CHAPTER 45
The day a high-citizen is publicly executed signals one of two truths: either justice has finally awakened, blade in hand, or the Blues are biding their time, gathering force for a reckoning that will scorch all the light from the world.
—FREDERICK GLASS, CO-FOUNDER OF THE HERETICS
When night falls, I don’t let myself sleep for a single careless minute.
I toss in my sheets, sweat soaking my pillow as I keep refreshing The Civilized Voice’s homepage.
I expect news of a strike, some bloody retribution from the Blues, aimed at all of us but mostly at those responsible: President Reeve, Dad, and the countless others standing behind them.
But as the hours pass, thick with a silence that makes the hospital feel empty, no news arrives. The sky lightens, and the sun rises in a burst of radiant gold, as if the world itself shines brighter with two fewer Blue shadows.
When Charlotte picks me up and drives me to the first-year Lecture Hall, I stare out the hovercar window at the double-headed eagle flags fluttering on the buildings.
They hang as they always do, proud and unwavering, but for once, the low-citizens beneath them don’t cower.
Today, they walk tall, heads lifted, as if watching the execution brought us all to the same collective realization: Blues may stand above us, but above us all is the blade. And Blues bleed just as easily.
I swallow hard, still staring at the flags, when Charlotte’s voice rises above the drone of the hovercar.
“How are you feeling, Lore?”
“I’m all right.” I drop a hand to my leg brace, which stretches from thigh to ankle beneath my dress. No matter how advanced the brace is, it still feels tight where I need flexibility and loose where I need control, like a quiet negotiation with each step. “Just hoping I don’t trip.”
Charlotte lowers her sunglasses. “I’d never let you.”
I smile at her in thanks, then glance out the window again, trying to calm my nerves enough to concentrate on my exams. We take them all today, one after another, but even after we finish, the academic year isn’t over.
We still have the Mensur, a series of celebratory events, and the academic award ceremony.
The year doesn’t officially end for another nine days, on May 31st.
I have until then to tell Edmund the truth about Charles.
Charlotte only texted Edmund this morning to say I was awake and coming to take the exams. I asked her to wait, partly so he could focus on studying, but mainly because of the execution.
It was Edmund’s kind on that platform, his people being judged.
And I know, from bitter experience, that watching your own fall is never easy.
At the first-year Lecture Hall, the boys are already waiting, posted on the portico steps across from the lot.
Jack leans against the railing, a cigarette burning between his fingers, while Dickie dive-bombs the crowd with his airplane, which emits a series of taunting beeps.
Edmund stands higher on the stairs, tall and motionless, watching our hovercar descend into the lot.
I step out of the vehicle, and when he sees me, his chest lifts sharply, as if drawing in a painful breath.
Then he starts down the steps, crossing the street with a forceful stride that makes oncoming hovercars jolt to a stop.
He looks like that horse again, only now it’s broken free of the pen, racing headlong into open pasture, too far gone to look back.
Our gazes never part. Not when Jack pulls me into a hug, or when Dickie presses a damp kiss to my hand.
Their voices blur in the distance as I watch Edmund move across the lot, sidestepping students until he reaches me.
Jack and Dickie pull away as his arms close around my waist, open and unashamed, in full view of everyone.
Charlotte, Jack, and Dickie trade tense glances before stepping in front of us, trying to shield us from view.
But heads are already turning: Greens glare, Oranges gape, Purples go still with that tight-eyed silence that says everything without a word.
And the Blues—some of them our classmates—clench their jaws, eyes clouding with venom, as if we’ve defiled something sacred.
“Edmund,” I whisper, my heart pounding. “People are watching.”
“Let them.” He pulls me closer. “And let it be a warning.”
He holds me firmly, his hand cupping the back of my head, his chest rising and falling against mine, until the bell rings, signaling fifteen minutes until our first exam.
Only then does he let go and offer me his arm.
But I don’t take it. I won’t fall, not here and now, when Edmund is already drowning in scrutiny.
The hug alone is enough to fuel the rumors and the Tattletale headlines about the reason for his broken engagement with Irene.
Though I’m proud of Edmund for breaking free, I’m afraid, too, because I know what kind of force his mother will unleash to bring him back.
“Thank you, Mr. Prew,” I say. “However, my leg brace ensures I can walk on my own.”
Edmund nods, though he remains close. I glance at Charlotte and smile to show her I’ll be fine. She returns the smile faintly, still looking confused by the hug, then vanishes into the crowd with Jack and Dickie.
Edmund slows to match my pace, but even then, it’s hard to walk the way I used to. Each step lands a beat too late. I can feel him watching, his body angled toward mine, eyes fixed on every move, hands always ready in case I stumble.
When we reach the door to the Civilized World History lecture room, I pause and power off my Bond. The only device allowed during our exam is our digital tablet. Anything else, and it’s an automatic failing mark.
“Thank you, Mr. Prew,” I say, trying not to sound out of breath. “You have escorted me far enough. I can manage from here.”
Edmund tilts his head, as if he can hear the worry in my voice. But he doesn’t leave. He stays by my side and walks with me into the lecture room as anxious, murmuring students drift past in waves.
“After exams,” he says quietly, “can I take you somewhere? There’s something I want to ask you. Alone.”
I hesitate when I recall the Pinkie surgeon’s orders. After my exams, I’m supposed to return to Belvoir Infirmary for three more days. Still, I’d be willing to sneak away for a few hours to see Edmund. I already know what he wants to ask me: to stay in his entourage, permanently.
“Where do you want to take me?”
He lifts his chin and smiles proudly. “Flying.”
I smile back, though it’s not the same as his; mine feels like a cut, painfully splitting open.
I’ve imagined this moment so many times, him asking me to fly with him and watching the world together from the view he loves most. But before the sky, before he shows me who he is, I have to show him who I am.
We reach the elevators and step inside. A few students start forward, ready to join us, until Edmund plants himself in front of the doors, feet set apart to block the entrance. The students pause, then step back to wait for the next one.
When the doors seal shut, I turn toward the wall and avoid Edmund’s gaze.
As much as I hope he won’t touch me, I’m already imagining his hands sliding up my waist, his breath warming my mouth between each kiss.
My teeth clench, and my body tightens as I force myself to stare straight ahead, even as his fingers brush softly against mine.
“I meant to return this tonight,” he says. “But I think you’ve missed it long enough.”
He guides me toward him with one hand while the other slips into his suit jacket pocket.
I stagger sideways on my brace, not daring to hope, until I see a flash of emeralds between his fingers.
The daffodil brooch appears, as real as the agony I felt when I lost it, and he gently places it in my palm.
“Edmund, you—” My voice breaks on a tremor. “You really went back in there?”
He nods, his smile widening. “Jack helped. We used a submersible scanner to map the lakebed and isolate the signal. Then I went in with a reinforced suit.”
I stare at him, speechless, wide-eyed, and trembling in shock.
Somehow, impossibly, the brooch remains intact, as if it never touched the water or sank to the bottom of the lake.
I curl my fingers around it, its shape too perfect and precious to be real.
My other hand fumbles for the wall, searching for support as my body begins to shake so violently that my brace wobbles beneath me.
Edmund reaches out to steady me, but I’m already reaching for him.
I throw my arms around him with everything I have, all at once.
He presses a button on the panel behind me, and the elevator stops, suspended in stillness between floors.
Then he wraps his arms around me, lifting me until the only thing I can feel is the brace tugging downward, the last tether holding me to the ground.
“My brace,” I whisper. “It weighs—”
“You aren’t heavy, Loredana,” Edmund says, brushing my cheek with his thumb. “You’re the only thing that’s not.”
Guilt floods through me, but I don’t pull back. Instead, I lean in closer, pressing my face into his neck as I give in to him. I want this, too. Selfishly. One more moment, one last time. Because after tonight, it’s over.
He’ll never say my name again.