LUNA
Sawyer’s hidden note lies on the library desk in front of me.
Covered in carefully applied ink, it’s worn at the edges from frequent handling.
If there was ever an inkling of hope that this could be an innocent or nonsensical record of whatever numbers fly through Sawyer’s head, the highly meticulous handwriting squashes it. I’ve seen his scribbled handwriting.
For this, he took his time.
At least on the numbers. The doodled map of the compound is crude but straightforward enough. Unfamiliar paths have been marked—shortcuts, hidden routes, places that avoid watchful eyes. Useful information for the head of security, but the other side of the paper is what has held my attention.
A series of numbers clustered together in neatly written sequences fills up a third of the page. Only a few spaces separate the clusters, but each sequence runs too long to be a single word of code. Which means they must be entire sentences, but…
What does it say?
My head in my hands, I scan the digits as though I haven’t memorized each sequence already. It could be a simple shift cipher. Or a numerical substitution. But nothing reveals itself, no common letter frequencies, no basic transpositions.
They must form words. They must.
If I can just figure out which numbers correspond to which letters…
Another twenty minutes tick by while I jot notes beside the paper, my eyes moving back and forth until my head throbs and frustration builds.
A glance at the clock tells me I only have ten minutes before the horn blares for the ceremony. The execution.
I should thank Sawyer. Even absent, he’s a thorough distraction.
Sighing, I rub my fingers over the paper, the ink slightly raised under my touch.
Rain pelting the window is joined by a succession of lightning flashes and crackles of thunder.
The sudden light casts shadows that dance across the numbers, making them seem even more foreign.
I exhale sharply and push back from the desk.
I need water.
The hallways are quiet despite the storm, and I wonder if Father has sent the help away. He does that when he craves his privacy, but the house feels too still to imagine even him in it.
The kitchen is empty, dimly lit by the low embers in the hearth. I reach for a glass, fill it from the pitcher, and take a slow sip.
The flour canister catches my eye, its lid slightly askew, and I find my palms going clammy. I tighten my grip on the glass.
This morning when I baked bread for the Dregs, the lid was secure. Perfectly in place.
I’m sure of it.
I would never be so careless.
How could I—
A sharp breath skitters past my lips as I remember the scones. Father must’ve had the help make them here.
I set the glass down and press the lid back into position. It seals with a quiet click.
Better.
I exhale, shake it off, and turn away.
I’m outside before the horn ever blares.
Rain pins my hair to my neck and ears as I make my way toward the ceremonial platform where a dozen or so people have gathered, my father included.
He stands beneath two umbrellas that the Seraphs on either side of him hold, both of them shivering in their white dresses with only modest cardigans covering their shoulders.
I’ve always been told the Seraph role was the most admirable. To live your life committed to serving others is an act more selfless than most are capable of, so to be chosen for such a task is an honor bestowed not just on you, but your entire family.
The Keepers’ food is rich in protein needed to build muscle to protect the people.
The Cultivators’ food is mostly plant based, their bellies filled with the fruits of their labor.
The Nurturers eat the well balanced diet and portions of the children.
But the Seraphs… The Seraphs are permitted delicacies. Karo. Sugar cane. Pastries and breads and even wine fermented on the property. Apart from the Keep, their home is the most magnificent, designed for comfort and luxury to celebrate their divine purpose.
I’ve always believed they’re the happiest among us. Now, staring at the faces of the shivering women, I search for that happiness. That gleam in their eyes.
One must sense me staring because she meets my gaze. Her teeth stop chattering as fear widens her eyes and sinks her shoulders. She quickly looks up and adjusts the umbrella to ensure it’s covering Father properly.
It’s rude of me, especially considering the discomfort it causes, but I don’t stop staring as people gather in clumps around the platform. Usually there’s conversation, but all I hear is the patter of feet and slap of mud.
Aiden’s words to me sit heavily in my mind.
Fear doesn’t command loyalty… It just makes people whisper.
Time passes, and the crowd grows large enough that Father signals to a Keeper to retrieve the prisoner.
My stomach clenches. I don’t take my eyes off Father to watch as Aiden is led up the platform and forced beneath the noose. Father takes one of the umbrellas and goes to step toward the platform as the noose is secured around Aiden’s neck.
He’s going to give a speech. We’ve heard it all before.
The same words, rehearsed again and again, brandishing my brother’s name for all of his lineage.
I don’t think I can hear it.
I almost walk away.
But then I meet Aiden’s eyes.
My breath catches, rain pouring down my face while doing nothing to blur the image of him staring directly at me with a pointed look I read in an instant. It’s a reminder of our conversation earlier. A last wish. A demand.
I scan the crowd for his wife and find her at the very front, her face twisted in pain as she holds their youngest child to her chest. He should be looking at her instead of me. He should be saying goodbye.
I curl my fingers into my palms. Squeeze tight. “God help me.”
As my father steps onto the platform, I stride after him. I take the stairs in two swift jumps and nearly land on his toes as he turns. He rears back as he startles.
I turn to the crowd.
“Brothers… Sisters… The Chief Elder and I are saddened to welcome you here today.” Not a single eye drifts to the sky as thunder booms so loud, I feel it beneath my feet.
“Word travels fast in the Shadow Sanctum, so as you know, our brother Aiden committed a crime last night worthy of death. He aided the attempted escape of two of our prisoners, endangering our home, our livelihood, and our fellowship… Anyone who knows Aiden knows he was acting on my orders.”
Eyes pop. Heads turn. Murmurs rise above the storm.
“What are you doing?” Father hisses.
“Because I am his blood, my father has chosen to spare me,” I yell over the growing outrage. “Regardless of fairness or rightful wrath, he has proven himself to be a merciful leader.”
“Spare you?” a woman shouts.
Voices climb. A man toward the back bellows something unintelligible that several people grunt in agreement with. Meanwhile, Father boils beside me, too smart to contradict me. If one of us must be deemed a liar, it makes little sense that it would be me.
“And now the question stands… Should the mercy be extended to our brother, Aiden? A man who has given his sweat, blood, and flesh to the collective? Chief Elder has decided to forgive me. He knows I have righted my wrong, and I will never betray you again. He is uncertain if he can say the same for our brother, and so he asks you to decide.”
With a gust of courage, I meet Father’s vicious glare. Two months ago, it might’ve stopped me.
I gesture to the empty space in front of the platform. “Those who choose mercy, step forward. All voices will be heard. All voices will be counted.”
Aiden’s wife and children are, of course, the first. Another couple at the front who are Cultivators stomp forward as well, hands locked, heads up, eyes brave. Thorne steps forward and gives me a dutiful nod.
No one else is as quick. I scan the crowd as commotion erupts. One voice stands out among the rest. “They should both be hanged!”
A chorus of bellows rings out in agreement, but I focus my eyes on the front row. No one there will look at me. When another person steps forward, it looks physically painful. Slow.
Way too slow.
They’re scared.
“No harm will come to you if you speak out!” I’m not even sure if it’s true, but I know it’s important.
“Luna,” Aiden says behind me. A warning.
“Witch!” A voice yells as a rock is hurled onto the stage. I duck just in time, but it’s soon joined by two more.
“Demon!”
“Demon girl!”
Father steps out of the way. He watches with thin lips that show no eagerness to part.
Don’t be weak.
I force myself to still. A shoe hits me in the gut just before I can brace myself, my stomach lurching. As soon as I register the slump of my body, I snap tall.
“Regardless of your feelings for me, our brother’s life hangs in the balance of your—”
Another shoe slams into my raised arm, making me slap myself in the mouth and stumble backward.
“Traitors!” someone yells.
“Trai-tors!” another chants.
Others join in until it’s at least three fourths of the crowd chanting. The people at the front, including Aiden’s family, are attacked, and only Thorne is there to fend off the mob.
“No.” I cringe with my arm blocking my face as objects fly at me.
Every connection knocks me back a step until my heels hit the box Aiden stands on.
I hop away from him so he doesn’t take the brunt of what misses me, but objects slap him just the same.
He stumbles—body angling to helplessly protect himself.
They’re aiming for him.
I hurry onto the box to take the noose off his neck, but Aiden shakes his head, his face so much calmer than it should be.
When I tug the rope halfway up his neck, his knee juts into my hip. My arms flail, but before I can fall, he catches me with his bound hands.
“Stop.”
I grasp onto him when something hard hits my back. “Aiden, they’re gonna kill you.”
“I know,” he says, so matter of fact. So accepting. I don’t know why that would ever surprise me. “They should… You told them they could decide. Let them.”
My mouth opens. But the single-word chant—traitors—pounds in my head and robs my argument of breath. Accusations of my demonic origins break through the solidarity, and a useless thought ricochets through my skull.
Even Thorne couldn’t make them love me.
Aiden’s face softens. “It’s all right, kiddo…”
Let me be a martyr.
He doesn’t say it, but as the voices mute, clarity forms. And I understand. I understand why he forgives me. I understand why he did it. And I understand why he spent his last moments communicating his silent messaging with me instead of saying goodbye to his wife.
He’d already said goodbye.
“You got caught on purpose,” I realize aloud, my heart sinking.
For a moment, he says nothing. But then his lips curve into a sad smile. “Some things need a catalyst, Luna.”
I blink rain from my lashes as my stomach pinches tight with pain that drives all the way up my chest. My throat closes too much for me to speak, so I just nod my understanding.
I hop off the box and let the objects hit me. Welcome each shoe or glob of sand or metal watch. I meet Father’s vengeful glare only a moment before I shove the box from beneath Aiden’s feet.
The crowd roars as my friend dangles in the air, struggling for breath.
I close my eyes and force myself to stand like a statue on the podium.
None of the friends Aiden spoke of come forward in his name. No one shouts anything about the Chief Elder’s unequal distribution of forgiveness—though they're out there, probably outnumbering those truly loyal to my father’s rule.
Before my friend stops struggling and dangles limply behind me, I know for certain he was right.
My people are afraid of me.
But they’re afraid of my father more.