Raging Light Page 2

  “Amelia would never do that,” Silas said. “Never.”

  Micah glanced at Silas. Only a few short weeks ago, Silas had expressed his own doubts. He’d suspected his sister wasn’t strong enough to stand up to the cruel control of their father. But now Silas’s jaw was set, his body rigid, his eyes flashing with anger at Kadek’s insinuation. “If you won’t help us, we’ll go get her on our own.”

  “And get yourselves killed,” Kadek snapped.

  Kadek and Silas glared at each other for a long, tense moment.

  Fiona stepped between them and put a soothing hand on Silas’s arm. He jerked his arm back like she was infected. A shadow of hurt passed across her face. She had a crush on Silas, something Silas had no idea what to do with. “We underestimated her security. I’m sorry. I imagine even if she wanted to leave—”

  “She does!” Silas hissed.

  “She looked pretty happy next to the president in her fancy dress,” Kadek said.

  Silas stared at Kadek, his expression flattening, his eyes going hard. “She did the same thing for my father. I guarantee you she wasn’t happy then. And she’s not happy now. So why don’t you shut your mouth before I make you—”

  Kadek strode forward until he was inches from Silas’s face. “Are you threatening me?”

  A two-guard patrol rounded the corner down the street. Three nighthawks, sleek weaponized drones, glided above them. Micah stiffened. Kadek and Silas took swift steps away from each other. They all needed to be careful not to draw undue attention. Especially now, with everything on the line.

  They had to figure out a way to help Amelia, find a cure, and stop this war. But the looming war seemed as unstoppable as the storm clouds brewing on the horizon, slinking ever closer, promising destruction.

  But Micah refused to give up hope. It wasn’t in him. There had to be a way—they just had to find it. He moved beside Silas, turning his back on the soldiers, keeping his head carefully angled away from any suspicious eyes.

  He faced Theo, Kadek, and Fiona, his expression set in steely determination. “We’re staying. No matter what’s coming. We’re in this thing together. And we’re not leaving Amelia behind.”

  2

  Amelia

  Eighteen-year-old Amelia Black stood in the grand hall inside the capitol of the Sanctuary, waiting to speak with President Sloane. The grand hall’s decor befit its name—a soaring, domed ceiling dripping with crystals, ornate arches supported by fluted columns, and a polished black granite floor reflecting the light like scintillating shards of diamond.

  The president was surrounded by advisers and assistants. Amelia had asked to speak with her two days ago, but the president hadn’t been able to clear a few moments in her schedule until now.

  The president paused, waving away three assistants waiting for her to peruse and biosign various critical documents. She turned to Amelia, gave her a gentle, sad smile, and patted her shoulder. “You must be exhausted. You’ve gone through so much in the last few weeks. How are you sleeping, dear?”

  Amelia smoothed the chiffon clouds of her silvery blue dress, the sleeveless bodice embroidered with a thousand tiny, mirrored beads. She looked dazzling on the outside, but inside, she was tired, so tired. Weariness had settled deep into her cells, seeping into her muscles, pooling into her bones.

  She felt hollowed out by grief, anxiety, and stress. The tests and biopsies and blood draws had exhausted her physical reserves. But it had all been worth it.

  Her father had done it. With her blood, he’d formulated a cure. Right before he’d been arrested and imprisoned for treason.

  She felt the stares of every person in the room like daggers at her back. Even though President Sloane had vouched for her, it felt like everyone else suspected her of somehow colluding with her father. Even the doctors and scientists in the lab looked at her with wary mistrust in their eyes.

  Amelia felt more alone than ever. She was alone, lost, abandoned. She missed her friends. She missed Micah. Gabriel, Silas, Benjie too.

  She should have stolen the vials and snuck out of the Sanctuary by now. She hadn’t heard from Micah and Silas in days. Harper claimed Theo was the one who contacted her; she couldn’t find the resistance herself.

  Amelia didn’t know what to do. But she refused to be helpless, to do nothing. She would do whatever she could to help her friends, to save the cure. She was steadfast in her determination, her mind resolute. She would follow this through to the bitter end, no matter what it cost her.

  The president frowned. “Not to mention the fact that we must deal with the unfortunate, distasteful situation with your father.”

  Amelia’s heart plummeted. The sentencing—and execution—was scheduled for three days from now. Both too soon, and too many endless hours away.

  Thoughts of her father crept in—his shining face when he’d told her he’d found the cure. The way the soldiers had forced him to his knees and handcuffed him in the grand hall. The terrible fate that awaited him…

  President Sloane squeezed her shoulder. Tall and svelte, the president was in her mid-fifties, with auburn hair clipped short and slicked behind her ears. She was brisk and efficient, but she was also compassionate. “I’ll have Vera send a med-bot to your room tonight to ease your suffering, at least for a while.”

  “I’m fine,” she lied. Her head spun, but she forced herself to remain focused on what she’d come here to say. She pushed everything else away. “When are we going to distribute the cure?”

  “Soon, dear, I assure you,” President Sloane said absently. “We will see to the needs of our own citizens as soon as humanly possible. Our medical manufacturing plant is busy developing the vaccine. For large-scale manufacturing, we’ll send military-escorted scouts out to search for nearby facilities. But for now, we have plenty to work with. It should be ready for distribution the day after tomorrow.”

  Amelia felt eyes on her. She glanced up at Angelo Bale, President Sloane’s chief of security, who towered at the president’s righthand side. In a crisp black suit, he was a mountain of a man, bristling with strength, power, and hostility. He stood completely still, only his beady black eyes roving over her, taking everything in. There were no weapons visible on his person, but he didn’t need a gun to be a threat. Bale was a weapon himself.

  His predator gaze unnerved her. He reminded her of Kane, the terrorist who’d nearly succeeded in killing her on the Grand Voyager. She pushed away the dark memories—Kane’s brutal smile, his scrabbling hands on her skin, the way his viper eyes cut straight through her.

  She couldn’t let Bale intimidate her. She clasped her hands demurely in front of her and licked her dry lips, forcing herself to focus.

  President Sloane was strong and firm, but also kind and sympathetic. She seemed like a good woman. She’d been willing to convict Declan Black, her friend and fellow Coalition member, because it was the right thing to do. So was this. “But when will we take the cure outside these walls? The people are desperate. They’re dying. Every day that we delay costs lives.”

  President Sloane glanced at the holopad one of her assistants shoved between Amelia and the president. She pressed her handprint to the biometric signature. “I’m sure you understand that our own citizens take precedence.”

  “Of course.” Amelia bit her lip. She longed to argue, but she had to be careful. So, so careful. She took a breath, steeling herself. She couldn’t just do nothing when others were suffering. “But…no one inside is infected. Surely we can do something to help the survivors outside—”

  “We’ll get to them, I assure you. But most of them are infected with an asymptomatic mutation. It’s a question of whether our medication would even work on them.”

  “I’m sure it will.” Amelia pressed her hands against her stomach with damp palms. “There are real people out there that we could save right now. Women. Children. They should get it first. We’re safe in here. I’m sure we could distribute the first batch to them and wait—”
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  President Sloane chuckled. She squeezed Amelia’s shoulder. “I commend your soft heart. But like I said, the citizens inside these walls are my people, my children. I’m responsible for them. They will receive the vaccine first. Then we’ll see if we have enough.”

  “Are you sure we couldn’t just—”

  “I’m sorry, dear,” the president said briskly, “but this is necessary.”

  Amelia wanted to scream, to shake the president and make her listen. But she couldn’t press too hard, become too insistent or too strong-willed. In her weeks at the Sanctuary, she had carefully cultivated her every move, word, and expression.

  The advice Cleo Reaver had given her back at the New Patriot compound niggled at the back of her mind. If you want to catch a wolf, don’t act like a wolf—act like a sheep.

  She needed them all to see her the way her father did—meek, malleable, controllable. A beautiful doll—delicate, unthreatening, harmless.

  She touched her charm bracelet beneath the bodice of her dress and took a deliberate, calming breath. “With your permission and blessing, I would like to leave the capitol.”

  President Sloane’s eyebrows shot up. “Are your accommodations not up to par?”

  “No, they’re lovely. Absolutely divine. But I wish to personally take the vaccine to my friends outside the Sanctuary as soon as possible.”

  President Sloane biosigned another form on another assistant’s holopad. “My dear, I will bring your friends here. Any friend of Amelia Black is welcome here. Just give me a few days to tend to my own citizens and ensure the citywide inoculations succeed without a hitch. Then I promise you, I’ll personally welcome your friends. Does that sound reasonable to you?”

  It sounded like the most reasonable thing in the world. “Yes,” she forced out. “Thank you.”

  A heavyset adviser wearing a navy suit jacket swept into the hall from one of the side doors set discreetly into the wall. His suit jacket’s platinum buttons strained at his waist, threatening to pop off at any moment. “Madam President. There’s a disturbance in Sector Seven. General Jeong thought you should be informed.”

  “Thank you, just a moment.” President Sloane scanned another document, signed it, and sent the last assistant scurrying off with a wave. “Are we finished here, Amelia?” the president asked. She looked pointedly at Harper Atkins, one of Amelia’s two personal Coalition guards, who stepped forward and gently grasped Amelia’s arm.

  Harper was average height, average build, average mousy brown hair. She didn’t seem like much, but she was a spy, an undercover New Patriot who’d been smuggling information between Amelia and Theo Reaver, the head of the resistance inside the Sanctuary.

  “It’s time to go,” Harper murmured, her voice soft, but a warning flashing in her brown eyes.

  “And what about Micah and Silas?” Amelia said more loudly than she intended.

  A few yards away, several advisers with their heads bent together in a private discussion paused to glance at her. There was Selma Perez, the president’s chief of staff. The woman was thin and stuffy, with a long, horsey face, a pinched mouth and watery eyes. She was a Coalition member close to the president. She’d never shown much interest in Amelia, but she was always whispering in the president’s ear.

  Next to her, Senator Steelman’s shrewd eyes narrowed as she met Amelia’s gaze. In her late forties, Senator Steelman was thin as a whippet, with blonde hair cut in a crisp bob to her chin. Her makeup was precise, her posture ramrod-straight. The woman disliked her. Amelia felt it with every withering glance the woman shot in her direction.

  At least one other person here had helped Declan Black release the bioweapon. Amelia knew it in her bones. It could be any one of these people, hiding behind their beautiful, slippery smiles. It could be all of them. When among wolves…

  A shiver ran through her. “I would like to see my brother,” she repeated. “Please.”

  The president pursed her lips. “I know this has been an incredibly difficult time for you. Why don’t you get some rest in your quarters, and we’ll discuss this more in a few days—after your father’s trial.”

  Amelia bit back a sharp retort. She wanted to shout her demands until the whole room was forced to listen to her every word. But speaking her mind wasn’t the proper behavior for a beautiful doll. She had to remain meek and obedient. For now.

  “I understand,” she said with a dainty dip of her chin, her tone carefully measured. She pasted a dazzling smile on her face, forcing down all her ugly emotions. “Thank you so much, Madam President.”

  President Sloane smiled and turned away, dismissing her.

  Her legs felt heavy as Harper tugged her arm, guiding her in the opposite direction, away from the president. Her other guard, Logan, hovered on her other side, his expression as impassive as ever, a wall of solid muscle corralling her exactly where he wanted her to go. His eyes held the cool, indifferent look of a soldier.

  Before she’d taken a step, the president’s personal assistant, Vera Castillo-Longoria, hurried into the room, her expression as taut as her tightly bound black hair as she glided to President Sloane’s side, her stiletto heels clipping the polished granite floor. She spoke in a low voice, so only the closest to the president heard her words. “It’s urgent, ma’am. There’s someone at the gate claiming to have vital information about an impending attack on the Sanctuary by the New Patriots terrorist group.”

  Amelia froze.

  “What do you mean, an impending attack?” Selma Perez asked, her face going pale.

  “She claims she was rescued by the terrorists several days ago, but was being held against her will and managed to escape.” Vera leaned in and whispered in President Sloane’s ear. Her gaze flicked to Amelia, her mouth tightening imperceptibly. Gone was the exuberant friendliness lavished on Amelia upon her arrival. Since Declan’s confession, Vera had barely spoken to her at all.

  Amelia leaned against a pillar to steady herself. A tremor shivered through her. Someone from their group had betrayed them. She ticked through the names in her head. Certainly not Willow. Celeste? She didn’t want to believe it was any of them. But it had to be Celeste. There was no one else capable of such…treachery.

  President Sloane’s eyes narrowed. “Bring her in. Chip her and get her tested first, of course.”

  “Miss Amelia,” Harper murmured at her side, still grasping her arm, “we should go.”

  Amelia pulled away. “I’m staying.”

  Harper glanced at President Sloane, whose head was bent in serious conversation, already surrounded by a gaggle of advisers, officers, and staff.

  Harper looked to Logan, who simply shrugged. One hand gripped his pulse rifle as he gazed at something over Amelia’s head. He refused to look at her. For a second, she thought he’d force her to go. Finally, he spoke, his lips barely moving. “She wasn’t ordered to leave.”

  Harper nodded, her shoulders relaxing. “Then she can stay until notified otherwise.”

  Amelia flashed Logan a grateful smile. She sagged against the pillar, waiting on tenterhooks, her anxiety growing, mingled with dread and anger. They’d all believed Celeste had changed. Amelia had changed.

  Why couldn’t Celeste? Because she was too vain. Because she loved comfort, and decadence, and all the finer things in life. All the things that still existed only in the Sanctuary.

  Now when they were so close, Celeste was going to throw it all away? After everything, how could she betray them like this? Amelia stared at the swirling designs gently swaying across the white polymer walls, her stomach a snarl of apprehension.

  The air shifted behind her.

  “She passed the exam,” Vera said as she strode into the grand hall. “Her blood is clean.”

  “Bring her in,” President Sloane ordered.

  Amelia waited, counting the seconds in her mind. She barely heard the conversations swirling around her, the strained whispers, the suspicious stares.

  “Hello, Amelia.”
>
  The voice was achingly familiar. Amelia turned slowly, dreading what she would see.

  It wasn’t Celeste. Instead, standing in the center of the grand hall, flanked by four Coalition soldiers, was Amelia’s mother.

  She must be dreaming. This couldn’t be real. She felt her world spinning off its axis. Her mind was muddled, confused, everything suddenly fuzzy and distant.

  “Oh! I love family reunions!” Vera gasped. She clapped her hands, completely oblivious to the tension in the room.

  “What are you doing here?” Amelia asked hoarsely.

  “Yes.” President Sloane handed her wineglass to an assistant and clasped her hands behind her back. “We are all very interested in that answer.”

  President Sloane’s advisers clustered around her, staring at Elise Black in barely masked animosity. Senator Steelman shot Amelia an accusing look, her perfect apple-red lipstick smeared at the corners of her prim mouth. Bale watched her with those beady black eyes, honing in on her like a shark tracking its prey.

  Her mother’s hand fluttered to the hollow of her throat. Her long auburn hair was tugged back in a messy bun. Dark circles rimmed her eyes. Even so, she was impossibly elegant, her every move graceful, her posture perfect. “I’m here to save the Sanctuary.”

  Amelia stared at her, stunned. “What?”

  “And how are you going to do that?” President Sloane asked.

  “I know what my husband did,” her mother said. “I know that everyone here knows. I’m sure you’re suspicious. Which is why I come bearing an olive branch. A gift, as proof of my good intentions.”

  Senator Steelman folded her arms across her chest. Her face was closed, her eyes flashing. “What gift?”

  “Information. There is a surviving faction of New Patriot terrorists.”

  President Sloane gazed at her evenly, her expression unreadable. “Yes, we are aware of their existence.”

  “They’re plotting to invade the Sanctuary. They’re planning a surprise attack within the next few days.”