Those two simple words speak volumes to her character. She’s willing to face death on a mission that she’s not even expected to contribute much to, other than occasionally being the conscience of the group. But she’s here, by my side, a true friend, still trying to make amends for the sins of her parents against my family, or some such rubbish that she had nothing to do with in the first place.
“Thanks for coming with me,” I say.
“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Tawni says with a slight grin.
So it’s a suicide mission. I don’t know why gaining an understanding of the true nature of our mission has such a profound effect on me; I guess because I always expected to walk away from it alive. But now that I know, it gets me thinking: Did my mother know there’s a close to zero chance I’d survive?
“Tawni, do you think my mom—”
“She knows, Adele,” Tawni says tiredly.
She knows? But then how could she send me on such a mission? Doesn’t she want me to live? Her words from before: This is not a time for fearful mothers to hide away their capable daughters. It’s a time to be bold, to take risks. Your father trusted in your strength, in your abilities, and now it’s time for me to do the same. God knows I don’t want to. I’ve lost a husband already and my other daughter is in bad condition, but I cannot hold you back because I’m scared of losing you. You are a fantastically capable woman and I’m so proud of you, Adele.
She thought I was the one who could do it—that’s why she sent me, even knowing I would probably die. She thought I had the best chance to accomplish the mission before being killed.
That’s when I realize:
My mother sending me on this mission was the bravest act in the world, by the bravest woman in the world.
Chapter Six
Tristan
“Are you okay?” Roc asks me.
“I should be asking you the same thing,” I say. “Those soldiers were tough.”
Glancing at me, Roc says, “I don’t mean about the soldiers. I mean about Ram.”
I try to cover a twitch with a laugh. “We didn’t even like each other,” I say.
“I know that’s not entirely true,” Roc says. “Give me some credit.”
And I should. Roc’s perceptiveness is uncanny sometimes. Maybe he knows me better than I know myself.
Sighing, I say, “It’s just, I think we were becoming friends. Maybe even good friends, eventually.”
Roc nods. “He did what he felt was right. It was his sacrifice to make. A sacrifice that we all…” His voice trails away down the empty and endless tunnel.
He doesn’t have to finish the statement. That we all might have to make. The image of Ram’s shattered and bloody body pops unbidden into my mind, a hero in life, a hero in death. My friend? I suck in a breath and try to force away the ache in my chest. Another person I’ll never see again. Another person I owe my life to.
A bad feeling fills my gut. We can’t waste Ram’s sacrifice. Nor Ben’s. We can’t linger in this death tunnel, sure to be trapped and killed by the sun dwellers. We need to get out. I’m about to stop and relay my paranoid opinions to the others when sharp footfalls sound from the passage beyond us.
I extract my sword with a metallic screech, instinctively pushing Roc behind me, my flashlight beam disappearing around the shadowy bend in the tunnel.
I ready myself for violence.
A blade flashes before me, reflecting the light back in my eyes, momentarily blinding me.
Clang!
My opponent swipes my sword aside and my stomach drops when a leg sweeps behind my knees. I grunt when I contact the stone floor, but am already twisting to escape my enemy. But he’s quicker, barring my movements with a firm knee on my chest and a forearm on my throat.
Through my star-filled vision, a face begins to emerge. Roc’s laughter fills the silence.
My vision returns, and Trevor’s atop me, grinning from ear to ear, his face glistening with sweat. “Some protector you are,” he says smugly. “Good thing no real baddies attacked while I was away.”
“Get off me,” I growl.
“No problem,” he says, rolling off and to his feet.
Angry, both at myself for my weakness and at Trevor for making me look bad, I push myself up, cutting off Roc’s continued laughter with a sharp glare. I notice Adele stopped nearby, watching the scene with something between interest and amusement, her right eyebrow raised. Heat rises in my head and I have to bite back a thousand angry words at Trevor.
I settle on pretending like nothing happened. Classic denial. “Did you find out what’s ahead?” I ask through clenched teeth.
“Of course,” Trevor says. “While you were all merrily strolling through the tunnel, I was reconnoitering a few miles ahead.” He pauses, clearly enjoying the attention.
“And?” I say impatiently.
“And I’ve got good news. Just a couple miles down the road is the next subchapter.”
“Which one?” Roc asks. “Eight?”
“Sorry, I failed Sun Realm geography,” Trevor says. “You tell me.”
Roc looks at me as he answers. “I don’t know this tunnel that well, but I do know it angles northeast in the direction of the lower-numbered subchapters. There are two clusters, one that includes subchapters five through eight, and another for one through four. We’ve likely reached the edge of the first cluster, and therefore, subchapter eight. Does that sound right?”
He knows I don’t have his sense of direction, but with all eyes on me, I say, “Uh, yeah. Makes perfect sense to me.”
“But shouldn’t we continue on so we can get to the second cluster? We’re trying to get to subchapter one, right?” Adele asks. She’s looking at me, her expression thoughtful.
“We can get there on a train from subchapter eight,” I say, glancing at Roc for confirmation.
“We can,” he says. “Plus, if I remember correctly, this shipping tunnel curls back to the west and in the direction of the upper subchapters, so we don’t really have a choice.”
“Do you really think we can just hop on a train without anyone noticing?” Tawni asks.
“It won’t be easy,” I say, “but the celebrations tomorrow will only help us blend in.”
“Not tomorrow,” Trevor says.
I look at him strangely.
“Today,” he explains. “It’s well after midnight. Today is the Sun Festival.”
“We need to sleep,” Adele says. “There’s no way we can do this without sleep.”
I know she’s right, but the tunnel is too dangerous and—
“There’s a partially hidden alcove up ahead,” Trevor says. “I think we’ll be safe there.”
After the way he made me look bad in front of everyone, I’d rather not take his advice, but I don’t have a better option. “Okay,” I say. “Let’s go.”
Without discussing it, we all start running again, knowing every extra second of sleep could make a difference today. My muscles and bones protest with each stride, burning through my nerve endings like a lit fuse, but I ignore them as I have so many times before, like when I used to train in the presidential courtyards.
Pain is nothing. Words my father once spoke to me just after whipping a backhand across my cheek. It was the first time he ever hit me. I was only eight, but remember it as vividly as if it was yesterday. The sting of the blow brought tears to my eyes.
Pain is nothing, he repeated. Tears are weakness.
I blinked away the tears that day and rose to my feet, hatred for my father in my eyes. When my mother asked me how my mentor session was with my father, I wanted to tell her, wanted to ask her why my father would hit me, but instead I answered only Good.
He hit me eight other times in my life, each harder than the last. Until I turned fifteen, I didn’t know that he hit my mother, too, either because I didn’t want to know, or because I was too dumb or naïve to consider the dark truth.