31. Chapter Thirty-One - Wilder
Gianna, Ry, and I weave through the bustling streets, dodging honking taxis on our way to Trinity Square, where Stellan Navis is rallying supporters outside the Auralite Library.
Ry thinks we can ambush him after his speech, but with the crowd’s size, I worry something might go wrong.
I hope I’m mistaken, and I can talk to Stellan first without taking Brigid up on her strings-attached offer to introduce us.
I want to ask him about Dimitri and his thoughts on his followers threatening to kill an innocent woman because of her affiliation with Epsilon.
Gianna, who came to Aurora to uncover her past, has faced one roadblock after another.
The gunman claimed during our interrogation the other night that he was following Stellan’s orders.
Stellan may not be the peacemaker Brigid claims he is, but rather a warmonger in the making.
“Let’s get as close to the stage as possible,” I say as Ry takes Gi by the hand, ensuring we don’t lose her short stature to the crowd.
Over a thousand people have gathered to hear Stellan speak.
It’s impressive, especially considering his lack of formal political training.
He connects with people on a visceral level.
Dressed as a civilian, I have my gun tucked into my waistband, prepared for any outcome.
Although several Blades are on duty, they’re stretched too thin to manage a crowd of this size if things go sideways.
“That might be the most stunning piece of architecture I’ve seen,” Gianna exclaims.
We’ve found a spot to stand, sandwiched between several smiling Nebulas.
I haven’t seen many Epsilons, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t here.
“Yeah, the Auralite Library is a testament to time—a relic from the past that commands respect and admiration,” Ry yells.
“It took two decades to construct, even with the aid of magic, and once reigned as the tallest structure in Aurora.”
Gianna shades her eyes to get a better look.
At dusk, the setting sun reflects off the building’s mosaic glass, creating a kaleidoscope of colors in the square.
It’s where the city holds the Harvest Festival each year.
I went while living here, forced out of my cocoon by Brigid, the Erinye sisters, and Ry.
We had danced and partied under the stars, but the atmosphere was less hostile than today.
Someone screams, and my hands itch for my weapon.
“Easy,” Ry mutters to me as Stellan steps out from the library doors, his arm raised above the cheering crowd.
People scream for Stellan like he’s a celebrity.
He settles behind a Lucite podium at the center of the stairs leading from the library down to the square, dressed in a cream-colored linen suit that enhances his olive skin.
Nearby, a Nebula witch wipes away tears as she jumps up and down, waving at him.
“Ladies and gentlemen, friends and comrades,” Stellan begins, magically amplifying his voice to be carried with the wind.
“For too long, we, the people of the Nebula, have suffered under the oppression of Epsilon witches. Our powers, our heritage, and our very existence have been scorned and persecuted by those who claim superiority over us. But no more!”
I cross my arms as I listen, bracing myself for the dread, but Stellan’s words strike a chord.
It’s as if he’s speaking directly to me, his message resonating with a clarity that cuts through the crowd’s noise.
Each word he utters has me holding my breath.
Stellan continues, “Today marks the dawn of a new era, a turning point in our history. We stand united, not as victims but as warriors, rebels, and champions of our destiny. We will no longer cower in the shadows, bow to the Council’s whims, or be second-class citizens in our land.”
The crowd swells, and so does my chest.
Stellan’s words are everything I’ve wanted to hear my entire life.
He makes it sound so easy to seize the day and demand control over our destinies.
As much as I want to believe it, I know it’s not so simple.
Seizing power doesn’t mean taking it from someone else by force.
We can’t go from being oppressed to becoming the oppressors ourselves.
A smile spreads across Gianna’s face.
“The crowd loves him.”
“Together, we will carve out a new destiny for ourselves and ensure that never again will our people be subjected to the horrors of persecution,” Stellan announces.
I arch an eyebrow beneath my sports cap, skepticism creeping into my thoughts.
How does Stellan plan to accomplish that?
If overthrowing the Epsilon were that simple, Nebula would have done it years ago.
His words, while inspiring, seem to gloss over the harsh realities we face.
“But let us not forget the role of our young queen in this struggle,” he continues.
“She may have shed light on the Nebula’s innocence in igniting the First War and the terrible oppression that was enacted upon us because of this lie. Yet, this action alone is not enough. The queen has yet to fully embrace the cause of justice and hold the Epsilon accountable for their crimes against us.”
My frown deepens.
While containing a kernel of truth, Stellan’s words paint an incomplete picture.
Leigh is trying to make amends for the mistakes of her ancestors, but she doesn’t have sole control over the country.
Her hands are often tied, constrained by the system she’s attempting to change.
Stellan’s oversimplification of the situation leaves me questioning his understanding of our complex political landscape.
Then, Stellan’s piercing umber stare locks with mine across the square.
I freeze.
“But there are those who aim to stand in our way,” he says, pointing directly at me.
The weight of the crowd’s collective gaze settles upon Ry, Gianna, and me.
We’ve become the focal point of his speech.
How does he know who I am unless someone like Dimitri told him?
“Among us are those who, despite being Nebula, would rather maintain the status quo. And to that, I say, hell no. We will not let anyone stand in our way. Will we?”
The crowd jeers.
My heart splinters as Stellan’s words wash over the crowd, each syllable a carefully crafted weapon aimed at our very existence.
Ry tenses behind Gianna.
“This took a turn,” she mutters.
I nod.
Yeah, it did.
I place a reassuring hand on her shoulder.
She leans into my touch.
The weight of countless hostile stares settles upon us, and I meet each one with a defiant gaze, refusing to be cowed.
But even as I stand my ground, the same sense of unease I felt the other night slithers up my spine.
From the nearby alleys, figures emerge like spiders, their movements fluid and purposeful.
I squint against the sun’s glare, my blood running cold.
A group of men who seem born and bred in violence flank Michael Bersa, their scarred faces a tapestry of brutality.
They wet their lips, a predatory gleam in their eyes, as if the thought of a fight ignites their nerves.
I whip my head in the opposite direction, my breath catching at the unmistakable glint of gold.
More Epsilon men.
Their tattoos are proudly displayed as they encircle the crowd like a pack of wolves closing in on unsuspecting prey.
The air grows heavy, and I can almost taste the suspense on my tongue.
But something doesn’t add up.
The Epsilon haven’t made a move or unleashed the violence I expected.
Instead, they stand motionless, listening to Stellan.
A flicker of doubt bubbles to the surface.
Did I misjudge the situation?
Could they also be here to seek enlightenment?
Stellan’s voice rises and falls, each word a masterful stroke on the canvas of the crowd’s emotions.
I was bracing for trouble, prepared for the worst.
But maybe I overreacted.
I refocus on Stellan’s speech, keeping my peripheral vision trained on the nearest Epsilon, never losing sight of their position.
“To ensure peace and prosperity for all Nebula witches, I propose a future where we no longer answer to the Epsilon. We will create an enclave ruled by the Nebula, making Aurora and her surrounding towns sovereign! I have the backing to make this a reality. All you must do is vote for me, and Aurora will be its own country!” Stellan says.
A numbness overtakes me.
Stellan wants to rule Aurora, not just as mayor but as president, maybe even as a king.
If Aurora becomes an enclave with its own rules and government, the Nebula will be free to do whatever they please.
They’ll no longer answer to Leigh or the Council.
I sense the hostility radiating off the Epsilon in droves.
If Stellan’s promises become a reality, they will pay taxes for their business and homes to Stellan and his Nebula government.
The Nebula will be in charge, and the Epsilon will be forced to accept that or leave.
Cheers erupt in the crowd, but a few boos come from the Epsilon.
“Ry,” I say as a few Epsilon bare their teeth.
“Get Gianna out of here.”
Ry takes Gianna’s hand, but she digs in her heels.
“Be careful,” she says to me.
“You fancy yourself a king!” an Epsilon woman shouts at Stellan, who shakes his head.
I snap my focus on Stellan as the men with Michael Bersa hurl profanities.
Epsilon voices rise, each obscenity a verbal dart aimed at Stellan’s composure.
The nearest Nebula retaliates, insults flying back.
The groups inch closer, and my muscles tense for a fight.
The crowd shifts around me.
It’s only a matter of time before the fragile peace shatters, unleashing chaos.
The Blades brandish their weapons.
“We won’t let you take our businesses and drive us out of our city!” another Epsilon screams.
“Now, settle down.” Stellan tries to manage the crowd, but a Nebula man throws the first punch, sending the shouting Epsilon businessman to the ground.
For a moment, no one moves.
Stellan’s taken aback expression hangs in the square.
I think the worst is over, but in an instant, the fallen Epsilon’s friends retaliate, throwing fists, kicking, biting, and summoning magic.
“Go now,” I tell Ry, and he tugs Gianna.
I push through the crowd to Stellan, frozen, his mouth agape as the carnage unfolds.
“Stop, please, all of you, if you could just listen . . .” Stellan pleads, but the fighting drowns out his words.
He wipes the sweat from his brow, his eyes darting across the scene, but he doesn’t intervene.
There isn’t much he can do.
Stellan is a journalist, not a fighter.
Two Epsilon men storm the stage, and Stellan’s guards conjure a magical barrier around him.
But their efforts are short-lived as the fight escalates.
Within moments, Stellan’s men lie battered and bruised, blood pooling beneath them on the stone steps.
Stellan backs away, arms raised in surrender.
“Please,” Stellan begs, his words falling on unhearing ears.
I push against the sea of bodies that separate me from Stellan, desperation fueling every move.
If the Epsilon harm or, even worse, kill him, the consequences will be catastrophic.
The Nebula will rise against them in droves, their anger and grief igniting a fire that will consume the city.
The Council will have no choice but to intervene, transforming Aurora into a war zone.
The Council will never believe that Stellan genuinely cares for the Nebula.
Though his message was not well-received today, he remains a beacon of hope for the Nebula’s fight for change.
If Stellan falls, so does the chance for a peaceful resolution.
The Epsilon men close in on Stellan, each step taunting him.
I shove a burly man out of my way and race up the steps.
An Epsilon man lands a brutal punch to Stellan’s face.
I reach for my gun.
More Epsilon men apprehend Stellan, who opens his mouth, likely to beg for his life or reason with them, but they silence him with a swift kick to the gut.
Doubled over and gasping for air, Stellan falls to his knees.
One attacker reaches into his jacket and pulls a gun from the holster, aiming at Stellan’s head.
Stellan’s eyes widen.
“The only way more people will follow you is in a funeral march,” the gunman sneers, his finger tightening around the trigger.
Mine tightens as well.
He inhales, and I do the same.
Before the gunman can exhale, I fire.
The resounding bang leaves my ears ringing as the man pointing a gun on Stellan falls to his knees, crying in agony.
His blood stains his shirt where my bullet buries itself deep in his rear deltoid, just as I intended.
For a moment, the world seems to hold its breath.
The Epsilon restraining Stellan stare at me in open-mouthed horror before releasing him and vanishing into the uproar.
Sirens blare through the square, heralding the arrival of reinforcements.
I exhale.
So much adrenaline courses through me that my limbs tremble.
I quickly approach Stellan Navis, hunched over and shorter than expected.
He carries himself like a larger man.
“We need to get you out of here before they arrest you for inciting violence,” I say as I pull him up from the blood-stained steps.
Gratitude shines in his one good eye; the other is swollen shut.
“Thank you,” Stellan whispers, shaking.
I nod.
This choice to save him will have consequences.
My attack on an Epsilon man will be broadcast all over the country.
Leigh will see it, and people will question if I’m on Stellan’s side.
However, I am positive now that Stellan is our best hope for finding a peaceful resolution to this conflict between the factions, and I’m willing to do whatever it takes to make that a reality.
The violence continues as I yank Stellan into an alleyway.
He leans heavily against me, his breath coming in short, pained gasps.
His hot blood seeps through my shirt.
“We need to find somewhere to stitch you up and lie low,” I say.
“The Council will order the Blades to find instigators in the uprising, and we can’t risk getting caught in the crossfire.”
Stellan nods, his face ashen and drawn.
I adjust my grip on him, taking more of his weight.
The adrenaline that fueled me during the fight is fading, replaced by bone-deep exhaustion.
But I can’t afford to rest yet.
I just pray that when Leigh watches the footage, she trusts that I rescued Stellan for her sake.
I’m convinced that if Stellan and Leigh meet, this fantasy of an enclave will disappear, and they can stitch this fraying country back together.