The Fates Divide (Carve the Mark #2) - Veronica Roth Page 0,69
like to travel.
Since we have been staring at them, the buildings do not move, not even in the strongest wind. That is thanks to the Pithar technology that holds them upright, controlled by small towers on the ground, near the iceflower fields. We don’t understand how it works. We are a field worker. The boots—with hooks on the bottom, to catch on ice sheets—are still on our feet from the day’s labor, our shoulders still sore from hauling equipment.
As we watch, the hospital—a bright red cube right above us—shifts.
Shudders.
And drops.
It falls, pulling a gasp from our lungs. Like something dropped into a bucket of water, it seems to move slowly, though that can’t be true. It sends snowflakes up in a faint white streak as it drops. And then it collides with the ground.
We are a child in a hospital bed. Our body is short and slim. Our hair sticks to the back of our neck—it is hot in here. The rails are up on the side of the bed, like we’re some kind of kid, and can’t be trusted not to roll off in our sleep.
The bed jerks beneath us, and we startle, grabbing the rails. Only it’s not the bed that’s moving—it’s the floor. It’s falling out from beneath us. The city slides away, just outside the windows, and we cling to the rails, teeth gritted—
And then we’re screaming—
The Shotet woman—we—tugs at the straps of her armor as we run. We fastened them too tight, and they’re digging into our sides, keeping us from moving as fast as we’d like.
The sound as the building falls is nothing like we have ever heard. The crunching, smashing—the screaming, wailing, gasping—the rush of air around it—it is deafening. We clap our hands over our ears and keep running, toward the transport vessel, toward safety.
We see a dark shape flinging itself off the hospital roof.
Our knees are buried in the snow. The man from before is next to us, shouting something we can’t hear. Our cheeks are hot. Startled, we realize that the Shotet woman’s face is wet with tears.
This is the retribution Lazmet Noavek ordered. But it feels more like horror.
“Come on!” the other soldier is saying. “We have to go!”
But how can we go, when all those people need help?
How can we go on, when so many are lost?
How can we go on?
CHAPTER 30: CYRA
THAT EVENING, AKOS LEFT to walk the gardens, and I found myself alone. The humid Ogran air had made my cheeks damp, and I wanted to wash my face. I stumbled to the bathroom, stinging and aching, and leaned my forehead against the tile wall as I turned on the faucet. My fingers always hurt worse than the rest of my body, the currentshadows coalescing in my extremities, like they were itching to escape.
I splashed my face with water, and dried it with the front of my shirt. Cyra Kereseth, I thought, trying out the name. It felt false, like I was trying to put on someone else’s clothing. But being in this place, where the blankets were still thrown back from where Akos and I had lain tangled together, felt just as wrong. I had been someone else when we rested here, with my ear against his chest.
Suddenly I needed to get out, to move. I walked to Pary’s ship, on the far side of the hill, away from the gardens, so I wouldn’t run into Akos. The ship’s hatch opened at the touch of a button, the interior lights on, guiding me to a seat near all the restrained plants of Ogra.
I was sitting there, in front of the plant that looked like a giant mouth, my head in my hands, when the hatch opened again. I lifted my head, sure it would be Akos, that we could finally talk about what we had heard. But it wasn’t.
It was Sifa.
She didn’t close the hatch, so I could still hear the buzz of insects and the whisper of wind while she stood, staring at me. I stared back. The pain that surged through me at the sight of her, at the thought of what she had surrendered me to as a child, was startling. I stayed still to keep it contained. No flinching, no shaking, no moaning. Nothing that invited comfort. I didn’t want her to see that she could hurt me.