Traitor Born (Secondborn #2)(87)
Dune’s arms tighten around me. “That’s grief you’re feeling,” he says, “but there’s joy ahead for you. You’ve taught me what happiness is, Roselle. Not the distorted version of it that the world would have us believe—but true joy. Having you as a daughter is the greatest gift my life has brought me. You taught me what love is.”
I choke back tears. I love you, too . . . Father.
“We have a purpose now,” he says. “No matter what happens, we endure. And we never stop striving for what we believe in.”
Suddenly trumpets blare. It’s time.
Dune squeezes me a final time, then lets me go.
Spotlights illuminate the field, and the ceremony begins. Competitors parade through the arena to a heroes’ welcome. The applause is deafening. Clad in all-black fighting gear, the secondborn men and women slowly make their way around the field. Some smile and wave, but most appear as though reality is setting in. Tears stream. Trembling hands wring in terror. A few pause along the route to vomit.
The Diamond-Fated firstborn popstar Sarday, attired in a glittering evening gown, sings a heartfelt rendition of “Stay Alive for Me,” which her grandmother, also named Sarday, made famous decades ago. Firstborns sing along to the melodramatic song with tearful voices. A colossal holographic projection emerges in the air above the Silver Halo like a domed roof of light, footage of past seasons’ Trials, highlights of the more gruesome deaths.
A silver platform shaped like a diamond rises from the field, hovering up to The Virtue’s balcony. Reykin and I step onto it. Our images splash across the holographic dome. The crowd roars, but I don’t react. I already despise my part in this.
I vow to make this the last Secondborn Trials ever.
We face The Virtue, Grisholm, and Adora, seated on their garish golden thrones. Reykin and I sink to one knee. When we rise, The Virtue gives us a limp wave. We face each other on the hovering diamond, and the platform begins its slow lap around the arena, hemorrhaging rose petals in its wake. I draw my sword and ignite it, choosing the lowest setting. Reykin does the same. From the first thrust, it’s clear that my Star-Fated adversary intends to give these firstborns an exciting show.
In long, elegant maneuvers that play to the crowd, Reykin wields his energy blade, and I am coerced to retreat using a series of high-powered back handsprings. As I come out of my tumble, he catches me near the edge of the platform. I ward off his attack and counter with one of my own. “When were you going to tell me,” Reykin growls as our swords lock and our foreheads nearly meet, “that you agreed to marry Salloway?”
I let him lean into me, and then I pivot to the side, using his momentum against him. He stumbles past me. “What did you think would happen when my brother died?” I shout back. Our swords whine and blur, coming together in epic clashes of molten energy. We stalk each other in a circle, looking for an opening. “The Virtue wants powerful allies.”
We turn in spirals. Our swords fly together in sizzling swipes. Reykin breaks from me, steels himself, and then swings his sword at me in a two-handed arc. I crouch, barely keeping my head. Bits of my hair shrivel, burned by his fusionblade. I tumble back.
“It’ll never happen!” Reykin pants with a murderous glare.
We fight on, ever conscious of the platform’s edge. I find an opening and take it, making Reykin pay for his crooked left elbow with a thrust that burns his upper arm. The fabric of his uniform singes. The crowd erupts in adulation.
“Why does it matter?” I stalk him as he resets. “You don’t care, remember?”
Reykin attacks, driving me back. His sword arm is a golden blur, and I’m forced to take a burn to my thigh so that he won’t reach my heart. I wince, feeling the sting and smelling the smoke from my skin. I break away from him and circumvent his position. Lurching forward, I run at him, and Reykin simultaneously lunges toward me, his knee bent. Our swords meet. I step on his bent knee, intending to wrap my other leg around his neck, but he avoids the takedown by swiveling and pushing me up and over his shoulder. I tumble to the mat.
“Ahhh,” the crowd moans.
We’re now coming abreast of the Sword balcony. As we do, I glance at the Sword thrones, where three Census agents, two men and one woman, are seated. I recognize Agent Crow, slouched, his feet up on the railing. His long black leather coat seems a bit warm for the occasion. An amused grin plays upon his lips. The kill tallies notched near his eyes highlight the blue of his irises.
In his hand, a silver orb shines.
I’ve seen its like only one other time in my life: on my Transition Day.
And then he presses the button, igniting the Fusion Snuff Pulse.
Instantly, everything powered by fusion energy dies. All the lights go dark. Our swords blink out. Fear grips me. I tense, expecting the entire arena to plummet. It doesn’t. The colosseum isn’t fusion powered. Our platform doesn’t crash either. Both must use the same magnetic technology employed in gravitizers. Our platform continues its slow hovering path around the arena. Since I have a Salloway Dual-Blade X16, I flip the switch and reignite my sword with hydrogen power. It glows silver in the sudden darkness.
Anxious voices ripple through the crowd, and then a different glow begins to emanate. Silver light shines from the eyes of firstborns scattered throughout the arena, at first just a few, then more and more. Soon they’re everywhere. Goose bumps rise on my skin. The silver-eyed silhouettes seem to be in a trance, as if watching something the rest of us can’t see.