33. Chapter Thirty-Three - Wilder
Stellan and I race down the street, our hearts pounding in sync with our footsteps as we navigate the labyrinth of narrow alleyways to avoid the squad cars or violent Epsilon.
The sun—an unforgiving adversary—beats upon us, and sweat trickles down my temple as we pause behind a building, straining our ears for any sign of pursuing Blades or vengeful Epsilon.
The memory of the gunshot—the bullet tearing through flesh to protect Stellan—replays in my mind.
I don’t regret my actions, but the weight of the consequences presses heavily on my shoulders.
When the coast is clear, I urge Stellan forward.
We take off running again, our breaths sawing in and out as we push our bodies to their limits.
The relentless heat saps our strength, and I silently curse our lack of stealth.
In moments like these, I wish I had Leigh’s shadows to cloak us from view.
Despite the chaos and violence in the square, Stellan’s pleas for peace replay in my head.
He wants a better future for the Nebula, one free from the cycle of oppression and retaliation.
If he’s willing to negotiate with Leigh, find a common ground, and work together toward a peaceful resolution, then the bloodshed that stains our hands today can be the catalyst for change.
“In here,” I say to Stellan as I rap sharply on the rear entrance to Furies.
No answer.
I’m sizing up a window to break to get us off the street when the door cracks open, and a wide-eyed Meg appears.
Her gaze switches between Stellan and me.
She presses against the door, giving us enough room to slip inside.
We navigate through the cluttered stockroom before stepping into the main room, which is strangely lit and quiet in the off-hours.
The stale smell of spilled beer and cigarette smoke clings to the drapes.
As I settle the older man into a solitary wooden chair, the floorboards creak beneath my feet.
Meg approaches in her cat pajamas, clutching a dish towel and a bottle of antiseptic.
Turning my hat backwards, I saturate the towel, and its sharp, medicinal scent fills my nose.
“I’m no healer, so this is going to hurt,” I warn Stellan.
Before he can protest, I press the damp towel firmly against the deepest cut on his face.
He curses, his legs kicking out reflexively.
“Don’t be a baby. I saw you take a beating like a champ back there.”
Stellan snatches the rag.
“You’re lucky you aren’t a healer; you don’t have a gentle touch or bedside manner.”
I laugh.
“If you think this hurts, maybe I should have left you in the square. Was it your intention to rile the Epsilon up to attack?”
Stellan scoffs.
“I wasn’t inciting violence.”
I glare at him.
“You had to have known the idea of annexing Aurora from the rest of the country would anger many still loyal to the Council and the Crown. Not to mention the old ways.”
Stellan’s eyes flash.
“I knew it would, but I didn’t say it to incite a riot,” he begins, his tone laced with a bitter edge as he sits tall, defiance in his posture.
“I hoped it would make more people excited by the possibility rather than angry.”
Stellan spits a mouthful of blood onto the floor by my foot.
I scowl.
“You want a safe space for Nebula to start over. That is admirable, but it’ll never happen. You can get a million signatures on a petition, and the Council will still push back. You’ll have a war at your door if you follow through on your plans.”
“I’m not looking to start a war.” Stellan sighs.
“But I also feel it is in the Council’s best interest to let us go free.”
I inhale through my nose and exhale out of my mouth.
“Aurora is too valuable.”
Stellan remains silent as he dabs at his wounds with the antiseptic rag, wincing each time the fabric contacts his battered face.
The wound is deep, but it doesn’t require stitches like I thought.
Despite the pain etched into his strong features, there’s a certain youthfulness about him, suggesting he’s in his late forties.
His eyes capture my attention—they hold a trusting nature that feels familiar, putting me at ease in his presence.
Meg, standing nearby, frowns.
“I’ll get a mop and bucket. We need to clean this mess up before we open. There’s blood everywhere.”
“It’s a bar, Meg,” Stellan calls as she walks away.
She flips him off, and my eyes widen at the unexpected gesture.
Brigid isn’t the only one who shares a close bond with Stellan.
“Next time, go soil someone else’s!”
“You tried to get the rioters to stop, proving you care,” I point out to regain Stellan’s attention.
He shrugs.
“Violence isn’t the answer, but neither is rolling over and playing dead.”
“That’s not what I’m doing,” I retort, my voice steady but firm.
“I haven’t forgotten or forgiven the hardships my family and I endured, but not all Epsilon are the problem. If you got to know Leigh as a person rather than just the wearer of the crown, you’d see she’s trying to make a difference. But she can’t when your articles make it impossible.”
Stellan’s gaze meets mine.
What does he see when he looks at me?
Earlier, he viewed me as part of the problem, but that was before I risked everything to save his life.
Does he now recognize me as someone like him?
Someone willing to fight for change, but not at the cost of innocent lives?
Someone who believes there must be a better way, a path that doesn’t lead to more bloodshed and suffering if only we dare to seek it out?
“I know the queen has had it hard,” he says, and I nod.
That’s an understatement.
“Lunar Witches in this country have had it just as bad as the Nebula, and in some cases, even worse, what with the burnings and asylums. But Leigh is still a royal. Her magic doesn’t erase hundreds of years of lies. It doesn’t mean she cares about us . If the Nebula don’t control our destiny, Wilder, who is to say the government won’t keep lying to and manipulating us?”
I pause, considering the implications of Stellan’s words.
I’ve witnessed the injustices the Nebula face daily.
A separate Aurora could provide a haven for many, offering them a chance to experience true freedom for the first time.
But at what cost?
The price of war is too high, and the consequences are too devastating to bear.
The scars of oppression run deep, not just for the Nebula, but for the Lunar Witches.
We’ve all suffered under the weight of discrimination and prejudice.
But I know no one is more devoted to the truth; no one more committed to changing things for the oppressed than Leigh.
If I could get Stellan and Leigh in the same room to sit down and talk, I’m certain they would see that they have more in common than they realize.
“I want you to talk to Leigh,” I say.
Stellan shakes his head.
“She’ll tell me no.”
My nails bite into my palms.
“Give it a go, for the Nebula people, for peace.”
“With the enclave, we won’t need her approval.”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes.
“Corona isn’t just going to let you secede without pushback. Ivah failed to turn Aurora into a free state, and many Nebula died in the process, so what makes you think you will succeed?”
Stellan gives a cryptic smile.
“Not what, but who ?”
I raise a brow.
Is he referring to his source on the Council?
“What does that mean?”
“You’re asking the wrong questions, Wilder.”
“Wilder is on our side, Stellan,” Meg says, reappearing with a bucket and mop.
She stares at Stellan.
“His notions are misplaced, but love will do that to a person.”
I shift uncomfortably.
I’m in love, not lost.
Stellan sizes me up.
“I understand your predicament more than you think. But you’re fighting for the wrong team. Our values are the same. I could use someone with your strength and hunger for justice working for me.”
I shake my head.
There are no teams .
When will people get that?
“I’ll pay you kindly for it.”
“I’m a Blade. I can’t be turned or bought.”
I’m not Marlowe.
Nor am I my father.
Stellan laughs.
The sound echoes around the quiet bar.
“I’m asking you to help me. Help us start over,” Stellan says.
“I’ll tell you what,” I say.
“I’ll consider working for you if you agree to a meeting with Leigh. Think about it, Stellan. You want to prove you’ll do whatever it takes to fight for the Nebula people? Then at least give them a chance for peaceful change.”
Stellan mulls over the possibility.
“I see now that what happened today is a microcosm of what could happen if we aren’t selective about who we have on our side. We need people who understand the fight. We need people who will go down swinging, and who aren’t afraid to get their hands dirty.” His gaze drops to my bloody knuckles.
As I watch Stellan prepare to leave the bar, wincing as he retrieves his phone to send a text, a sense of urgency grips me until I can barely breathe.
If he leaves, I might not get another chance to speak with him.
I need him to agree to meet with Leigh, and I need that commitment now.
“I need your answer,” I say in a steady voice.
At my words, Meg pauses.
The mop and bucket she’s been using halt, the water inside swirling under her magical command.
She looks up, her eyes darting between Stellan and me, sensing the gravity of the moment.
I remain seated, my gaze locked with Stellan’s.
“Will you meet Leigh?”
My heart pounds in the delay of his response.
The silence stretches between us, heavy with the weight of the decision that hangs in the balance.
If Stellan agrees to sit down with Leigh and find a way forward, then we can avoid the bloodshed and suffering that seem all but inevitable
But if he refuses, if he walks away now, then I fear that the cycle of violence and oppression will continue.
More lives will be lost, and more hearts will be broken.
I don’t move a muscle.
When Stellan grins, his teeth are sharp.
“Why not? Now, if you both excuse me, my ride’s here.” He reaches the door, giving me one final glance.
“Wilder, I’ll be in touch soon. In the meantime, tell Leigh I look forward to meeting her.”
My only response is a nod before he adds, “By the way, your blind faith in Leigh is inspiring, but I’m not sure you know who you’re dealing with.”
“What does that mean?” I call after him.
But the door rattles shut.