We dream the rest of the day away in the gardens, me, Roc, and my mom. It is a perfect day and I know it’s probably the last one I’ll ever have.
The daydream fades away and I blink twice, trying to come back to the real world. I glance sheepishly at Roc, who’s still drawing, and Elsey, who’s still entranced in the elegance of Roc’s pencil-strokes. They didn’t even notice I was gone for a few minutes.
The woman looks different now, like my mom, but not. Well, half of her is the spitting image of my mom—I’d know her anywhere—and the other half is like a different person. It is a different person, I realize.
“Who…?” I murmur absently.
“My mom,” Roc replies, finishing off the second half of her nose. She’s brown-skinned, like Roc, but darker, with firm, toned muscles and full lips. She’s every bit as beautiful as my mom, and they look right together, even when combined to make one person.
My heart does a backflip. Because she died giving birth to him, Roc’s never met his mother. My dad didn’t believe in taking photos of servants, so Roc didn’t have the luxury of a photo to guide his hand, but somehow I know that the picture of his mom in his head is the right one, perfect in every way.
Like when Ben showed me Anna’s diary, I feel so selfish again. Since my mom’s disappearance, I’ve felt like my whole world is falling apart, and yet Roc has lived without a mom for his entire life. And as a servant, while I didn’t want for anything.
Now in this simple drawing, I feel the breadth of his emotions pouring from the page. His love for my mom, his living mother. And his love for his real mom, the one he never met but wants to know.
His pencil is down and we’re all just staring at his drawing, as if it might come to life and start talking to us. “It’s perfect,” Elsey says.
“Yes,” I agree. “Simply perfect.” Roc’s smile is worth every word.
Chapter Eleven
Adele
Everything seems so close. The good, the bad, the neutral, the evil, the happy, the sad. It’s as if the world is a thin line, everything in a row. There is no wrong, no right: only actions. These are my thoughts as I leave my mom in her office. Nothing is the same as it was before—probably never will be. After all, there’s a gun tucked in a holster in the small of my back beneath my tunic. The holster is another gift from my mom. She offered Tawni a gun, too, but Tawni politely declined. I suppose I could’ve done that, too, but that’s not me.
Trevor is leading us again, following my mom’s orders to escort us to the star dweller training grounds. She said if I want to be part of the rebellion, I have to be trained like a soldier. I like that she said that—it means she respects me. Tawni will just be watching, and won’t be a fighter. My mom said that on the record, Tawni will be considered one of her private aides, but really she’ll just be with me like she has been since the start of all this.
We exit the fortress-like building, this time out the back, away from the claustrophobic city streets. The area behind is cold, not temperature-wise, but stark, uncaring, a barren wasteland of empty stone slabs and craggy gray boulders. Everything is in black and white, or a mix of the two. It makes the Moon Realm look like a paradise.
The expansive area is surrounded by a towering brown rock wall. Whether its primary goal is to keep rubberneckers out or the soldiers in, I do not know. “What is this place for, the gladiators?” I say, making a bad joke. I remember learning in school during history class about the Roman gladiators, forced to fight each other and professional warriors to earn their right of survival.
“Something like that,” Trevor mumbles, not looking back. I can’t tell if he’s serious.
Across the grounds is a platoon of soldiers, engaged in some sort of training—it appears to be hand-to-hand combat. They’re wearing blue training tunics, which don’t look that much different from their standard-issue fatigues, complete with a faded patch of the star dweller symbol on the shoulders, although they seem slightly more worn-out. They’re separated into pairs, each pair battling within the confines of circles designated by red tape on the ground. There aren’t any patterns to the pairings: males fight females, big battles small, tall locks horns with short. I can’t expect special treatment here, and I don’t.
Only two people aren’t participating, a man and a woman who are set off from the fighters, watching and shouting things like, “Keep your head up, Lewis!” or “Don’t let him back you into a corner, Matthews!”
As we approach, I see a smallish woman get flipped over the back of the ogre she’s fighting. Her body hits the stone with a sickening thud, and I can’t help but to cringe. Tawni visibly stiffens beside me and I glance at her. She’s not even looking at the woman’s prostrate body lying on the ground; rather, she’s watching as another guy takes blow after to blow to the head, twisting and turning, until his legs wobble and he collapses, blood oozing from his nose and mouth.
“So brutal,” she whispers.
My heart is in my throat. I’m well-trained, too, but these guys are serious, professional warriors. I take a deep breath and try to remember my father’s lessons. Never show your fear, Adele. Gritting my teeth, I firm up my expression and try to turn the horror on my face into a believable scowl.
Trevor turns suddenly, a wicked grin on his face. “Good luck, soldier,” he says, motioning me forward.
Ignoring him, I stride past and up to the woman supervising the training. She’s tall and muscular, wearing a tight black tank top, camo pants, and sturdy, black boots. She’s looking past me, almost as if she’s looking through me, but I ignore that too. “Adele Rose, reporting for training under the orders of General Rose,” I say, keeping my voice as firm as possible. I extend my hand and she finally looks at me, and then down at my hand.
“Get that limp fish out of my damn way,” she says, one edge of her upper lip raised in a sneer. Her eyes are dark and steely and look like they could kill. Her face isn’t ugly—even with the sneer—but it’s not pretty either. It’s just a face.
Dumbstruck, I drop my hand back to my side, unsure what to do or say next. Luckily, the guy next to her says, “Sergeant Buxton, where are your manners?” He lifts an open hand and I take it, following his arm up to his face, which wears a casual smile and kind, blue-green eyes. “I’m Sergeant Sean Brody, but you can just call me Brody,” he says, shaking my hand firmly, but not crushing my fingers.
“I’m—”
“General Rose’s daughter—I know. We’ve heard all about your strange appearance in the tunnels. In any case, the General told us yesterday that you’d be joining us.”
My heart stops. “She did?”
“Yes—is that a problem?”
My mom is just full of surprises. She really did expect me to join the star dweller rebellion. Proud heat rises in my chest. “No—not at all,” I say.
Brody releases my hand and runs his fingers through his dark bangs, pushing them away from his eyes. “Are you ready to start?” he asks.
“I, uh, I guess,” I say, my confidence waning as I hear the grunts and groans of combat from behind me.
“Are you or aren’t you!” Sergeant Buxton shouts, directly into my ear.
I cringe and turn away from her. “I’m ready,” I say through clenched teeth.
Tawni has moved off to the side with Trevor, and I can see the two of them chatting, flashing smiles, and occasionally laughing. Traitor, I think.
“Han! You’re up!” Buxton yells. Evidently she has difficulty controlling the volume of her voice, because she’s always about a hundred decibels louder than necessary.