Traitor Born (Page 10)

I shake my head in denial. “No! They had on uniforms. They had masks.” A tear slips from my eye. “She wouldn’t do that! She wouldn’t risk her firstborns like that—her reputation—”

“She would—for Gabriel, she would. They knew our protocol. They knew our route. They knew everything. If they’d been Gates of Dawn, explain how they got into Swords.”

“You let them in!” I accuse. “You told them where and when to attack us!”

“I would never risk you in that way. Those ships could’ve easily killed us—we barely survived. You saw my face, Roselle. You saw me.” I did see him. He was surprised. He wasn’t expecting what happened that day. A part of me believes him—the other part of me feels murdered by what it means, left bleeding beneath the broken ships.

“Gabriel knew,” I mutter numbly, putting it all together. “He sent Hawthorne to find out if my mother had killed me.” Hawthorne had been told to search for me and make sure the Gates of Dawn didn’t take me, but really, that was just a cover so that no one would know The Sword did this to her own people—so she could murder her own daughter.

“Deep down, you’ve always known it was her,” he replies, “and you’ll survive it.”

“Will I?” I ask in the same kind of shell shock that I’d felt that day.

Dune squats down in front of me, using his large thumbs to wipe away the few traitorous tears that escape. “I’m your family. You’re more my daughter than you’ve ever been hers.”

“Did you ever love her?” I wipe my cheeks with my sleeve, relieved when no more tears fall.

“No, I never loved your mother, but I know you do, even as unworthy of that love as she is.” He stands and goes to the bar, still within the whisper orb’s sound bubble. A holographic menu appears at a wave of his hand. A fat tumbler rises from the surface of the bar. Ice clinks inside the glass.

“Why were you with my mother if you never cared for her?” I watch him pour water over the ice from the pitcher beside the tumbler.

He turns and faces me. “I was her lover so that I could exert influence over her, to make sure that no harm came to you. She was more afraid of you than she was of anyone. The more powerful you became, the more she feared you and The Virtue.”

“Why have you brought me here?”

He walks to me and hands me the glass. I accept it, taking a sip. He sits on the tufted sofa. “The Virtue knows he has to protect you if they’re to have any future.”

My tears are gone now. “I know your endgame, Dune,” I reply, setting the glass down on the low table between us. “You want the complete destruction of the Fates. That’s what the Gates of Dawn desires. Why not kill The Virtue yourself and have your way?”

“Killing one man or two will do nothing. The regime keeps going—”

“Unless you kill it from within.”

“You can bring us peace, Roselle—an end to the barbaric society we live in.”

“What if I can’t? What if I don’t want the job?”

“Unacceptable,” he growls. His eyes pierce me with a predatory stare, just like they used to when I’d forgotten some lesson he’d taught me.

“What about Harkness Ambersol?” I ask. “From what I’ve heard, he’ll kill it from the inside by sheer incompetence.” This kind of insolence is new territory for me. I’ve never spoken to Dune like this in my life, but I find I don’t care what he thinks of my tone.

“You jest,” he replies, “but you hold the lives of every secondborn and thirdborn in your hands. For Harkness to be in a position of power, you’d have to die, and that is completely out of the question.”

“There has to be another way.”

“You think I want this for you? I tried with everything in my power not to destroy the sweetness in you. If there’s another way, I don’t know it.” His definitiveness scares me. He always seemed to know every angle of every situation.

“You’re talking about the destruction of the Fates Republic.”

“I’m talking about a new world order—one that doesn’t tolerate Census agents or government-owned slaves.” Fear so strong it makes my knees weak courses through me. He means a world without Transition Days, without people like Agent Crow. I’m afraid of wanting that world, because it’s not real, and allowing myself to hope for such a place could crush me. Dune reads my fear. His voice is gentle when he says, “For now, you’ll be Grisholm’s mentor. You can handle that. I’ll take care of the rest.”

“What about Reykin? Did you know he’s here and he hijacked my mechadome?”

“I know. He briefed me before I came to find you. He’s protection for you. Cooperate with him. He’s here to help you.”

“He’s annoying,” I mutter.

“Is that why you saved him on the battlefield? Because he annoyed you?”

“I couldn’t kill him like they wanted me to—like a coward would kill.”

“So, you saved him instead. That’s why you’re the one who will change our future.”

“I love my brother,” I blurt out.

“I’ll do everything in my power to save Gabriel, but he’ll never be The Sword. He’ll have to accept that.”

“He’ll never accept it.”

“Then that’s on him. Do you want me to call a medical drone for your neck?”

I touch my throat, where my blood has mostly dried. “The assassin shouldn’t have tried to slit my throat. He should’ve just stabbed me from behind—thrust his knife through my nape.”

“You wouldn’t have made that mistake,” he replies.

“I should’ve killed the third one.”

“No, taking him alive was optimal. You would’ve followed him into the water had Reykin not stopped you?”

“Of course.”

This brings a small smile of approval to Dune’s lips. “Reykin was right to stop you,” he says. “You cannot take risks like that. Your life is very important.”

Dune and I talk late into the night. He asks me questions about the past year. He’s especially interested in Clifton Salloway and the Rose Garden Society. I don’t seem to know anything more about the Sword secret society than what Dune does already, but I’m not sure, because he isn’t as forthcoming with his information about the Rose Gardeners as I am.

“You haven’t spoken much about Hawthorne,” Dune says.

“We’re friends,” I reply with a shrug. I feel very protective of Hawthorne. Members of the Gates of Dawn have been watching us—Daltrey admitted as much.

“He helped you when you needed him.”

“That’s how it is when you’re a secondborn soldier. We have each other’s backs.”

“But he’s firstborn now.”

I don’t like what he’s implying. “You’re basically firstborn, Dune, but you’re still loyal to thirdborns.”

“Be cautious with Hawthorne. The lifestyle of a firstborn of the aristocracy is seductive. The longer he’s a part of it, the more he may get to like it.”

Dune’s words anger me, not because he’s wrong, but because he’s right, and in direct opposition to what my heart wants. The thought of not being able to trust Hawthorne again tangles with the love I feel for him and puts me in an even fouler mood.