Secondborn

“You know what I thought about when I was lying in this very same bed,” he asks, “recovering from the wounds I received the day I met you?” He seems almost reluctant to apply the skin tone to my palm, as if he’d like me to keep my scar. “I kept thinking, ‘Why was she there—that girl with the perfect lips? Roselle St. Sismode is the secondborn to The Sword. Why wouldn’t they protect her?’” The skin gel is cool as he brushes it on my palm. “‘Who wants her dead?’”

“Why would someone want me dead?”

“I can think of at least two reasons, Roselle. The first is the fear of what you’ll do with the power you’d have if you ever became The Sword.”

“What’s the other reason?”

“With you dead, there would be very little reason to kill Gabriel. The alternate to your brother, if he dies without an heir and you’re already dead, is a man named Harkness, and trust me when I tell you that he’d be disastrous as The Sword. Now that I know that the Rose Garden Society exists, I’m leaning toward the second reason. It’d be easier to kill you than to take out a whole society of firstborns, with their rose-shaped pins and secret handshakes. If you die, the point of their club is moot. If you die, they lose their power.”

“Who do you suspect?” I whisper. My throat feels tight. I have my own ideas, but I want to hear his.

“It’s a long list, but the ones at the top are Gabriel, Admiral Dresden, Grisholm Wenn-Bowie, Fabian Bowie, and Othala St. Sismode.”

“Admiral Dresden does nothing without my mother’s approval.”

“I know. The order to send you to the front line had to come from Othala. Whether or not it originated with her is the only question. She’d have to know about it either way.”

“So my mother wants me dead for sure.”

“Does that surprise you?” He sets the laser on the bedside table. “Your death would serve two purposes: protecting Gabriel and making you a martyr in the fight against the Gates of Dawn.”

The sting of betrayal burns. “You must be so disappointed,” I mutter, a hitch in my voice.

Reykin moves closer. “I’m not disappointed.” He touches my hair, stroking it. “Othala might be having trouble getting to you, but like you said, your arms dealer is a very powerful man. He has more connections within the ranks of secondborn Sword soldiers than even your mother, because she doesn’t bother to pay for information. She expects loyalty. He’s more practical and has the resources to back it up. Your arms dealer is an excellent ally, but he’s also a very serious enemy should you cross him in the future.”

“You mean that if I decide to change things for secondborns, he would resist those changes?”

“That’s precisely what I mean, Roselle.”

“Answer a question for me, Reykin. What’s the difference between the Gates of Dawn and the Rose Garden Society? It’s my understanding that you both want me to be The Sword.”

“Ah, there’s a world of difference there. The Gates of Dawn want change. We want the destruction of the Fates. We want to live, work, and love as we see fit. Have you ever asked yourself why you have to be a soldier? Would you have chosen it for yourself or would you have become something else if given the freedom to do so? And why are you made to support firstborns? It’s not your destiny, it’s their greed.”

“But you’re firstborn.”

“I am, but I was raised not to let that go to my head,” he replies.

“So you see me as someone who can one day bring about the destruction of the Fates?”

“Yes, with you as a leader, we’d have a chance to topple the Fates Republic and form a new system of government.”

“And the Rose Garden Society?” I ask.

“They want things to remain the same—a Fate-based system with a formidable ruler—only I suspect they have aspirations for power that go beyond what they lead others to believe.”

“What other aspirations?”

His stare is piercing. “On the surface, they speak of maintaining a dominant military hold over the Fates. They see Gabriel as weak—and he is. You’d make a more competent commander.”

He bows his head over my hand and continues to work on my palm, filling in the scar with regenerative cells. “What do you want most, Reykin?” I whisper.

A vengeful glint enters his eyes. “That’s very simple, Roselle. I want the complete and utter decimation of Census.”

Finally, something upon which we can both agree.

He finishes his work on my palm, and then checks his timepiece. “If you insist on leaving Stars tonight, we’ll have to go now.” I wipe my face with the compress and wearily set it aside. Reykin rises from the bed and helps me to stand. “You have to meet a ship at the docks in Brixon.”

“Will I be recognized?”