“Dorian told you the story of the legend, yes?”
“He did. It was quite a tale.” I swear I catch Dorian cringe out of the corner of my eyes. And, all right, maybe I am pushing the Sindaco a bit. But from where I’m sitting, I don’t owe him my trust, certainly not my loyalty. If anything, he owes me.
Another short nod. “Good, good … I’m not sure Dorian’s aware, but since I became head of the Night, and especially after the uprising that cost us so many lives, finding our Lunalette has been one of my top priorities.” Now I’m the one stiffly nodding once. “I truly believe, Veda, that you are the key to revolution. To giving Basso the freedom and respect they deserve. To finally freeing an entire group of people out from under the oppressive thumb of the Imperi.”
“How are you so sure I’m this person?”
“There are several signs that line up, but most telling is the scar over your heart. The legend speaks directly to it.”
I eye Dorian. “But there are similar stories on Bellona. I know how these things go … Stories are repeated, made grander with each telling.”
“You don’t believe in fate? Prophecies?”
I shrug. I catch Dorian gawking at me from my periphery. I ignore it, answering the Sindaco. “I wouldn’t say I don’t believe, but I’ve never been around when one came true.”
“Ah, I see. Well, let me ask you this: Did you believe the stories the Imperi told about the Night?”
I hesitate, but answer truthfully. “Yes.” This seems to please the Sindaco. “But people were disappearing around me. Our villages were being burned, property destroyed. My parents were taken and killed by the—”
“Your parents were never taken by us. They were members of the Night.”
“No.” I shake my head. “I mean, Dorian told me the Night didn’t kill them, but … members? There’s no way.” I’m still shaking my head. “It’s not possible.”
He stays silent like he’s waiting for me to come around to the idea.
I continue talking myself out of it. “I’ve always been told my parents were taken, brutally killed by the Night.” I look into his eyes. “If what you’re saying is true, that they were actually members of the Night, then who killed them?” I assume he’s going to give the same answer Dorian did, that if anyone took my parents it was the Imperi, but I test him anyway.
“The Imperi. During the first war.” His words are softer than I expect, like he’s delivering bad news. I suppose he is. But I never knew my parents. They’ve been dead all my life, buried with any infant memories I might have had of them. The hows and whys don’t change their absence, the senselessness of their early deaths.
Still, I’m forced to take a deep breath. Fight the heat barely simmering behind my eyes. Stay focused in the present.
What would he gain by telling me my parents were members if they weren’t? I’m not sure, but if what he’s told me is true, then all I’ve known to this point is lies, the truth stolen, tossed upside down, and scrambled into nonsense. “Why? Why would the Imperi kill my parents?” It comes out as an accusation and maybe it is.
The Sindaco doesn’t answer right away, but takes his time as if choosing his next words carefully. Then he simply shakes his head. “Your mother was a member of the Night. She was captured by the Imperi in battle.” He clears his throat, staring toward an empty corner of the cave. “I apologize, Veda, but she was tortured and then executed like so many of our soldiers during that time.” The Sindaco looks back at me.
Meanwhile, I’m not even sure how to take this information much less whether to believe him or not. I stay cautious. Skeptical. Skim over the details he just shared because I can’t begin to delve into their meanings right now. It’s what Poppy would tell me to do. Not to be too spontaneous or careless with my reaction.
He’d say, Wait. Listen.
“And my father?” I’m 100 percent confident the Sindaco won’t have any information, because the man’s a ghost. If his own daughter’s only knowledge is his first name, that he wasn’t married to my mother, how would this stranger have anything new to offer?
The Sindaco shakes his head. “I don’t know,” he says simply.
No one does.
I push the ghost of my father back into the shadows of my mind and focus on this new maybe-true information about my mother. A member of the Night? A soldier? Could she have been? It would partially explain Poppy’s silence over the years about her, his always avoiding the subject, only ever answering my questions with the same quick, short mumblings.
I do my best to pull away from all those unknowns, but my heart races at the sheer idea of it, the image of my mother running around under the cloak of night, atlatl at the ready, fighting the Imperi. My stomach sinks, my chest tightens; severe doubt and wanting badly to know the truth battle within my mind.
“Your grandfather was sworn to secrecy,” the Sindaco says as if reading my expression, sensing how my insides are turning end over end. “He knew what was at stake if anyone ever found out, so he locked the truth—your mother’s secret, your secret—deep down.”
I nod once, head swimming, and all I can think is how horrible Poppy is at keeping secrets. But when I look across the desk and to the Sindaco I can see he’s pleased. Not in a smug way but in a way that feels like he thinks I’m coming around. Like he’s won and I’ve lost, and I won’t have that. Not until I’m sure of the truth. Sure I can fully accept all of this.
With a deep breath, I shove my questions, my emotions down for safekeeping. I’ve got to be strong. Stronger than this leader of the Night before me.
You’ve got the upper hand, I remind myself. “My secret?” I quirk an eyebrow. “That I’m the Lunalette.” It’s almost humorous to hear such an outlandish revelation leave my own mouth. Almost.
“Exactly,” he says drily.
“Here’s the problem with that whole thing … The difference between what I thought I knew of the Night and this Lunalette myth is that I had fast and solid proof the Night was evil. As far as I know, this Lunalette prophecy is only a story. One I just heard. Nothing but words with zero facts to support it.”
“Your scar is proof. Though, I get it, as you just discovered with the Imperi’s propaganda, proof can be false.”
I sigh heavily, roll my eyes. “I see what you’re trying to do. Flip everything around on me, so I’ll believe your version. It’s a little Imperi-esque, don’t you think, Sindaco?” I settle back into the chair.
The way the Sindaco’s jaw sets and his eyes focus in on mine, how his right hand flexes into a fist, I can tell I’ve gotten his attention. It’s also clear I’ve crossed a line with him.
I’m not looking directly at Dorian, but I can tell his jaw’s nearly hitting the floor.
But as quickly as he turned annoyed, with a deep breath the Sindaco’s composure changes again, voice now with less of an edge to it. “You will believe, Veda. I have faith in you. We all do,” he says with utmost confidence, folding his hands under his chin, palm to palm, as if in prayer. “But I appreciate your point. Most stories are made grander over time. However, the truth reveals itself in one way or another. I’ve found over the years that fate doesn’t always come around the way you think it will. It may be late. May be confusing. It even might be fickle. But it always shows up.”