“Yes, but couldn’t Poppy have at least told me you were alive? Explained how my mother died? Anything?”
He’s already shaking his head before I finish. “My father is vicious, despicable. Thus far, you’ve seen a somewhat reserved Raevald. But I lived with him. Was raised by him. I know what goes on behind closed doors, and you now know an extent of it. I could never, never, risk exposing you to that. Had he found out you were my daughter, the child of his traitorous, embarrassment, coward of a son? He’d have killed you and Poppy immediately.” He swallows hard. “I don’t regret keeping all of this from you, because it was the only way I could ensure your protection.”
“Well, it only half worked because he got to Poppy anyway.” With the mention of my grandfather, that wall I put up when I walked in here starts to crack.
He furrows his brow, takes a deep breath in, and looks at me, remorse softening his eyes. The Sindaco takes a step closer and lifts his arm as if he’d like to pat me on the shoulder, console me, but isn’t quite sure how.
I take a step back so there’s no question where I stand in wanting his consoling. When I do, I feel the warmth of Dorian’s hand on the middle of my back. It’s only a fraction of a second before he removes it, but the reminder he’s there means everything.
Just as my vision’s going blurry thinking of Poppy, this horror of a day, I spot all the maps on the Sindaco’s desk, possible battle plans. Then, farther back, displayed atop a shelf, is an atlatl spear. One I can only imagine belonged to my mother.
I steel myself.
“I want to fight.”
The Sindaco counters my demand by taking his own step back. “No. Absolutely out of the question.”
I step forward. “Because I’m the Lunalette or because I’m your daughter?”
“Both,” he says, raising his voice considerably. “And because I’m in charge here and you fighting won’t help our cause.”
“What about my cause?”
“Your cause is predetermined. Fated. I can’t change that.”
Well, I can. “You’re telling me the prophecy states the Lunalette won’t fight?”
The Sindaco turns and walks toward his desk. “It’s not that simple.”
“He’s right, Veda,” Dorian says.
I follow. “Then explain it to me.”
He stops behind his desk, turns to face me. “I thought we settled this your first night here.”
I let out a low “ha” under my breath. “You settled it. I never agreed to anything.” I can see Dorian, who’s shoulder to shoulder with me now, staring right at me. Silently pleading I shut up.
The Sindaco sits, rakes his hands through his hair. “I see…” is all he says before he begins shuffling through the papers again.
I look over at Dorian, who shrugs, shakes his head. Thanks a lot, officer.
I step forward so I’m standing right in front of the desk.
The Sindaco peers up at me, takes a deep breath in, then out again. “I will not allow you to fight in battle. If anything happened to you, it would be the end of the revolution before it began. You don’t yet see it, you haven’t been here long enough to believe it, but your presence here is everything.” He stresses the word by staring more deeply into my eyes. “Veda, by coming to the Lower, by joining the Night, you’ve single-handedly put this revolution into motion. You’ve given the true soldiers—those who’ve been training to fight this war for years—renewed hope.” He shakes his head no. “I cannot in good conscience risk that.”
“Or is it because of what happened to my mother? How she was captured in battle?” As soon as the words leave my mouth, I know I’ve probably crossed a line. I don’t look at Dorian. I don’t want to see his expression.
The Sindaco sets his sights back down at his desk, rubs his chin again, this time more aggressively.
“I apologize … I know it must be difficult, but she was my mother. I didn’t know her, but it still hurts she’s gone, especially knowing how she died.” My throat closes around the last word, images of Poppy’s own execution flashing behind my eyes. I open my mouth to keep talking, but he puts his hand up as if telling me there’s no need to continue. “It wasn’t meant to sound so careless,” I manage.
“I know.” He meets my eyes. “But there’s truth to it. You’re exactly right. When your mother was killed, yes, it sparked the first war, fueled our anger and our vengeance, but it also drained every ounce of hope we had. I don’t want to repeat that and certainly don’t want you to lose your life.”
I’m not sure if it’s physical exhaustion or pure emotional fatigue, but my legs are suddenly jelly. I can’t stand any longer and slide into the chair behind me.
Dorian’s watching me the entire time and sits as well. When I look over he seems to check in with his eyes, leans forward, brow knit, like he’s asking me if I’m okay.
I nod and he looks like he’s about to speak when the Sindaco starts talking again. “I’m prepared to make a deal with you, Veda.”
“All right…”
“You may not fight in battle—” I open my mouth to argue, but he beats me to it. “However, I will send you up on a mission. With Dorian.”
“What kind of mission?” I ask.
“Information gathering … I haven’t sorted all the details yet, but I’ll let you know as soon as it’s all set.” I nod. “In the meantime, Dorian—”
“Sir?”
“We talked about it a while ago, but please get Veda trained on a weapon.” He says it like there’s some backstory between the two of them.
“Of course.”
But before I can pry or ask which weapon, the Sindaco cuts the entire conversation off.
“Now”—he rubs his puffy eyes with the heels of his hands—“I’ve got so much to do … Missions to hand out … Information to sort … I’ve got a pile of coded recon data to decipher…” His voice is low, speaking more to himself as he stares at the stacks of papers before him, and I decide not to press him anymore. For now, I’ll save the rest of my questions for Dorian.
As we’re walking out the door, the Sindaco calls Dorian back, murmurs something I can’t quite make out, except I definitely hear the word weapon.
The minute we’re out of earshot of the map room, Dorian looks over, eyebrows raised. “That got intense.”
I throw my arm in front of Dorian, forcing him to stop.
“What aren’t you telling me?” I say.
Dorian’s still staring down at my arm, dramatically rubbing the place my elbow slammed into his chest. “Gah—you could be gentler, you know.” He looks me in the eyes, smile flirting at his lips. “Actually, don’t. That’ll come in handy in training.”
I only stare.
“I can see you’re not in a joking mood.”
“Not even a little bit.”
“And I assume you’re referring to what the Sindaco said about your weapon?”
“I am.”
Hands up in surrender, all pretense gone, Dorian says, “Listen, it’s a secret—”