Scythe (Arc of a Scythe #1) - Neal Shusterman Page 0,46

grin, then said, “You’re lying, dear.” She turned to the crowd, shaking her head perhaps a little bit sadly. “Unacceptable answer.” Then she turned back to Citra. “Step down,” she said. “Scythe Faraday will choose your punishment.”

She didn’t argue, she didn’t insist that she was telling the truth. Because she wasn’t. She had no idea how Scythe Curie knew.

Citra went back to her place, unable to look at Scythe Faraday, and he said nothing to her.

Then Scythe Curie moved on to Rowan, who seemed so smug, Citra just wanted to hit him.

“Rowan Damisch,” Scythe Curie asked. “What do you fear? What do you fear above all else?”

Rowan did not hesitate in his response. He shrugged and said, “I don’t fear anything.”

Citra wasn’t sure she heard him right. Did he say he didn’t fear anything? Had he lost his mind?

“Perhaps you want to take some time before answering,” Scythe Curie prompted, but Rowan just shook his head.

“I don’t need any more time. That’s my answer. Not gonna change it.”

Absolute silence in the room. Citra found herself involuntarily shaking her head. And then she realized . . . he was doing this for her. So she wouldn’t have to suffer alone through whatever punishment was in store. So she wouldn’t feel she had fallen behind him. Although she still wanted to smack him, now it was for an entirely different reason.

“So,” said Scythe Curie, “today we have one perfect apprentice and one fearless one.” She sighed. “But I’m afraid that no one is entirely fearless, so your answer, as I’m sure you must know, is unacceptable.”

She waited, perhaps thinking Rowan might respond to that, but he did not. He just waited for her to say, “Step down. Scythe Faraday will choose your punishment.”

Rowan returned to his place next to Citra as nonchalant as could be.

“You’re an idiot!” she whispered to him.

He gave her the same shrug he gave Scythe Curie. “Guess so.”

“You think I don’t know why you did that?”

“Maybe I did it so that I’ll look better at the next conclave. Maybe if I gave too good an answer today, my next question would be harder.”

But Citra knew it was false, faulty logic. Rowan didn’t think that way.  And then Scythe Faraday spoke up—his voice quiet and measured, but somehow carrying an intensity that was chilling.

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

“I’ll accept whatever punishment you see fit,” Rowan said.

“It’s not about the punishment,” he snapped.

By now Scythe Curie had questioned a few more apprentices. One was sent to sit, two others stayed.

“Maybe Scythe Curie will see what I did as noble,” Rowan suggested.

“Yes, and so will everyone else,” Faraday said. “Motives can easily be beaten into weapons.”

“Which proves,” Citra said to Rowan, “that you’re an idiot.” But he only grinned idiotically.

She thought she had the last word on the matter and that it was over until they returned home, where, no doubt Scythe Faraday would inflict some annoying but fair punishment that fit the crime. She was mistaken.

After the apprentices were done being traumatized, the focus of the scythes began to wear down. There was now a constant murmur as scythes discussed dinner plans as the hour approached seven. The remaining business was of little interest to anyone. Issues of building maintenance, and whether or not scythes should be required to announce the turning of a corner so it wasn’t so shocking when they looked thirty years younger at the next conclave.

It was as things were wrapping up that one scythe stood up and loudly addressed Xenocrates. She was the one dressed in green with emeralds embroidered into her robe. One of Scythe Goddard’s bunch.

“Excuse me, Your Excellency,” she began, although clearly she was speaking to the entire assembly, not just the High Blade. “I’m finding myself troubled by this set of new apprentices. More specifically the apprentices taken on by Honorable Scythe Faraday.”

Both Citra and Rowan looked up. Faraday did not. He seemed frozen, looking downward almost in meditation. Or perhaps steeling himself for what was to come.

“To the best of my knowledge, a scythe has never taken on two apprentices and set them in competition for the ring,” she continued.

Xenocrates looked over to the Parliamentarian, who had jurisdiction in such matters. “There’s no law against it, Scythe Rand,” said the Parliamentarian.

“Yes,” Scythe Rand continued, “but clearly the competition has turned into camaraderie. How will we ever know which is the better candidate if they continue to aid each other?”

“Your complaint is duly noted,” said Xenocrates, but Scythe Rand was not