“What’s the matter, Lucian Spark? Does being involved in a plot to overthrow our government render one incapable of forming a complex and cohesive sentence?”
“Don’t know, Sir.”
“You don’t know how to form a complex and cohesive sentence?”
“No, Sir. I was referring to your insinuation that I’m involved in any type of treasonous actions against the Establishment. On this topic, I possess no knowledge whatsoever and can say nothing to help further your assertions except that they are completely invalid.”
The only rebel around appears to be my tongue. I can’t help myself. It’s worth whatever degradation she plans on inflicting on me if it’ll wipe that smug look off her face, even for just one moment.
But instead, my little rant just seems to have dangled a slab of meat to her starving sadism. Her lips peel back even further from her glistening teeth, and for a second it looks like her jaw’s about to unhinge to swallow me whole.
“How arrogant, for someone who barely dodged execution but for the rank sentimentality of our new Prefect. It appears he believes that the scum of society should be given the chance to reform.” She leans in, close to my ear. “I assure you, we Imposers are not quite as gullible.”
My gut explodes in a burst of anguish generated by her powerful fist. I double over in agony and drop to my knees, waves of nausea and pain alternately slamming into my body. Clutching my burning stomach, I open my mouth, convulsing but only retching up air.
When I open my flooded eyes, it takes a moment to focus. Why are there two Slades glowering down at me? I shift my gaze to the six Recruits besides her. A few blinks and six become three. But only one isn’t staring straight ahead. Only one is looking directly at me.
Digory.
Slade has her back to him and she misses the flash of tenderness on his face-the same look I remember when he nursed me back in that alley, a lifetime ago it seems. Then Digory’s eyes dart to Slade, transforming into angry orbs. I catch a glimpse of a curling fist. He’s about to make another monumental mistake with grave consequences for his life, second only to meeting and befriending me. If he attempts to strike her, the Imp sentries will cut him down before he can get within a few feet of her.
I force a palm up. “Please … ”
Though the words are meant for Digory, the satisfied sneer on Slade’s face indicate she thinks they’re a gift to her. Let her relish her false victory, as long as it keeps Digory breathing.
He stares back at me. I try to channel the power of my words into that soothing blueness, willing him to understand just how much I need him to listen to me right now.
I’m rewarded with a barely perceptible nod and an un-furling hand.
My head slumps down in relief this time.
“So, the traitor has learned a little humility,” Slade croaks. “The first of many lessons to be learned during the Trials. Though I confess, Spark, I’m rooting for your early elimination. The rest of these incompetent Recruits may be an embarrassment to the Establishment, but your ascension and assimilation into the ranks would be nothing short of a travesty.”
Then Digory starts to move, and I cringe when I think of him throttling her and paying the price. But he moves past her in a flash, instead stooping beside me.
“What are you doing, Recruit Tycho? No one gave you permission-”
“He’s hurt, Sir!”
And without waiting for her to continue, he takes me in his arms and lifts me to my feet, making sure I can stand on my own before he lets go.
The loud clicks of the sentries’ weapons being locked and loaded shatters the tense quiet. In a flash, their guns are trained on us, ready to fire.
Twelve
The longest seconds of my life pass, without any blinks or breaths …
Despite my lingering nausea, I shift my stance and lock my feet firmly in place. My whole body is tense, waiting for the impact of the bullets to rip me apart. I wonder if it’ll be over quick, or if I’ll feel the burning in my guts as I’m torn inside out?
Digory moves from behind to stand beside me, one of his shoulders shielding half my body.
Finally, Slade gestures to the sentinels. “Stand down.”
The Imps lower their weapons but hold their position. Digory gives my shoulders a final squeeze, then resumes his place in the formation.
I set the breath I’ve been holding free.
Slade stares Digory down. “Thank you, Recruit Tycho. Your generous assistance has provided me and the other Recruits with much valuable insight.”
A test. It was all a test designed to expose any attachments among the Recruits, affecting everyone’s strategies and alliances in the upcoming Trials. Digory and I might as well have paraded naked for everyone to see.
Gideon shoots me a suspicious what was that all about look and turns away. Perhaps he’s already rethinking our deal. From what I can see of Cypress, her cocky expression would suggest she’s already emerged first at the Trials and is preparing her acceptance speech. As for Slade, you can see the wheels and gears turning on her face, measuring just how long it’s going to take to twist this rare glimpse of compassion to her own ends.
That settles it. I’m going to have to work doubly hard to convince everyone that Digory and I mean nothing to each other. We can’t. Not if either of us stands a chance of making it through this thing with as little scathing as possible.
Slade resumes her place front and center. “Five Recruits selected for the Trials, but only four present.” She pulls a printed form out of her jacket pocket and eyes it eagerly. “That would make our deserter-”
“Ophelia Juniper here! I mean, present!” calls a voice that seems more suited to a squealing child. She practically skips, then trots, to the spot next to Cypress. Cypress doesn’t bother to conceal a snort.
Thinking better of her decision, Ophelia dashes past Cypress to my end of the line, her hair bouncing all the way, her eyes wide. One look at Slade and I can’t help but think that Ophelia reminds me of the prospective mate of a black widow spider, trembling from excitement over the empty promise of married life.
“Ophelia Juniper reporting for duty!” she proclaims. “Oh, you already know that. I mean that my name’s Ophelia.” She giggles, her hand pressed to her chest. “I’m sooo sorry I’m late. I have this habit of getting lost all the time. I must have taken a couple of wrong turns and ended up in the mess hall. Terrible sense of direction, ever since I was five. Mother thinks it’s that bout of … ” Her hand twists one of her curls over her ear. “Well, I was ill, you see, and my inner ear … my balance was very much affected … but here I am. I made it!”
Slade lets the quiet linger like a no-longer-welcomed guest. She wants us to squirm at the oblivious Ophelia’s expense. Despite my resolve to stay strong, I can’t help but feel sorry for this innocent girl and fear for what penalty the sergeant will inflict on her.
Slade approaches Ophelia with a smile. “You did make it. How fortunate for all of us here. We were so worried about you.” She reaches out and caresses Ophelia’s curls. “You have such pretty hair. I trust the accommodations have been to your liking?”
Ophelia’s laugh is coated in nerves. “Well, my cabin on the boat we came on was a lot bigger than my room back home.”
It’s the first time I’ve seen her hold still. Her eyes go vacant for a moment, as if she’s searching for a memory to warm the emptiness, a look that’s reflected on the faces of the rest of the Recruits. If anyone ever told me I’d long for the rat-infested hovel I share with Cole, I’d have thought they’d inhaled too many toxic fumes … I guess a home isn’t really measured by the flaking plaster or invading rodents, but rather if there’s someone there who actually gives a damn if you return each day in spite of those things.