Phoenix (Black City #2)

Phoenix (Black City #2) Page 36

When we’re not reading the diary, the three of us are huddled around the portable digital screen that Ash stole from the guards on the train back in the Barren Lands. The reception is poor, but we see enough to work out that there’s been more fighting in Thrace, but so far the Dacians have held the city. As we suspected, Purian Rose has kept his armies positioned at the most strategically important locations.

The bounty on our heads has also gone up to a hundred thousand coins each. Ash grins, finding that amusing, although it concerns me that everyone in this country will be desperate to turn us over—even a few of the rebels. It’s a lot of money.

Elsewhere around the United Sentry States, there have been more uprisings—this time in Niobium, Old Bay Town, and Ashfall. It seems our victory in Thrace has encouraged more people to join the fight, but all of these later uprisings have failed. We watch the government’s footage from each of the cities. All the captured rebels are hung from the ghetto walls, as a reminder to everyone of what happens to race traitors. At this pace the rebellion will be over in a matter of weeks. It doesn’t give us much time to complete our mission. I turn off the digital screen, not wanting to see any more.

That night, Elijah finds a bottle of spiced Shine hidden away in one of the cupboards. The boys drink—I haven’t the stomach for it—while we listen to music on the crackling radio, the stars glittering above us. Elijah shows us a traditional Bastet dance, which makes us giggle.

“All right, your turn,” he says, disgruntled.

Ash gets up and does a funny jig, which he claims is a Darkling folk dance, but I know he’s just making it up. I burst out laughing, as does Elijah.

“You mocking my moves, blondie?” Ash teases.

I nod.

He sits down beside me, and we kiss. It’s so wonderful to be kissing him again, to have his fingers laced through mine. I don’t think this moment could be any more perfect. I hope I can hold on to the memory of this night. As the temperature drops, Ash picks me up and takes me back to our bed and kisses me until dawn.

It must be around noon when Elijah’s voice wakes us up.

“Land ahoy!” he calls down to us.

We quickly dress and hurry up to the deck. It’s a beautiful day: sunny but not too hot, with clear blue skies and a fresh floral perfume in the air. The boat sails past a sheer cliff face hundreds of feet high and covered in twisting vines and lush green foliage. Colorful birds fly overhead, calling out to each other in beautiful song. The foliage starts to thin out as we approach Viridis—the “Vertical City.”

“Oh!” I say, amazed, as Elijah slows the steamboat so we can get a better look.

Built into the cliff face is a sprawling city, which reminds me of the famous favelas in the Southern States. The hundreds of blocky, rose-hued buildings with flat roofs are packed so closely together, it’s impossible to tell where one house ends and another begins—they all appear to be part of the same organic structure. Crumbling stone steps zigzag through the favela, toward the main city at the top of the cliff. What really takes my breath away is the waterfall that cascades down the middle of the city, spraying clouds of mist into the air.

“Pretty impressive, huh?” he says, smiling.

Once we’re safely docked, Elijah turns off the engine and lowers the anchor. We put on our hooded robes, collect our bags and follow him up the steep pathway through the favela, climbing an endless number of steps. My injured leg throbs with the effort, and we have to stop every few minutes so I can rest. Ash takes my bag from me and slings it over his shoulder, along with his own bag. The street is so narrow in places, you can touch the crumbling walls of the buildings on either side of you if you stretch out your arms.

Ash and I keep our hoods low over our faces, so the passing Bastets don’t recognize us, although they’re not paying any attention to us—they’re more interested in Elijah, who is strutting around like he owns the place. I suppose he sort of does—he is the Consul’s son.

The farther we go through the city, the more I notice how impoverished it is. Many years’ worth of graffiti is scrawled over the houses, quite a few of which are on the verge of collapsing and are being held up by the buildings around them. Paint peels off the doors and windows, and the sinking roofs have been crudely repaired with whatever material is at hand—cloth, sheet metal, wood.

Elijah leads us through a network of side streets and up more steps, until we reach an enormous plaza. The ground is made of thousands of tiny, colorful mosaic tiles, which form a dizzying geometric pattern.

Up ahead is a sprawling villa, made of the same rose-hued stone as the rest of the buildings in the city. It looks centuries old, its walls cracking and flaking; part of the west wing is falling down. It’s not exactly the embassy I was expecting.

“Home, sweet home,” Elijah mutters.

We enter the villa through the arched doorway into the atrium. The long hallway is cool and airy, thanks to the vaulted glass ceiling. On either side of the atrium are four closed doors, while directly in front of us is a set of large rosewood doors. I can hear voices on the other side.

The foyer is devoid of sculptures or paintings, but there are several large, freestanding cages around the room, filled with small red birds with thin, forked tails. They’re incredibly pretty, but they could be venomous snakes, given the way Elijah looks at them. The birds let out a terrible screeching cry as we walk past them, and Elijah quickly whistles a four-note tune. The birds immediately stop squawking.

“What sort of birds are they?” I say, my ears still ringing.

“Siren birds,” he replies. “We use them to alert the guards to intruders.”On cue, two Bastet guards rush out of one of the side rooms, their rifles raised. Both men are packed with muscle and are wearing matching outfits—dark pants, leather vests, black boots, and gold bands around their wrists—the exact outfit Elijah wore the night he turned up at the Ivy Church, which I find odd. They lower their guns when they see Elijah.

“Is my dad in the senate chamber?” Elijah asks.

One of the guards nods, and they beckon us to follow them. They open up the large rosewood doors at the end of the corridor, and we enter a spacious, airy room with arched windows and jade pillars holding up the vaulted ceiling, which has been painted to look like the sky outside. Hanging from the back wall is an enormous tapestry of the United Sentry States, which is old and out of date.

Around the chamber are a dozen armed guards, who have their guns trained on us. They’re here to protect the people sitting at the circular table in the center of the room. At the head of the table is a middle-aged Bastet man, with thick russet hair, full lips and dark spots down the sides of his face. There’s no doubting he’s Elijah’s father, Consul Bezier Theroux. He’s smartly dressed in a hunter-green tailored frock coat, with a copper and gold embroidered vest, white shirt and silken cravat.

Beside him is a beautiful but stern-looking Bastet woman, her long brunette mane carefully teased into ringlets. She’s wearing an amber-colored bustle dress, with delicate beading down the bodice. The markings on her face are much lighter than Elijah’s dad’s markings, and I’m guessing this is Rowanne, the Consul’s wife. To her left are three teenage boys, who must be Elijah’s brothers, based on his descriptions of them.

Acelot, the eldest and tallest of the brothers, is the spitting image of his father, with the same russet mane and fierce eyes. He’s dressed more casually than everyone else, in a simple white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, a cobalt green vest and black pants. His younger sibling, Donatien, is so skinny, he shrinks inside his expensive clothes. Finally, Elijah’s youngest brother, Marcel, slouches in the seat farthest from his father. He’s immaculately dressed, like the Consul, and is startlingly attractive, with lips as sensuous as Elijah’s, razor-sharp cheekbones and beautiful dark-brown markings down the sides of his face and neck. The whole effect is ruined, though, by the arrogant sneer on his lips.

The other nine senators—five men, four women—wear either frock coats and frilled shirts like the Consul, or bustle dresses similar to Rowanne’s, but in varying jewel colors.

Elijah bows. “Father, I’ve brought you Natalie Buchanan and Ash Fisher.”

Bezier gives Elijah an approving look. “I wasn’t sure you’d be able to persuade them to come. I underestimated you, son.”

Elijah beams, as if he’s been paid the greatest compliment. “Thank you, Father.”

Marcel rolls his eyes.

“It’s an honor to meet you, Consul,” Ash says, bowing slightly.

“The pleasure is all mine, I assure you.” Bezier smiles, but there’s something unsettling about the gesture.

“I don’t see your mother,” Rowanne says to Elijah. “Does this mean you’ve failed to retrieve the Ora?”

“Yes, but I know where it is,” Elijah says in a rush.

She sighs heavily, and turns her honey-colored eyes toward me and Ash. They have none of the warmth of Elijah’s. Hers are cold, calculating, just like my mother’s.

I nervously clear my throat. “Elijah asked us here to speak with the senate.”

“We’d like you to consider joining the rebellion,” Ash continues. “With your support, we can—”

Bezier raises his hand, cutting Ash off midsentence.

“We know why you’re here, but I’m afraid we’re not interested.” Bezier smirks at the senate. “As if we would ever side with the Darklings.”

All the Bastets laugh, except for Elijah and his eldest brother, Acelot.

I turn to Elijah. “What’s going on?”

He flicks a remorseful look at us just as the Bastet guards rush at me and Ash.

I realize now we weren’t here to persuade the senate to join the rebellion.

Elijah’s led us straight into a trap.

38.

ASH

THE GUARDS GRAB US, pushing us roughly to our knees. The bags fall off my shoulders, spilling their contents across the stone tiles, including my mom’s keepsake box.

“Get off me!” I growl.

“Call the Sentry guard,” Bezier orders.

“Elijah, stop this!” Natalie pleads.

He doesn’t look at us as he leaves the chamber, shutting the doors behind him.

I struggle against my captors, but they’re too strong. They roughly pin me against the stone floor.

“Take them down to the vault and tie them up until our guests arrive,” Bezier says.

“Father, must we really do this?” Acelot interjects. “They’ll be killed.”

“That’s not our concern,” Bezier replies. “It’ll prove to Purian Rose that we are loyal to him.”

“Until we get hold of the Ora, at least,” Rowanne adds.

Bezier smirks. “These two will buy us some time.”

The Bastet guards drag us out of the room. The siren birds squawk at us as we’re hauled across the atrium and down a flight of stone steps leading into the basement. I twist around to make sure Natalie is okay. She kicks, spits and scratches at the guards, even managing to bite the hand of one of them. In retaliation, he punches her, knocking her unconscious. Venom floods my fangs, and I thrash some more, but it’s hopeless.

The vault is cold, damp and dark, with stone pillars holding up the domed ceiling. A few torches light the chamber, casting long shadows over the walls and sodden earth. They bind my hands and ankles, then chain me to one of the pillars before doing the same to Natalie. She’s still unconscious, her head drooped. There’s a lump on her head where the guard hit her.

The instant the Bastets leave, I try and free myself, but the binds are too tight.

Natalie’s eyes blink open, and she groans.

“Where are we?”

“In the basement,” I say.

“You take me to all the best places,” she replies.

“I’m going to fragging kill Elijah when we get out of here.”

Natalie sighs. “I can’t believe I fell for his lies. I feel like such a fool. He’s been manipulating me this whole time, making me feel sorry for him, making me trust him.”

“He conned us both,” I say.

“What do you think is going to happen to us?” Natalie says quietly.

“I think Rose will have us tortured, then publicly executed,” I admit. There’s no point in sugarcoating this.

“That’s what I thought,” she says.

Time seems to pass slowly down in the vault. Every minute stretches into an hour; every hour feels like ten as we wait for the Sentry to arrive. I spend most of my time trying to free myself from the chains until I’m exhausted with the effort. It’s no good; the binds are just too tight. I let out a frustrated howl. We’re never going to get out of here. Natalie just stares off into the distance, subdued and tired.

“How are you feeling?” I ask.

“Not too good,” she admits.

The door to the vault opens and Acelot appears, carrying a tray of food. There’s some soup for Natalie and a glass of blood for me.

“What’s this? Our last meal?” I say to him.

He gives me an apologetic look. “I thought you might be hungry.”

“I’d rather starve,” I spit.

He puts the tray down on a nearby wooden crate and scratches the back of his head. He seems nervous. Acelot’s much taller than Elijah, but less broad in the shoulders. At a guess, I’d say he’s about nineteen years old. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, and his nails are bitten down to the quick.

“I’m sorry about this,” he says, gesturing toward our binds. “For the record, I don’t agree with what they’re doing.”