Secondborn

“Don’t be,” he says softly. “It has made me who I am. My mother was not able to have another child to take Aston’s place—they wouldn’t approve her for a thirdborn. We suspect it was political. We lost our place in the aristocracy. We had to earn our own way. Being an Exo-ranked officer doesn’t pay what you’d think it should. Fortunately, I come from a family that knows how to earn a living—we excel at it. It makes us undesirable to the current aristocracy, which receives large sums of money for no other reason than their names. They’re quick to do favors for me, though, if there’s currency to back it up. It’s how I was able to buy my title back, reclaim my family home, and become part of the aristocracy once more. The Fates Republic is paying less and less these days. This war is sapping their resources.”

“And building yours,” I reply.

“Ours,” he corrects me. “Don’t forget that I set aside currency for you in a secret account. I don’t just hand all of it over to your greedy aristocratic family. Your dinner this weekend at the Sword Palace will be celebrated with money you earned from me.”

My mother, father, and older brother are entitled to most of my earnings as a secondborn. The rest is supposed to go to the Fates Republic to support people like Fabian Bowie and Grisholm. It’s a completely corrupt system. I’m only entitled to a capsule in an air-barracks and three meals a day, and even that is subject to my commanding officer’s whims.

“Let’s not talk about money. It makes me grumpy,” I reply.

“What would you like to talk about?” He runs his knuckles lightly over my arm. I shiver at the exquisite feel of it.

“Agent Crow was here when I woke up.”

Clifton tries to look mean, but he’s too gorgeous to look threatening. “I will murder my security personnel!” he says angrily. “They were supposed to be guarding this entire place! What did he say to you?”

I tell him about our conversation word for word.

“I have to take care of this tonight,” Clifton grumbles, rising to his feet. “Don’t worry about Agent Crow. He’s not going to threaten you again.” Reaching out, he brushes my cheek with his fingers. “Please get some rest. I want to be able to take you home soon. I’ll see you tomorrow morning. We can have breakfast together.”

“Okay.” I nod.

When he leaves, I realize just how tired I really am. Snuggling into the blanket, I lift the white rose to my nose, sniffing it. One of the interior petals has a small black mark on it. I pluck it out, turn it over, and discover a message:

Hoping your head feels better.

—R.W.

Reykin Winterstrom. Clara has ties to the Gates of Dawn! Jumping out of bed, I hurry to the bathroom and flush the white rose petal. Returning to my bed, I search through the rose, but there are no other messages.

A gentle breeze stirs my hair. I open my eyes to the darkness of my hospital room. The windows that look out into the hallway have been shuttered so that very little light comes through them. I don’t remember doing that. Pushing up on my elbow, I notice the window on the other side of the room is open. The building across from me is mostly dark except for the light emanating from the explosions in the ad campaign. It paints my walls with orange, yellow, and red, dancing over everything, even me. A dark silhouette moves by the foot of my bed—an extremely well-built man stands there facing me. His outline is unmistakable, even dressed in an all-black jumpsuit with a black-knitted mask to hide his face.

“Hawthorne,” I whisper. He moves quickly, going to the open window. “Hawthorne! Wait!” He looks back at me. Silent. “Don’t go!” I plead. “I need you.”

He turns away and leaps out the window. He’s near the ground by the time I can get out of bed and make it to the window ledge. My hair tangles around me. Wisps of it slip from my bun as I lean outside, trying to get a better look at him. His gravity-resistant jumpsuit slows him down when he gets close to the sidewalk. Landing on his feet, he’s gone from sight in a matter of moments. I don’t know how long I stand there at the open window, but when I finally move, the sun is just coming up and shining between the buildings.

Chapter 22

Rose-Colored Crown

Clifton arrives midmorning and arranges for my release. Emmitt shows up carrying a highly stylized version of a Strato-ranked uniform that few real soldiers would be caught dead in. I hide the star-shaped device inside the calf of my boot. Clifton hands Emmitt an address. “Meet us here tomorrow afternoon. You can help Roselle get ready for her medal ceremony and accompany us to the Sword Palace.”

Emmitt looks like he just tasted the most delicious morsel of his life. “I will be there by noon!” he squeals. “Everything will be ready! Trust me!”