Gabirel stamps the cigar out with his foot. “Stronger than you look,” he says, licking his lips. “I like that. The strong ones always break hardest.”
“Have fun trying,” she snarls.
“I believe I will,” he says, turning again. “Gentlemen, I’m afraid I must cut our game short. As you can see, I have my hands full. But please, take our female companions as a parting gift. Do with them what you like.” The others quickly exit the room, dragging the sobbing girls through the blood.
Nazirah watches the girls go, not wishing their fate on her worst enemy. She protectively holds her burned arm, already feeling the tender skin blister.
Gabirel addresses her. “Your presence in Mediah is no secret, Nazirah … may I call you Nazirah? I leaked your arrival to the public myself. Even here, you are a legend.”
“And whose fault is that?”
“Mine, I admit,” he taunts. “When I first sanctioned your parents’ elimination, I did not realize the consequences of that action. It was an oversight on my part, to feed an already smoldering fire. But I will rectify that error soon enough.”
“When you kill me.”
“Yes,” he agrees, “When I kill you, tomorrow morning at your execution. It will be spectacular, broadcast throughout the entire country. I’ve been trying to capture you for quite some time, you know. I’m sure you’ve realized by now that sending that fool Ivan through hell and high water to your little compound was just a diversion so I could get to you. You’re quite the traitor, Nazirah. But as they say … the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”
“Killing me won’t solve your problem!”
“Actually,” he corrects, “killing you solves all my problems. To the capital and our loyal allies, it’s an unfortunate means of justice … finally ending the vile grassroots uprising threatening our happiness. To the insurgents, it’s a brutal blow, destroying their symbol of hope and rallying cry all at once. It’s a win-win situation … except for you. Sorry about that.”
“My death won’t stop the rebellion,” she snaps. “You think I’m the only thing binding us together? All we have to do is look around! Poverty, famine, inequality, death … those are better rallying cries than I could ever hope to be!”
“Hope is a funny thing, isn’t it?” Gabirel asks. “Do you really think that, in the entire history of our nation, yours is the first uprising? It’s not. Many have come before you and many will come after. The key to quelling a rebellion is to kill the hope.” He points at her. “That’s you, my dear. And the rest will follow, like lambs lining up for the slaughter.”
“If you kill me, then you agree there’s no need to hurt anyone else?”
He laughs. “Look at you … bargaining when you have no cards left to play! No, pet. After your death, when the rebels are most vulnerable, we will attack. Those intermix in the meadow must go, followed by your backwoods brother and whatever other rubes stand in our way. But contrary to what you might think, I don’t want to spill any more blood than necessary. What good is a country with no citizens?”
“There would be no one for you to rule,” Nazirah observes. “No one to fulfill your quotas.”
“Exactly,” he replies. “The Medis have suffered terribly in the past few months, Nazirah. It has been most trying, explaining why they must ration their food, why there are water shortages, why their furniture is backlogged. It confuses them.”
“I bet it does.”
“You can see why your death is necessary.”
“And what of your wife’s death?” she asks, savoring the look of unchecked shock on his face. Even his bodyguards tense. “Was that necessary too?”
“Interesting,” Gabirel breathes, eyes narrowing. He inspects Nazirah’s throat more closely, noticing the bruises and bites. He touches one near her clavicle, making Nazirah shudder. Hand catching her chain, Gabirel slowly pulls out the pendant. Nazirah inhales sharply. “Very interesting,” he repeats. “It seems Adamek enjoys his pillow talk.”
“You don’t know anything!”
“I know you like to work that mouth of yours. No wonder my son likes you so much.”
Nazirah spits in his face. His two bodyguards look alarmed, but Gabirel does not move.
“Let me tell you something, Nazirah,” he says, smiling insanely. “The aforementioned reasons for killing you are all true, and they are all good reasons. But they are not my reasons. Do you follow me?”
“No, but I’m sure you’ll elaborate.”
“When I learned of Victoria’s indiscretion,” Gabirel continues, “that was embarrassing enough. But she kept it quiet, as did I with my own dalliances, so it was tolerable for a time. When I learned her lover was a dirty intermix, however, it was no longer tolerable. I had him killed, and then I killed her. It was a matter of pride, of honor.”
Nazirah remains silent.
“When Adamek turned on me for that decision, knowingly betrayed me, you can imagine how hurt I was. I gave him everything he wanted, and this was his thanks? Another brutal attack on my honor.” He grabs Nazirah roughly, growling. “Still, I would have forgiven him! He is my only son, heir to everything I own … everything I am! But the fatal blow was learning he had fallen for an intermix whore. And not just any intermix, no. You, Nazirah Nation, champion of everything I hate.” He licks the side of her bloody face, spitting on the floor. “You’re not worth the air I breathe.”
“You can’t honestly believe all that!” she says. “Even you aren’t that stupid.”
“I believe you are barbaric, dirty, poor, uneducated, and completely wrong for my son. But, yes, it is all circumstantial … contingent on the conditions we have forced upon you.”
“Then why not integrate us into society?”
“Because,” Gabirel says, “you intermix are a disease, infesting and breeding without a cure! You are the leprosy of the country. And you must be eradicated before becoming toxic to the entire system.”
“We’re already in the system, Chancellor!” Nazirah laughs. “We are the system! You’re too late.”
Gabirel grabs Nazirah by the chin and throws her to the floor. He bends over her, yanking her hair so their faces are mere inches apart. Nazirah cringes and he smiles. “Maybe so, maybe not,” he whispers. “But as I said before, that is not my reason. When I kill you tomorrow, it will not be a message to the Medis or even to the rebels. It will be a message to my son.” He straightens quickly. “Take her to the prepared chambers,” he tells his guards. “I want her well rested. She has a big day tomorrow.”
And with that, he’s gone.
Nazirah struggles to stand, slipping on Grum’s blood. One of the guards pulls her up. Nazirah looks into her eyes, hoping for some kindness. She finds only a wall. The guards take her through several hallways which she recognizes from Adamek’s memory. Nazirah is sure they’re leading her to a torture chamber. When she sees the actual room, however, Nazirah thinks she might have preferred getting the rack. Because this is torture of an entirely worse kind.
“The Chancellor thought you would enjoy spending the night here,” one guard says callously.
The guards exit Adamek’s room, locking Nazirah inside. Nazirah tries to wrench the door open, without success. She turns. It’s exactly as she remembers. Shuffling in a daze, she wonders if this is how Victoria Morgen felt in her marriage … in her life. Trapped, with no hope of escape.
Nazirah skims her fingers across Adamek’s bed, stares at his mural, and finally stands before his glass wall. She gingerly inspects her stinging cigar burn, now welt. It’s a fiery red circle on her forearm. Just like Cayus, Nazirah now has her very own badge of the intermix. She curls into a ball on the floor, close to the glass. She stays that way for hours, watching the tiny traffic, the lights blinking on and off. The sky turns twilight, then deep black. Nazirah fades in and out of consciousness. She fights sleep, even though her body and mind and soul are spent. Every minute that passes is a minute closer to death.