New World Ashes Page 2

  His voice was flawlessly controlled when he spoke again. Kind, gentle, just flirting with cold. “Imagine my surprise when I was informed that a band of the exiled had actually managed to penetrate The Wall. And not only had those parasites managed to infiltrate my city, but they had killed several of my troops and were being lead by none other than my supposedly dead granddaughter. Disappointing really.”

  I wasn’t sure which he was more disappointed in—that I had acted against him or that I wasn’t as dead as he thought I should be.

  “You have come into my city, threatened my people and stolen from me. I have had people killed for much less, little girl.” He turned to face me, but I stared determinedly at the barren grey floor. Pressing the tip of his cane to my throat, he jerked it upward forcing me to look at him.

  “I have taken nothing from you—” I snarled, trying to disguise my rising panic. I knew almost nothing of this city. I had no bargaining chips here, nothing I could swap for my protection.

  Then he gave it to me.

  “Oh, but haven’t you? That child is not yours.” The tip of his cane pressed down harder, cutting off my airway as a dark shadow flashed across his features. Then he suddenly pulled back just a little, allowing me to suck in a desperate breath. “But unlike your mother, I can be forgiving. If you return what is mine, I will be lenient with you. After all, it would be nice to have my bloodline back at my side. We could be a family again.” He eyed me possessively.

  A young man in the corner shifted, drawing my attention. His eyes were filled with disdain as they focused on me. They were deep brown and despite their malice they reminded me of Mouse. She was the only one I had ever broken my rules for, the first person I had loved other than my parents. She was the sister I never had and the child I could never be. I sat in this very chair as my sacrifice to save her. She was what The Minister was asking for, what he claimed—like property—was stolen from him. She was my bargaining chip. My way out. At another time in my life, I might have taken that offer, but not anymore. He would never so much as lay eyes on her again.

  As I stared at the older man before me I knew—deep down—that he wasn’t lying. He was my grandfather. His blood ran in my veins. But regardless of blood, Mouse was more of a family to me than he could ever be. She and Triven were the only people in the world who mattered. And despite my selfish nature, I now would sacrifice everything to keep them alive—to keep them safe from the monster standing before me.

  The longer I stayed quiet, the more impatient he grew. The tip of his cane slowly pressed harder against my throat as he awaited my response. I could feel the bruise forming as my windpipe constricted further. I smiled warmly at him, batting my eyes before speaking.

  “Go to hell.”

  I only caught a glimpse of rage as it flashed across his face before the brass cane smashed into the side of my head. But in that instant before I blacked out, I took pleasure in his frustration.

  I DIDN’T KNOW how long I had been out, but regardless of the time, it was the pounding headache that woke me. It felt as if my head had been cleaved in two. A steady pulse beat in my skull. As I tried to roll onto my side, the pain flared, causing me to curl into myself in agony. I clutched my head trying to make it stop. There was a bandage just above my left temple. The flesh around it was raised and burning, the gauze sticky to the touch. I forced myself not to shake, scream, or vomit.

  I lay still until the pain eased, counting the seconds as I focused on my labored breathing. Even without opening my eyes, it was easy to tell I had been moved to yet another room. Whatever I was lying on now, it wasn’t the concrete floor of the room I had just been in, nor was it the high gloss surface of my personal hot box either. No, wherever I was, there was definitely some kind of mattress—if it could be called that—beneath me. Its scratchy material felt like sandpaper on my blistered skin. When the pain in my head finally subsided enough that I could open my eyes. I took in my new prison.

  The floor was coated dark grey and the walls were thick cinderblocks that someone had painted white. In the corner of the tiny room was a silver toilet. At the other end of the room was a hingeless red metal door with a slot at the bottom about a hand’s width high by two hands wide. I couldn’t see the hall beyond it. And as the small gap had an opaque sheen to it, I would wager a guess it was an electrified force field similar to the door I had encountered at the Subversive. Stick your hand in it, and you would get zapped.

  If I were to reach my arms out, my fingertips could just graze the wall opposite of me. The room itself was tiny. The whole thing was maybe half the size of my little closet in the old library. No windows. No vents. No electrified open passageways. They wanted to keep me isolated and blind. It felt like being buried in a cinderblock coffin.

  Good thing I wasn’t claustrophobic.

  Other than my eyes, I hadn’t moved an inch. But the tingling at the base of my skull alerted me to something. I knew that feeling. Six years of being alone, six years of constantly being on the run—on the defensive—had given me a sixth sense for these things.

  I was being watched.

  Feigning closing my eyes again, I looked up to the ceiling through my eyelashes.

  I was right.

  In the upper left corner of the room, just off the doorframe was a camera. I had seen many outside of The Wall in Tartarus. They were mounted in streets, falling off walls in decrepit buildings. There, they were old, fragmented and definitely not in use. But this one—while shaped a little differently from the ones I had seen and read about—was most certainly a camera and it was on. A tiny red light at the top warned me it was broadcasting right at this very moment.

  I would bet my life there was one in my other torture chamber of a room too. I had just never been able to see it through the blinding lights.

  They were watching me. They had been watching me.

  I closed my eyes all the way, trying to forget that others were still watching, others who never closed their eyes. As I lay still, I took inventory of my body. Old wounds still hurt. The shoulder I was laying on was tender from the healing bullet wound. Aside from the splitting headache, raw skin, and injured shoulder, my body felt drained. Every muscle ached from dehydration. My insides seemed to be withering into dust. Involuntarily, I licked my lips. They were still cracked and bleeding. If I was going to survive, I would need water. As if on cue, there was a grinding noise of something being slid across concrete.

  I peeked at the door.

  A glass of water had been pushed through the slot in the door. I felt a pang of relief, but didn’t move for it. They knew I needed the water. They knew they had control over my life. We both knew it. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t control some things. I used the last bit of restraint I had and closed my eyes again. Eventually I would have to drink the water, but I wanted to do it on my terms, not theirs.

  I lay still for a long time trying to think about anything except what I wanted to think about most—the ones I had sacrificed my life for. But the thoughts kept creeping relentlessly back into the forefront of my mind.

  Were they still alive? Did they make it out? And the worst, and most wasteful thought—were they coming back for me? I had never wasted energy hoping someone would rescue me. And despite what Triven had promised, this was not the time to start.

  Once again, I was on my own.

  It was strange how time moved since my capture. A part of me felt like it had been just hours ago that I had watched Triven’s face disappear into the shadows of that drain. But another part of my brain felt like it was a lifetime ago. Was it days? Weeks? Months? In truth, it was hard to tell.

  What if Mouse and Triven didn’t make it? What if I was holding out for nothing?

  I shook those thoughts from my head. No. They had survived, they had gotten away. I had to believe that, if not for them, then for myself. Without them, my being here meant nothing. It meant I had sacrificed my life needlessly and I couldn’t believe that. I surely would never have be
en careless enough to sacrifice myself if no good came of it. They were alive and I would survive this to get back to them. Mouse and Triven were my only excuse to live now, so they had to be okay.

  A bright thought sparked in my slow mind.

  They were alive...

  The Minister’s reaction had proven that. If he had them, then he wouldn’t need me. But I was still here. I was still alive too. He was going to try and use me to get to them. So according to reason, if I’m alive then they are too. The more The Minister tortured me for information, the further Mouse and Triven were slipping from his grasp. A strange giddiness flared in my chest.

  Grunting against the pain in my head, I leaned forward and took the glass of water. It shook slightly in my hand, the water sloshing in the clear cup. As much as I wanted to gulp it down, I hesitated. Normally, I would have sniffed it or just risked a fingertip taste, but they were watching me. This was a test, a challenge to look for weaknesses. For fear.

  I firmly wrapped my fingers around the cup and raised it in a toast to the camera. My mouth spread into a dry and cracked smiled as I put the cup to my lips and drained it.

  Challenge accepted. I’m not afraid of you old man.

  Bring on the torture.

  3. PAST LIVES

  I STOPPED TRYING to calculate time, but since I had awakened in the tiny prison cell I had received four glasses of water and one sad example of a meal. It looked more like vomit than food. I didn’t touch it. Instead, I spent the time reflecting on the man who called himself my grandfather.

  My head was slowly starting to un-cloud, allowing me to think clearly again. At some point I realized Fandrin had never once asked about my mother’s whereabouts. And the only reason he wouldn’t need to ask, was because he already knew the answer. Why waste time asking about my mother or father when he knew they were dead? Heat burned in my cheeks, as another thought crossed my mind.

  Did he have a hand in their deaths?

  The man that I had just met claimed to be my grandfather and then nearly cracked my skull open with his cane. If he was capable of beating his self-proclaimed granddaughter into unconsciousness, then was he not equally capable of sending a Tribe that apparently worked with him to kill his own daughter? Obviously this man had no problem getting his hands dirty—or at least asking others to do it for him. Bile rose in my throat at the thought of his blood also flowing in my veins. I shied away from that thought.

  Surely he was lying. It was just a coincidence we had similar features and he was using them to his advantage. Banking on the idea that if he told the poor orphaned teen that she still had family, she might cling to him and ultimately give him what he wanted. Too bad for Fandrin I didn’t actually need anyone. What I needed was for the other people I loved to survive—but me personally, I had always been my best when I was alone. Against the odds. Bring on the solitary confinement, it felt like home.

  I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. As much as I wanted to think about Triven and Mouse, it was a luxury I couldn’t afford. They were my one weakness and if I was to survive this—if I was to return to them—I needed to shut them out for now. There could be no pining over my lost friends, or worrying about their safety. They were alive and if I wanted to see them again, I needed to leave my thoughts at that. Loving them had made me soft and now was not the time for weakness.

  Just as I locked that allegorical door in my mind, the actual door to my cell opened. I didn’t move, but stared expectantly at the opening as if bored. I was surprised that the boy who entered was not much older than myself. He was striking. The lines of his face were nearly perfect. He had a wide chin and prominent cheekbones that were accented by a long straight nose and high brow. The only imperfection on his otherwise flawless face was a small scar above his left eye. His uniform was similar to the one I had seen The Minister wearing. Slim fitted, tailored white pants and a sharply cut jacket enhanced his already broad physique. Only one silver bar adorned each of his shoulders but several metallic badges crossed the left breast pocket of his uniform, beneath the same round badge I had seen on The Minister. This was an officer. It became apparent officers wore white. Soldiers wore silver, like I had seen in the streets. He stood straight with his hands clasped behind his back as his bright blue eyes looked me over. His jet-black hair was as equally manicured as his suit. Short on the sides with a little more on the top. He was clearly a high-ranking officer in The Sanctuary’s military.

  I instantly recognized him from the room where I had been interrogated, but at the time he had seemed of little importance. Just another white suit in a room filled with uniforms. Now, however, I realized I should not have overlooked him so carelessly before.

  “Get up.” The soldier barked. The loathing in his eyes was nearly palpable.

  I glared back at him unmoving. “What, the old man miss me already?”

  His hand flashed out with impressive speed, the back striking my cheek so hard it felt as if my eye would explode from its socket. I fell face first into the mattress from the force of his blow and struggled to right myself. I wanted to laugh at him, to make him feel insecure about his strength, but my head was pounding again and my voice seemed to be stuck in my throat. His fingers coiled around the back of my neck as he pulled his lips to my ear.

  “Say anything like that again and you will be dragged out of here in a body bag, Princess.” His lips grazed my earlobes as he spoke.

  Instinctively, I twitched away from him.

  I am not sure what it was about the “princess” that bothered me so much, but whether it was the connotation the name carried or the way he said it, I instantly loathed that nickname.

  “Got it?” His hissed giving my neck a sharp shake.

  I glanced at one of the shining silver badges on his chest. The round emblem had two rigidly sculpted wings at the bottom. Three disjointed rings that arched over the top connected them. Tiny words were engraved on each of the rings. Equality. Unity. Freedom. In the middle, a strangely shaped spire jutted up cutting the pressed circle in half. Beneath that was a simple sliver nameplate. The inscribed letters read R. James.

  “Yes sir, officer James.” I put as much contempt in my voice as I could muster.

  “It’s Major James. And when a Major tells you to get up, you get up!”

  Using my neck as a means of steering, he pulled me from the ground and marched me through the door. I only got a quick glance at the barren, all white hallway before a bag was once again pulled over my head. Simultaneously, shackles were clamped on my wrists. The black linen material was dense. I could just barely make out the heavy fabric as it flexed and restricted with each breath. There was no hope of seeing through the hood. I made a mental note to make better use of those few seconds of sight next time they pulled me from my cell.

  Since I couldn’t see, I counted. It was obvious from the sound of footsteps that there were five other guards walking with us. Apparently, they would not be underestimating me as I had hoped.

  We took a right at sixty-five and then a left at one hundred and ninety-seven. At two hundred and thirty-nine steps I was jerked to a halt by the shackles on my wrists. The cool metal bit into my skin. As my stomach dropped I realized we were moving upward in some sort of lift. One hundred and forty-two seconds later the floor finally stopped moving. I heard the feet around me move again and was rewarded with a barrel of a gun jammed sharply into my spine when I didn’t move forward fast enough.

  The sound of our feet was different now, the echo magnified. After thirty more steps, my hands were freed from their restraints and I was shoved into a chair. As abruptly as it had been put on, the black bag was yanked from my head. I recoiled against the brightness, blinking rapidly.

  The room was huge. Fifteen other soldiers lined the walls, including the boy that reminded me of Mouse. Three of the walls were solid white, covered with strange screens and monitors that didn’t appear to have any depth to them. Moving images of The Sanctuary streets flashed intermittently across
the screens. The wall directly in front of me, however, was made entirely of white beams and glass that bowed, curving sinuously into the ceiling. Beyond the glass I could see blue sky and a sea of beige and white buildings below.

  There were large, white marble tiles covering the floor and the sparse furniture was made entirely of translucent materials, including the ornate chair I was currently seated in. While it was warm to the touch, it looked like glass, its rigid lines obviously not meant for comfort. Even the large desk in front of me was made of some kind of clear material, though not quite as see-through as my own seat. Sitting on the edge of the desk was a silver plate filled with small sandwiches. I looked away, suppressing my growling stomach.

  It was easy to discern that all of this was a ruse meant to impress, to intimidate those brought before the great Minister of The Sanctuary. And while most would have ogled the room in awe, I appraised all of the surroundings in a matter of seconds while barely taking my eyes from the man sitting before me. His fingers were pressed to his lips as he studied me. I returned the stare, refusing to break the silence first. I searched his face, trying to find my features in hisor more accurately trying not to find them.

  He finally settled his hands into his lap and broke the weighted silence. “Our first encounter did not go exactly as I had hoped.”

  “Really? And I thought we were doing so well.” I slouched in my chair feigning an ease I did not actually feel.

  The older man’s face reddened but he held his composure. Sitting up a little straighter he spoke, “We are not barbarians here, but order must be kept.”

  Clearly this man believed his self-proclaimed aristocracy merited respect. I silently took an oath to show him anything but that.

  “Right, because cracking your granddaughter across the face is an excellent way to prove you’re not a barbarian. You’re just freaking Grandfather of the Year aren’t you?” I turned to the handsome stone-faced guard that had pulled me from my cell. “You should really get him a plaque or something. You know, so everyone knows how wonderful this man is. Hell, it might even make this place feel downright homey.”