“You have one chance to surrender,” I call out to the guards, my voice loud enough for the Trackers inside the building to hear. “Lay down your arms and come peacefully with us. If you refuse, we will have no choice but to respond with force.”
There’s a long pause, and I think the Trackers aren’t going to come out. Just as I’m about to give the order to storm the building, the access door opens. The Trackers file out of the city hall, flashing furious looks at me as they pass. The Dacians bind their hands and line the prisoners up in front of the ghetto wall. They’ll stay there until we decide what to do with them. I’ll leave that up to Neptune. This is his city now.
Taking their cue, Natalie and Elijah head to the roof of the city hall. I walk up the stone steps, disturbing the smoke spewing out of the broken windows. It whips around me until it’s impossible to tell where my robe ends and the smoke begins. I turn and gaze up at the camera, perched on top of the digital screen directly opposite me. My face fills the screen. There’s a splash of blood on my cheek, and the Cinderstone powder around my eyes is streaked and messy, not at all like the perfect makeup job that Amy always did. This is the real me. This is the true face of Phoenix: bloodied, battle-worn and wearing a torn black robe coated in ash.
Behind me, the two white-and-red Sentry banners flutter on the breeze, creating a stark and vivid image. I let it linger on the screens for a moment, so the whole country can see me. The square is so quiet as everyone waits for me to speak that I can actually hear my heart beating.
“This is a message for Purian Rose,” I finally say to the camera. “You thought we were defeated. You thought I was dead. But you were wrong. I am alive. I have been resurrected. I am Phoenix, the boy who rose from the ashes.”
That’s the signal. Natalie and Elijah, now on the roof of Thrace City Hall, cut down the Sentry banners and replace them with ours—a burning black Cinder Rose on a cerulean background. The flags tumble down the building’s façade. The message is clear: Mirror City is ours.
The broadcast ends, and the digital screens turn to SBN news, which is already showing commentary from a very flustered February Fields. Purian Rose must be in a murderous mood right now. I suspect a few Sentry generals will be executed for mistaking my identity at Iridium and causing him this political nightmare. Rose made such a show of me being “just a mortal boy” that his army killed, and yet here I am, alive and kicking. The rest of the country will believe I’ve miraculously been resurrected again. It’ll give them courage to fight alongside the rebels, knowing Phoenix, and the rebellion, will not be stopped.
The Dacians start moving the dead and wounded into the surrounding buildings, emptying Spice Square, and only then do I see the real carnage. Blood seeps down the steps, and everywhere I turn, there are bodies: Sentry, Lupine, rebel. It’s not quite the massacre at Iridium, but it is more death than I ever want to see again. Elijah and Natalie search the pile of bodies for any signs of life. Neptune wanders over to me. There’s soot over his craggy face and blood in his curly gray hair—some of it is his blood, some of it belongs to the guards he killed.
“Did we lose many people?” I say.
“At least thirty so far, and we don’t know how many made it off the Destroyer Ships yet. It could have been worse,” Neptune adds when he sees the anguish on my face.
He pats my shoulder and tells me he’ll take over from here. I let him. These are his people, after all. I silently walk across the plaza, looking for Giselle’s body. I spy her flame-colored hair underneath Jared’s corpse. I roll his body off her, then gently scoop Giselle up in my arms. There’s a bright red stain on her dress where the bullet’s torn through her chest. I’m surprised how numb I feel looking at her, but once the shock’s worn off, I’m certain the magnitude of what I’ve done will sink in. I killed her.
I carry her into a nearby tavern, which has been converted into a makeshift mortuary. Madame Clara and a few other Dacian women are cleaning up the bodies, preparing them to be buried. The old lady tilts her head up at me as I lay Giselle’s body on the table in front of her. A waft of Giselle’s rose water perfume fills the air, and Madame Clara clamps a hand to her mouth, recognizing it.
“No,” she whispers.
“I’m so sorry,” I reply. The words sound hollow coming from my mouth.
Madame Clara’s lips tremble slightly. She reaches out a hand, and I take it. It’s a small gesture, but it means a lot.
I kiss her on the cheek, give Giselle one last look, then go and find Natalie and Elijah.
It’s time to get the Ora.
36.
NATALIE
THE NORTH DOCKS are in chaos, with fires blazing and debris everywhere. The shell of the Destroyer Ship sticks out of the harbor waters like a strange sculpture. The water is strewn with dead bodies. I tear my eyes away from the scene. It’s one thing knowing there were people aboard the airships; it’s another thing seeing their charred remains bobbing up and down on the waves.
“We’re looking for a boat called the Merry Weather,” Elijah says to us as we hurry down the promenade.
We inspect the ships’ names until we find a lone steamboat anchored near a rocky outcrop. It’s a fishing vessel, with nets and hooks dangling from the sides. The words The Merry Weather are painted in perfect yellow calligraphy over the emerald-green paint. Ash tosses our bags onto the deck and leaps on board, before helping me and Elijah on.
Ash pulls up the anchor, while Elijah takes the wheel, since he knows where we’re going. He steers us out of the port, being careful to avoid the hull of the Destroyer Ship. I pretend the thumps I hear against the side of the boat are just debris and not bodies.
I’m relieved when Elijah puts the engines on full throttle and we reach the open water.
Ash wraps his arms around me as we sail away from Mirror City. Despite the devastation, it’s still beautiful. The cracked solar panels on the surviving buildings glint in the sunlight.
When the city is nothing more than a glimmering speck in the distance, I head down to the cabin. It’s small but functional, with a tiny kitchen area complete with table, a restroom that’s seen better days and one bedroom filled with a bed just big enough for me and Ash, if we squish together. I guess Elijah will sleep on the deck.
I drop my bag on the creaking bed and check my reflection in the small silvered mirror, curling my lip at the stranger who stares back at me. How can Ash want to be with me, when he knows I’m just going to get worse? My skin will rot, my hair will fall out, and I’m going to become a monster. Worry grips me again, but there’s no point getting upset—the cat is out of the bag, and we’re just going to have to deal with it.
The boat rocks as we hit a rough patch of water, and my stomach churns. Urgh. I don’t know how I’m going to stay on this boat for the next few days, but I don’t have a choice. It’s the fastest way to Viridis.
I rub my stomach, trying to ease the nausea. It seems to be worse in the evening. I rummage around my bag for one of Madame Clara’s herbal remedies and swallow a few drops of her gingerroot tonic. It helps a little. The door swings open, and Ash silently enters the bedroom, fire in his eyes. He knocks my bag onto the floor, scoops me up and lays me down on the bed, then slowly, teasingly, undresses me. He kisses me from head to toe, until I’m tingling all over. My heart is racing, and I want him more than anything, but we shouldn’t risk it. The night of our engagement was a one-off. We got lucky. I couldn’t bear it if he got sick because of me.
“I don’t think we should . . .” I bite my lip.
His fingers trail down my stomach. He’s not making this easy for me.
“All right,” he says, pulling the covers over me.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
He strokes my cheek. “Don’t be. It’s not important. All I care about is being with you.”I shift across the bed, giving him more space. He wraps his arms around me, and we nestle together, our hands locked. I’m never going to let him go again. The light slowly changes in the bedroom as we sail across the sea, turning from turquoise blue to salmon pink as the sun dips below the horizon. Dark gray clouds start to form across the sky. When I was a kid, I used to watch the sunset with Polly and my father while my mother worked in her office. I feel a twinge of sorrow, thinking about my mother.
“Ash, I’ve been thinking,” I eventually say. “I’d like to find my mother.”
“All right,” he says without protest.
Wow, that was easier than I expected. Searching for my mother isn’t the best use of our time, considering we’re in the middle of a war, plus my mother isn’t exactly Ash’s favorite person in the world after everything she did to him and the Darklings, but he understands why I need her around me now.
“She’s going to be devastated when she finds out I’m sick,” I say. “Especially after losing Polly.”
“It’s not going to be an issue, because I’m going to find a cure,” he says determinedly.
I don’t say anything. It’s a futile quest, and he must know that. There is no cure for what I have. My best chance at finding one was at the Barren Lands, where the Wrath was created, and there was nothing there.
“Maybe Elijah will let the rebel scientists do some experiments on him, work out how he’s resistant to the virus,” Ash continues.
I turn around to face him. His inky black hair gently stirs around his pale face, and there’s a smudge of Cinderstone powder down the bridge of his narrow nose.
“I won’t let anyone do experiments on Elijah, not after what my mother did to him,” I say, wiping the powder away. “He’s been through enough.”
“But—”
“No,” I say firmly, ending that conversation.
Ash doesn’t push it, although I can tell his mind is whirring, thinking of ways to save me. I let him. If he needs that glimmer of hope in order to get through these next few months, then who am I to deny him that? Hope isn’t a luxury I have anymore, but I want him to have it.
I shut my eyes, exhausted after such an eventful day, and let the boat rock me to sleep. I dream of Polly again, only this time we’re kids running around the mansion back in Black City. We’re playing hide-and-seek. I go searching for her, skipping down the corridors, but something is wrong. I can’t find her. She’s not under her bed, or in Mother’s closet, or in the pantry, where she usually hides. I start to run around the house in search of her, until I reach my father’s study. There’s a red rose painted on the door. Something warns me not to go inside, but I need to find Polly and win the game. My hand turns the brass knob, and I open the door and—
I start awake, shivering all over. The bed is empty—Ash isn’t here.
I don’t have time to really register this as I grab my robe and rush to the toilet and throw up, tears streaming down my face as grief grips me again. The loss of my sister keeps hitting me in waves. Some days I manage not to think about her much at all, but then I have moments like this, when the horror of her death—her murder—bubbles up to the surface again. I rock back and forth, crying, until the pain starts to subside. The one and only bonus of having the Wrath is that at least I’ll be united with my sister again soon.
When I’m able to stand, I splash some water over my face and then quietly pad toward the kitchen, hoping to find some food to settle my stomach. I hear voices coming from the deck above me and head upstairs.
Ash and Elijah are leaning against the railing, both looking out at the inky sea. They talk in hushed tones.
Ash sighs heavily. “I just love her so much, it’s . . .”
“Killing you, knowing she’s sick?” Elijah finishes for him. “I know how you feel.”
“You really care for her, don’t you?” Ash says.
“Do you blame me?” Elijah gazes down at the ocean. “Ever since she rescued me from those labs, she’s been on my mind night and day.” He sighs. “She’s never thought of me as anything but a friend, though.”
“I’m sorry,” Ash says.
“No you’re not,” Elijah replies, smiling slightly.
Ash tilts his head up to the moon. “I don’t know what I’m going to do without her. I already lost her once; I can’t stand the thought of losing her again.”
Elijah surprises me by gripping Ash’s shoulder.
“We’ll find a cure,” he says.
“And what if we don’t?” Ash asks.
“Then you know what I have to do,” Elijah replies. “It’s the most humane solution.”
Ash looks Elijah in the eye. He gives a faint nod of his head.
They don’t say it explicitly, but I know what’s just been promised. When I fully turn into a Wrath, Elijah’s going to kill me.
37.
NATALIE
FOR THE NEXT few days, we sail across the ocean. We hit a rough patch of weather on the first night, causing the boat to tilt wildly, until I’m positive we’re going to sink. Ash comforts me as I cling to the toilet bowl. This nausea is just getting worse, hitting me at all times of the day, making it impossible to hold anything down except dry crackers.
The next morning, the storm passes and the waters become calm and still once more. I even manage to make it out onto the deck to enjoy the fresh, salty air. Ash wraps a blanket around my shoulders to keep me warm, and kisses my forehead. Elijah pretends not to notice, although a flash of jealousy flickers over his face.
Ash spends the day reading his mom’s diary to me. He uses the photograph of his mom’s family as a bookmark. The picture is faded and curling at the edges, but since it’s around thirty years old, that’s hardly surprising.