A Rift Between Cities (Arcera Trilogy Book 3) Page 22

  When those feet came to a halt, Sylvia was surprised to see that they were in the Lady’s enormous receiving hall. For some reason, she had imagined they would meet in the Lady’s cozy garden room, its looking-glass walls showing the view of the sea. Instead, she was met with towering columns, and the formidable sight of Lady Naomi perched upon the chair on the dais.

  Sylvia forced herself back to alertness. She let go of Atlan’s hand, and stuck them both in her pockets. Oliver tactfully bowed himself away, and retreated to a silent corner of the immense hall. She was glad for his distant presence.

  “Welcome back, Sylvia Thorne,” Lady Naomi purred. “Atlan,” she inclined her head to her son.

  “Thank you,” Sylvia replied, readying herself for her requests.

  “I see that you fared well in the final assault against Greyling,” Naomi said.

  Sylvia swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. “Yes, thank you Lady Naomi, for—”

  A link slammed into her mind with the force of a hammer.

  Do not speak of it here, the Lady’s voice echoed through her brain.

  “—for allowing Atlan to leave Seascape,” she finished jerkily, her temples now throbbing from the force of the Lady’s link. What was that about? she wondered.

  Atlan glanced at her, clearly noticing the change in her tone. Sylvia went on, rather curious about the Lady’s internal outburst.

  “If you saw how we fared,” she said, “Then you saw how much was destroyed, how many people have been displaced.”

  The Lady cocked an eyebrow at her.

  “Lady Naomi, Meadowcity is asking for refuge,” Sylvia pleaded, her fingers trembling in her pockets. “We’ve been sheltering refugees from the other cities for months, and after the battle, well, I think they should come to Seascape,” she ended boldly.

  A wry smile twisted the Lady’s lips, and for a moment, she said nothing.

  Naomi casually traced the datastrands on her crimson thigh, then finally said, “Very well, it has been decided.”

  Behind her, several looking-glasses embedded in the wall blinked into life, showing different scenes of the battle in Meadowcity. One of them showed a clear close up of Greyling sneering and shouting at Sylvia in his final struggle.

  “The people have already seen the vids of what happened,” she gestured behind her. “And of Greyling threatening Seascape outright.”

  “Seascape will accept the refugees while the Four Cities rebuild,” Naomi concluded as she sent more commands through her datastrands. “And if the people of Seascape will allow it, someday a partnership might very well be forged between us,” she added.

  A grin blossomed from Sylvia’s face; she couldn’t help it.

  “Now,” Naomi said. “About the cargo you brought in the jet.” Sylvia’s eyes flickered mischievously to Atlan.

  “What do you plan to do with him?”

  Fifty-Five

  Ember couldn’t get over it—walking, just walking down the paths of Riftcity, with no fear of being discovered, threatened, or attacked. She didn’t have to peer around every corner, fearing for her life, or the lives of others.

  She strode down the path like she owned it.

  Here and there she had to take an unusual detour because of the damage from the explosions, but she didn’t let it bother her. It simply allowed her to see different parts of the city in a new light, she told herself.

  Teams of stoneworkers were being organized at the very moment, with the help of the woodworkers for temporary repairs. Ember wasn’t sure what they planned to do about the bridges, though. Perhaps they would remain wood. She hoped they would make them a little sturdier than the current ones that had been slapped together when the Scouts took over. She had spent enough time dangling dangerously over the rift for a lifetime.

  She wrapped herself tighter in the sweater she had grabbed just before leaving her villa. She had almost forgotten what mornings in the rift were like before the sun hit the city.

  There were plenty of people about this morning, most merely enjoying the freedom of walking through the city, like her. Almost everyone had moved back into their homes by now, and some were starting to try and put them back in order. If they were anything like Ember’s, they had their work cut out for them.

  Those whose villas had been completely destroyed weren’t put out at all—after months and months of sleeping on the crowded Citizen’s Hall floor, they were only too happy to sleep on cots in a neighbor’s villa while they all helped to restore their own lodgings. Though it would take a while to erase the physical scars of the war, Riftcity’s citizens had already begun to heal.

  She was glad Ven had agreed to stay with her and Flint, even though he had fought the idea at first, once he realized he would be staying in their father’s room. She had angrily told him that she would rather he sleep there than to know that the room was empty, so he agreed.

  She would never, ever, tell either of them, but she had woken a few times in her bed and thought she felt the comforting presence of her dad in the next room. That was, until she opened her eyes a bit more, and the reality sunk back in. Coldness would seep under her blanket then, but she still fought back the urge to go to her father’s room. On those nights, she would wrap herself in her blanket and stare at the ceiling until dawn.

  Rekha and Apex had stopped by a few times to see how they were all doing, or sometimes bring them their meager rations. Her aunt and the former Scout were staying in Rekha’s villa only a few doors down.

  Several days ago, when Luna had come rollicking through the gate, and bounded down the Grand Staircase—according to Apex, who was standing guard at the time—they finally learned of Meadowcity’s fate. A trail of people followed Luna until she had sniffed out Ember, who had been heading home from the Citizen’s Hall, where cleanup was still going on.

  Greeted by the slobbering wolf and a pack of worried rebels, Ember knelt down and untied the message with shaking fingers.

  “They’re all right!” she choked, after quickly skimming the words. After the burst of cheer, she then read it aloud from start to finish.

  They were all right. The days since the rebellion had gone by in a maddeningly happy yet suspenseful manner. They had kept a large force of guards at the gate at the top of the Grand Staircase, desperately hoping they wouldn’t soon be confronting the return of Greyling’s army.

  Once reassured they weren’t the only free city in Arcera, they got down to business to get the city up and running again. Most were more than happy to work in the fields, after months spent being herded from the Hall to the mine, and back again. It was a balm to just stand in the soil and feel the sun.

  The crops were in a sorry state, since the Scouts hadn’t bothered to let anyone tend them, and the food stores the Scouts had amassed were nowhere near enough to feed the recovering city. Most of the food had gone bad in the Scouts’ poor care. When they had taken stock of it, they realized just how close to starvation the city was.

  Ember was on her way to the farming levels right now to help with the late planting, and she was late herself.

  The night before, she had woken in her bed, and forgotten for several long moments where she was. Waking in the dark, her heart raced underneath her night shirt, and she sat bolt upright.

  She lit a lamp, illuminating her bedroom—not the cramped floor of the Citizen’s Hall, not her cot in Meadowcity, nor even the rebel camp: her own bedroom.

  Restless, she had flung herself back down onto the mattress, and her hand had swung over the side, brushing against the small table by her pillow.

  Her fingers fumbled over a smooth leather surface, and she traced its corners and spine.

  She plucked the book up and held it reverently in her hands for a moment before gently prying it open. It had been almost a year since she’d read anything but hastily scribbled notes on scraps of paper, or diagrams drawn with fingers in dirt.

  She had awoken this morning with the book in her hands beside her face on the pillow.
When she wandered out of her bedroom, the villa was empty. She tore aside the curtain at the front to see the western face of the rift awash with morning light. That was when she noticed Ven and Flint’s dirty breakfast dishes in the sink, and realized she had overslept.

  She wasn’t rushing to the fields, though, however late she might be. She felt she had earned the right to stroll, at least for a little while, anyway. When she finally reached the Grand Staircase and descended to the farming levels, she earned quite a bit of ribbing from her fellow workers.

  “Have a nice lay in?” Flint called as he spotted her. Ven looked up at the words and smiled.

  Ember narrowed her eyes at her brother, but went to grab a bucket of seed over by Ven.

  Heat flooded her cheeks as she couldn’t help but remember what had happened directly after the rebellion.

  She had meekly followed Apex down the paths and up the stairs to the Citizen’s Hall, hardly believing she was walking—it felt more like floating after her time spent dangling from the rope.

  Twice, she had almost reached out to grab Apex’s hand, she had been so disoriented.

  Thundering footsteps yanked her out of her stupor, and she jerked her head up. They were on the verandah outside the Hall. She looked up in time to see her brother collide with her, slamming her into a hug.

  “You’re all right!” he kept exclaiming in her ear. “You’re okay.”

  They were both crying, but Flint eventually released her.

  Then, over his shoulder, she spotted Ven, and something clicked into place.

  He rushed toward her, gathering her into a hug just as encapsulating as her brothers’. He didn’t let go for a long time, cradling her head in his hands and stroking her damp hair.

  It was then she realized it was finally over. She was finally safe. Ven’s arms around her were comforting and somehow familiar. She ran a hand down his back.

  It was Flint’s groan that ruined the moment. “This is what I was afraid was going to happen.”

  The rest of her morning in the field flew by with the mechanical motions of planting and fertilizing. They were a bit late in the year with the crop. Jack assured her that the farmers would be able to coax enough food out of the soil, but it would take some time. A council had been assembled to help Governor Selena solve the food shortage in the meantime.

  Greyling’s boats had been cleared off the fields the first day after the Scouts had been overthrown. Most had been quickly disassembled, the wood stacked neatly on the veranda at the bottom of the Grand Staircase, but a few had mysteriously disappeared, and—according to rumor—had reappeared inside a few of the more spacious villas or workshops, as unlikely souvenirs.

  When it came time to clear off for the evening, Ember noticed Ven hanging back by the tool rack, taking an inordinate amount of time to scrape excess dirt off a trowel.

  Flint had already begun the long trek up the stairs, not an easy task for his damaged lungs, but Ember gravitated toward the tools, sensing that Ven wanted to talk.

  “What’s up?” she asked strolling over to the rack. She kicked a dirty shovel for good measure.

  He looked up, startled, then sighed, finally dropping the trowel into its slot.

  “Well, I’ve been thinking,” he said.

  Ember resisted the urge to make a well set-up joke. Instead, she took a guess, “You want to go back to Meadowcity?”

  The idea had occurred to her several times since Luna had returned with the news. She didn’t want Ven to leave, but she didn’t think she had any sort of claim to him—especially not over his own home.

  “I—No, actually. I want to help rebuild Lightcity.”

  “Lightcity?” she echoed, breathless now. So he was leaving.

  He nodded.

  Ember didn’t need to ask why. She thought it might be good for him, now that he was in a better place about it. But— “Will you come back?” It wasn’t just a question, but a plea.

  Like the sun coming out from behind a storm cloud, he smiled at her.

  Fifty-Six

  Two weeks passed in a blur of motion. Sylvia and Atlan were inseparable as they moved back and forth between Meadowcity and Seascape, sometimes by hydrojet, sometimes on foot, and always with company while they orchestrated the movements of the refugees.

  They were followed, too, by the still unfulfilled bargain between Atlan and Lady Naomi. During that first meeting, Sylvia had gathered that the Lady didn’t want her help to be made known to the public, and so they kept their mouths shut while in the receiving hall, which was apparently monitored by vid, she found out later.

  Once Lady Naomi had agreed to take in the refugees, Sylvia asked the Lady for a hydrojet to take up to Skycity. She knew there must still be Scouts acting on Greyling’s orders there, and she wanted everyone to know the war was over, especially before they put Greyling to trial for his crimes.

  Lady Naomi not only let them borrow a hydrojet, but she sent Oliver and some of her Black Knights in two other hydrojets, wishing to get the message across as thoroughly as possible.

  Unfortunately, Greyling’s propaganda still stood, and the citizens believed it to be an invasion from the enemy.

  Once the Defenders announced what had happened, the Scouts laid down their arms, knowing the truth in it. The citizens immediately understood there was something off about the version of the facts Greyling had been feeding them.

  The entire city crammed itself into the Citizen’s Hall to listen. It took several hours, but finally the truth was laid bare. Oliver’s calm demeanor and pleasant voice kept the crowd quiet as they listened to the list of terrible things which had fallen upon Arcera over the last year.

  Sylvia hung back during all of this, watching the mixture of horror, sadness, and embarrassment at being fooled on the faces of those assembled. The Scouts were packed up and put on the hydrojets, ready to fly back to Seascape for trial.

  After the city meeting, an older woman with steely grey curls and sturdy heels click-clacked her way across the glass floor to Sylvia and the others. Sylvia fought the urge to draw her knife—the woman looked as if she were out for blood.

  “I’d like to come with you,” the woman announced, catching up with them in the circular foyer of the Hall.

  Sylvia turned to Oliver, but before they could even confer over a link, the woman went on.

  “I’m the Secretary of the City,” she said. “Glaslyn Cole. I’m so sorry for what happened to you, Sylvia. I’d like to help, with the trials at the very least. I’m revolted that I didn’t see—that I couldn’t—”

  Sylvia laid a hand on Glaslyn’s arm. “It’s all right,” she said quietly. “He fooled a lot of people, and those he couldn’t fool, he hurt.”

  Images of her own blood on the glass floor of this very building brushed across her thoughts then, and she gasped loudly.

  “Onen. Where’s Onen?” she demanded. “He was imprisoned alongside me, what happened to him?”

  Startled, Glaslyn’s eyes went briefly blank, then she answered, “He’s still there—he should be all right. When Sorin left so unexpectedly, all thought of any trial,” she muttered the word, “was put off.”

  Sylvia followed Glaslyn to a far corner of the Citizen’s Hall, but once she began to recognize the terrain of the mountainside below, she hung back, letting Oliver go on in her stead. She didn’t feel the need to see that cell ever again.

  For several long minutes, she stared down at the mountainside below her feet, as if taunting it with her lack of fear. The very first time she had set foot on the stomach-jolting floor had been the day Governor Greyling declared war upon Meadowcity.

  But Sylvia had flown above the clouds, supported by nothing but the black jet around her; she had scaled the cliffs of Seascape; and soared across the wilds looking through the eyes of her drone. The glass floor had no power over her any more.

  A shuffling of feet accompanied the click-clack of Glaslyn’s heels now coming down the corridor, and Sylvia finally got to mee
t Onen in person.

  The old Book Keeper also volunteered to come to Seascape and offer evidence at the trial, and Sylvia couldn’t think of anyone better. From what she had learned in her short time with the man, he had more information to offer than most.

  After elegantly expressing his thanks, then his wonder at the hydrojet and its occupants, Onen told Sylvia why he had been taken that night, and what Sorin had threatened. She had been hours away from a trial that would have put her or Onen to death. Atlan had arrived just in time.

  Finally, Governor Greyling was tried in Seascape, the only city fit to incarcerate him for the severity of his crimes. Representatives of each of the Four Cities were invited to take part in the trial, which was expertly conducted by Seascape’s doleful law keepers.

  Most Arcerans thought a life imprisonment wasn’t a harsh enough punishment for the man who had taken so many lives with his fruitless war, but the law keepers were objective, and reminded the court-goers of the value of life—any life, even someone so despicable as Sorin Greyling.

  Sylvia was perfectly content to picture Greyling rotting in a cell for the rest of his life, and she knew Seascape had the capacity to enforce such a sentence—far better than any of the Four Cities ever could. The long-lived residents of the island could be sure it was carried out until the very end.

  The excitement of the trial was short-lived as Arcera turned inward and began to rebuild. Sylvia barely had time to think between the trips back and forth between Meadowcity and Seascape.

  She and Atlan would leave Meadowcity on foot, accompanied by large groups of refugees who could manage the wilds, while Emrick flew the hydrojet with those who couldn’t. She and Atlan would spend a day or so in Seascape, then pack back up into the jet, and do it all over again.

  All the while, the question of Atlan’s serum hung over them like a black cloud. Lady Naomi made no mention of the bargain, and had yet to return Atlan his serum.