . .”
Around us, the chamber yawns as deep as it is wide, the vaulted ceilings stretching up towards oblivion, turbid and black. Behind the dock, the judges’ bench hangs equally thick with shadow, a row of high-backed chairs spaced evenly against its side.
Seven chairs, seven judges.
One to represent each shade of magic.
“Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it now?” Akari presses, placing a gentle hand to my arm. “Because we can.”
“No, really, it’s fine.” I force a smile from my grimace. “Any idea who they’ve caught? Is it a rogue we’ve heard of?”
“Is there a rogue you haven’t heard of?” Her lips quirk with the jibe.
“Very funny,” I say, though I suppose I have been a little more obsessed with the trackers’ news blasts of late, the lists they keep of Shades who’ve broken with the Council. Shades who—like me—were in danger of having their magic bound and so they ran before that could happen. Or Shades that flouted the decree against procreating with a typic. Or Shades that simply didn’t like being told what they could do with their color, or having to sacrifice a percentage of their earnings in tithe. These past few years, the spate of Shades turning rogue has grown from a slow trickle to a flood, with more than ever choosing to turn their backs on the Council. Going rogue allows their magic to get stronger. Wilder. And while exile is the nightmare scenario for me, for others, it’s a tempting proposition, especially now that there are two religiousfactions vying for power in Sarotuza—one of which is, quite literally, hunting us for blood.
“So, rumor is, it’s not actually a rogue at all—it’s aHue.” Akari laces the word with scandal.
“Wait—aHue?” My voice rises an octave. “Like, a real one?”
There hasn’t been a Hue on trial in Sarotuza in over a decade. They usually put up too much of a fight to reach the court chamber, choosing to die in the struggle rather than be taken alive. Probably because they don’t see the point of trying to plead their innocence; since their kind is illegal, there is only one verdict the Council can hand down. If the trackers truly have caught a Hue, then this trial isn’t a trial at all; it’s an execution.
“Yes, a real one—look, here it comes.” Akari points to the door at the rear of the chamber, where a solemn procession is beginning to arrive. Three trackers up front—as announced by the sickle pins fixed to their collars—then behind them, the Hue, his head held low and his wrists bound in irons, limping ahead of the seven elders who’ll be passing judgement on his crimes.
I guess he did put up a fight.I cringe at the broken sight of him. Between the split lip, the angry bruises, and the blackened swell to his eyes, all I can really make out is the coppery brown of his skin and the blood caking his hair and hands, the sharp wince of his breaths as he’s shoved to his knees in the dock and chained to the marble, facing the gallery.
“Gods, it’s unnerving, isn’t it? How much they look like us?” Akari’s whisper is one of a hundred fascinated murmurs rippling through the crowd. At least half of the Academy has turned up for the occasion, mostly from the older classes, though there are a few younger faces peppered throughout the hall, as well. Hells, I even spot Saleen’s sullen superiority lurking in the corner—despite her disparaging opinions on the Council. I guess no Shade can resist the lure of a good spectacle, no matter how hard they pretend otherwise.
“Yeah. Unnerving.” My gut twists in reply. I’ve never seen a Hue in the flesh before, let alone at this short a distance or in such damningcircumstances. And though I’ve always known that outwardly, they’re indistinguishable from a typic, I never stopped to consider how that would also make them indistinguishable from us.
Apart from the eyes, of course. A full-blooded Shade wears their magic in their eyes. A spiked rim around the iris for those of us who heed the Council’s call for civility, burned black to the edge for those who choose to walk the lawless path. Whereas in a Hue, the magic is imperceptible—though I can’t confirm that much for myself seeing how this one is keeping his gaze fixed too firmly on the ground. That’s what makes these illegal half breeds so difficult to capture: we can’t see their color—and we all bleed red when you cut us, Shades, Hues, and typics alike. The only way to identify a Hue is to catch them in the act of phasing, an inevitability that often happens in childhood, when the shadows start calling to them in the dark. I’m actually amazed that this Hue has lasted as long as he did. If I had to guess, I’d say he’s pushing twenty, maybe even twenty-one.
“What do you think his gift is?” I ask, examining him with interest. Hues don’t share in our specializations; their colors are a dilution of magic, and thus, more varied and abstract. Some of their gifts are trivial, while others are downright terrifying in their might. The only truth that’s universal to every Hue is that they can’t survive the Gray for long. The shadows revile the typical tint of their blood. Seek to expel it. Without a complicated spell called an In-Between, the Gray would rush in and shatter this Hue like glass. Which is yet another reason why these proceedings were originally held in the physical realm, where the accused weren’t in danger of spontaneously hastening their own demise. Though now that the court has been relegated to the Academy, it does beg the question of how, beat up as he is, this Hue is sustaining such a taxing spell? Or why he’s even bothering to sustain it—to keep himself alive—when he already knows the outcome of his trial?
“No idea, but I think we’re about to find out,” Akari says as a charged silence settles across the crowd, the presiding judge—Councilman Lars Denata, head of the trackers’ guild—havingcalled the room to order. The councilman is a stern man of almost sixty, his ashy hair salted through with silver, his sun-worn skin toughened to a pale and leathery hide. Like the rest of the judges, he wears a heavy robe that’s embroidered to announce his color—Orange, like Akari—as signified by the hammer symbol that graces his cuffs. A formidable man both inside the court and out of it. I should know: growing up, my parents had him over for dinner all the time.
“We have convened here today to rule on the most egregious of crimes: the birth of a half breed.” His voice booms loud across the chamber, stern and menacing. Though for his part, the Hue doesn’t so much as flinch. He doesn’t look up. He doesn’t fidget. He barely even seems to hear him.
“In direct contravention to the Council’s decree, an Indigo Shade, now deceased, deigned to mate with a typic, resulting in a Sapphire Hue whom she did not surrender.”
A Sapphire?The words rip through my chest like a pack of starving mutts.
A Sapphire. This Hue is a Sapphire.
The same color as my vision.
