Traitor Born (Secondborn #2)(86)
His expression grows grim. “Worry is a wasted emotion. We need to instead be vigilant. The Virtue is reckless for the sake of popularity, but I plan on making sure that, whatever happens tonight, we never lose the advantage. Do me a favor?”
“What?”
“When we’re in power, and someone gives us good advice, let’s remind each other to take it.”
We walk together, discussing our plans for the night. My arm tightens on his, and I can’t help worrying about what will happen the day that Clifton discovers my betrayal. I refuse to feel too bad about it, though. The Virtue and the Rose Gardeners have been planning my crash landing, right into their arms, for far too long. But I intend to keep flying.
Chapter 19
Zero Rise
Floating above the Secondborn Trials training camp, the Silver Halo gives the illusion of being hollow, like the one The Virtue resides in. It isn’t. Inside, it’s an enormous, bowl-shaped colosseum. Massive airships shuttle excited attendees to the venue. Glass gondolas the size of city blocks also transport crowds to the Silver Halo. I watch the spectacle from the safety and luxury of The Virtue’s private balcony.
This mezzanine is reserved for Clarities and their guests. Nine distinct balconies circle the Silver Halo, each named for one of the Fates and comprising an open-air balcony, supported by Gothic pillars, for the exclusive use of a Clarity and his or her entourage. Three extravagantly large thrones stand prominently at the fore of The Virtue’s balcony, one each for Fabian, Adora, and Grisholm.
Directly across is the Sword balcony. Blue banners with golden swords hang behind it. Normally it’s reserved for Othala, Kennet, Gabriel, and their guests, but two of my family are dead, and one is glaringly absent. But that’s not to say that the balcony is empty. Today it’s occupied by Census agents dressed in formal evening attire. They’re my mother’s guests, which isn’t going unnoticed by the masses as they find their places in the arena. People point to the Sword balcony and look to each other, wondering about the unique spectacle of Census agents in such a place of honor at the Secondborn Trials. The agents toast each other and sip from tall, fluted glasses as last-minute preparations are made on the field below.
Streams of firstborns fill the arena until nearly every seat is taken. I remain at the back of the balcony, near the rustling silken white banners adorned with enormous golden halos. I’m hoping to avoid Adora. She hasn’t noticed me, but then again, she might not notice much of anyone or anything. Her expression is dopey. She’s not entirely present, as if she has been given something to subdue her.
Clifton doesn’t let me far from his side. I’m not sure if he’s guarding me or if he just likes being near me. He wastes no time introducing me to The Virtue’s guests as his fiancée. He knows everyone. Everyone wants to be his friend. Every woman who gets near him wants to rub against him. Delicate fingertips touch his sleeve. Smiles grow broader. More teeth. Louder giggles when he smiles. I’m not sure he even notices.
A Diamond-Fated production assistant interrupts a rather pointless story that the saintly bank chairman is telling us about his excursion in the secondborn training camps. “Excuse us, Firstborn Salloway, Firstborn St. Sismode,” the assistant says, “it’s almost time for Roselle’s presentation.” He scrutinizes me. “We should get you closer to the front of the balcony. Is Firstborn Winterstrom here as well?” The man scans his moniker, going over a holographic checklist.
“I am,” Reykin says from over my shoulder. Attired in an all-black sparring outfit, he’s lethal-looking, his dark hair tied back in a knot, his fusionblade—the one with his family crest on it, the one that burned me on the battlefield—in its sheath at his side. My finger grazes the small star scar on my palm.
“Do you have a St. Sismode sword?” the attendant asks me. He eyes my white sparring outfit, settling on the hilt of the fusionblade sheathed on my thigh.
“I prefer a Salloway blade,” I reply.
The woman next to me murmurs, “Wouldn’t we all.”
Reykin’s jaw ticks tensely.
The production assistant gestures to the front of the balcony, motioning us forward. “If you two would just come this way. We’re going to start soon.”
“Go easy on the poor Star,” Clifton says, leaning down and giving me a chaste kiss on the cheek. Those around us laugh, except for Reykin. Clifton’s lips linger a bit longer than is exactly polite. “Show him what a Sword can do,” he whispers. “I’ll wait for you down by the field.”
I nod. “Please excuse me,” I say to those gathered around us. “It was lovely to meet all of you.”
As we walk toward the railing, the Diamond-Fated attendant gives me and Reykin last-minute instructions. “The sparring diamond will elevate from the field. It will latch on to the side of the balcony, and you will both enter the diamond. Begin your demonstration as the hovering platform makes a circuit around the arena. It will land in the center of the field at the conclusion of the demonstration. Do you have any questions?”
“No,” we both say.
Dune joins us. He hugs me. “I’m proud of you,” he says. “I know this is difficult, but you’re strong. You’ll get through it.”
Some of the devastation I feel is assuaged by his words. “I know this is the beginning of a new world,” I say, my voice hitching, “but it feels like the end.”