Cardinal, (Citizen Saga, Book 2) Read online

  My whole body stilled at the conviction in his words, and I looked up into concerned deep blue eyes. Bottomless, I'd always thought. Like an ocean I'd seen in a picture once. Wánměi is an island, but we're not allowed near the sea. Trent was my glimpse of the sea. I wondered if my subconscious thought him a representation of freedom.

  I wondered if that was why I was so attracted to him, unable to stop falling when I knew, just like Harjeet had warned, that no one was trustworthy in Wánměi.

  "Why are you looking at me like that?" he whispered, his breathing shallower, his eyes getting warmer and warmer still.

  "I lived more here than I lived at Parnell Rise," I said as explanation, which really wasn't an explanation of anything other than my state of mind.

  He nodded, moving closer, his hands suddenly appearing at my waist. I almost jolted with the contact, so hot, so electric, it made it difficult to breathe.

  And then his thumbs began to stroke gentle, encouraging arcs across the skin beneath my t-shirt.

  I opened my mouth to tell him to stop and he shook his head. "Don't," he whispered. "Keep telling me about your life before we met." It was a plea. I couldn't ignore it.

  I let a long breath of air out and relaxed, as much as I could under his touch, wrapped up in his heat.

  "I was born Selena Carstairs. I became Lena Carr after my father died. He left me that identity, having given me every skill I needed to be her and hide."

  "Hide?"

  "There are more Citizens than Elite. My being Elite provides protection of a certain kind. My having Lena Carr as an alias provides anonymity."

  "Of course. Your father was wise."

  "My father lied to me," I said vehemently.

  Then modulated my voice to a whisper again. We were hidden for now, able to observe the street from a safe distance, but with so many drones around, safety was never assured.

  "He knew there was something wrong with Wánměi. He knew it wasn't the country he'd created. He didn't warn me, until after the fact."

  "Are you sure he suspected something was wrong with Chew-wen?" Trent asked carefully. "It may not have become apparent until it was too late. He did defend him in the end."

  "Did he?" I asked. "The only people in that room were Chew-wen, my father and yours. Only one man walked out alive that night. How do we know what transpired?"

  Trent stopped breathing. Stopped moving. His face went ten shades whiter.

  "Jesus," he finally managed to say in a rush of much needed air. "I hadn't thought of it like that."

  "What were you told?" I asked gently.

  "Um," he said hesitating. "Those who survived and escaped, returning to our then base, said the door to the room had been blown apart by Cardinals and inside Chew-wen was covered by your father, who..." he hesitated, shot me a worried look, but I nodded for him to go on. I'd heard what had happened from Chew-wen. I needed to know what the rebels thought had transpired.

  I was never trusting one person's point of view alone ever again.

  He swallowed uncomfortably and continued, voice rougher than before, "Your father had been shot. My father was dead a few feet away, gun in hand as though he'd just fired it."

  I nodded my head. It matched Chew-wen's story. But I couldn't help thinking we'd never really know. I trusted General Chew-wen even less than I trusted his son, and far less than I trusted the snake.

  "So," I said, retuning my attention to Elliott Street; there'd been no change. The drones still marching. The Citizens all but disappeared. A shadow of its former bustling self. "My father raised me to love all of Wánměi. Every piece of it. The country. The people. The laws. A paradise in hell, he'd said. In a world where savagery and lawlessness abounded, Wánměi was a shining beacon of virtue. Righteousness with reward. And then he died, and I was moved into the Palace. And everything he'd taught me disappeared."

  I fell silent after that. The sound of a non-curfew night filled the air, mixed with the heat and lushness of a Wánměi evening, wrapping around our bodies as we stood face to face. Trent's arms now draped at my waist, my fisted hands resting on his chest.

  We'd never been so intimate. Of course, we'd kissed and there was that whole carrying me out of the shower naked thing, but this felt comfortable, personal. Nice.

  "What happened?" Trent asked, laying a soft kiss in amongst my hair for encouragement, I think.

  "I escaped the Palace one night, not long after my nanny had been taken." Even now, so many years later, I couldn't say the word "wiped" when I thought of her loving face.

  "I'm sorry," he murmured, understanding what it was I hadn't said aloud.

  "Every Wednesday before he died, my father and I would eat at a restaurant in Wáikěiton. No matter what, we'd take the time to meet there. Of course, that's where I went."

  "And?" I could feel the tension in his body. The awareness that my life changed when I returned to Wáikěiton that night.

  "The restaurateur gave me a key. Well, he placed it on the side of my dish when he brought it to my table. I'd already been presented with the safety deposit box key, where my father had kept all his official documents, but this one was different. It was older, bigger. Archaic even. As if it belonged to one of the run-down buildings in Wáikěiton. One of the off-grid residences lacking full amenities and overlooked by the Cardinals because only Citizens of the lowest order slum it there." I lifted my eyes to Trent's. "I took it. I didn't ask questions. I just knew it was from him. Who else, right?"

  "Right," Trent agreed.

  "It took me two weeks to find the lock it fitted in. Two weeks of night time escapes and near misses to work my way through Wáikěiton's slums. I found it on Elliott Street." My eyes flicked down and across the road to my old house.

  "The apartment," Trent whispered.

  "I own the entire building," I admitted. "And the apartments inside aren't all off-grid. Some of them have Shilohs, some of them are in disrepair and overlooked. And one of them is quite unique."

  "He organised all of that in secret?" Trent asked, half astounded and half impressed, I think.

  "He started purchasing them when I was eight. The same year he started taking me to lunch on Wednesdays just around the corner."

  Trent whistled low enough not to be overheard.

  "That's some legacy," he murmured, looking out over the street to my home. "I understand why'd you choose to live here more than Parnell."

  "From the age of eight, this entire district felt more like home to me than anywhere else. He lowered the walls here. He showed me love. Back at Broadway, where we lived before he died, he was always on guard."

  "Because he knew he had to be," Trent offered. All I could do was nod my head, a depth of pain tearing at my chest, at my heart, stealing any possibility of talking.

  He sucked in a breath of air as though preparing himself. I mirrored the action.

  "So, why are we here?" he asked. And he wasn't being facetious, nor was he unsympathetic of my connection to the place. But he also wasn't stupid. There was more.

  There always seemed to be more I could tell Trent, and I always seemed to hold some of it back. I'm not even sure why. It felt right in his arms. It felt right to be breathing his air. But it didn't feel right exposing all of me. Sharing all of me. Making myself that vulnerable again.

  "There are things inside my apartment that we could use," I advised. "Things that Harjeet has made sure we lack."

  "You kept everything pertaining to your night time pursuits here, didn't you?" he asked.

  I nodded.

  "In one little apartment that Cardinal Chew-wen would have scoured by now," he pushed.

  I nodded again.

  "And you feel quite certain it will all be there, otherwise you wouldn't be risking us, despite the fact that Wang Chao has probably used every device known to man to detect hidden caches you may have had."

  I nodded. Again.

  "Well," he said softly, running a hand up the centre of my back and down again. "This sh
ould be interesting." I got the impression it wasn't the first time he'd thought that where I was concerned.

  We stood silently for several more minutes, waiting for our distraction to cause enough mayhem that the drones on Elliott Street would be reassigned. I was betting on Harjeet's intel. Depending on a repeat performance tonight.

  One whiff of Selena Carstairs, The Zebra, in another location, and the Cardinals, aka Wang Chao, diverted all resources there.

  It was a long shot, but the only thing I could think of to get us inside my home. Once inside, I just had to hope Wang Chao hadn't left me a welcome home gift. But chances were, he had. I wasn't naive anymore. I knew the risks. I knew the punishments that would befall us should we fail.

  My eyes swept back up to Trent's. The biggest risk of all. I was sure Wang Chao wouldn't kill me. But would he kill Trent?

  "You should know something," I said softly, before I lost my courage. His gaze ducked down to meet mine, from where he'd been watching the street in mute awareness.

  "There's more?" he quipped, one corner of his lips rising.

  If he had a foot-in-mouth moment right now, I'd kick him. So, I hurriedly said, "I'm glad we met."

  He hesitated. Then, "That sounds rather final." Said without an ounce of humour.

  It did sound final, and I hadn't meant for it to. It held more weight than I'd planned. I'd wanted to express my relief at having found someone who understood the side of Wánměi my father had insinuated at, but had been too careful to voice those concerns aloud. The Wánměi that lurked behind the vibrant lights and decadent rooftop parties. The Wánměi that hid amongst the complacent smiles and desperate fears. The Wánměi that was hinted at in the synchronised footsteps of the drones and Shiloh's High-Anglisc accent. The Wánměi most of us ignored for the pleasure of a high and the security of our walls.

  We'd become a blindly following population, I realised. Easily controlled through propaganda and the possibility of a broken outside world. And Trent understood it. He looked at me and didn't judge. An Elite breaking free of the constrictions, opening her eyes at last.

  That's why I was glad I'd met him. That's why I wanted him to know. But that's not how it had sounded. I wasn't sure how five words could mean something so completely different when said aloud, than they had when whispered inside my head.

  I held my breath, trapped in his intense stare, mesmerising blue pulling me deeper and deeper inside. His hand came up slowly, brushing my hair from my face, his fingers tangled in the strands on the side, holding me still. As if escape was on my mind.

  And maybe it was. Maybe Trent knew me better than I knew myself. But his grip held me steady, as his eyes grounded me to the earth, and then he leaned forward, hot breath across my lips and whispered, "I'm glad I met you too, Lena," right before he melded his mouth to mine.

  We shouldn't have given in to the urge, but neither of us thought of the danger as our bodies moved closer, our hands searched for skin on skin, and our tongues delved deep inside. The need to be closer still making our movements desperate and our efforts rushed. Our moans floating away on the thick night.

  I gulped in air as we pulled apart, alarmed at our actions, at the hungry sounds we'd been making. Eyes wide, chests heaving, faces flushed with desire. We both turned toward the street at the same time, dreading what would face us.

  Only to see one single drone left across the road from my house. The zebra-lookalike distraction had worked, however Trent must have missed Si's communication in his earpiece. Too wrapped up in my embrace?

  But the lone drone, standing down on Elliott Street, had not missed us.

  His head turned in a mechanical fashion toward the sounds we'd made, his red light blinking an ominous warning, the precise flick of his wrist indicating the release of his laser gun.

  "Fuck," Trent muttered, preparing to run hell for leather in the opposite direction.

  Right at the exact moment I jumped down onto the street from our shop awning cover and started toward the drone.

  The only sound I heard above the rush of blood in my ears was Trent's continued muttering of, "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!" as he followed my progress along the top of the roofline out of sight.

  Chapter 10

  Impressive

  Lena

  "You there! Identify!" the drone ordered, not sealing his laser gun away, but at least lowering that arm in favour of his other, the one which housed the eScanner.

  I could see the green light blinking the closer I got, it clashed with the red one still flashing a warning on the side of his helmet. Every now and then the lights crossed over, making the shiny metal of his casing a shimmering yellow.

  I raised my empty hands, showing I was unarmed and continued toward him. The Cardinal operating this unit must have put two and two together, the moment the drone's camera lenses caught my hair. I was dressed Citizen appropriately, my hairstyle in accordance with model behaviour. The white and black colouring, though, announcing at a glance who I was.

  But the drone didn't alter its stance, simply stood its ground waiting for the requisite distance between us so he could reach my chin and hold me steady for the iRec.

  It suddenly occurred to me that there must have been so many "Zebra" sightings this evening that the Cardinals had lowered their guard. And the fact that coming here was perhaps the most dangerous thing I could have attempted, meant they truly hadn't believed I'd show.

  But the moment they put the zebra-lookalike distraction together, this little ruse would no longer work.

  Despite thinking all of that, the second I came to a halt in front of the drone my heartbeat escalated.

  "Prepare for eScan," it added, sending my pulse into uncharted territory. "Legs shoulder width apart, hands at sides. Do not move." Even the formulaic instruction didn't ease my nerves.

  For some reason everything seemed so much more ominous than it had before the blinkers had been removed.

  Its arm came up, cold fingers clasping my chin, the green laser light humming. I sucked in a breath of air, my eyelids still closed, and waited.

  "Open..." it started, and then a buzzing sounded out from the drone itself and its hand stilled as the smell of singed electrical wires met my nose.

  I let the breath I'd been holding out and opened my eyes, to see Trent peering at me from over the drone's immobile shoulder.

  "Is his grip too tight?" he asked, and I forced myself to test the hold the drone had of my chin. I slipped out freely and stared at the frozen machine for a second. The humming inside it still disconcerted me, but the head was tipped down as though the drone had fallen asleep, making the camera lenses point toward the footpath, and not take in the scene.

  A glance told me all the street-cams were rotating towards us, though.

  Feeling entirely too jittery, my fingers shaking with a surge of adrenaline, I moved around to the back of the unit to see what Trent had done. His screwdriver was still embedded in the drone's neck, directly over what would have been a human's spine. A metal spike was buried through its safety plate, over where a human's temple would be on the side, piercing the main Shiloh interface.

  "I don't think you've broken the connection," I whispered.

  "Of course I have, otherwise it'd be throttling you right now."

  I shrugged, but something told me this drone was only out for the count, not dead.

  "Come on," I said, leading the way towards the building. At best we had ten minutes, at worst the drone was part of a unit of two, and its partner waited inside.

  It was an unusual sensation walking into my building and feeling like it was a trap. This had been my haven for so long, my safe escape from the Chief Overseer's Ohrikee, my sanctuary when General Chew-wen was too hard.

  Every sound heralded our entrapment. Every squeak of a door, creak of a stair tread, rush of clothing against wood. The air inside felt stale, as though the occupants of the building hadn't dared leave their homes, choosing to remain hidden inside. The humidity of W�
�nměi's night followed us, but whereas it was usually a few degrees cooler in the common areas, it felt as oppressive as outside.

  I stopped at the bottom of the stairs and took a treacherous moment to listen.

  "Hurry up," Trent urged softly at my back when I'd delayed too long. I held up a hand for him to be quiet. But it wouldn't have mattered, I'd already figured out what was wrong.

  With a mind-numbing sense of dread I tested the handle on the first apartment door. Mr Liú lived here. Old and alone, his children resided in Muhgah Keekee, visiting only on weekends. As the door swung open, when it should have been locked, silence met my ears. I considered he was staying with them, keeping out of Elliott Street until things calmed down. But the state of disarray before me told a different story.

  I turned, ignored Trent's worried and slightly frustrated look, and crossed the landing to the opposite door. Mr and Mrs Huáng and their teenage son lived here. The door ajar, because the framing had been destroyed, chips of wood shavings scattered on the floor. I stared down at them, my throat constricting, my eyes tearing up even though I refused to cry, and knew with a certainty that the Huángs had no relatives to turn to. And even though they lived in Elliott Street in a building that was predominantly off-grid, their possessions were considered treasures, and would never have been left unsecured like this.

  I lifted my gaze as the door slowly swung wide and stared at what was once a proud family's home, now deserted, their priceless possessions scattered and forgotten on the floor.

  "Shit," Trent whispered behind me, well aware of what had happened here.

  Most of these people lived under Shiloh's radar.

  And I'd brought the Overseers to their door.

  I couldn't fathom the sheer terror they must have experienced, the utter panic that must have ensued when the drones had stormed this building. We hadn't heard about it. Nothing had been shown on television.