Secondborn (Secondborn #1)(31)

“Roselle, Roselle.” Desdemona Diamond vies for my attention. I shift in her direction, and she asks, “Is Firstborn Clifton Salloway your lover?”

Instead of frowning or scowling as I’d like to do, I laugh softly. “I only just met Firstborn Salloway a few moments ago. He very charmingly introduced himself near the door there.” I point over my shoulder at the silhouette of Clifton in the glass. He waves to the reporters. “And I could no more have a relationship with him or any other man of my acquaintance without violating a hundred different laws. The last time I checked, that was forbidden.”

Suki Diamond shouts the loudest. “How do you explain your appearance in his apartment, then?” The reporters crowd toward her.

“Firstborn Salloway was gracious enough to offer his apartment to us last night to prepare for this press conference.”

“Who is the us you’re referring to?”

“The team of secondborn soldiers who have accompanied me to the press conference.”

“How come you need a team of soldiers to accompany you while in the Stone Forest Base? Do they fear for your safety? Are you a target for the Gates of Dawn?”

“I don’t have an answer for that question. You’ll have to address it to the company commander or the admiral of the Stone Forest Base.”

“Do you believe that the Gates of Dawn were specifically targeting you in the attack on the Sword capital of Forge?” asks a dark-haired secondborn man with a small scar through the center of his top lip. He doesn’t look at me but holds an audio dictator out, reading its screen as it takes notes for him.

“The enemy soldiers were along my route to the Stone Forest Base, so to a certain extent, I believe they targeted me for the media appeal of the event.”

“How did you know they were enemy soldiers?” he asks.

“They had visors and helmets that were different from Sword soldiers.”

“Why would they attack you, do you think?”

“I don’t see this as a personal attack. I believe they wanted to do as much damage as possible and scare as many people as they could. My Transition fit that profile.”

The man looks impressed by my interpretation. “Do you have any insight as to how they entered the Fate of Swords?”

“No.”

“But if you had to guess?” he presses.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know.”

“Did you like the white flowers they brought you?”

I don’t answer right away. His question brings unbidden tears to my eyes. I swallow hard and look down at my ring, trying to look bored rather than shocked by his callousness. The platforms have grown quiet. The clicks of drone cameras are loud and rapid. When I’m certain my voice won’t betray me, I look up and give my best impersonation of my father’s fatal smirk. “I find calla lilies more appealing than roses. I’ll be sure to bring them some in return the next time we meet.”

The reporters swarm, understanding my meaning. Voices shout questions. “Will you deploy with the next wave of Swords to the battlefield?”

“I haven’t yet gotten my orders.”

“Did you witness the explosion that brought down the airships?”

I pause. “No. I didn’t witness an explosion. I saw one airship crash.” It’s a lie of omission, and it bothers me.

Most of the questions that follow I rehearsed with the panel of leaders last night. My answers are short on details and heavy on things I didn’t see. I drill through them quickly. Eventually Emmitt emerges from the apartment behind me, stops at my side, and says, “Roselle only has time for a few more questions.” Most of them are about my current uniform and whether I plan to set new style trends for secondborns and firstborns alike. I allow Emmitt to answer those, though he pretends that a secret Diamond-Fated designer had done the work.

The final question interrupts my thanking everyone for coming. “Do you have plans to see Clifton again?”

I groan inwardly. What is the fascination with my so-called love life? Do they really not get that if I were to have an affair with Clifton, I could be jailed or killed? I look over my shoulder at Clifton standing inside his apartment. He steeples his hands, as if he’s praying for me to say yes. This gets a chuckle from the men and sighs from the women. My eyes drift to Hawthorne’s. He looks worried. I face the reporters once more. “I don’t make plans. I follow orders.”

“Okay,” Emmitt says, waving to the reporters. “Thank you for coming today. You can pick up press packets from the Base Commander at the Warrior Gate. Have a pleasant journey back to your Fates.” Emmitt links arms with me, as if we’ve always been the best of friends, and we stroll to the glass doors. “Well done, Roselle! You were flawless!”

Hawthorne meets me just over the threshold. Re-dressed in his combat uniform, he has his rifle slung on his back and his helmet on his head, without his visor deployed. The downward slash of his eyebrows feels ominous. Angry-faced, he grasps my upper arms and growls, “We’re leaving. Now.” I let go of Emmitt’s arm as I hurry to keep up with Hawthorne. He marches me to the door.

I try to stop him. “I should say good-bye to our host and thank Emmitt and Clara for their help. It’s rude just to leave like this.”

“Move,” he barks. “That’s an order.” I stop resisting. My leather coat slips from one shoulder. We are at the door of the apartment in a couple of heartbeats. Emmitt blusters behind us, shocked by our lack of decorum. Gilad holds the door open for Hawthorne and me while Hammon holds the elevator doors and Edgerton points his rifle menacingly at some target over my shoulder.