21. CHAPTER 21
Zayne
The Capital
Kallum, Ciondo
Acool wind whipped Zayne's uniform jacket while he eased back against the brick face of the apartment complex.
He'd just delivered Kira's final letter.
Though Zayne planned to leave right away, he recognized the man approaching the mailbox across the street as Elijah from Kira's file.
They'd been childhood sweethearts, and when Dr. Cooper brought him up during the interrogation, her heart rate spiked.
Though Zayne wouldn't see her for a week while he traveled to the territories, he wanted to tell her that Elijah received the letter once he returned.
The man pulled the envelope from his mailbox and then steadied himself against his building. He slid down the wall, staring at the letter. Even from this distance, Zayne saw the fear and anguish contorting his face. He furiously tore open the letter, breathing hard while he read.
Then Elijah lowered his head against his arms, knees drawn up, so Zayne only saw the top of his wavy dark hair.
Whether he believed Kira was safe or not, he must have been relieved seeing her handwriting and devastated that she wasn't coming back.
Zayne remembered saying goodbye to Nadia and how he felt like she took parts of him with her.
Elijah loved Kira. Zayne recognized it in the broken way he sat slumped against the wall, his body shaking with sobs. It looked like the world just fell apart around him.
Chest heavy, Zayne looked at the man who loved his prisoner one last time and then left for the Rail. He'd make one more miserable stop before traveling with Brock to complete the Phaedra's business. And to sneak in a meeting with trusted allies.
Choosing to stand while on the Rail, Zayne stared out at the familiar neighborhood with the strange feeling that he didn't recognize any of it, even though he did.
Multiple contacts had responded agreeing to help break Kira out of prison, but now he had to abandon the entire plan.
The weight inside him grew with each passing mile.
What would Elijah do if he knew where Kira was? How would he feel?
Zayne couldn't abandon Kira in the Phaedra's captivity. Breaking her out of his parents’ house complicated things, but he'd find a way.
When the train slowed to a stop at his station, he exited by the ice cream shop Edwards always forced Zayne to stop at. Brock needed no convincing, and Zayne always caved. The three of them spent plenty of nights there over the last two years.
The ache in his leg was duller than just a few days ago, but each step without Edwards made it stab. A few blocks away, he climbed up the stairs to a townhouse that must have felt desolate without her.
Zayne withdrew the last letter from his pocket, though Kira didn't pen this one. He straightened and rang the doorbell.
Enough time had passed that Zayne didn't expect an answer until Edward's husband, Jeremy, opened the door. A haggard frown replaced his usual kind smile, and dark circles hung beneath bloodshot eyes.
“I'm sorry for not coming sooner,” Zayne said.
“I don't know what day it is.” Jeremy's voice sounded broken. If Edwards saw him like this, it would destroy her. She'd choose the pain of her gunshot wound a million times over seeing the one she loved devastated.
Pain seared Zayne's chest, imagining them sitting on their couch together, fingers laced and gazes full of admiration. “Edwards—” He cleared his throat. “Sara asked me to give this to you if anything happened to her.”
He lifted the letter, but the husband only stared for several seconds. Tears shone in his eyes, and his lips curled back in a grimace.
“Thank you,” Jeremy whispered, seeming afraid to touch it. Finally, he drew it to his chest and then turned away, not speaking for several seconds. Without attempting to say anything more, he raised his hand in farewell and closed the door.
What would Edwards say in this situation? Or Brock? Why didn't Zayne know how to comfort those who suffered?
Before coming, he thought he'd tell Jeremy about Edwards' courage or her leadership or that he'd never known a better soldier. Did he fail by not saying any of that? Or did Jeremy just need time alone with his wife's last words to him?
The cold wind stung his skin. “I'm sorry, Edwards.”
The Territories
Archai, Caspador
The flight to Caspador provided Zayne with too much time to think.
It was all just too much.
Zayne underestimated how well the Phaedra knew him and how many steps ahead the emperor strategized. By pushing Kira to hate him, he revealed that he cared about her enough to put on this act.
If Zayne learned anything in life, it was never to try to beat the Phaedra at his own game.
Never. The emperor schemed in ways that Zayne could never conceive of.
Not many in the empire could. That was why he needed to keep Kira away from him, because he couldn't stand to dig his way inside of her and tear her apart.
Then again, the Phaedra expected him to distance himself from her and accounted for it by forcing them together. Was there any hope of escaping his trap?
And if there wasn't, then what about Zayne's plan to take his father's position and destroy the regime? What if his entire life played right into the Phaedra's plans?
Dread filled the marrow of his bones.
Perhaps the most universal and deeply ingrained experience of every person in the empire, from the highest to the lowest ranking individuals, was the feeling of helplessness.
The Phaedra not only held absolute power but also outmatched all those who fought against him.
People responded in different ways to this, many by capitulating or convincing themselves that everything was fine.
Others fluctuated between resisting and hibernating from their rebellion.
Few dedicated their lives to the rebellion.
He didn't blame anyone who was unable or unwilling to fight a hopeless war.
If only he could travel back to the times before the reign of the Phaedras and beg the people not to trust those with power so easily. Not to sell their morals and freedoms for the false promise of security and greatness.
But even if he could go back, no one would listen. They had the history of the world—the collapse—embedded in their hearts. If that testament failed to deter a person from marching to their own ruin, what could?
Zayne wanted to believe it was possible to change people and avert the endless cycle of war and tyranny, but he never held onto much hope. Someone like Kira believed it. She believed it enough that she might make it possible. That wasn't Zayne, though.
By the time Brock and Zayne landed, he worked himself into a particularly foul mood.
His friend often jested or tried to pull him out of the anger, but this time the other man offered him space, likely recognizing the severity.
They didn't speak until they were traveling to secretly meet with the only ally Zayne trusted to help with Kira.
Ashantae Reed, a former captain in one of the deadliest militias in the empire.
They once lived in the anarchy of the north, putting up some of the greatest resistance to the empire he'd ever seen.
But those days were long gone, just like Ashantae's militia.
His father had seen to that personally after their militia captured Zayne and his comrades.
He helped Ashantae escape the wrath of the High General. Now his friend lived in Antor, the kingdom bordering Caspador, where the Phaedra focused his most deadly assaults. Despite it not being Ashantae's home, they gave everything to the people of that country.
If anyone could help them derail the Phaedra's plans for the Followers and Kira, then it was Ashantae.
His partnership with them began in blood, and it would only ever be severed by blood.
He trusted them with his mother's safety, and that was not something he could say about anyone except for Brock.
Ashantae proved their character after discovering the violent interrogation of Zayne and his squad. In the end, they saved his life and the lives of every soldier who escaped that room alive. For that, his friend lost everything.
A knot hardened in his chest.
“You're sure Reinard masked our location well enough?” Brock pulled beneath the covering of the tree line a mile out from their destination.
“Yeah. Don't worry.” He struggled to keep his mind in the present. “We'll be fine.”
Zayne and Brock hiked to the cabin that Ashantae and their wife, Imani, rented for today. Meeting in a third location provided the most security to all involved, but he remained diligent every step of the way. Once they reached the secluded cabin, Ashantae stepped into the doorway.
His friend wore the same dark pants and tank top they always fought in, with the matching jacket likely thrown on the ground inside, knowing them.
Thick scarring twisted their shoulder and toned triceps from the airstrike that nearly took their arm two years ago.
Instinctively, he always scanned Ashantae for new scars, never sure what piece of themself they may sacrifice for the people of Antor next.
This time, he didn't see any marks he did not recognize. Everything about Ashantae looked the same as a year ago, from their closely shaved head to the silver wedding band they wore on a chain around their neck. Ashantae grinned widely and kicked the door open more.
“Imani,” they called, “the boys are here.”
Brock ran ahead of Zayne and scooped Ashantae into a hug that lifted them off their feet. The two laughed and squeezed another before Brock continued past them into the cabin.
By then, Zayne slowed to a stop right in front of Ashantae, meeting the deceptively kind eyes of one of the most dangerous soldiers he knew. “You're not dead,” he said.
They nodded, grin crawling again. “Neither are you, kid.”