Defy the Sun (Beware the Night #2) - Jessika Fleck Page 0,58

Bellona.

James is all of twelve.

A child.

James was my young Dogio mentee.

It was only a month ago that I helped him turn the hourglass over for fishing at the Hole.

But that was then.

No one’s fishing these days.

And I know why Raevald would choose James. I see what he’s doing. He needs to trust that I can make the hard calls, put the Sun and Bellona before all else.

Also, he’s a monster.

I stand tall. Swallow hard. Then gaze out over the crowd. All eyes are on me, and that haze of fog that’s persisted since I came back from the Lower still hangs low, clinging to the ground like it’s the new norm. And maybe it is. Battle smoke always wraps around your ankles, tugging you down.

Before I begin, I seek James out of the crowd. I’m both trying to spot him and hoping I don’t. Part of me prays he’s absent. That would make this easier for the both of us.

Then, as if my eyes are led straight to James by some divine force—and perhaps it is—I find him. He’s off to the side, surrounded by kids his own age. But there’s no doubt. I’m staring at a slightly older James Reed.

He wears a junior Imperi soldier’s uniform.

He looks to have grown taller. Sprung up like a weed in only the few weeks since I’ve seen him.

I quickly glance away before he notices the heir is staring at him.

I stand tall. Clutch the edges of the podium. Someone coughs. A child cries out. All goes silent.

“People of Bellona”—I gaze out over the crowd—“it is my great pleasure to see you all today. You’ve been dragged out into the cold and fog for this short announcement, and I don’t take that plight lightly.” I lean forward. “Your attendance here today, while, yes, required, is very much appreciated by me personally.” There’s a small round of murmuring. I catch a woman smiling. And I suppose it’s odd, well, not the norm anyway, that I’d thank them. But if I’m going to play this part, I’m still going to do it my way. It’s complete shit they’ve had to come here for this announcement instead of being able to deal with the outcome in the privacy of their own homes. We all know it. There’s no point in glazing over it. Still, for appearance’s sake, I add, “The High Regent sends his thanks as well.” Not much of a reaction is garnered for that, but I force myself to stand taller, to continue, to get through this unscathed.

“It’s a miracle I stand before you now. For weeks I was trapped several layers underground, my hands ever bound, fearing the absolute worst. I witnessed fellow Imperi soldiers take a sword to the heart under the evil watch of the moon.” I survey their faces, see I’ve got their full attention. “The Night will not stop until this war is over. Until one side has won and the other’s been forced to surrender or, Sun help us, is defeated.” At this, I catch several sets of tired, saddened eyes. “I don’t want the fighting to continue any more than you all do, which is why we’re here. There’s to be an Offering. We need the Sun’s help more than ever. Now is the time.”

“We didn’t get our medallions!” a Dogio man calls out at me.

Salazar takes a defensive step forward, but I put my hand up to stop him.

“You’re right, the medallions weren’t handed out. We live in a different era now. Gone are the days when we could afford to send a soldier door-to-door to every household delivering medallions. The tradition, while still revered, isn’t an option in wartime.” This seems to placate the man and others who seemed bothered by the change. Many are nodding. “We need the Sun’s approval, the Sun’s blessings, and we need it now.” I lift the large golden coin, hold it between my thumb and pointer finger. “Which brings me to this.” All eyes go to the medallion. “I’ve been summoned here to you by the High Regent, who was moved by the Sun to break from ceremony and announce our Offering’s name. This individual will not only make the ultimate sacrifice for our nation but will do so selflessly and knowing they helped their people survive. Today’s Offering will be”—I pause for breath, maybe even for a bit of dramatic effect, before announcing—“James Reed.”

The name feels horribly wrong. It’s like I’m committing the deed myself by announcing it.