Veracity (The Seven Cities Book 1) (22 page)

After the funeral, I'm abandoned in my suite, for my own protection of course. With no other distractions, I fall into a deep, self-loathing depression. Unable to face my guilt over Travis' death, I shun the world and it seems perfectly content not to find me. I crave being alone, yet my isolation deepens my foul mood. Even my maids avoid me, and I haven't seen Grayson in days. As far as I know, he walked away from the funeral and hasn't returned. Through my window, and the gossip of whispering maids, I watch the city mourn. Like all things, their grief moves in waves.

Naturally, the first stage is shock and disbelief. The people refusing to accept that something like this could happen in their own city, their sanctuary. They had gladly traded their freedom for the promised safety of these walls. Now that the illusion of protection has been shattered, their minds are blown, forcing them to think for themselves for the first time in generations. Their trust has been betrayed, and they have to create a new way of thinking.

After shock comes sadness, a great collective outpouring of heartbreak. One of their own has been brutally taken from them, carved out of their world with the jagged knife of rebellion. That's what the attack on Travis has been labeled after all, rebellion. The great minds in the Big House tried to spin this to their advantage, to highlight the dangers beyond our walls, but all they did was release the idea of revolution and it spread like a disease, subtly infecting anyone and everyone it touched.

The city's pain manifests into candle light vigils, memorial parades, and great outpourings of love for their stolen son. In a show of devotion, the women don black veils and the men armbands. For the first time, the city looks united. They face this tragedy as one, bound by the kinship of loss. Days go by, and as they often do, the people's hearts change. The candles burn down, the vigils stop, and the cities' grief turns to anger, and as it always does, the Big House starts to make sense to them again.

How dare someone breach their walls and take a life? It could have been anyone taken that day. Rumors run rampant through the streets. Rebels. It has to be the fault of these rebels, these beasts of men, a great evil plaguing the outside world with their murderous inclinations. It was just like the Big House always said they were. Why else would they target such a kind, caring young man? What wrong could he have done in his short life? This was a message sent by the rebels, an undeniable cry for war. This act was meant to hurt the people of Veracity and now they require retribution, they demand blood.

Their world is changing, shifting on its axis. Their utopia has been has been shattered, their gilded cage bent and broken. They are furious and disillusioned and someone has to pay. Surely it was no coincidence that this outsider, this boy who tried to steal their little princess, was found the same day Travis was killed. In the mind of the citizens, there is no need for a trial; no need for proof. They are broken and that requires payment. Jack's blood will be their atonement.

Confined to my suite, I watch from my window as the tide turns. I'm not a prisoner, just a prize to be hidden away and protected. As much as I hate it, I don't blame the city for its demands; Jack does look guilty. He willfully broke the law and placed himself in a position to be blamed. What do I know anyway? Maybe he is guilty. They would have scanned him by now and found the truth of it. My only concern is if the General was able to lie to me to serve his own purpose, could he lie to his entire city?

Deep down I want to care enough to save Jack, but my heart is too black and too heavy to rise back to the surface. So full of pain, I feel it sinking further down in my chest every day. Maggie and Sadie tried hard at first to bring me back, but now even they have given up. I don't blame them. I am not very good company these days.

It's the middle of the day and I am lying face down on one of the sitting room couches, undressed and unwashed. I can't focus enough to read, and games hold no pleasure, so I have spent my entire day lying on this couch in my nightgown.

"Wow Kat, I should have come to see you sooner," Laura says.

"Hi, Laura, please have a seat." I say, still face down, my words muffled by the couch cushion.

"When was the last time you had a bath?"

"I am not sure. Before the funeral?"

"That was two weeks ago."

Two weeks? I have been rotting in this suite for two weeks?

"Why are you here?" I ask, sitting up.

"I wanted to tell you that Grayson is back. I figured you would be in a bad place and wanted to give you some warning. I had no idea you would be this bad. You smell Kat, and your hair . . . oh, Kat, your hair! Your ladies should be flogged for letting you fall into such a state."

"It's not their fault. I haven't had much desire to do anything these days."

"It's not their job to care how you feel. It's their job to take care of you."

"Where has Grayson been?" I ask, changing the subject.

"I don't know; I haven't talked to him. I saw him ride up this morning but I haven't seen him since."

"He won't come here," I say defeated. "He knows as well as I do that I am the reason for Travis' death."

"He'll come. My brother grieves hard but he loves just as hard. He has never been able to blame anyone but himself for his troubles. He will be here."

"How do you do it Laura? How do you face all of your pain without it eating you up inside?"

"I know the truth."

"Which is?"

"Death isn't real Kat, it doesn't exist. The past and future aren't real either. The only reality is this very moment. Every second that passes jumps from consciousness to memory, and what are memories but dreams?"

"You've lost me."

Laura sighs, "One man can say he remembers something one way, while another man remembers it completely different. Yet, they can both be right. The past isn't tangible, Kat. It isn't real. It is as speculative as the future, and twice as painful. I don't believe in the past. My mother is gone and Travis is gone. Someday I will also be gone and will only exist when remembered. I will no longer be real and I am okay with that."

"So you can deal with loss because you tell yourself it doesn't matter, that it isn't real?"

"Exactly. Why grieve over something that never was? Now, Grayson lives in the past. He is consumed by it. It eats him up until he can't see the reality of life in front of him. The present slips by him, and he is again left with only the past. He deserves to live his life in the moment, Kat, and so do you."

"You say that like it's easy."

"Well, it will be with time, but before you start to heal, I am afraid there is one more thing you are going to have to get through. My brother has returned for a reason. He is here because you are going to need him, and he knows it."

"What's going on?"

"They are going to execute the outsider."

"I knew it was bound to happen," I say sadly. "I guess I was just hoping for a miracle."

"Weren't we all . . ."

Laura personally sees to transforming me back into a human being, but not before she puts my maids through the wringer for not taking better care of me. Against my protests, I am forced to eat, bathe, and dress. When they finally set me free, I spend the next hour much like I have the past two weeks, staring at the pretty wallpaper in front of me, wondering if I will ever be the girl it was picked out for.

Grayson doesn't say anything when he comes in, just walks over and puts his arms around me. Taking my hand, he gives me a questioning look. I nod. I'm not ready but I never will be. I take my doubts, my fear, and my grief and I bury them deep down, building my walls just as thick as the ones around the city.

Leaving the suite, we head to the end of the long hallway, pulling open the glass double doors and stepping out onto a balcony facing the courtyard. A platform has been setup in the center of the lawn, marring the beauty of the garden, and disrupting the sanctity of Travis' grave. A crowd of people has gathered in the grass around the platform, and all the balconies facing the courtyard are full. The General and his mother are in the balcony next to ours. He nods in our direction when he sees us, quickly turning back to supervise.

The crowd is silent as they bring Jack out, excited and fearful of the power they wield. They have never demanded anything of their General before, and never dreamed he would listen. Jack stands strong and solid as they slip the noose around his neck. The rope clings tightly to his skin and even from here I can see his strong muscles straining against it. He is stoic in his reserve, not pleading or begging for his life. He is resigned to the fate dealt to him, and he faces it bravely.

"He didn't do it," I say softly. "I know he didn't. What is the point of having all-powerful scanners if you don't use them? If he was scanned, he wouldn't be here."

"Your loyalty to him is a little distressing," Grayson frowns at me. "And they did scan him. I haven't seen the results, but I know my father would never harm an innocent man."

I look wide-eyed at Jack, trying to see his guilt, but all I see is a proud, angry young man trying to find the courage to face his death with honor. How can I sit here and watch, doing nothing while a man who I believe is innocent, is killed? What would happen if I spoke out? Would they put me up there with him? Why can't I be as brave as he is?

Jack glares at each and every person in the audience, daring them to look back at him, to see what they are making happen. They may not be the ones to kill him, but sure as anything, this is their murder. They were the ones who demanded blood and retribution. The people of Veracity can dress it up all they like, but the fact won't change that his blood is on their hands. And mine. I have so much blood on my hands; I don't think they will ever wash clean.

On the scaffold, Jack is a dark flame, burning and hypnotizing the crowd with the heat of his distain. Even the General is enthralled by it, delaying the final nod to the executioner that would end him. I watch his eyes as they move through the crowd, knowing that in moments, they would reach mine. What would he think seeing me up here? Will he hate me for standing with the people he tried to save me from? Will he loathe me for doing nothing to help him? Part of me rebels against my loyalty to him. Why do I even care? He helped to make me a shell of who I am. He helped to set in motion the countless deaths and pain that wrap around me like decaying hands. Why should I worry how he will feel, how I will feel, when his eyes meet mine?

He turns in my direction, his gaze slowly inching toward me. My heart races with panic. My breath starts to leave me in short painful gasps, ripping out of my lungs with a force I can't control. My eyes burn with tears born of guilt and angst. Grayson tightens his hand around mine, trying to lend me support, but all it does is make things worse. I am a traitor in my own life. I claim to love my new family, yet I turn against them in my heart. I fear for this "rebel", yet my loyalty isn't strong enough to deny my family. I am two people trapped in the same body, and neither one has a clue what to do.

His eyes move over my face and there it is: pure rage, but then, something else. Surprise, confusion, and finally relief flash in his eyes. Jack takes that one, long look at my face and his body slumps, straining even harder against the rope. His anger is gone, his pride lost, and he sobs. He was strong but now, thanks to me, he is broken.

"They told me you were dead." Jack calls out to me. "The General said he tried you for treason, and like a fool I believed him. I thought I had nothing left, nothing to fight for. I am sorry I wiped your memory and put you back in their hands. It was a mistake to think it was the best thing for you."

"As for everything else," he calls, speaking loudly to the crowd as well as me. "It was your brother Lucas and the General's own mother who did it all. They killed the General's wife because she opposed your marriage into this family." The crowd erupts into chaos. The General looks over at his mother in shocked disbelief.

"Mother!" The General finally roars, "Is this true? Did you kill Sophia? Did you murder my wife? Over politics?"

"I did what I felt was best for the city," she crows. "A marriage with any city other than Axiom would have been the death of us all. Lucas said they would attack immediately!"

"But her father was my friend," he cries. "As long as he was alive he would have never allowed an attack!"

"Exactly!" she cries, "The boy had already set up the death of his parents. He wanted to rule, but his father saw through to his madness and refused to let him inherit. The only reason he wiped the girl's memory and hid her away was because she saw and heard things she shouldn't have when they were murdering her parents!"

"Why would he come to you with all of this? Why didn't the boy talk to me?"

"Because he knew you didn't have the guts to do what had to be done. You are weak. Love made you weak. You let that woman run all over you, and why? Because she had a pretty face and bore you children?"

The General's eyes widen to an extraordinary size, his brain finally clicking, and the full understanding of his wife's death hitting him like an avalanche. The crowd is chaotic. They push and shove against each other to get a better view of the balcony.

"All this time I thought she gave up on me, or that I had failed her in some way, but it was you." he says coldly. "You stole her from me. You and that damned boy. You traded my Sophia's life to secure the marriage of that useless girl?"