Secondborn

Also by Amy A. Bartol

The Kricket Series

Under Different Stars

Sea of Stars

Darken the Stars

The Premonition Series

Inescapable

Intuition

Indebted

Incendiary

Iniquity

The Divided (short story)

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Text copyright © 2017 by Amy A. Bartol

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

Published by 47North, Seattle

www.apub.com

Amazon, the Amazon logo, and 47North are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

ISBN-13: 9781477848357

ISBN-10: 1477848355

Cover design by Shasti O’Leary Soudant

For Jason Kirk,

the lion-hearted poet of

“Two thousand heartless brilliant autumns odes.”

Onward.

Contents

Nine Fates of the Republic

Prologue

Chapter 1 Crown of Swords

Chapter 2 No Sudden Moves

Chapter 3 Fate Traitors

Chapter 4 Pulse Pummeled

Chapter 5 Mine Now

Chapter 6 In Census

Chapter 7 Moment of Clarity

Chapter 8 Exo and Ohs

Chapter 9 That’s Mine

Chapter 10 Intake

Chapter 11 That Newcomer Smell

Chapter 12 Detention

Chapter 13 Ugly Moles

Chapter 14 Little Fish

Chapter 15 A Beautiful Crime

Chapter 16 Where They Bury Me

Chapter 17 Shattered

Chapter 18 Flannigan’s Man

Chapter 19 A Serious Hat

Chapter 20 Sword-Shaped Heart

Chapter 21 White Rose

Chapter 22 Rose-Colored Crown

Chapter 23 Secondborn Traitor

Chapter 24 The Hand and the Heart

Chapter 25 A Rose Gardener

Glossary

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Nine Fates of the Republic

FATE OF VIRTUES

FATE OF SWORDS

FATE OF STARS

FATE OF ATOMS

FATE OF SUNS

FATE OF DIAMONDS

FATE OF MOONS

FATE OF SEAS

FATE OF STONES

Prologue

It’s agony and relief to watch my life end.

I’m not dying, though my heart aches as if it might. Blood pounds drumbeats through my veins. My temples throb while my mother takes the podium. Spotlights shine on us, burning away the gloom of predawn light. Pausing like a seasoned conductor before an orchestra, Mother waits for the applause to die down. She’s the consummate politician, serene before the gathered crowd in the courtyard. She surveys the cameras before her, knowing the effect her stoicism has on the citizens assembled beneath the grand balcony of the Palace of the Sword. Their hearts break for her—for a mother’s sacrifice. These are her supporters, handpicked to be here, to witness history.

The cool morning air teases a wisp of silky brown hair from the elegant knot at her nape. Navy-colored banners twist in the wind, images of golden swords flapping behind her in the breeze. She holds back a smile.

“Citizens of Swords and all of the Fates,” she begins. Her melodic voice amplifies over the grounds of her estate, the sound of it falling from the balcony like a stone, crushing the crowd below into silence. “Today, our very way of life is threatened, not only from outside the Fates of the Republic, but also from within. The destiny of our once-great nation lies in the palms of our hands, and never more than today—Transition Day.”

I’m unable to suppress a shudder. Transition Day. I’ve heard the words often over the eighteen years of my life. It’s the stuff of nightmares, what people say when they want to scare you: one day soon you’ll become a stranger to the people you love. A picture in a frame. I’ve always known today would come. I thought I’d be ready for it. I’m not.

Fine beads of sweat form on the back of my neck. I clutch my hands behind me so no one can see them tremble. My long brown hair blows in the wind.

“At no other time in our history has the draft been more vital,” Mother says. “We are embroiled in a fight to the death—a bloody civil war, brought on by the lawlessness of Fate traitors who would violate our very right to exist. We, the firstborns, must rule. It is our birthright to sacrifice our own for the protection of the Fates. It is an honor for secondborns to serve as champions in this proud tradition—to give their lives to their Fate and to the call of service.”

Her arm sweeps in my direction. Every eye in the crowd shifts to me. Enormous virtual monitors project my image. I’m larger than life on the screens. I have to fight to maintain a serene expression. The cameras see everything, and my performance will be critiqued later. Loyalty to the Fates above all else.