“But what will happen?”
“I don’t know,” Joris answered. Then his eyes flicked to Wren. He lowered his voice. “But try not to be scared.” He tried to give a little encouraging smile.
But just then the door opened, and Joris snapped to attention. Three people strode in, followed by several guardsmen. The guards moved into a semicircle, half on each side of the dais with the chairs in between, while the three moved to sit upon the thrones: Hondo, North, Vye. The new High Council. Hondo sat in the middle, though from the arrangement of the thrones, it was hard to tell if that was meant to be a more important seat or not. It was farther back on the dais than the other two, which were angled slightly inwards. From where Wren stood, it felt more like he was at the focal point of all three. But there was still something inherently more intimidating about that center seat — where Hondo now sat. Vye was on Hondo’s right, and North to his left.
Wren tried to remember everything Swoop had taught him about commanding a room. He pulled his shoulders back, widened his stance. Looking at the three of them seated there, Wren was surprised to find he wasn’t intimidated. Before he had left, he would’ve frozen at a time like this. After what he had seen, after what he had learned, these three people seemed somehow lesser than he remembered. The adrenaline was coursing through his body, but he found it within himself to bend that nervous energy to his purpose.
“Wren,” Vye said. “We’re so glad you’re alive. We’ve been worried.”
Her kind voice took Wren completely by surprise. He’d expected an immediate confrontation.
“Where is your mother?” North asked.
Wren paused before answering. Swoop had always encouraged him to take a breath before he answered a question. “I don’t know,” Wren answered.
“You can tell us, Wren,” Hondo said. “It’d be best for everyone.”
“I don’t know,” Wren repeated. “I left her at the gate. With Swoop.”
“And the rest of your guard?” Vye asked.
“We came back without them. Because of the order,” he answered. Then, before they could ask another question, Wren pushed back. “Where are Aron and Rae?”
“They no longer serve on the Council,” North said.
“By whose direction?”
“Aron by choice, Rae by vote,” Vye said.
“And so you decided to steal my rightful authority?”
Hondo exhaled through his nose, a dismissive sound. It annoyed Wren. Hondo seemed small.
“You abandoned your post,” Vye said. She said it with a hint of sadness, like she was explaining to a child why he was about to be punished.
“At this Council’s direction,” Wren answered.
“At one member’s suggestion,” Hondo said. “You have to understand our side, Wren. Connor was dead, Aron hurt. You ran away. You left the city in chaos. So while you thought only of yourself, we had to take measures to ensure the security of everyone.”
Wren felt anger rising at the accusation, the twisting of facts to suit their purpose. But he knew there was no use in arguing. Truth would change nothing here. “Then why exile? Why didn’t you just call for us to come back?”
“To prevent further chaos,” North said. “Trust has all but disappeared within Morningside. If we took control and then handed it back to you whenever you returned again, the citizens would never know what to expect. They’d never know who was in charge or why. It was a difficult decision, but it’s for the best of the whole city.”
There were so many things that seemed wrong with what had happened. Unjust. But Wren had to remember why he had come back. It wasn’t to reclaim his seat, or even to understand what had occurred.
“I never gave up my authority as governor,” he said. “But I didn’t come back to claim it, either. I came back to try and save the city.”
Hondo let out a laugh. “From what, little boy?”
“My brother.”
“Your brother is dead,” said North.
Wren shook his head. “I don’t know how to explain it, but Asher is alive. I have to try to stop him. I need to use the machine.”
Vye and North exchanged looks, but Hondo sat forward on his throne. “Certainly not,” he said. “We know what your father could do with that machine. You will not touch it again.”
“Hondo, Asher’s gathering an army of Weir. I’ve seen it myself. And I believe he’s going to bring them to Morningside.”
“There is no such army,” Hondo said sharply. “Unless you bring it. There are serious charges against you that must be answered. You can’t escape them by trying to frighten us with children’s stories.”
“Is this supposed to be a trial?” Wren asked.
“It’s not a trial, Wren,” Vye said. “But we do have a decision to make.”
“Connor and Aron attacked me. They attacked my mom.”
“What happened with Connor and Aron was unfortunate. It was a mistake, to be sure,” Hondo said. “But was it a mistake worth their lives?”
Wren was at a loss. He hadn’t really expected the Council to welcome him back, but he had thought that maybe when he’d explained the situation they’d at least have treated it with seriousness, rather than dismissing it outright.
“It’s a difficult time, Wren,” Vye said. “We think it’d be best for everyone if you stay here in the compound.”
“You’re imprisoning me?” Wren asked.
“It’s not prison, no,” North said. “It’s for your good and for the good of Morningside.”
“It will be confusing to the people if you’re out with them,” Hondo added. “And it may not be safe for you. You are to remain within the compound until such time as we deem appropriate to release you.”
Wren stood in stunned silence as two guards came forward. They ushered him towards the doors where Joris was waiting. Joris opened the door, and they joined the two other guards who were still waiting outside. And the five of them escorted Wren away to his prison.
Painter sat on the flat roof of a two-story building, with his legs dangling over the sides, and watched as the final traces of dusk seeped out of the horizon. Night would soon be fully upon them. The air was cold and damp, but the clouds had begun to break apart overhead, and here and there he could glimpse stars flickering and glittering in the heavens above. He was deeply weary from the journey, but his mind was active.
Tonight he would just observe. He knew better than to let himself hope that he might catch a glimpse of his sister on this first night. Instead of going out to hunt for her, he had decided it would be better to watch the Weir first. To get a feel for how many there were, and how they moved. They had rarely shown up in numbers of late, nor did they regularly approach the wall of Morningside. But perhaps here on the outskirts, he would be able to study their movements and discern any patterns.
He didn’t have to wait long. There was an electric cry away to his right, not terribly far away. It sounded mournful and lonely to him, then. After a while he began to see them moving throughout the dark streets and alleyways below. Those were few in number, and if they had any plan or pattern, it was beyond Painter to decipher.
As the night wore on, Painter grew drowsy, and after a time, he scooted back on the roof so that his legs were no longer over the edge, out of fear that he might doze off and fall. He dragged his pack in close behind him and leaned back against it. He was still looking up at the sky when sleep overtook him.
Soon afterward, Painter began to dream that there was a shadow on his rooftop. Only it was darker than a shadow, and there wasn’t anything there to cast it. As he watched, it began to spread towards him, like oil pooling in only one direction. The closer it drew, the more it rippled and seethed, as if the shadow were actually a living thing. Painter was frightened and tried to crawl back away from it, but found he couldn’t move, couldn’t even cry out.