Rebel Born (Secondborn #3)(26)

The accusation leaves me feeling as if invisible letters sear into my flesh: M-U-R-D-E-R-E-R. I bridle against the label. “I tried to save Gabriel,” I snarl, “but he killed himself so he didn’t have to live with the monsters you helped create.”

“Liar!” my mother screams, her bloodless face now reddening and contorting with rage. “You were always so jealous of him! You craved his power. You wanted to be firstborn.”

“I craved his love—and yours! That’s my crime. I loved you both, and I bought into your useless propaganda—the role that you wanted me to fit into. But Gabriel never could stomach his. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t make himself what everyone expected him to be, and that ruined him.” My head still throbs with pain. It’s probably why I didn’t censor my response. I just said more words to her at one time than I ever have in my life. She’s stunned, but she gets over it.

Othala points her bony finger at me. “You never accepted your role as secondborn. You always had to try to be the best at everything.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t lie down and die like you wanted me to, Othala. It’s not in my nature.”

My petite mother springs to her feet. “Fate traitor!” she declares, venomous. “You stole my son from me! You butchered him!”

“No.” I shake my head. “He killed himself because he wanted me to become firstborn so I’d stop you!”

“Give me a sword,” my mother rails at Agent Crow and extends her hand. “I’ll finish the job you were supposed to do on her Transition Day.” When he scowls at her, she snatches at the fusionblade—my St. Sismode fusionblade—that he’s wearing in a sheath on his hip.

Agent Crow’s hand shoots out and encircles her delicate wrist, staying her. “Enough! Sit down, Othala.”

She wrests her arm away and staggers back, clutching her wrist. Then she whirls back at him like a cobra. The skirt of her red dress flares out, revealing her ankles. “I want her dead. You promised years ago that you’d kill her, but she’s still alive. Why haven’t you done it?”

Glowering at her, Agent Crow rises to his feet. “I said sit down.” His words are almost gentle until he barks, “Now!”

Othala quails. The only people I’ve seen raise their voices to my mother were my grandfather, my father, and Fabian Bowie. No one else would dare, until now. I expect her to have a meltdown. I’m wrong. She backs away, returns to her seat, perches on the edge of it, clears her throat, and stares straight ahead into the distance.

“Why have you brought Roselle here if you aren’t going to kill her?” she asks.

“I need to question her,” Agent Crow replies, sinking back into his own throne. “She has resisted integration. I need to find out how she’s doing it.”

“She’s obviously defective. You should execute her before she finds a way to destroy you, Kipson.” A slap to my face would’ve been kinder, but I steel myself for more of my mother’s vitriol.

The excruciating vise on my mind eases a bit more with every moment that Agent Crow’s attention strays from me. Another drop of blood slips from my nostril. I wipe it on my sleeve.

Agent Crow steeples his fingers. “You have no love for secondborns, do you, Othala?”

“No. And you have no sense of the danger my daughter represents, do you? She’s hope to these peasants that surround us, in Forge and beyond. They want her to rule the Fate of Swords.”

Agent Crow straightens in his gilded seat, his eyebrows slashing together. “There is no Swords, Othala. Swords was conquered. I rule here now. I’ve earned my power—unlike you, who simply inherited it. You’re no better than them.” He flicks his hand toward the gathered Census agents.

Has he turned against Census?

A ripple of uneasy murmurs comes from the council of gathered Census agents behind me, as if that thought just occurred to them, too.

Do they know he earned his power by killing his older sister? He’s a deluded hypocrite who can’t be trusted in any deal.

Agent Crow’s seething words have the magical effect of cowing my mother. Her attitude changes in an instant. With a tone meant to placate, she says, “I only meant to give you sage advice from my vast experience as the leader of a Fate. My daughter’s cunning and manipulative nature shouldn’t be underestimated. She plotted against me when I was The Sword, because she coveted my power.”

I want to scoff. I don’t. Bringing attention to myself is lunacy. I glance around, noting the weapons nearest me. They all hang from sheaths on the armor of Black-Os, who stand lifeless throughout the gigantic hall. The soldiers have been physically altered with implanted weapons—small versions of fusion cannons mounted to forearms, robotic hands, and legs that have arching blades instead of feet. Their numbers are such that should they all come to life, they’d be able to pile on top of one another and reach the water on the other side of the towering glass ceiling. And then there’s Cherno with his hulking body right next to me. Curiously, he has no weapon.

“Don’t worry about me underestimating your daughter,” Agent Crow purrs to Othala, his humor restored. “I still control Roselle. I’ll show you.” He pulls a small disc from his pocket and tosses it toward me. The device bounces on the floor and rolls. “Do you know what you’ve been doing for the past month, Roselle?”