The Sowing

Good thing I was able to reach my contact at the barge last night before sneaking back into the Citadel. The barge operator was so grateful for how I saved his brother that I had to insist he take the money I offered. My plans are set: as soon as the Ascension Ceremony is over, I’ll slip away in the chaos, pick up Cole at the Priory, and board the ship. We’ll head west and disappear for good. Arrah and Cage will never know what happened to me, and it’ll be better that way.

The memory of Digory’s face floods my thoughts. I wish I’d had time to watch the rest of his journal. But I will, soon, when Cole and I are far away from this terrible place. For now, there’s comfort in knowing that not only am I carrying Digory in my heart and memory, but literally, in his ID tag, which is once again intertwined with mine under my uniform. The holocam with the disc is stuffed into a hidden pocket of my uniform. I know it’s risky to have it on me, but if all goes according to plan and we manage to escape after the assassination, I need to have this, the only image of his face and sound of his voice I’ll ever have.

Styles leads Dahlia, Leander, Rodrigo, Arrah, and me through the throng surrounding the dais, Renquist bringing up the rear. I squint against the hazy morning light that’s assaulting my sensitive eyes.

The heat pylons embedded throughout the square hum with activity, keeping the area clear of snow. It melts into clumpy rivulets that slosh through the perimeter before seeping

into the drainage grates. The moaning wind is crisp and bitter cold. At least it’s not snowing. But from the look of the grays and blacks tainting the horizon, it’s obvious that another storm is on the way.

We stride past the grand fountain of Queran Embers that Cage showed me on the diagram, and my eyes can’t help but dart to the onlookers surrounding it. There’s Cage. And Drusilla, Boaz, Crowley, and Preshea. Nearby, the kid Corin is tossing pebbles into the water. Then we’re striding past and they’re behind us.

They’re already in place. Now it’s up to me to deliver.

The throng of spectators surrounds us on either side, glaring. It’s like they know what I’m about to do. In spite of the cold, sweat beads on my neck and trickles down my spine.

I loosen the collar of my uniform.

Focus. Breathe.

When we reach the first row of the cordoned-off seats right in front of the dais at the far end of the square, we file in and sit down.

The last time I saw this platform was during my recruitment for the Trials. Then, I’d been detached, removed from the entire process, watching from Cassius’s balcony and on the jumbotrons surrounding the plaza.

Now it all feels more real. More visceral. It was to this very platform that Digory, Cypress, Gideon, and Ophelia were led when Cassius announced their names on Recruitment Day. It’s fitting that it should all end in this very same place—before a new batch of sixteen-year-olds are chosen during tomorrow’s Recruitment Day ceremony.

Arrah nudges my arm and I turn to follow her gaze. Lurking in the shadows of the turrets and gargoyles of the Citadel, overlooking the dais, are dark figures wielding gleaming weapons. Snipers, armed with assault rifles. Considering that most of the seats behind us are filled with squads of Imposers, this seems like overkill to say the least. I guess that with the Prime Minister making a personal appearance and the recent acts of sabotage against the Establishment, they’re not taking any chances.

Ten Imposers trot up to the dais, each guiding a leashed Canid. The hulking black beasts pad up the stairs, and it’s almost as if they’re the ones leading their masters. They strain against the leashes, burying their large snouts in every nook and cranny of the stage. Searching for weapons, no doubt.

My hand reflexively tugs at my pin, almost as if I’m trying to shield it. Hopefully they haven’t been trained to sniff out BMPs, or this little party will be over before it’s begun.

After a few tense minutes, the beasts settle down and lead their masters off the stage and through the crowd. People scramble to give them a wide berth, despite being so tightly packed together.

I free the breath I’ve been holding.

The spotlights flicker to life and arc through the square. There’s a burst of static from the jumbotrons as all of them fill with live feeds of the stage.

Trumpets blare, heralding the start of the Ascension Ceremony. All my muscles tense. This is it. Whatever happens, there’s no going back now.

Everyone stands. In case anyone forgets to, there’s always an armed Imposer around to remind and motivate them.

I crane my neck to look behind me. A procession of hover coaches winds down the pathway toward the stage. Even though their cabs are transparent, the occupants are protected by a safety bubble of repellent energy seals, designed to deflect even the most aggressive weapon’s fire.