no luck, her eyes wide in panic as oxygen-deprivation gripped her.
“Just breathe,” he said as he continued to hold her head with one hand and squeeze her shoulder with the other.
In a moment, it passed. Air coursed into her lungs but made no improvement on her mood.
Instead, she pulled from Rowen’s grip and tried to push him away.
He must have known she would.
Rowen tilted his hips onto hers and used his weight to pin her to the ground.
Mable’s arms flew but were quickly wrangled at the wrists. Trapped like an animal, she fought against him, knowing she would never win a fight against his strong arms.
She bucked her hips and attempted to get him off her, to improve her position. Rowen’s hands pressed her wrists harder into the stone. “Just stop it. Damn. Just listen!”
Mable went still at once, unaccustomed to hearing such a desperate tone from him.
Satisfied he had her attention, Rowen lowered his voice. “Katherine’s son stands to inherit a powerful and independent city, exactly as she’s always planned. But she needs you to do it, and the other defectors won’t take kindly to Dark leadership based on defector talent.”
She tried to get free of him and failed again.
“Why do you have to be so difficult?” he asked harshly. He huffed an angry breath before continuing, his voice considerably softer. “He’s slime. He’s a disgusting urchin, even for one of them.”
She could feel the pounding of his chest against hers.
“You think I don’t know that?” she finally answered, too furious to maintain her silence.
“I think you underestimate Katherine. She’s exceptionally smart. She understands this city in a way neither of us ever will. If you stay here, it’s because she allows it.” Rowen sighed and leaned in close, whispering, “I think she understands that you’re different, that you’re special.”
Her pulse raced so loud she was sure he would hear.
Mable pushed against him with no success.
“Stop! God damn, you’re a pain.” At last, he loosened his grip and lifted off her.
She could hear his steps, pacing back and forth in the small cave where they held their matches. “If you want me to get you out of here, you know I can. You just have to tell me what you want.”
Mable propped herself up on her elbows and tried to think of what to say. What did she want?
When she didn’t answer, he said, “You don’t belong with a Dark One. You belong with one of your own—” Then Rowen disappeared into the dark, the sound of his feet disappearing down the lightless corridor.
THEO
LANCASTER CENTRAL HALL, LANCASTER, NORTH AMERICA
AUGUST 7, 2232
Black robes draped over his shoulders as he waited in line at Lancaster Central Hall. His hair was pulled back against his neck, the last time he would ever wear it long. The ceremonial cap on his head made him feel like a child.
A half dozen other Youths stood before him in identical robes and caps, though he could tell no other Scholars were present. He had a good six inches over them all, courtesy of his superior genetics.
As much as everyone claimed they couldn’t tell one from another, that all Youths were blank slates free to choose as they wanted, Theo knew better. A Craftsman was as different from an Artisan as an Artisan from a Scholar. They looked different, acted different. Even in identical uniforms for Selection, he could easily identify their class.
The ceremony would only make it official.
The others chatted easily, excitedly even. There was a definite buzz in the air, a newfound electricity. Theo found his hand tapping against his leg.
He wanted to get it over with.
At a table to the right, a balding man handed each a transparent card before they walked through a curtain, though Theo didn’t know why.
He checked his wristlet a dozen times, watching the digital clock slowly tick the minutes away, each one lasting an hour. He commed Nate but was less than surprised when he didn’t get an
“Just breathe,” he said as he continued to hold her head with one hand and squeeze her shoulder with the other.
In a moment, it passed. Air coursed into her lungs but made no improvement on her mood.
Instead, she pulled from Rowen’s grip and tried to push him away.
He must have known she would.
Rowen tilted his hips onto hers and used his weight to pin her to the ground.
Mable’s arms flew but were quickly wrangled at the wrists. Trapped like an animal, she fought against him, knowing she would never win a fight against his strong arms.
She bucked her hips and attempted to get him off her, to improve her position. Rowen’s hands pressed her wrists harder into the stone. “Just stop it. Damn. Just listen!”
Mable went still at once, unaccustomed to hearing such a desperate tone from him.
Satisfied he had her attention, Rowen lowered his voice. “Katherine’s son stands to inherit a powerful and independent city, exactly as she’s always planned. But she needs you to do it, and the other defectors won’t take kindly to Dark leadership based on defector talent.”
She tried to get free of him and failed again.
“Why do you have to be so difficult?” he asked harshly. He huffed an angry breath before continuing, his voice considerably softer. “He’s slime. He’s a disgusting urchin, even for one of them.”
She could feel the pounding of his chest against hers.
“You think I don’t know that?” she finally answered, too furious to maintain her silence.
“I think you underestimate Katherine. She’s exceptionally smart. She understands this city in a way neither of us ever will. If you stay here, it’s because she allows it.” Rowen sighed and leaned in close, whispering, “I think she understands that you’re different, that you’re special.”
Her pulse raced so loud she was sure he would hear.
Mable pushed against him with no success.
“Stop! God damn, you’re a pain.” At last, he loosened his grip and lifted off her.
She could hear his steps, pacing back and forth in the small cave where they held their matches. “If you want me to get you out of here, you know I can. You just have to tell me what you want.”
Mable propped herself up on her elbows and tried to think of what to say. What did she want?
When she didn’t answer, he said, “You don’t belong with a Dark One. You belong with one of your own—” Then Rowen disappeared into the dark, the sound of his feet disappearing down the lightless corridor.
THEO
LANCASTER CENTRAL HALL, LANCASTER, NORTH AMERICA
AUGUST 7, 2232
Black robes draped over his shoulders as he waited in line at Lancaster Central Hall. His hair was pulled back against his neck, the last time he would ever wear it long. The ceremonial cap on his head made him feel like a child.
A half dozen other Youths stood before him in identical robes and caps, though he could tell no other Scholars were present. He had a good six inches over them all, courtesy of his superior genetics.
As much as everyone claimed they couldn’t tell one from another, that all Youths were blank slates free to choose as they wanted, Theo knew better. A Craftsman was as different from an Artisan as an Artisan from a Scholar. They looked different, acted different. Even in identical uniforms for Selection, he could easily identify their class.
The ceremony would only make it official.
The others chatted easily, excitedly even. There was a definite buzz in the air, a newfound electricity. Theo found his hand tapping against his leg.
He wanted to get it over with.
At a table to the right, a balding man handed each a transparent card before they walked through a curtain, though Theo didn’t know why.
He checked his wristlet a dozen times, watching the digital clock slowly tick the minutes away, each one lasting an hour. He commed Nate but was less than surprised when he didn’t get an
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