Defy the Sun (Beware the Night #2) - Jessika Fleck Page 0,100
they eye me, their Lunalette, with suspicion. “Don’t you see?” I continue. “Raevald feeds on the division, the hatred. With every battle, every Imperi soldier we take prisoner, he uses it to keep the story going … To perpetuate what so many Bellonians believe: that we’re evil. That we only seek to harm them, that we want the island all to ourselves or will gladly see it burn.”
This seems to strike a chord with many of them. I pull the medallions from my pocket. “I secretly met with Heir Denali yesterday.” Dorian shifts uncomfortably at my side. I have to ignore it. “He’s found proof of the High Regent’s crimes against the Basso … Proof he’s been lying about the Night taking them … Proof that will not only bring down Raevald, but also restore our reputation, our good name.” I hold one of the medallions up. “It’s an Offering medallion. Every Bellonian has one, but as many of you know, they’re sacred. Kept under lock and key even after one is Offered.” I shake my head, my disgust and anger so very real I squeeze my empty hand into a fist so my fingernails dig into my palm. “There are hundreds of them. Each one bears the name of a Basso who’s gone missing. A Basso who was said to have been taken by the Night.”
Confusion, murmurings, a handful of calls for revenge fill the cavern. “No,” I demand firmly. “Vengeance will come, but not on the battlefield. We’ve lost enough already. The plan is simple: Share this information with all of your contacts on the island. Let the truth spread. The rest of the medallions will be revealed in time, but for now, we”—I motion toward Dorian—“are ceasing all missions. The war, our involvement in it outside of defense and defense only, stops now.”
And I see him.
The Sindaco reveals himself around the corner of the Lunalette tapestry. He seems like he’s going to say something. To scold me or reprimand me, tell me this isn’t my place.
With the most stinging eye contact, I challenge him. Do it. If you ruin this, I’ll ruin you. Because I’ve got more on him than he does on me.
He turns and leaves, walks straight out the door.
Is he abandoning the Night? Me?
It’s both what I expected and exactly what I’d hoped wouldn’t happen.
He’s not seen by anyone but me, and I start to wonder if I truly saw him at all.
That’s how absent he’s been—he’s nearly invisible sneaking around here and there under the cover of shadows. The Sindaco’s become exactly the image Raevald’s worked so hard to create.
The medallions are passed around, examined. I’m certain there are still several skeptics. The Imperi have worked hard not only to tarnish the Night in the eyes of Bellona but also, in doing that, created great enemies. And anyone associated with Raevald—like Nico—for many down here, isn’t to be trusted. Ever.
But they trust me.
At least I hope they still do.
Many Night members approach me, thanking me for my courage and my leadership. I tell them I’m only doing what I think is right (knowing deep down I could be completely wrong and this could all backfire horribly).
Someone must.
* * *
FOR THE LONGEST time I can’t rest, much less sleep. I know I need to. I’ve got to have a clear head, a strong body, because there’s no telling what the next few days might bring.
But it’s useless.
Too many images pass through my mind. Most of them have big, brown eyes, a smile with a dimple to die for, and perfectly delicious lips, but all of that loveliness is spoiled by thoughts of the Sindaco and his weapon.
The Great Destroyer, he’d called it.
The scene we stumbled into in his office in the Crag.
Whatever that was, whoever that version of the Sindaco was, it’s not good.
Finally, I slip into a certain level of calm, but I still don’t enjoy a moment of sleep. Because the space behind my eyelids is marred with land mines and marked-up maps, the Sindaco’s betrayed stare and those symbols, so many strange symbols.
The piles of papers and books, burned-out lanterns. It was like he’d been holed up there for days.
But the look in his eyes.
And what had he said? Something about being forced to come together. The words so bizarre and ominous, practically a code in and of themselves.
That’s when I sit straight up.
When the truth, the possibly horrible truth, hits me with a jolt.