Lunalette? Your legend?”
“Yes. Veda holds her own place. She is the muse of the Night. Our inspiration for a better world. But you—you could be our voice. Our battle cry.”
“And Dorian?” Who is already his right-hand man.
“Dorian’s a soldier.” He clasps his hands in front of his waist and nods. “One of my best. And an expert at mission planning and rallying troop morale. I need him on the battlefield and behind the scenes. Besides…” He pulls his eyebrows down, lowers his tone. “While he’s brilliant, Dorian is far too hotheaded and impulsive to lead in the way I’m seeking.”
Join the Night … Veda had asked me to join once. When I said no she nearly drugged me. And then Dorian nearly drugged me. I instantly look to the Sindaco’s hands, his pockets. Is there a syringe hiding beneath the shadows?
Though, I suppose, I’m here now, no point in forcing me to get anywhere.
I don’t know what to say.
It would be the easy thing to join. I could go on missions and fight for Veda in the best way possible. Gain revenge on those who nearly killed her.
But my parents.
My duty.
“Please, Nico. We need you.” And the way the Sindaco pleads, it’s almost like he needs me to agree right here and now. Like he needs this too much. I can’t help but wonder if there’s something else pushing this sudden urgency.
“Why do you need to know right now?” I ask.
This seems to take him aback. “I … No. No rush. I mean, I’ll leave the agreement here for you to mull over.”
“Agreement?”
“Merely a formality. A treaty of sorts.”
“Treaty?”
I stand, hold out my hand. Reluctantly, he gives me the thick paper. Staring down at the words, hastily written out and then sealed with an official-looking stamp, it is indeed a treaty. Between the Night and the heir of Bellona.
“I thought you said I wasn’t heir of Bellona anymore.”
“Nico … it’s just for show. If the people of the Night and the people of Bellona both see you—heir of Bellona as far as they’re concerned—have officially taken the side of the Night, it would quite literally turn the tide of the war.”
“Yes, I understand that, but it’s deceptive. I refuse to deceive anyone, Night or Bellonian.”
“I see.” The disappointment on his face shows in his eyes, but the way his jaw tenses would suggest something more. Anger. “I apologize; this maybe wasn’t such a great idea after all.”
“Probably not.” This really angers him because he turns on his heels and leaves without another word.
I realize, reading over the treaty again, that the apple might not fall too far from the tree. Despite the fact that the Sindaco defected his position as heir to Bellona, for better or worse, it’s clear that he was influenced by the High Regent.
The Sindaco is most certainly his father’s son.
It just so happens that they’re enemies.
* * *
TWELVE HASH MARKS.
I go to sleep staring at them, wondering what went wrong, how I got here. How it’s possible so much time’s swallowed me up. And I greet the next day by adding another.
Like cruel scars, the charcoal marks stain the wall. A constant reminder of the early days I spent down here in and out of consciousness. Wounded and alone, I laid useless and bleeding in a makeshift hospital bed. After that, well, it’s not been any better. Not much more productive other than the grand, lined art adorning these walls the Sindaco and Dorian keep reminding me isn’t prison, not really.
Yet when I look around this cave all I see is confinement and time lost. Days spent not knowing whether Veda’s alive or dead. Not being able to do a damn thing about it.
Twelve days and eleven nights in limbo.
I’m not in a cell—they keep reminding me of that—but I’m not any less confined than if I were in the cold, dank prison below the Coliseum. Still underground. Always under someone’s watchful eye. Dirty. Tired. And the food’s shit.
But who am I to complain?
My eyes find the ceiling where dimming lamplight flickers, licking the rock, giving it the look of being on fire. Thirteen days ago I’d have said the thought was preposterous. Completely outlandish.
Twelve days later, I’ve no doubt fires rage on the other side of that stone ceiling of mine.
War. Death. Chaos.
It’s hell up there too.
* * *
I AWAKEN AS I have the past few days: to a small offering of fresh blueberry muffins and Bronwyn. It startled me the first day, but I’ve