1. Chapter 1
Maryn
Iwas awake before I knew why. The air in the room had shifted.
Flat black eyes met mine less than five inches from my face.
A rattle started at its tail.
My breath caught. I held still, never looking away.
Under the covers, my hand moved slowly.
I snatched the creature around the neck and squeezed.
Diamondbacks weren’t native to Centrum, but they, like everything else that had survived the world war, had made their way to the last fertile place on Earth. After the war, only the bottom feeders had survived. And their predators.
Its tail whipped, body wriggling in my hold, but I held tight, moving on light feet to the kitchen.
“Mama, get a knife!”
She appeared, weapon in hand. I set it down on the counter; she swung, chopping it cleanly behind its head.
Its body coiled around the wound, a bloody trail following as it slid into the sink.
Mama grabbed a glass jar and I dropped the head inside, wiping my palm on the towel beside the sink.
Venomous fangs extended as it snapped at the glass, fighting to end its attacker even after it was already dead.
“Go wash up. I’ll take care of this.”
I nodded, kissing her cheek on my way out.
In the bathroom, I reached for the microbial cloth hanging beside the sink, wiping the blood from my hands until nothing remained. Water was too precious for this.
My hands were steady. My mind hadn’t caught up yet.
***
My rough nail, bitten down to the quick, scraped over a scab on my arm as I glanced at my mother. Her eyes were glued to the screen. The couch cushion beneath me had deflated years ago, the fabric worn thin at the armrest where my mother’s hand always rested.
Morning light filtered through the single window, gray and listless, washing out my mother’s orange throw. I turned just as Elias Hale leaned, looping a silk bow twice. Blue. They were always blue. The girl on screen looked elated. Who wouldn't be elated to be chosen by Elias Hale for the Rite?
Mama reached for me, hands wrapping tightly around mine. I looked at her. Her eyes were tired, wrinkles formed at the edges after so many years of worrying for me. She didn’t need to worry, though.
At twenty-one, I had time. The Covenant gave us until twenty-eight. Plenty of time.
I’d seen what happened to the women who weren’t chosen by twenty-eight. We all had.
But I had time.
Mama released my hands, standing and shuffling to the kitchen, stooping to pull out the black bamboo-handled teapot she saved for Mondays. Days when it was just the three of us. A day reserved for family—the Covenant’s reminder that the family unit was the foundation of everything.
The door to my parents’ bedroom swung open, and Dad walked in, smiling fondly at his wife.
She smiled back, and my heart warmed. There was genuine affection between them.
A true love match. His hands settled on her shoulders as she lifted the teapot, pouring three cups: one for each of us.
He pressed a kiss to the top of her head before accepting his proffered cup.
“Smells delicious, Elaine.”
Mama dipped her chin. “They had jasmine tea at the market. A special treat.”
I moved to stand beside them, and Dad’s mouth stretched wide. “Chess? You owe me a rematch.”
I grinned. “I’ll win.”
He laughed and patted Mom’s back as he moved around her to the table and sat. I joined him, and our eyes locked. The table was small enough that our knees nearly touched, a folding thing my father had carried home from a salvage market before I was born.
Mondays were my favorite for many reasons: no work, no errands, nowhere to be but here. But I especially loved when Dad was feeling clear-headed enough to play.
Under the table, my thumb found the rough edges of my nails, worrying over their bumps and imperfections.
The image of Elias Hale, golden crown of hair falling into his face as he leaned to tie a bow on girl eleven’s wrist, resurfaced. I couldn’t remember her name. Phoebe?
In the living room, the screen flashed. A recap of the week’s televised Rites.
Four of the other eleven girls Elias had chosen.
Sera Cannon was always first: her stats, her ranking, expected odds, news of her brother’s recent baby announcement.
A boy. His place in elite society solidified by that tiny screaming child.
The last one, the one they played on repeat, was Rakel. An upper-middle girl whom Elias surprised everyone by choosing so early.
Today’s choice meant he had only one left.
One girl to select before his Rite began.
Some men were quick about it; others took their time.
The president’s son had not wasted any. He’d made eleven selections in less than a month.
I supposed he had a duty to set the precedent for other young men.
The nation would be watching to see how the only son of our fearless leader truly felt about marriage. His every action would be scrutinized.
I didn’t envy him.
I studied her face on the screen as her stats rattled on in an excited announcer’s overly cheery tone.
I paused, hand hovering over my pawn. “Mama, turn it up?”
Mama touched the pad beside her, and the squeaky announcer’s voice blasted my eardrums. “That’s right, we got the meet-cute on camera!
This unlikely pair met for the first time over three years ago.
” Her staged gasp had me turning to see the screen.
On TV, Elias leaned against a wall of lockers, and Rakel tucked a dark curl behind her ear, smiling up at him, eyes full of adoration.
It didn’t look like a first-time meeting to me.
“Rakel first met Elias on campus when her dad, famed Covenant histories teacher Abel Cielo, asked her to meet him one afternoon. Coincidence?” A pause from the announcer. “I think not.”
“Get your best white dress out, ladies. There’s one chance left for a lucky lady to catch the eye of the most eligible bachelor in Centrum.”
I glanced back at the screen. Two announcers faced each other, barely containing their excitement. “I can’t wait to see who the president’s son chooses for his twelfth and final match.”
“Thanks, Mama. You can turn it down.”
I faced the table. Smile, Maryn.
Dad watched me, his eyes sharp and clear. Some of the tension left my shoulders. It was a good day, and I didn’t want to waste it.
“Maybe tomorrow morning we can go for a walk before work?” I slid my pawn forward two spaces, and his gaze darted between my hand and face.
“I have my eye on you, Angel. You can’t outsmart your old dad.”
He moved, watching as I studied the board. I tried to remain in the moment, but my thoughts churned.
“You let me have that one.”
I hadn’t meant to give up my bishop. But it didn’t mean the game was lost.
I smiled and made my move.