“Absolutely not,” my father says.

I really thought he’d go for it, that my lie was a good one, believable, sensible. So I don’t have a backup plan. Killen is snickering, which doesn’t help.

“Why not?” I ask, really wanting to know what has prompted my father’s quick and decisive rejection.

“It’s just not proper,” he says simply.

I’ve never hated him more than I hate him now. It’s the way he says it more than his words. As though such a trip would be like me sleeping with the rats—no, worse, with the cockroaches. He wants me to be all smiles and winks when I am in the other Realms renegotiating our so-called contracts, and yet I can’t even take a simple holiday there?

My brother is nodding, wagging his head up and down like a dog. “It wouldn’t be proper, brother,” he parrots. Now I kick. My aim is true, connecting solidly with Killen’s shinbone. To his credit, he doesn’t cry out, although I know it hurts, can see it all over his face. He winces and holds his breath, trying to stifle a groan of pain.

“You’re right, father, brother. How silly of me. Have Lima book my usual.” I’ve lost my appetite. Before standing up I take another shot at my brother under the table, and from the shade of purple his face turns, I know I’ve hit the same spot. It is the only thing satisfying about the dinner.

Chapter Five

Adele

“What do you know of my father?” I say. It comes out as a croak, because I stop breathing when my heart rises into my throat. I gulp the words back down, trying to clear a passage. I take a deep breath.

“Only that he’s probably alive,” Tawni says.

I don’t think the words will come out right, so I hope she’ll anticipate my next question.

“How much of our conversation did you hear?” Tawni asks.

Damn, I am hoping for answers, not questions. I’ll have to speak. I try a single word: “Enough.” It comes out better this time, but still isn’t my natural timbre.

“Look,” Tawni says, “I’m sorry I didn’t open up to you before, but we’d only just met. The things I know are dangerous…”

She glances left and right, like the walls might have ears. She is making me nervous. Although the snippets I’d heard of Tawni and Cole’s whispered conversation intrigue me—particularly the stuff about Tristan—I’m not interested in that now. I only care about one thing.

“It’s okay. Just tell me about my dad.”

Tawni takes a deep breath. She looks stressed, her brow furrowed and eyes narrowed and intense, like something heavy is weighing on her. She says, “As you probably gathered, my parents are traitors. They live amongst the moon dwellers, but work for the sun dwellers. They’re spies for the President himself. I heard them talking one night. They thought I was out with my friends, but I’d returned early with a stomachache. They spoke about how Tristan is different from his father, how he cares about people. How he is inherently good.”

Her words are interesting, and typically I would be hanging on every single one, but I’m still missing the point. “What does that have to do with my father?” I blurt out.

Tawni stops abruptly, her eyebrows rising. “Sorry. Your father first, then the other stuff.”

She sits on the bed and motions for me to join her. I don’t feel like sitting, feel too wired to do anything but pace around the room, but I don’t want to argue, as I’m afraid it will delay the conversation further. I sit next to her, tapping my toe rapidly on the stone floor.

Tawni looks at me with sincere blue eyes and says, “My parents were the ones who recommended that your parents be taken away.”

It wouldn’t sting any more if she’d slapped me across the face. My parents dragged away in the middle of the night, out through the kicked-down door; Enforcers swarming through our home, smashing picture frames and tables and chairs and anything they could get their hands on; me, fighting like an animal to defend my family, who are eventually wrenched away anyway. The most disturbing image from that night: my father’s eyes, intense and scared, not fearful for his own life, but for mine and Elsey’s.

All because of Tawni’s parents. I don’t think kids should be judged by what their stupid parents do. Tawni’s words from before suddenly make sense.

I want to walk away from her, to leave her and her evil family behind forever, but I stay for three reasons. First, because I owe her for sitting down and talking to me in the first place, in the yard; for not walking away when I was rude and acting like a nutter. Second, because she still hasn’t told me everything she knows about my father—and I have to know. And third, because I want to believe in her words about kids having the potential to be different than their parents. I want to believe it for Tristan’s sake. Because if he isn’t different than his father, then all my thoughts and feelings over the last day—and my dream!—have been fake, pure fantasy. Which means that my heart will die again, and me with it.

As I try to make sense of my thoughts, of my feelings, I realize Tawni is crying. Her earlier strength gives way, her body crumples, she tucks her face into her hands. I know she’s been putting on a front—an attempt to be strong, to chase away her sadness with a brave face. She thinks I’m going to leave. She doesn’t know I have three reasons to stay.

I feel warmth in my bones, welling up from beneath my feet, until it reaches the top of my head. The warmth is compassion for Tawni. She didn’t ask for her parents to be traitors. And from what I understand, their treachery caused her to run from them, to leave home all alone, and to eventually be caught and brought to the Pen. No, she isn’t like her parents at all.

The sudden compassion I feel reminds me of my mother. I always think I am more like my dad, but now I wonder if there isn’t a lot more of my mom in me than I realized. I hope so. My mom is a special soul.

Instinctively, I put my arm around her and pull her close. Her eyes flick open for a moment, red and wet, and then reclose as she buries her head in the nook between my shoulder and chest. “I’m so sorry, Adele,” she moans.

I say nothing—there is nothing to say. I just hold her while sobs shake her body. I rub her back, smooth her hair—even kiss her forehead. Those were the things my mother used to do to me when I was scared—usually when still stuck in the throes of a waking nightmare about drowning. Slowly, Tawni’s body stops shaking and her muffled sobs relent. Her choked breaths become deep and consistent. For a moment I think she might’ve fallen asleep.

But then she says, “Why are you forgiving me?”

I haven’t said a word to her, certainly have not uttered the words I forgive you, but I guess my actions speak louder. But I haven’t forgiven her, not really, because there is no need.

“You haven’t done anything that requires my forgiveness,” I say.

Her puffy eyes look into mine as she sits up straight again. “Thank you,” she says.

“My father?” I say.

Her words come out in a rush, without pause to breathe. “He’s been taken to a camp set up for traitors—my parents called it Camp Blood and Stone—where the prisoners are made to work in some of the most dangerous mines in the Moon Realm. I understand it’s somewhere in one of the Northern subchapters, my parents mentioned subchapter twenty-six, I think.”

“What about my mother?” I say, realizing Tawni hasn’t mentioned her. She was very specific: Your father is alive.

“I don’t know,” Tawni says, “they only mentioned your dad.”

“How did you know they were talking about my dad?” My questions are coming rapidly now, as all of the investigative skills that my father has taught me are coming back.

“They said that the traitors they’d turned over to the authorities had two daughters, Adele and Elsey. Your name isn’t that common, so when I heard it and then later you told us about your parents, I made the connection.” Tawni crinkles up her nose, like she knows what my next question will be and is dreading it. But I have to ask it.