2. CHAPTER 2 #3
Disastrous. The Phaedra often labeled the Followers as terrorists, but the public never fully bought in. If they became an insurgent force, the Phaedra then had all the demand he needed to focus on them.
“She's a known fugitive who fled to the territories over a decade ago and has been living there ever since.”
Zayne nodded, struggling not to tense. “The United wants to use the underground churches to tear us apart from the inside out.” Mom needed to stop attending their services. “The Phaedra saw this coming.”
If the Phaedra hadn't driven the Followers to desperation, they'd never have gotten involved with the military. His obsession with destroying the Followers only bolstered their influence and reach.
“Yes. Recently we discovered the real reason Becka Rogers wanted to gain influence here in Ciondo.” His father met his eyes. “She's looking for her daughter.”
Dread churned in Zayne's gut, and his eyes stole to the observatory window, though from here he saw nothing but tall white walls. It was too late, wasn't it?
“It wasn't difficult to locate the girl once we investigated Becka Rogers and uncovered her real name.” His father set his whiskey glass down. The thud sounded loud in the quiet room. “Take a look.” He nodded toward the window.
They'd already taken the daughter, and Zayne couldn't help her now. He limped toward the window with the full knowledge that an innocent woman waited below. Still, he hoped he wouldn't see anyone, as if he watched a movie he knew the ending to and hoped for something different.
Dread conjured a feeling out of the numbness of Zayne's chest as he stepped closer.
A woman paced the room, young and drowning in the oversized prison uniform.
Shaky hands pushed red hair back from her face, her natural dusky highlights catching the overhead lights.
Green eyes he'd never forgotten searched the one-way mirror she couldn't see behind.
Green eyes brimming with terror. Eyes he knew.
The throb in his leg shot straight to his heart.
No. No, no. This made no sense.
It was her.
The woman who single-handedly threw the Phaedra into a week-long rage for co-opting his tale of magic and divinity. Her, pacing down below, swimming in an oversized prison uniform, captured and at the center of the most terrible plot the Phaedra had ever dreamed up.
Kira. Fucking Kira, of all people.
The air leaked out from his lungs, and when it was depleted, shock siphoned the oxygen from every cell in his body.
Why? First Edwards and now Kira. Why now?
Why now when he wanted to lie in the mud with his squad and die alongside them?
When it was all already too much? Why here in the Phaedra's clutches?
In the one place he couldn't save her from?
Damn it, not her.
“Kira Stiles,” his father said. “Daughter of Rebecka Stiles. Known alias, Becka Rogers.”
The weight of Edwards' body returned to his chest. Couldn't breathe.
“Give us full control over her.” His father stared down at Kira with the detached eyes of a man who'd spent his life destroying the innocent for the Phaedra.
“She'll trust you because you can never help caring. Use that trust.” That expectant stare shifted to Zayne.
“You must be strong and do what needs to be done.”
“Yes, father.” Zayne's voice sounded like it belonged to someone else. So calm and so cold. So devoid of the panic rampaging through his chest. “The Phaedra can always count on me.”
He'd never forgotten what Kira had done.
People rarely surprised Zayne, but she did.
That night, she used the PXI to etch her fire in the sky, writing her revolution in the color of blood.
Not the kind that trickled, but that gushed from deep within, from places best kept untouched and hidden away.
Kira bled her spirit dry for all of Kallum to see, and the dark of her blood burned desperately over the Phaedra's tower.
And now his father demanded that Zayne manipulate and use and crush her.
The Phaedra would wring the beautiful life from her spirit.
Zayne would never allow Kira to trust him. Though he'd never hurt her, opening her heart up to him was too dangerous with how cleverly their emperor schemed.
That meant sabotaging his own mission with the High General and the Phaedra watching.
His father clutched his shoulder, squeezing. “This is unpleasant work. I know you can manage, though.”
Rage melded with panic and dread in a dangerous brew that threatened his disciplined demeanor. He lived his life hiding in plain sight, expertly managing what others saw when they looked at him. A few minutes into this operation, and already Zayne felt like losing control.
No one could save Kira from the focus of the Phaedra's obsession and the most highly guarded prison in the empire, but he refused to accept that. Refused to abandon her to the tortured fate awaiting her.
Kira's eyes lifted to the observation window, and, though she couldn't see the other side, it felt like she peeled back time, tore his goggles free that winter night, and looked directly into his soul.