Secondborn (Secondborn #1)(91)

“You’re not common people—you’re my sister, Roselle!” His speech is slurred, his face is pale and drawn, and his lips have a bluish tint.

“I’m your sister,” I agree. “And this is my friend, Firstborn Salloway.” I gesture toward Clifton.

Gabriel sobers a little, his face darkening. “I know who he is,” he leers. “What’s he doing here?”

“Gabriel!” Hawthorne steps forward, placing his hand on Gabriel’s shoulder and holding him back. I’m struck dumb, staring at the man I’ve never stopped loving. “Let them go. You’re the heir to the fatedom, not her. Salloway will never be the Fated Sword, even if he has her.” Hawthorne’s words carry such scorn that I can taste the bitterness in my own mouth. I’m crushed by the weight of all the hours that I’ve loved him. I look away from Hawthorne and meet Clifton’s eyes. He stares at me, seeing everything, but saying nothing. “I’m ready to go in,” I tell him.

He leads me away from Hawthorne and my brother. I’m numb. I’m not even afraid when an Iono guard passes a wand over me and searches my clutch for weapons. Then we’re through the checkpoint, walking a line of waiting ambassadors, shaking hands with familiar faces. “Welcome home.” “Glad to see you back.” I just say “Thank you” and move on.

The farther I move down the line, the more plastic this world seems. I feel like a real woman in a fake world. No one truly lives here. They just exist, surviving like parasites off other people they look down on and despise. I don’t miss any of it, this oppressive regime that wants to cannibalize me. Something inside me burns. Something inside me rages.

Then I approach Mother. She’s a vision in a white halter gown edged with golden accents. A golden laurel rings her chestnut hair. Large bangles ring her delicate wrists. Her radiant smile immediately fades when she sees me next in line.

“Welcome home, Roselle,” she says, air-kissing my cheeks.

Father is next to her. I blanch. Outwardly, he seems to be the same handsome man I remember.

Before we can address each other, Mother demands my attention. “Roselle!” She’s aghast at my dismissal of her. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your . . .” Her chin points in Clifton’s direction. “What shall I call him?”

“My apologies,” I relent, hating this charade. “I believe you’re already familiar with one another. May I present Firstborn Salloway. Clifton, this is The Sword, my mother, Othala St. Sismode.”

Clifton bows his head in a formal nod of respect. “It’s an honor to see you again.”

“Firstborn Salloway, I hear that you’re into gardening.” Mother barely smiles.

“It has become quite a passion of mine,” he replies warmly. “Especially roses. I have a weakness for them.”

Mother cuts a dagger-like stare at me. “And what is he to you, Roselle?”

“He’s my gardener.” I step toward Father at her side. I look at his handsome face, thinking of my time in the hospital. It was a Salloway by my side, and before that, a Winterstrom. Not one St. Sismode or Abjorn came to see me.

Father looks at me as if I’m a stranger—and I am. “So, you didn’t let them kill you, eh, Roselle? Good for you,” he says with the same smug condescension and ruined humor that I remember.

“Thank you, Kennet.” I reach up and straighten the collar of his unearned Exo uniform. “I’m sorry you let them kill you, though. I hate seeing the grass that has grown over you.” My hand rests on his chest. I pat his heart. Then Clifton takes my elbow and we walk away in silence.

We’re shown to chairs at one of the front tables by the podium. I set my handbag down as Clifton pulls out my chair for me.

“I’m not sure how you survived here, Roselle.”

“Dune,” I reply.

“Where is he now?”

“The Fate of Virtues with the Clarity.”

“Sounds as if he can’t avoid danger.” He takes two flutes of bubbling beverages from the hovering tray as it passes by. Handing one to me, he clinks his glass to mine. “To danger.”

“To danger,” I reply.

Other guests are shown to our table, and we greet them cordially. Two are secondborn Sword soldiers from the Twilight Forest Base. They’re both receiving medals for discovering spies with copycat monikers in tunnels dug into the Base almost a year ago. I feel sick.

Hawthorne sits almost directly behind me, beside a tall, attractive brunette with a soft floral tulle gown that reminds me of a beautiful flower. I straighten in my seat. Gabriel steps to the chair across from us, yanking it out for an elegant young woman in an exquisite, crimson silk dress. Marielle Cosova. She’s a firstborn from a prominent Sword family. We’ve never been introduced. I’m secondborn. No one saw the point. “Why are we sitting with secondborns?” she asks disgustedly. She inches her chair away from the secondborn Twilights on her left.

Gabriel takes the seat beside her. “Because I want to see my sister,” he replies, lounging back into his chair, his arm resting on the empty one beside him. Dark circles shadow beneath his eyes. An attendant tries to seat someone in that empty chair, but Gabriel growls. “Find somewhere else to sit.”

Marielle slides a golden case from her clutch and opens it. Selecting a slender red cigar, she holds it between her fingertips, waiting. Gabriel doesn’t move to light it for her. He’s watching me. Clifton reaches across the table and ignites his lighter. Marielle places the tip to the flame, drawing on the cigar. Cherry-scented smoke wafts into the air as she leans back in her chair. She plays with a piece of her blond hair and studies him. “Clifton Salloway,” she says. “It has been a long time.”