Chapter 9
The wind whistles in my ears, and my stomach climbs into my throat as I swing out from the edge, willing myself toward the far side.
The rope digs into my stomach as I drop sharply, my hand burning against it as the wind is knocked out of me.
I cling to my tether while kicking against nothing as I swing up.
Laughter. The masked figures on top of the Citadel are laughing, because they already know what I’ve just come to understand: the rope isn’t long enough. Panic claws up my throat as I reach the zenith of the path and then swing away.
What in the Skies is this? What do they want?
The rope sways back, topping out toward a cackling Stevie. “Looking good!” she shouts, clearly enjoying herself while I dangle uselessly, probably looking like a fool.
Then I remember the second rope and the hook.
Quickly, I unwind it, allowing the end to drop. They’ve given me plenty of length, and as my tether swings back toward the Citadel, I fling the hook, hoping it’ll catch the edge of the building.
It hits the stone, bouncing off and nearly tugging the rope from my grasp.
I try a few more times without success. This is impossible.
That’s when I notice the flashing light on my wristband. As I swing toward the far side, the light turns blue.
Wait. Am I not on the right path?
Another swing back and the light flips to red before turning blue as I swing toward Stevie again. Red at the bottom of the arc. Blue on the edges.
I’m not supposed to reach the other side; I’m supposed to go down.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I make another pass as more laughter follows in my wake. They understand what I’ve just realized. But if I fall, what happens? Will something catch me?
I consider my options and look up. The beam. There’s nothing else to use the hook with. This must be it.
Instinct guides me as I fling the hook up. It snags on the beam, and I almost cry with relief. The other end hangs down, several feet longer than my tether. I’m slowing, losing momentum as the arcs grow shorter.
I’m running out of time.
I gather the free end of the rope and tie it around my waist before I go fishing for the knife tucked into my boot. Then I quickly saw through the first rope. I try not to think too hard about what will happen. How much is this going to hurt?
The first rope gives, and I plummet, a scream tearing from my throat as I drop before the second rope stops me with a jerk. I cry out as it digs into my ribs, and I’m dangling again, the knife somehow still clutched in my hand.
Now what?
That’s when I spot the net far below. Skies. I need to let myself fall.
“Ten seconds!” Stevie shouts from above, her voice carrying on the breeze.
Can I do this? I have no choice. Quickly, I saw at my tether, the fibers slowly giving way, strand by excruciating strand.
I focus, willing clarity into my mind.
I empty it of every thought.
Inhale a deep breath just as the rope breaks.
I plummet, a scream ripping from my throat. I’m moving too fast to feel my limbs. My throat burns as I drop down, down, down.
The wind jostles me left and right. I try to slow myself, but obviously, nothing I do makes any difference. I’m at the mercy of gravity and acceleration and the gusting winds.
The earth races up toward me, and I wonder if I’ve just made a huge fucking mistake.
How bad could being married to Knox be?
I imagine our lives sometime in the not-too-distant future. Me at home alone, probably drinking to numb the pain, wondering who he’s fucking tonight—
SLAM.
I hit the net with a jolt. It feels like I’ve landed face-first on concrete.
It slaps my stomach and hips and thighs. My hands burn, my wrists tangling with the net.
Thank Skies.
But it’s not over yet. I bounce up, flying into the air with my arms and legs kicking and spinning.
It takes a few more rebounds before I finally come to a stop.
I roll onto my back, peering at the sky as another flash of light paints the world in amethyst. I’m not sure I can move.
A green light blinks in my periphery, revealing my cheerfully glowing wristband.
I made it. Somehow, I made it.
Someone shakes the net. “Get off!” they shout.
With great difficulty, I heave myself up, as every muscle and joint screams with pain.
My head spins, and I stare between my hands, willing it to stop. The ground is mere feet away. I was this close to splattering against the earth.
Finally, I look up to find a trio of masked Society members. They tear off their coverings and stare at me, eyes narrowing.
“Let’s go,” one of them shouts. I grab my knife that’s also lying on the net and crawl across. From the corner of my eye, I see something that nearly has me hurling up breakfast, lunch, and dinner. A mangled body. Or what’s left of it. Someone who missed the net.
My mouth opens on a soft exhale as I turn my attention back and scramble over the edge.
Hopping down, I wince at the ache in my knees and the burn in my side.
My stomach is bruised, and my ribs feel like they’ve been beaten with hammers.
The two men and one woman watch me, their eyes brimming with suspicion.
I am not one of them. I was just knifed, attacked, and then threw myself off a fucking building to pass their test, but I do not belong in House Aria.
“Hi,” I say with a small wave, instantly feeling ridiculous. I quickly tuck my hand behind my back. The man on the far left gestures with his chin toward a door where more members of Aria guard the entrance.
It’s then that it all really sinks in.
I’m in enemy territory. I’ve crossed their lines, and I have no way to defend myself.
I can hold my own in a fair fight. We’re all given lessons in defense from a young age to protect ourselves from potential Solitude attacks.
My brother took it a step further when he did his best to prepare me for everything life might throw my way.
But I’m completely outnumbered here. Surrounded by people who make it a point to hunt down those like me. I clutch my knife tighter in my hand as bright clouds tumble overhead, reminding me of what I am.
But I can’t let them see my fear.
With my head held high, I march toward the entrance.
When I reach the door, three enormous men tower over me, surrounding me in a circle, all dressed in the bloodred shirts marking them as E-squad recruits.
They don’t say anything; they just stare me down.
My hands itch as bright clouds tumble overhead, reminding me of what I am.
A monster. A freak. A danger to them all.
If they knew, they’d happily tear me to pieces.
“Excuse me,” I say, trying to make it sound confident, but it comes out a little squeaky and breathless. I size up the beast standing directly before me, bending my neck to meet his beady blue eyes.
I swallow thickly, but I’m not fooling anyone.
“Brick, let her through,” comes a voice off to my side. I don’t dare look at the source of my rescue. I just stare at Brick like I’m not about to pee my pants. They hate me, and they don’t even know what I am.
He’s expressionless, a blank wall with his squared-off features. What an apt name.
He cocks his head and finally steps aside. I hesitate for only a second before I walk past, trying to keep an even pace. More Aria Society kids line the hallway, each one eyeing me with varying degrees of everything from curiosity to unconcealed hostility.
More bloodred shirts. More people who would hunt me to the ends of the earth.
The only thing I know for sure is that not one of them wants me here. Not now, not ever.
At least it’s overshadowing the itching in my hands from the storm.
I kind of forgot to consider just how unwelcome I’d be here.
As I make my way down the hall, their ire burns up the back of my neck. I feel their hatred and their distrust. The absolute certainty that if I try to pledge to Aria, they will eat me alive.
Finally, I reach the end of the hall, which deposits me in the same grand space we all stood in when we arrived. My chest expands with relief, though I don’t know why. It’s not like I’m any safer here.
I look back to find everyone still watching me with resentment. They all know who my father is. I am an interloper among their ranks.
I can practically feel the target stamped on my back, as if I had handed them the bucket of bright red paint myself.
What have I just done?