Ignite, p.30
Ignite, page 30
“I will not.” The words themselves sounded strong, but my voice wavered.
My father’s face, masked with calm until now, twisted, just barely, into an expression of rage. His anger was always masked, hidden, unexpected and explosive. It was dangerous.
“You will,” he replied. “Because you’re intelligent. There is no need to spill clean blood.” He eased himself into a look of perfect calm again and even smiled, taking a step towards me.
“Your blood is still mine,” he continued, “and you will not be the only one to suffer with the loss of it. The Empire will suffer. Certainly punishment is required for your actions. But they needn’t be so severe if you prove your ability to be…rehabilitated.”
I tried to keep my face blank at I stared at him. He was offering life, wasn’t he? Offering not to kill me, if I helped him. Not much more life than that of a slave, I would guess, after all I’d done—he’d never trust me. But even so, it was an offer. An offer to save my life. And I couldn’t imagine why.
“This is your only chance to live after what you’ve done,” he reminded me. “My generosity is a rare gift.”
He took another step towards me, as I knelt there on the ground, and I could feel the tension rising that meant he was about to break into a rage. As the courage to face him started to leave me, I thought back to the last time I’d refused an order. The courage had come from my mother—from a memory I didn’t have, a story I’d heard secondhand, a face I’d invented.
“I won’t owe you my life,” I said confidently. “And I won’t serve my mother’s murderer.”
There came the blow I’d been braced for, the pain I’d been expecting. It caught me in the jaw, the same place he’d touched a moment ago, and knocked me onto the floor. Seconds later my father’s hand reached out again and pulled me back up. He had me by the collar of my shirt, like a misbehaving kid, and yanked me up almost to my feet. One leg was still twisted back behind me but I didn’t dare to move.
“Your mother,” he hissed, “died a traitor and a thief. That was her repayment for my protection. Had she lived to raise a child, there’d be no hope for you.”
He dropped me and I stumbled, falling onto one knee.
“Her fate doesn’t have to be yours,” my father said. “I am offering you the world. You can take it, or be killed.”
I didn’t want to meet his eyes again, but I forced myself to. I had to keep speaking to him like we were equals, him and I. He didn’t deserve to always be respected.
“Kill me,” I said.
He glared into my face for a moment, then turned his back and motioned his bodyguard to fetch him a chair from the dining room table. He took a few more steps away from me, then turned, sat down, and studied me curiously, the anger hidden away again.
“Your loyalty has a price,” he said calmly. “And we’ll find it. Surely you’re intelligent enough to weigh your options a bit better than that. Blood is the strongest tie, and the loyalty of that will prove itself soon enough.”
This was the time where I had to be clever. I had to remember everything I knew of him, everything that had ever worked for me before, and find a way out of this. There had to be a way.
“If I help you find them…” I said slowly, “I would live?”
“That is what I’ve offered.”
“Why?”
He gave me a piercing look. We both knew the question was more layered than that, more complex. Why would he offer life to me, when we both knew he had other ways of getting the information he wanted? When we both knew he killed rebels, always?
“You are my blood,” he said darkly.
“But not an heir,” I replied. “Not anymore. So what does it matter?”
My father’s face softened into a look I’d never seen. There was a long silence.
“You are my daughter,” he said finally, his voice quieter now. “I loved you once.”
The weight and pain of those words was harder than a blow. I would have rather him hit me than say those words. I had taken so long to get past the fact that I’d loved him once, too—even as I flinched away from him.
Those words were all I’d ever wanted to hear as a child. But he’d never said them, and until now—until years after losing me—he’d never done anything that looked like he felt them. And now was far too late, because now I realized what a cruel person he actually was, something I had refused to see for all that time before. He wasn’t my father anymore. Instead, he was the man who burned down houses, who shot rebels, who let his slaves die without medicine, who created devices to electrocute people from inside. He was the man who killed mothers and hit children.
I stood slowly to my feet, slowly and non-threatening enough that Victor didn’t stop me. I looked my father in the eyes.
“You loved me,” I hissed, “the way a killer loves his gun. And I am not your daughter.”
My father rose from his chair and crossed the distance between us in an instant, suddenly standing right in front of me, grabbing my chin and tilting my head up to his.
“If you want it that way, I will gladly kill you,” he promised, his voice and eyes growing dark. “But first you will tell me how your followers are avoiding my gaze.”
“I don’t know,” I replied. “They got it from another group, not from me.”
“Clever lie,” my father replied.
“I don’t know where they are,” I said. “But I know they will come for me.”
Still with a grip on my chin, his face close to mine, he laughed.
“And will they come like the boy we spoke to earlier? Sprinting across the lawn? Without leadership, the Flames is a group of idiots.”
“If they’re idiots,” I whispered, managing to smile back at him, “then when they come for me, it shouldn’t be difficult for you to catch them yourself, should it? Give them a chance. If you catch them, make an example. Isn’t that what you want?”
“Clever trick.”
“I am clever,” I replied. I don’t know where the confidence came from, to smile back at him like that, like he couldn’t hurt me. Maybe it came from realizing he really couldn’t. That he couldn’t hurt me any worse than I’d already had, not anymore, because I was finally, completely and totally, rid of the desire to please him. Finally I didn’t care.
“Not clever enough to live,” he said, and he let go of my face and shoved me backwards into Victor, who grabbed my arms again.
“Take her back to the dungeons,” my father muttered, turning away and waving a hand at the door. It was as if he’d suddenly lost all interest in me, as soon as I’d stopped being afraid of him. He sat down in his chair again.
“She will die tomorrow,” he said dismissively. “As will all the rest.”
Chapter 47: Corry
I was so worried about Zira being called up to see her father that I almost forgot about the reason I was here. Now that she was gone, of course, it was the perfect time to pull out the device I’d been hiding. The less she knew about the plan, the less chance she would be hurt. I was weak, and it hurt to move, but when Tommy came over to help me I handed the device to him.
“You’ve seen it, right?” I asked, and he nodded.
“I hoped you had this,” he whispered, and carefully passed it over my wrist and his own. “You really did team up with my people, didn’t you?”
I nodded, unable to speak, as Tommy hid the device away and I tried not to imagine Zira upstairs, in the Hall, behind those thick, locked doors.
When she did get back, though, she was fine. She ran to me quickly and the first thing she said was, “I’m fine, I’m not hurt, so don’t worry, okay?”
A restless night came. There was pain, and there was cold, and there was Zira, and that’s all I remember.
When the guards came in the morning they cuffed and blindfolded us. I kept stumbling, falling, and trying not to cry out because I didn’t want to worry Zira. There was a cold blast of fresh air for a half-second and then we were lifted and shoved into a small space with cold, smooth walls that I imagined was the back of a van. The sound of a door sliding shut and then nothing but breathing.
“Zira?” I asked.
“I’m here,” she replied, her voice shaking. There wasn’t much left to do now. Nothing left to say, no plans left to make. Nothing but waiting, either for death or for rescue. The jolting truck ride was silent, weighed down with all the last words we’d already said.
The light, even from behind the blindfold, was blinding when we were hauled out again, compared to the dark of the truck and the dungeon. We climbed up onto something that creaked beneath our feet. I felt dizzy and weak. There were sounds all around us, the soft sounds of whispers, and I knew then that we were in a crowd. A terrified and silent crowd. This was a public execution, something London hadn’t seen in years.
The blindfold was ripped off and I blinked in the light.
It was the same place Victor had crowned the new mayor of London Ruins, what seemed now like years ago. The same makeshift stage over a huddled mass of people. Red Empire flags waved in the breeze around the square and the sun was a dull glow through the overcast sky. There were four agents behind us—the other four, I assumed, would be stationed around the square, at the outer rims of the crowd, to control it. Zira stood on my left, Tommy on my right. Beside Zira, standing there in the flesh, was Donovan. He wore a navy blue suit with gold buttons and a winning smile as he looked out over the crowd. I hadn’t seen him in years. He was in his fifties, had Zira’s deep black hair and olive skin. And he had grey eyes—clear, pale, grey eyes that made him almost look blind. But other than that, he looked completely normal and calm.
“Citizens of New London!” he said, charisma dripping from every word in his perfect voice that rang out over the square. “I have called you here to meet a group of people who you, perhaps, thought were your friends. Though they are traitors, and their actions are dangerous, rebels, I hear, have at sometimes been idolized among you!” He took a step forward, his voice rising but keeping control.
“By some of you, they have been praised!” he continued, his voice accusing. “And rebels, perhaps, give speeches that may seem praise-worthy! They talk of freedom…of independence…of bravery!”
I felt myself stiffen, watching him, though the pain and weakness remained. Perhaps fear should’ve been expected from me, but all I could do was glare at the man, wanting to scream at him, wanting to hurt him for everything he’d done.
He noticed it, when he glanced back at me. The absence of fear, the presence of hatred on my face. He paused his speech for a moment, walked a few paces and stepped closer to me, face-to-face. I felt the guard behind me holding a pistol to my neck. But it didn’t matter. Because I had always wanted this—to meet him, face-to-face.
“Bravery isn’t uncommon, in the condemned,” Donovan said. “But its basis is in ignorance, not devotion. What, after all, does a rebel have to be devoted to? And ideal? A fantasy of a free, perfect world? The world as it was?”
I continued to stare him in the eyes, saying nothing. After a second he turned away and looked back at the crowd, gesturing to us. I glanced for a moment over at Zira, who looked like she was trying to remember how to breathe.
“These rebels are too young to have ever seen the world as it was before the Empire,” Donovan said. “Do you imagine it was any better than this one? Their bravery is based in a dream. Fires still raged in the chaos before the War. In the world as it is now, we have order. We have industry and we have a system that keeps us together. Without the Empire where would we be? The earth would still exist in the chaos that followed our world’s destruction. We would have no factories! No buildings! No homes! The idea of freedom is a lie. Those who attempt to overthrow the Empire attempt to destroy for a second time the world that we have built together.”
He was convincing. To everyone but me, he must have been. His voice, his face, were perfect. And perhaps he was right, that the world needed order. But it didn’t need the order ruled by him.
“Today,” he said, looking out at the crowd with a sorrowful expression of sympathy, “I have called you here to ask for your support. We built this world together and we must stand together to protect it from those who would see it torn apart by thoughts of rebellion and uprising. We must see these rebels brought to justice. And today, for their actions against us, they will die.”
Chapter 48: Jacks
On the way to the square the next morning, I stuck close by Jeremy. He didn’t say much, but the feeling of him walking beside me was a comfort. His hair was streaked with gold and silver today, over the black. I felt sorry for the silence between us, for the way I’d panicked the day before when he got too close.
“You better have a shit-ton of luck stored up in that necklace, kid,” he said, unable to keep the sarcastic quip out of his voice as we approached the crowd. “Because I’m still not jumping in front of any bullets.”
“I’ll try,” I replied. Frowning at him one last time, I asked, “Jeremy, what color is your hair supposed to be? You change it every day.”
“Get us out of here alive,” he said, “and I’ll tell you.” As I pressed into the crowd, and he pulled away to do his own part of the plan, he smiled at me and whispered, “See you soon.”
I felt exposed, walking into the square without blinders. It was strange to know that I couldn’t be tracked now, that I wouldn’t have to buy blinders anymore. Of course I wouldn’t be able to buy things or use the Tubes either, but we could worry about that later, after we got Zira and Corry back.
Zira was by Donovan’s side, a blank look of acceptance and defeat was written all over her face. Corry was holding himself strangely crooked, he was hurt—those stains that looked like dirt were dried blood. His face was angry, though, defiant, not like Zira’s. And then there was a third person, standing beside them, a dark-skinned man with—but no. That couldn’t be true.
It was Tommy. It was my Tommy. I blinked, rubbed my eyes, squinted in disbelief, but his face remained the same. This ghost of my past, a man I’d thought was dead, his face so familiar and safe to me even from far away. I didn’t understand how or why he could be here, but I knew that it was him, without a doubt.
I was alone in a crowd of people again, like I’d been so many times, like I’d been before the Flames found me. Alone in a crowd and slipping through unnoticed, invisible.
“Today,” Donovan was saying, “I have called you here to ask for your support. We built this world together and we must stand together to protect it from those who would see it torn apart by thoughts of rebellion and uprising. We must see these rebels brought to justice. And today, for their actions against us, they must die.”
We don’t have much time. There’s no time, I thought nervously, making my way carefully closer and closer to the edge of the wooden stage.
“We who serve the Empire regret the need for death!” Donovan continued, his voice carrying over the crowd. “But we do not shy away from the necessity of what must be done to protect our world!”
I was as close as I could get to the stage now, staring up at it. There were a few guards—not agents, just militia—around the edge of the stage, standing there with their arms crossed, keeping the crowd back a safe distance from their leader.
I glanced up around me, careful to be surreptitious about it as I searched for signs of the others.
“Today,” said Donovan, “the Empire is strong. Today we take back our world from those who seek to undermine authority. You have heard of the Flames? See them now as they are—dangerous, unlawful traitors to the Empire, inciters of rebellion who cannot be trusted!”
I pulled up the hood of the sweatshirt I’d been given, hiding my face as much as possible, and carefully shifted to a place behind several taller men. I remembered that first time I’d acted as a part of the Flames, at Charing Cross, the way we’d confused the guards by surrounding them and shrieking, laughing, making noise before we snatched Feather’s brothers from under their noses. This was no more difficult than that, I tried to tell myself. No harder than that.
“Those who are tempted to follow in their footsteps, to give in to their talk of freedom and defiance,” said the Emperor, scanning the crowd severely, “would be wise to learn a lesson from their end today.”
I took a deep breath and shouted, “The Flames doesn’t end today!”
I ducked immediately, hiding my face, but just as heads began to turn my way another voice called out from somewhere far off to my right, “The Flames doesn’t end until the Empire falls!”
Immediately, another voice from another area shouted, “The Empire is the one burning down houses and cities!”
“The Flames won’t tolerate the Empire’s destruction!”
The last voice was Jeremy’s, ringing out with his characteristic hint of laughter.
“This world belongs to the people!” he called out. “The Flames won’t stop until the Empire gives it back to them!”
I dared to look up and glance toward the stage. The agents and guards were glancing around wildly, their hands pressed to their headsets, but unable to pick out a single target among so many people. Donovan’s face was a blank, unreadable mask. Zira looked terrified. Corry’s face was surprised and glanced around as well, looking for us. And Tommy—Tommy was grinning widely, a look I knew well, and had never expected to see again. Around me, I could feel the crowd shifting, hear the murmurs of dissent rising up. Donovan turned to one of his men and nodded grimly, and the look on his face was deadly. The guards around the base of the stage began to move into the crowd, and our speakers weren’t going off, they were late, and one of the guards was heading straight in my direction following the place my voice had come from. I was afraid if I moved he’d see me, and as I kept waiting for those speakers—come on, Finn, come on—I reached up to touch my necklace and squeeze it tightly.
