I almost choke on the air in my lungs, not knowing how to respond. “I’m sorry.” It sounds like a question.
“Be sorry you missed her,” he replies without a hint of jest. “Evangeline is a bitch.”
“Family trait?” My mouth moves faster than my brain and I gasp, realizing what I’ve just said.
He doesn’t strike me for speaking out of turn, though he has every right to. Instead the officer’s face twitches into the shadow of a smile. “I guess you’ll find out,” he says, black eyes soft. “I’m Lucas Samos. Follow me.”
I don’t have to ask to know I have no other choice in the matter.
He leads me out of my cell and up a winding stair, to no less than twelve Security officers. Without a word, they surround me in a well-practiced formation and force me along with them. Lucas stays by me, marching in time with the others. They keep their guns in hand, as if ready for battle. Something tells me the men aren’t here to defend me but to protect everyone else.
When we reach the more beautiful upper levels, the glass walls are strangely black. Tinted, I tell myself, remembering what Gisa said about the Hall of the Sun. The diamondglass can darken on command to hide what shouldn’t be seen. Obviously, I must fall into that category.
With a jolt I realize that the windows change not because of some mechanism but a red-haired officer. She waves a hand at every wall we pass, and some power within her blocks out the light, clouding the glass with thin shade.
“She’s a shadow, a bender of light,” Lucas whispers, noting my awe.
The cameras are here as well. My skin crawls, feeling their electric gaze running over my bones. Normally my head would ache under the weight of so much electricity, but the pain never comes. Something in the shield has changed me. Or maybe it released something, revealing a part of myself locked away for so long. What am I? echoes in my head again, more threatening than before.
Only when we pass through a monstrous set of doors does the electric sensation pass. The eyes cannot see me here. The chamber inside could encompass my house ten times, stilts and all. And directly across from me, his fiery gaze burning into mine, is the king sitting on a diamondglass throne carved into an inferno. Behind him, a window full of daylight quickly fades to black. It might be the last glimpse of the sun I’ll ever see.
Lucas and the other officers march me forward, but they don’t stay long. With nothing but a backward glance, Lucas leads the others out.
The king sits before me, the queen standing on his left, the princes on his right. I refuse to look at Cal, but I know he must be gawking at me. I keep my gaze on my new boots, focusing on my toes so I don’t give over to the fear turning my body to lead.
“You will kneel,” the queen murmurs, her voice soft as velvet.
I should kneel, but my pride won’t let me. Even here, in front of Silvers, in front of the king, my knees do not bend. “I will not,” I say, finding the strength to look up.
“Do you enjoy your cell, girl?” Tiberias says, his kingly voice filling the room. The threat in his words is plain as day, but still I stand. He cocks his head, staring at me like I’m an experiment to puzzle over.
“What do you want with me?” I manage to force out.
The queen leans down next to him. “I told you, she’s Red through and through—” But the king waves her off like he would a fly. She purses her lips and draws back, hands clasped tightly together. Serves her right.
“What I want concerning you is impossible,” Tiberias snaps. His glare smolders, like he’s trying to burn me up.
I remember the queen’s words. “Well, I’m not sorry you can’t kill me.”
The king chuckles. “They didn’t say you were quick.”
Relief floods through me like a cool wind through trees. Death does not wait for me here. Not yet.
The king throws down a stack of papers, all of them covered in writing. The top sheet has the usual information, including my name, birth date, parents, and the little brown smear that is my blood. My picture is there too, the one on my identification card. I stare down at myself, into bored eyes sick of waiting in line to have my picture taken. How I wish I could jump into the photo, into the girl whose only problems were conscription and a hungry belly.
“Mare Molly Barrow, born November seventeenth, 302 of the New Era, to Daniel and Ruth Barrow,” Tiberias recites from memory, laying my life bare. “You have no occupation and are scheduled for conscription on your next birthday. You attend school sparingly, your academic test scores are low, and you have a list of offenses that would land you in prison in most cities. Thievery, smuggling, resisting arrest, to name but a few. All together you are poor, rude, immoral, unintelligent, impoverished, bitter, stubborn, and a blight upon your village and my kingdom.”