Chapter 14
After that hellish conversation, Zion and I had been avoiding each other.
I went to training and pretended the hateful man I called coach was just a stranger. In turn, he treated me like everyone else. Between vacant stares, simmering hatred, and clipped exchanges, the week flew by.
I woke up euphoric, threw on my clothes, and rushed to work.
Those grades would be the first step toward landing a good job within the walls.
The city has three hospitals: the largest is in Rosnir, where I do my internship; a mid-sized one in the fae district; and a basic one in the human district.
There's no hospital in the gorgon district because most gorgons live in the Serpents' Fort, outside the walls.
The few who live in Interion go to the central hospital when they need help.
I aspired to work at Rosnir Hospital, but for that to happen, my grades needed to be good. If I had pure Interion genetics, I could scrape by with a seven average and get in easily, but my ancestry worked against me. I needed to secure grades above eight so no one would doubt my competence.
As I walked toward the hospital, my heels made a hollow sound on the scarlet floor.
The entire military district was designed for training, and instead of sidewalks, there were smooth paths painted red, well-marked and bordered by gardens meant to soften the oppressive atmosphere.
Some soldiers jogged past me on their morning run, and I avoided looking at them—partly because I'd never liked soldiers, and partly to avoid anything that reminded me of the general.
Just the memory of his disdainful laugh made my heart race while my stomach churned.
At the corner near my street, a large screen caught my attention, pulling me from my sadistic daydreams about setting Zion's hair on fire. The anchor was announcing a story, and to listen, I pressed the earbuds hanging from my ears.
The anti-Drute movement has struck again.
Last week saw the death of young Natanael, only eight years old.
Today the group claimed two more victims: both were descendant siblings living in the farming region, near the outer wall.
Searches are underway, and a squadron will be assigned to deal with the rebels. Stay tuned for updates.
I waited for the second story of the day, and soon the journalist appeared on screen.
This afternoon, the first shipment of Vinturian military equipment was supposed to arrive in Interion.
However, we've just learned that the ship carrying the entire cargo vanished early this morning, somewhere in the slopes triangle, shortly after entering the Emir River channel.
The nations are investigating the theft and have already ruled out a Drute attack.
All signs point to exiled pirates, so the maritime guard will be reinforced to prevent future thefts.
We'll return this evening with more information.
Commercials started playing and I turned off the earbuds, hurrying along.
The king had to be furious this morning.
Rumor had it he'd thrown a chair out the window of the 50th floor when he learned of the last maritime theft three months ago.
If the ship really was transporting Vinturian military weaponry, today he'd probably throw the entire room through the glass.
Only the gods knew how difficult it was for Vinturis to share military technology with other nations, and how eagerly Interion's soldiers had awaited this first shipment.
Vinturis didn't like the idea of arming other nations with their one exclusive advantage.
Interion, Ampér, Drutes, and Yonser had elementals with considerable wartime powers, but the Vinturian population was mostly human, and their fae weren't powerful enough to pose a threat.
Their defenses relied on the power of their machines, contraptions, and devices, and although they were happy to sell their transportation, entertainment, and communication technologies, weapons were a different matter.
This created constant friction among the continent's leaders and pressure from Interion, which would be more than happy to spend all its money on the supposed metal-spitting technological weapons that, for now, remained nothing but fanciful rumor.
Δ
I arrived at the hospital half an hour early. Ambrose was standing at the entrance, smoking his cigarillo—a calming, highly addictive herb from the Drute forests that was somehow legal in the nation.
“Did someone fall out of bed today?” he asked.
“Fall is an understatement—I practically crashed to the floor.”
I smiled, hugging the doctor and planting a loud kiss on his cheek. Unlike Adele, who smelled of mint cigarillos, he smelled of herbs—a sweet, woody aroma that was distinctly Ambrose. He loved those cigarillos.
“Don't waste time—go put yourself out of your misery, girl! I already know the result, but I'd rather you see it for yourself.”
Ambrose waved his hands as if shooing me away.
But before I left, I took a closer look at my friend.
He had dark circles under his blue eyes and looked exhausted.
Ambrose had dark brown, straight hair, always meticulously neat—a trait of mixed ancestry he swore he knew nothing about.
He was tall with a lean, unmuscled frame from spending his days idle in the hospital.
“The sun just came up and you're already smoking. Rough week?” I asked, pausing at the door. He looked at me, each blink slow and lazy.
“Long story.” He shooed me away again with his right hand.
“I have time to listen,” I insisted, while Ambrose took one last drag of his herbal cigarette.
“In short, the patient in 068 has been giving us trouble. His injuries aren’t improving, and he’s stuck in this state between life and death.
” He stubbed out the cigarette and tossed the rest in the trash, gesturing around.
“I’m out here because Serguei is probing his mind for useful information.
On top of that, early this morning some victims of a wolf attack—or whatever it was, since it happened outside the wall—died on the operating table.
And to cap it all off, Lorenzo and I had a fight last night. So yes! The week has been abysmal.”
“Serguei?” I couldn’t register much after he uttered the name everyone avoided speaking. Serguei was in there? The king’s psychic, the most feared man in the nation—and one of my own people. I stifled a shudder, but Ambrose seemed to notice my discomfort.
“Don’t be afraid—he came strictly to observe the patient. He’s barely looked at or spoken to anyone since he arrived half an hour ago.”
The man didn’t need to look or speak to cause damage, and even though he was here only for work, I was still apprehensive.
People told stories about Serguei, and none of them were about heroic deeds.
In fact, they were the kind of stories that gave children nightmares.
After Ravena, his wife, betrayed Interion, he was forced to kill her in the tunnels beneath the city, but reports claim that alongside his wife’s corpse, he also left his soul rotting in the darkness.
They say the man who emerged from those tunnels was pure insanity and pain.
Serguei, consumed by grief, unleashed a wave of carnage that decimated 5% of the population.
This destabilized the economy and left hundreds of families in mourning, which is why all citizens of Interion knew and feared the man.
No one was stupid enough to get in his way.
“Did he discover anything about the patient?” I asked, trying to shake off those terrifying thoughts.
“We know it’s an unprecedented psychological condition. He’s trying to enter his mind, but hasn’t been able to yet.”
Another shudder ran through me, and Ambrose placed his hands on my shoulders.
“Stay calm. Just don’t get in his way, and he’ll ignore you like he did everyone else.”
I didn’t believe it, but I nodded, eager to go find out my grade.
We went through the entrance and walked down the corridors with Ambrose telling me how anxious he was for the day of my Sonar test, since he and Lorenzo thought my gift would score higher than 900.
I laughed at how incredibly high they were betting on me.
I didn’t believe for a moment it would be that high—my healing abilities were only good because I’d developed them since childhood.
When I finally reached the cafeteria, I saw it was packed with nurses squeezing and bumping into each other to see the grades. The bulletin board had become almost invisible behind them. I stood there, considering coming back later, but I was too curious about my grade.
“I can tell you,” Ambrose offered from beside me, also dismayed by the commotion.
“No, I want to see it with my own eyes—it’s an important moment. I want to savor it, whether it’s good or bad,” I replied, planning how I’d get in there.
“Good luck, then,” he encouraged me, making a chivalrous gesture toward the bulletin board, the path to which was swarming with people.
I ventured among the nurses and human medical residents.
This year, only Adele and I were healing residents, and each year the number of elmedics decreased, since Drutes—the nation with the most healers—had been banned from society.
Now, we had to hope the gift would randomly appear in other nations, or we’d end up extinct.
I started cutting through the crowd and could only think this was insane.
It felt like a fight for territory. They stepped on my feet, bumped into my back, but in the end, there I was between the bulletin board and the mob of crazies.
It wasn’t hard to find my name on the wall—it was on a sheet with only two names.
Kyller Voluz: 9
Adelevik Ivanov: 10