I narrowed in on the red thread weaving around the pocket on the front of Ezra’s shirt. “Then who are you working for?”
He lifted his chin higher in a poor attempt at masking the no-longer-there tip of his nose. I had to rein in my smirk at Zion’s work.
“Who do you think? Myself.” Ezra shrugged, as though it was obvious. “I won’t lie that my father’s position helped me to expand my network, but I stand on my own now. Once we clean this city, it will bemine.”
My fists curled. He had saidwe.
That and the crimson thread in his shirt confirmed my suspicions. He was working with?—
The crackle of speakers boomed across the crossroad ensnaring us. Grating sounds shook my joints, eroding the cartilage, and slowly, Ezra’s smile widened.
The public address system had been engaged.
And not by us.
My brother pressed a finger to his chapped, as-pale-as-melting-snow lips. “Listen up.”
“This broadcast is mandatory. We repeat, this broadcast is mandatory.” The mechanical voice coming to life vibrated all the way to my core. “Compliance is a value we must uphold,” the recording reminded of the Ilasall’s main rule. “Lay down your weapons, and you will not be punished. Those failing to comply and resisting will be dealt with swiftly and mercilessly.” Another crackle, and this time, a female voice declared, “Start of the broadcast.”
Static grated my eardrums before the cracked screen hanging in a restaurant’s window behind Ezra flickered to life.
Ardaton’s leader appeared in front of the six Heads ruling their government, the image undoubtedly displayed on all available devices in the city. “Ilasall’s upstanding citizens,” the Head of Ardaton greeted. His beady eyes dragged from left to right, as if he could see everyone. “And those wishing to become such.”
Ignoring the beginning of his speech, Sadira scanned our surroundings, her boot squelching from a film of blood.
All around us, bodies peppered the asphalt. But the commotion in the intersection had waned as Ardaton’s army, Ilasall’s residents, and our people stilled.
Though soldiers remained standing with their standard-issue rifles poised, ready to resume poking the cuffed green-banded and our people to form lines, all of them about to meet their end—being shoved into the military trucks, never to feel the breath of freedom again.
For now, it seemed Ardaton’s troops had ceased stealing men and women, instead allowing them to watch or hear the transmission. The rumbling of engines died, the yells and cries faded, and soon, undiluted stillness ruled the joining of the four streets.
“My name is Adder. For the last ten years, I have dutifully served as the Head of Ardaton—one of your neighboring cities—together with my colleagues.” The camera panned out, bringing into focus the six men hovering at Adder’s back. “Today, on this unfortunate day, my fellow Heads and I bring you intriguing news.” The visual switched once more, blurring the six Heads and sharpening the visual of the Head of Ardaton. His full, brown lips stretched into a smile. “Your government is dead.”
Gasps rolled across the crossroad, city dwellers and our forces shocked alike. The majority of Ilasall’s military lay sprawled at their feet, unable to react to the announcement. How could they when their skeletons decayed in the streets, like a distorted memory of a dream.
Unfazed, Ezra leaned against the restaurant’s window, his gray shirt and slacks the color the black-banded preferred—the hue that blended you with the environment, camouflaged you from the soldiers’ scrutinization as they patrolled the streets daily.
On the screen, the Head of Ardaton tousled his tumble of black curls, shaking them out to fall like a halo. “Peter, the man you knew as the Head of Ilasall, your leader, has been brutally murdered by the resistance.” He traced his jaw, the stubble stylized to look clean and polished. “But the rest…”
His hand fell below the frame, the movement graceful and fluid, emphasizing his casual hold on power. “They had beentaken care of.” Adder’s voice dropped an octave, satisfaction coming forward. “By us. You can inspect the evidence in Ilasall’s main square at your convenience.”
The visual switched, and a set of rough-cut gallows appeared on screen. Whoever was controlling the broadcast, they zoomed in on the six men, two of them with protruding bellies, but all with their wrists tied behind their backs.
Ardaton had employed the most savage method of all—the hanging. A barbaric tactic our ancestors had created to warn the enemy, to encourage them to staycompliant.
The half a dozen men’s corpses didn’t swing, and not a breeze ruffled their clothing. Thick ropes dug deep into their necks, stains darkening the front of their pants.
The deceased always emptied their bladders, as a person’s muscles ceased functioning. Similar to how my knees had wobbled when Sadira had informed me of Eli’s and Eislyn’s deaths.
Fixated on the fractured screen hanging in the restaurant’s window, Sadira gripped my upper arm. “They turned on each other.”
As whirlpools of voices rose higher and higher, everyone questioning the implications of the announcement, my temperature dropped. Realization had cooled my gut—Ardaton had ripped Ilasall’s throat out.
Ezra must have wormed his way into Ardaton’s ranks and gathered enough support for a full takeover. Ardaton was using the civil war we had launched for its own gain.
And based on my brother’s cocky smile, they knew we would be too exhausted to stand against another city’s army.
“Welcome to the new age,” Ezra drawled, his tongue flicking the gap where his canine had used to be—Zion had plucked it out.
