Chapter 3
chapter
three
Ender
The sky rumbles, lightning cutting through the dark like a silver blade. Trees flash past the window in a verdant blur as I speed towards my future.
My gloved hands tighten on the wheel.
An engagement.
The thought is laughable. I never imagined myself settling down, but I should have known better. After all, I am the son of Malric Vale, the Supreme Director, who has been carefully grooming me to take his seat when his term ends.
The regime hadn’t always been in power. Before they established the Director’s Office, the Continent had been trapped in chaos.
It had been run by a long line of weak presidents who fought for states like a bad game of tug-of-war until it turned nuclear.
In the span of days, entire pieces of land had sunk into the ocean bed, and radiation consumed the ones that remained, except for one.
Bane Vale, my grandfather, and a coalition of military leaders who served the president of Foundry––now called New Foundry––had led the Great Coup, liberating us and establishing the new regime.
Statues of the old leaders were torn down, their names removed from the records, and the people were taught to view them as a distant memory.
Over the years, the Code was published and amended. And then came the establishment of the divisions, erasing the old state names. Military power increased, growing like smoke from a burning city.
The Council doesn’t approve of me as a candidate; they claim I am intimidating and menacing. That I am far too much of a soldier than a politician. So, the brilliant solution to this problem is for me to take a wife, to soften my image.
“She’s pretty,” Knox says, flipping through his tablet. “Nineteen. Likes cooking, dancing, and reading. A Common. Born in Division Eight, Oracle, to be specific. Mother was executed for treason and conspiracy,” he reads aloud.
His head is bent over the screen with fascination. His dyed azure-blue hair falls into his eyes. The silver piercing threaded through his brow winks under the light.
“Why did my father choose her?” I ask. “She sounds unimpressive.”
“She’s the High General’s daughter,” Knox says. “Your father must owe the old man a favor.”
I grunt.
Orson Warrick and my father are more reluctant allies than friends; both of them are curt and detached. And in my opinion, far too similar to breed any goodwill.
“You think she’ll like you?” Knox asks. “You’re not exactly warm and fuzzy.”
“We are not required to like each other,” I say. “Obligation comes before sentiment.”
Knox leans out the window, grinning.
“Sounds like you’re quoting the Code.”
The next checkpoint is 120 miles away. In a matter of a few hours, we’ll put this entire dreadful business behind us.
Knox sighs theatrically when I don’t respond, before he finally goes quiet.
By the time my truck rolls into the High General’s driveway, I am raw with irritation. I storm out of the vehicle and rap my fist against the door.
“You should’ve brought flowers,” Knox says.
I glare at him.
“Girls like them,” he adds defensively.
The door opens. The housekeeper’s eyes widen in alarm at the sight of me. He presses his fist to his chest, doing the customary greeting intended for high-ranking officers.
I step inside, boots tracking dirt across the white floor. There was no time to change out of my black fatigues, but it doesn’t matter; I’m not here to impress anyone.
“I don’t have much time,” I say. “Where is the girl?”
“I will summon Ms. Warrick right away,” he assures.
Orson Warrick descends the stairs in a midnight-blue suit.
His lips ease into a practiced smile under his mustache.
Silver speckles thread his raven hair at the temples.
I’ve seen him before, years ago, at one of my father’s dinners.
He’s grown a name for himself in the army.
He earned his rank in Division Seven when the Resistance had made its first appearance.
They had hacked our servers and spoken to the public, faces covered in masks, spreading their vitriol to the masses.
Warrick had hung the corpses of the accused on the watchtowers, and they floated there for seven days and nights. The crows had picked at their entrails, drawing their intestines out like rope.
“You’ve grown,” Warrick comments.
I’m taller than him. I don’t think he likes that.
“Impatient,” I end. “Where is the girl?”
He blinks before an unexpected laugh escapes him. He claps a jovial hand on my back and guides me into the sitting room.
“How was the journey?” he asks.
“Uneventful. This is my second-in-command, Knox Fraser.”
“Welcome,” Warrick says briefly, before turning back to me. “You must be excited to meet my daughter. Haven can hardly contain herself.”
“How delightful,” I say flatly.
Knox snorts, then covers it up with a cough when Warrick glances at him.
“Since you’ll be returning to the Forge, my other daughter, Mercy, was conscripted,” Warrick adds. “I was hoping you could take her with you. Since you live near the Forge and are heading to North Mire.”
My patience thins. I don’t want to ride in a vehicle with the bride herself. What makes him think I want to be saddled with a second girl?
“That won’t be a problem,” Knox answers.
The reason I drag Knox along is for reasons like this. To keep the peace. Without him, I would have ended up making an enemy of my future father-in-law.
Warrick gestures to a guard who hovers by the wall.
“Find her,” he grinds out. “The Commandant is a busy man. He doesn’t have all day.”
The guard vanishes. A few minutes later, a pair of voices drifts in from the foyer, tinkling like wind chimes.
“You go in first,” one says softly.
“No, you,” another says. “I look ridiculous.”
“We look the same.”
“Exactly.”
Two girls step into the room after they’ve concluded their bickering.
I blink in surprise. I hadn’t expected twins. Identical, nonetheless. They have long jet-black hair, vibrant green eyes, and olive skin. Loose bangs fall into their eyes, giving them an innocent look. Both girls are dressed in a matching powder-blue gown that brushes their kneecaps.
“Which one is mine?” I ask.
The girl on the left frowns. The one on the right stiffens, anger flashing across her face.
I know without a doubt that Warrick paired me with the difficult one.
Unfortunately, things rarely work in my favor.
That must be Haven.
She moves slowly like a prisoner making their way to the execution block. She lifts her head when she stands before me and meets my eyes. People usually avoid my gaze.
“Nice to meet you, Bender,” she says bitterly.
“That’s not my name.”
“Haven,” Warrick warns.
I glance at him. “Is she always like this?”
“No,” he says tightly. “She’s nervous.”
“Do not speak of me as if I am not here!” Haven exclaims.
“I don’t know if I want her,” I mutter. “This was a mistake.”
She laughs. A harsh, mocking sound. One that is completely unladylike.
“You’re one to complain. Your father had to buy you a wife. Do you know how much I cost?”
Her gaze jerks to Warrick.
“I know about the credit transfer by the way,” she says, with a poisonous smile. “Thanks for selling me.”
“We signed an agreement,” Warrick says through clenched teeth.
He leans in and whispers something in her ear. Her shoulders drop, and the fight drains from her small frame, but her eyes remain cold.
Whatever threat he issued had its desired effect.
“I don’t care anymore,” she mumbles. “Let’s go.”
She turns and storms out. Her sister is hot on her heels.
I nod at Knox, signaling him to follow them.
There is something off about those two. I just can’t put my finger on it.
“Is she going to give me trouble?” I ask Warrick.
“You’ve handled worse, I’m sure,” he says. “She will come to heel. She just needs discipline.”
“I am not her father,” I say. “Discipline was your job.”
Warrick doesn’t like that.
“I have friends on the Council,” he says. “I intend to put a good word in for you when it comes time to vote.”
The Council is an assembly of the eight division governors hand-selected by the Supreme Director, who, in return, pick the next Supreme Director, ensuring that the regime’s power is preserved and unchallenged.
Warrick’s message is clear. Quit complaining about the girl, and he’ll vouch for me to become our next leader.
As much as I want to tell him and his daughter to shove it, I bite my tongue. The repercussions from my father are not worth it.
“I appreciate your support,” I say with a forced smile.
He offers his hand, and I reluctantly shake it, before stepping outside.
A guard brings their belongings out a moment later. They are standard regulation-issue travel cases.
I’m surprised Warrick doesn’t watch them leave. But I do not blame him; the girls seem to be a handful. Especially, Haven.
Haven stops abruptly, arms crossed tight over her chest. Her sister lingers half a step behind her, hiding in her shadow.
Haven’s attention is fixed on the house behind her, jaw set as if she is resisting the urge to burn it down. I get it. The place is depressing, and this is coming from someone who grew up in a military institution for most of his life.
When Knox slams the trunk shut, the sound echoes, ringing with a finality that shakes the sisters. And they slip into the vehicle without a second glance.