Everyone looks at Tuscany.
“The queen is very tired. And has a small headache.” I move to Tuscany’s side and guide her to one of the bunks, a girl bouncing from it quickly for her queen. “Lay down.” I cover Tuscany with a blanket, protecting her fragile state from their eager eyes.
Feeling anger bubble, I whirl around to confront the woman—my supposed sister.
“I let the king touch me, yes. It is my duty and my pleasure. That is my king. Your king! And the man out there fighting to protect your compound and you. What do you think will happen if they find us?”
The woman lifts her chin, proud. “They will kill us. We will go to heaven.”
I scoff. “I know nothing of your heaven, but let me tell you a story… They won't just kill you. They will keep you alive. Live meat. They will rape you, all of you. They will take little pieces from you day by day and rape you without limbs. Then, when you are no more than a head on a torso, they will kill you. It's not just a story. It's a fact. I've seen it. And my...” Tears fill my throat. “Your king is out there fighting for us. You will respect him!”
Tension zaps through the air.
“He has brainwashed you.” She grips her hips. “I just want to know you. I didn't want to give you away to be a... a concubine.”
I grit my teeth. “You're terrified. And angry. I will forgive your disrespectful words, but you will be silent now.”
Ana’s cheeks glow dark red, furious. “We are Silk Girls, not concubines. Our Trade is highly respected. We are highly respected. Things are not what you think. You place no regard on the collective of The Cradle, only on yourselves. We serve The Cradle. Sire serves The Cradle. You serve yourself.”
“I serve God. Not myself,” she corrects.
“Good for you,” I growl, and it does sound like a kitten-call. “Give him a rifle and have him defend us then—have him defend your king!”
She fists her hands at her sides. “Why do you think we even have a bunker? I will tell you. We built it after the first big raid that killed dozens of women and men and our priest! Turin of The Strait organised that raid on our community. An Endigo boy from the desert told me. He killed my mother—our mother!”
“And Rome killed Turin.” Tuscany’s voice soars from the far bunk, wrapping around my rage-fuelled body, squeezing me into coils of anguish.
My gaze softens when I find her sitting up, her words quiet, melodic, and pained.
“For all his crimes against humanity,” she says. “Sire avenged us all. Now, you will sit down and be silent. I order this of you.”
There is no outward sound, but I swear I still hear every girl in the room gasp before accepting complete silence.
“You can see them.” Han’s uncertain utterance kicks me right in the chest, demanding my attention.
I blink at him. “Pardon?”
“I would usually watch, but I feel I am out of my depths. Perhaps, uninformed. Naïve, even. You can prepare us.” He clears his throat, regret and humility sinking into his gaze. “You seem to be experienced. Mature beyond your appearance. If you think we need to prepare for a loss, you can watch the compound square so we can be ready when the hatch opens.”
My eyes widen.
With slow steps, he walks to a pipe. He swizzles it. It’s a periscope, similar to the one in the tank. My heart leaps into my throat, and I race to the cylindrical contraption fixed to the ceiling.
Pressing my eye to the blurry eyelet, it takes a moment for me to align my vision.
I finally focus and recognise the square, and every wisp of air expels from my lungs when I see the litter of Endigo bodies and Rome’s tank on fire…
Chapter Fifteen
Rome
Don’t kill the Common.
Don’t kill the Common.
It will hurt her…
It is hard to know the difference between the few Common residents ducking for cover under the riotous thunders of war and the unruly Endigo sprawling from their trucks in the dozens.
They raid.
They loot.
We hover in the shadows.
Pick them off one by one.
Kong and the small amount of Guard we have are worth ten Endigo with their corroded rifles, rattling off bullets from untrained hands.
Still, odds are one bullet will find a mark.
But she is safe…
That is what matters.
I duck behind the blazing tank, crouching with my rifle to my chest. Men are dying, their death groans and shots ride the howling wind.
The flaming military vehicle illuminates the wind-swept night, casting shadows on the walls, on the ground, distracting and confusing the Endigo. Embers spark into the air, flying and whipping in an almost ethereal wave.
I survey the area.
A man ahead of me.
In the crook of an arch.
Not Common.
To not give my position away, I come up behind him and knock him unconscious with the butt of my rifle. He drops. I step on his cranium as I stride forward, braced and ready for more.
At my left shoulder, rounds rattle off.
At my right, glass smashes.
Her…
She is safe.
Shifty figures gather in pockets of the shadowed compound, the lick of fire from the tank highlighting them every so often. Enough for me to count. One. Two. Three. Four.
Rounds run to my side, prefacing a screech from the sky and then deep, hysterical shouts—“Help me! Help me!”—that battle the wind.
Behind a brick pillar, I scout. I watch the terrified Endigo as he is lifted from the ashy abbey grounds by talons skewed through his neck. Odio hovers in the Redwind and jerks the body around, the heavy weight of it tearing along talon-made incisions, like popping stitches open at a seam.
Gory. Perfection.
The body drops.
Then the head.
Odio swoops for another.
That’s my good boy.
Pained whimpers hurtle from my left, triggering me in an unusual way; I wouldn’t usually risk my position to save one—one individual being too fucking noisy.
But for her, I snap my gaze to chase the sound, finding a woman scurrying backward on her arse as an Endigo looms over her, foaming at the mouth, knife spinning in one hand, his belt buckle unfastening in the other.
I dart through the shadows and approach him from the rear, using the muzzle of my rifle to skewer him through his fleshy centre. Blood sprays the woman’s face, and she howls in terror, drawing attention to herself.
And me.
Rounds rattle at my side. Kong is suddenly there, unloading bullets into an assembly of shady forms, but not before something hits the back of my leg, the side of my arm, somewhere in my shoulder.
I let loose a bellowing growl of anger—not pain. Too much adrenaline to feel pain. I whirl around with my body bulked to my full size and charge the remaining two. The advancing Endigo freeze under the sight of me. Upon them with a roar, I punch my fist into a dirty face, cave a skull inward, before lashing to the other, grabbing a throat and squeezing until a tongue and an eye pop outward.