Defy the Sun (Beware the Night #2) - Jessika Fleck Page 0,10

headed to the much-anticipated egg breakfast. Separate conversations echo against the walls, blend and bleed into others. But I don’t listen or try to make out the talk from the regular dripping of damp and scampering of mud beetles. I’m focusing ahead to where several times a day I get to see Veda’s image.

It’s a copy of the photo I’ve seen a hundred times in her house. Her and Poppy. It’s been a couple of years since it was taken, but she looks the same.

Actually, she does and she doesn’t. It’s Veda, hair bright as the Sun rising on the horizon, splash of freckles covering the bridge of her nose, hand clutched around a fishing pole. Poppy’s been cut out save his right hand resting on her shoulder. She’d kick the whole thing over if she knew they’d cut him out. I smile to myself. That fire of hers is definitely there—still there—but knowing now what I know, looking back on the last couple of times I saw her, the Veda I grew up with is long gone. She’s seen too much.

Sun knows all she’s seen by now.

I skid to a stop before the altar. Dorian walks several paces before realizing I’m not behind him.

He swears. “Again?”

“Just … give me a minute.” It’s the kind of picture where the person in it somehow stares right into your soul. Even though I pass it by a few times a day, the first glimpse each morning catches me. Forces me to take pause.

He swears a second time, making his way back to me. And despite his annoyance, he stops too, stares at the photo just as I am. There’s an awkward silence when we realize we’re both missing her, pining and yearning to know where she is, if she’s all right, dead or alive … But before anything is mentioned or the moment stretches out too long, we move on.

More and more altars materialize each morning, and the existing memorials gather more blessings. It’s like a children’s story … As if the altars are visited overnight by fairies who leave magical treasures for the Lunalette. My Veda … the one who could punch me in the arm, make my eyes water with pain one minute and have my heart racing with one swift touch of her hand the next. Not only is she daughter of the Sindaco, blood-heir to Bellona, she’s this larger-than-life presence down here. A goddess to rival the Sun and moon both.

I leave Veda’s photo, surrounded in candles, enshrined with trinkets and various underground gems. I won’t linger. It’s only a matter of time until we pass another.

And we do. Then another. Until we reach the large cavern where everyone eats.

I assume our usual spot on a bench against the wall, and, without a word, Dorian continues on to get our food.

The place is more crowded than usual. The whole of the Night is here for the egg feast. Which wouldn’t be so horrible except their numbers are steadily growing. A handful of new Basso recruits lines the walls. They’ve been coming down in trickles, some to join the fight, others looking for refuge for fear of the Imperi.

I don’t know where they’re coming from, but apparently word of mouth that the Night aren’t the flesh-eating monsters we all thought is slowly spreading. Not nearly as fast as the Sindaco and Dorian would like, but every so often a scout group of Night soldiers will check for refugees, bring any waiting down to the Lower. They’ve been gathering and hiding under the shadow of the Crag—a small section of land the Night now claims. Their first piece of Bellonian soil ever.

Once the Basso are vetted, they can join or support the Night. From what I’ve seen, no one’s been turned away.

As far as I know, we’ve yet to get any Dogio or Imperi deserters, and I can’t imagine it’ll be happening anytime soon.

I lean back against the wall, then startle when Dorian drops a bowl of food in my lap. A clump of fried eggs and slice of crumbly bread. He’s already scarfing his down, his enjoyment palpable. With more mouths to feed, food’s on ration. The satisfaction of semi-full bellies fills the large cave.

It’s strange, considering the state of things above, to be surrounded by so much excitement. Over eggs.

Small victories, I suppose.

I glance back down the line of new Basso.

A few stare right back, probably wondering what the hell I’m doing down here, eating the Night’s eggs,