The Needle's Edge.
Gazda, Erydia.
Monday morning - sometime between night and dawn.

I'd never walked the city before. The glimpses of it I'd had during the Culling had always been strange—too colorful, too alive, too everything Varos lacked. But as I walked Gazda, my hood drawn and a large bag of rolled newspapers slung over my shoulder, I realized that perhaps there weren't so many differences after all. Especially not now.

The city was in chaos.

Even with the curfews set by Caine and the influx of Erydian soldiers and the patrolling of the city guards, people were out in droves. Those who had watched the broadcast wanted answers—they wanted to know why their king had shot at their queen. They wanted to know more about the young woman who had died in the arena. They wanted to know more about Monroe Benson, the supposed leader of this rebellion.

No one glanced twice at us as we slipped through the darkened city streets, depositing papers on doorsteps and in metal paper stands on street corners. Once I'd given Jax the idea, he'd sprang into motion—mapping out drop-off locations and divvying out stacks and stacks of printed issues of The Hare. I'd pulled my friends from bed, answering their questions in hushed tones as we'd dressed for the cold night air.

We would be delivering the rebel newspaper to every drop-off location on Jaxon's list. And it was a large list. Every single place that would normally carry issues of The Oredison Oracle would now be stocked with The Hare. By morning, Gazda would know my story.

They would know Kai's story.

I hadn't even read his interview yet. I'd been so busy, so driven to help Jax do something to honor Harper and help the rebellion, that I hadn't even paused to wonder what he'd told the reporter.

I'd been honest in my telling of our story. I'd told Harper about how I was in love with Kai. I had poured my heart out to her and I'd been truthful as I'd explained how that love—that trust—had led me into a trap.

I wondered what he'd said about me.

Don't come back.

My hands were nearly numb as I reached into my bag and grabbed another stack of papers. I walked the line of white sandstone houses with their iron gates and crisp black front doors. Cohen walked a few feet behind me, tossing papers onto the other side of the street. The houses on either side of us were the same—all expensive, all imposing.

Even in the darkness of the night, I could tell they were pretty. Impractical in their design, with elaborate architecture. Not like the compact housing we'd passed by earlier.

"You know, this is where my mother grew up," Cohen's voice was quiet as we came to a stop at the corner of the street. I turned to look at him, noting the way his eyes scanned each house with its curtained windows and darkened front step. Those blue eyes turned to me. "I have an aunt on my mother's side that still owns the house, but I don't know which one it is. She—Mother never talked about her childhood. But I know that she lived here, in this neighborhood." His brow furrowed. "I can't imagine it. Can't picture her having a life outside of the palace."

I turned to look down the rows of grand houses, lit only by dim streetlights. Down the hill from us, the city sparkled—the sky above it was a mix of warm orange and black smoke. "It was probably nice growing up somewhere like this—the houses are pretty," I said. "And they're in the middle of the city."

Cohen nodded, his brow furrowing as he tried to remember. "Her father was a baker or a cook, I think. And he..." he paused. "I feel like I used to hear talk about him being cruel—I only met my aunts once and I was still pretty young then. My grandfather was already dead and I don't think any of them mourned him... They did talk about my grandmother some. My father told me once that she was bed bound and died from some sort of illness. That's pretty much all I can remember. I don't think it was a good childhood."

"I'm sorry you don't know more about her. I know you want to."

"The not knowing isn't the worst part. The worst part is the small details I recall about my childhood." He shook his head. "That's the worst part—feeling like I didn't truly see her. Or...Or I didn't see what was there, hidden in plain sight. Knowing that my father may not have been who I thought he was, well, it changes nothing and it also changes everything. I'm sorry for rambling about this. I know you don't like her and none of this is very interesting to you."

"You're my friend, Cohen. And this is your family we're talking about. You deserve to feel however you want about the past. Believe me, I regret a lot of things about my own. I can't blame you for wanting to talk it through so you can maybe better understand it. Abuse and trauma do we're things to the mind."

He shrugged. "It's weird because I always felt oddly close to Leighton. And he was always so nice to me. I wish...I wish he would have told me who he was sooner. I think if anyone could have told me about my mother, it would have been him. And I—It's silly, but I want to hear good things about her. Knowing that someone as good of a person as Leighton had ever loved my mother...it meant that she was someone worth loving. And that alone is nice. I need to believe that she wasn't this evil creature. If she was, what does that mean for me? Or for Britta?"

"It means nothing, Cohen. Her choices aren't yours. You don't have to carry her sins around. No one expects you to do that."

"I guess that's true." He looked up at one of the massive houses and sighed heavily. "Anyway, I guess it just goes to show that the house doesn't mean anything. I mean, I grew up in a palace and it was hell most of the time."

It was quiet between us for a long moment. On the street up ahead, Tavin whistled and the shadowy figure with him—presumably Heidi or Jaxon—waved us over. I nudged Cohen with my shoulder. "Here's to breaking out of hell, Cohen."

He smiled at my words. "Yeah. Here's to breaking out of hell."

***
Oredison Palace, Gazda.
Monday morning, dawn.

We were just arriving back at The Needle's Edge, the sun only a misty pink glow behind the buildings, as the first of the newspaper boys began to shout the headline—King Kaius Speaks: Exclusive Interview with Harper Vance. Jax and I stood in the alleyway between the shops, our backs pressed to opposing walls, our hood still drawn, and listened as the whispers began.

History. This was history we were living through.

People walked past the opening to the alleyway, a paper spread in their hands, their brows furrowed as they scanned the page. As they began to read what treason was written there. The emotions of those reading the news seemed mingled—excitement, shock, confusion, horror. But it hardly mattered. What would happen would happen.

Jaxon's brown eyes darted to mine. He looked haggard, his clothes disheveled, his face dirty and tear streaked, but there was also a light in his gaze—a hope there that had been missing only hours ago. None of us had slept and we were so damn tired.

But the paper had gone out.

"Thank you," his voice was soft, a sort of ache underlying the words. "Thank you for giving her the story and thank you for helping me give the story to everyone else. She'd—Harper would have wanted it published."

I nodded. "I'm glad I could help you."

He swallowed and ran a hand over the top of his head, knocking back his hood as he said. "This is the sort of heartbreak I've got to learn to live with, isn't it?"

"I think so."

He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the bricks. "Damn."

I sighed and looked out at the flurry of people passing by, papers in their hands. Conversations were already turning from curious to argumentative. Questions were volleyed back and forth, voices rising and opinions being thrown about.

Was it true?

Was it all fake?

Who was this Mirren Caine?

Who was Kaius Warwick?

Jaxon's voice cut through it all. "I didn't make to the arena in time. I tried. I ran like hell and I still couldn't get to her. And I—I knew there was nothing I could do. I knew it. But..." He shook his head. "I went anyway. The guards outside the gates didn't recognize me. And she was already dead. People were cheering and I knew—I couldn't see but I knew she was already dead. I wanted to ask about her body. But there was no way to ask without drawing more attention to myself. She died for this damn rebellion and I can't let it fail. Not even for her. Not even to be able to bury her properly. So, I didn't ask. And now I don't know where she is and I probably never will."

I didn't know what to say to that. In some small way, I understood. I didn't know where my brother's bodies were or what had been done to them. But I knew they hadn't been put to rest in the way I would have wanted.

I couldn't quite picture it, I only dared look at the barest edges of that thought. If I let myself consider what I'd lost—all that was gone, ripped away in an instant, left to rot in a field—I would fall into that abyss and die myself—I would want to die. So, I just didn't look at it. I didn't let myself imagine it.

And even though I could understand how Jaxon's heart must be breaking, I also knew that I couldn't possibly understand. There was no understanding. Only sympathy and support and love. Because loss could not be poured into a measuring cup and compared. It wasn't something that could be contained or described in similes.

It devoured everyone in a new, terrible way.

"I'm sorry for your loss, Jax."

He nodded in acknowledgement and then he pushed himself away from the wall. "We should go inside before someone sees us."

I followed him, pausing once more on the open alleyway door into the shop. Someone was talking about the rebel leader—me. Goddess, they thought that was me. Jax must have heard it too, because he offered me a small smile as I stepped into the warm shop and pulled the door shut behind us.

His voice was soft as he asked, "How does it feel to be in charge of a rebellion?"

I shrugged. "Feels like I ought to know more about what's going on if I'm in charge."

"Go on, the two of you." Mim tsked from her place by the stove and used to dishtowel to shoo us towards the open trap door. "Leroux's bound to be back any moment and I can't be having you in plain sight when she does. Get below and get some sleep. There'll be food on the table when you wake."

Jax swiped a biscuit from a plate on one of the work tables and asked, "Any news from Darragh or Britta?"

She swatted him with the towel, but her voice was kind as she told him, "Ask Birk, he's just got a message from Arden."

***

The safe room was awash with hushed conversation and smiles. What we'd done tonight—it was wicked and world-changing. It was something too large for Caine to cover up, especially when he was already trying to squash the rumors circulating because of what Kai had done in the arena.

But as I settled onto the edge of my bunk and focused my attention on Birk and the soldiers standing nearest him, it became clear to me that the excitement was based on more than just what we'd done. No. Darragh was in Erydia with the rest of his army.

They'd arrived last night as we'd been delivering the papers. The city guard and Erydian forces had been so inundated with rioters and their own citizens questioning the Crown, that they hadn't noticed the last of the Haniver merchant ships arriving. No one had cared where those "shipments" had gone.

Arden's message had been to tell Birk and those in our safehouse to prepare. The spy master would come this evening, after the sun had set, and he would tell us the plan himself. Jax and I caught gazes from across the room. This was good news—exciting news—any yet I was drained at the very thought of it.

The night had been so long and the day before it so terrible, that it was difficult to see the silver-lining of hope. But our friends could see it. They were animated and energized, even after having not slept in hours. The air tasted of hope.

Cohen and Nadia were seated against the wall nearest the heater, their knees drawn up to their chests, their bodies turned into towards each other as they spoke. Heidi had swiped one of the newspapers and was sitting with Tavin, the two of them focused on some sort of word puzzle. Soldiers played cards. Birk and Dellacov discussed ideas for infiltrating the palace. And while I saw the beauty of it all, I wanted to sleep.

I saw that same desire written all over Jaxon. His loss had reopened the wound of having lost my brothers. I wanted to escape it. If we'd still been in Pellarmus, I'd have gone for run. But I couldn't do that here. Neither could Jax.

From across the room, my friend offered me a small smile and a half-assed salute. I sighed and shook my head, unable to do more than that. Jax took one look around the room, his smile faltering slightly as he caught sight of the pile of emptied canvas bags by the ladder. The papers had gone out. Harper's final story had been posted. His throat bobbed as he swallowed and then sank onto his cot.

***

I couldn't remember falling asleep, only waking to find that the room quiet and my friends had all settled—most tucked under layers of blankets in their cots, their forms rising and falling evenly with sleep. As Mim had promised, there was food on the table, along with a steaming pot of tea and a plate of cinnamon and sugar scones.

The sound of my footsteps seemed to echo as I padded across the room and sank into one of the chairs. I fixed myself a cup of tea and munched absentmindedly on a scone, my attention fixed on the heater a few yards away. The fire there had turned low and flickering, and I let my ability rest within those flames, not influencing them, only burning alongside them.

Heidi's abandoned word puzzle was spread on the table and I knew if I flipped the page over, I would see the headline and Kai's interview. I should look. I should read it. But something held me back—some small part of me that didn't want to be upset, didn't want to be angry.

Dredging up my own story had been frustrating and terrible. It had reminded me of what had happened between Kai and me. It had reignited my anger towards him. And I knew reading his version of events would hurt me too. It would make me mad again.

And I didn't have the energy.

The floorboards above me creaked and light flooded the ladder as someone opened the trap door. I pushed the paper away from me just as Mim eased down the ladder, shutting the door behind herself. She pursed her lips when she saw me sitting at the table alone.

"You look peckish, Monroe. And too damn thin. Have you eaten? Maybe—Maybe I should have brought down something heavier..." Her brow furrowed.

I shook my head and held up my cup of tea. "I'm fine, Mim. Thank you. I'm just enjoying some quiet."

She made a little sound. "Well, we all need some of that from time to time. And it's rare these days." She glanced around the room. "I was coming to wake Birk—Arden'll be getting here in the next half hour or so." She waved a hand and moved towards the table, "But I think I'll have myself a cup of tea and let him sleep the extra few minutes." I used my foot to push out the chair across from me and she took it, groaning slightly at the movement. "I am too old to be climbing ladders..." She sighed and glanced at me. "And too old to be meddling in a rebellion too, for that matter."

I shook my head. "You're never too young or too old to make the world a better place."

Her lips twitched as she slid an empty tea cup towards herself. "Wise words." She was quiet for a long moment as she fixed her cup, adding cream, sugar, and a large dose of honey. As she was stirring, her eyes darted to the abandoned newspaper. "Were you reading the interview from the king?"

My brows rose and I quickly shook my head. "No. I—I—um..." I swallowed. "I don't really want to know what he said."

"Why ever not? He's your boy, isn't he? The king, I mean." She tapped the paper with a wrinkled hand. "I suppose he's a young man, not a boy. But..." she shrugged. "He's yours nonetheless."

"What makes you say that?"

Her eyes widened as she took a sip of her tea. She spoke against the rim of her cup, her voice filled with surprise as she said, "Ah, so you really haven't read it then."

"No. I haven't."

"It's a love letter—that." She smiled and leaned back in her chair. "Well, it's a story too. About a boy who found himself to be heir to a kingdom he'd never visited, a place he'd never seen. And about a girl he fell in love with. I'd wager it's a story as good as any the temple would tell. As good as any found in a children's book."

I glanced to the black and white pages. "He broke my heart," I admitted. "He didn't tell me who he was."

She nodded. "Yes. But young people make dumb decisions when they're in love—especially young men. And...And you're still here, aren't you?"

"What'd you mean?"

Mim sighed. "Well, you're still sitting here. You're still in love with him. Otherwise you'd have stayed in Pellarmus like he wanted you to."

My brows rose. "He wrote about that?"

Her lips twitched into a wide smile. "Yes. He kissed you at the ball and sent you away with the Pellarmus royals. He told Harper all about that. And about how you slapped him. Told him to go to hell, I believe." Her eyes widened. "Brave girl, to hit a king."

I chewed my bottom lip. "He isn't—Kai isn't a king to me. He's just...he's just Kai."

Mim tapped a nail against the newspaper. "Yes, and you've never been goddess-touched to him, have you? You're just Monroe. Did you know that in his entire interview, I think he mentions you're goddess-touched once? Just at the beginning, just as he's talking about meeting you. Of course, he talks about how you didn't want to be queen and how trapped you'd feel if you were forced into that role, but he doesn't focus on you having an ability. You're just you. You're just a girl he loves. It's romantic for sure." She offered me a small smile. "But I suppose it doesn't change what you are. Or what he is. He's still king and married to another goddess-touched girl. And you—you're the leader of the rebellion, if Mirren Caine is to be believed."

A laugh escaped me. "You can't believe a word Caine says."

Mim chuckled. "Oh, yes. That much is clear in both of your interviews. The king definitely doesn't speak well of his uncle."

"I think it would be difficult to come up with very many nice to say about him. He's terrible." I pursed my lips. "But...but what does he say about Sauenmyde?"

Her brows rose. "He talks about how you went ahead on the mission without telling him. In your interview you talk about how you were worried he'd try to stop you from going, or that he'd push himself too far and try to go with you, even though he was injured. Anyway—he talks about you going ahead and then he talks about his uncle. He told Harper that he argued with Caine before he realized you were gone. He went to his uncle to tell him that he wanted to call off the mission. He told his uncle that he wouldn't be king. He was going to tell you the truth and, if you agreed to go with him, he was going to leave the camp. Go somewhere else. He wanted to marry you and have a future separate from all of this mess."

My breath caught in my throat. "And then what?"

"Well, I believe Caine told him he could leave, but he'd have a hard time finding you, since you were in the palace. And he told the king—Kai, as you call him—that there were people in the palace prepared to kill you if he didn't cooperate. Caine told Kai that you'd die if he didn't agree to take the throne."

This much I'd known. I'd told Harper about it too.

But I hadn't realized that Kai had actually argued with Caine.

I hadn't realized that Kai had truly told Caine he was going to marry me. Yes, Kai had told me that he'd planned to do those things, planned to tell Caine that he wouldn't go through with taking the throne, but I hadn't realized that he'd actually told him that he loved me.

Mim continued speaking, unaware of the burning in my eyes. "Reading the two of your interviews, it's very clear that you were both doing what you thought you had to do. As a goddess-touched girl, you had to go back to Erydia and fight against Larkin—just as you have to fight against Caine now. It's your birthright. You couldn't run from it, even if that boy had asked you too. And...And I think the same could be said of him. He may have wanted to tell you the truth and run away with you, but Erydia was calling both of your names." She sighed and took another sip of her tea. "It's an interesting story, and one I think will grace many a history book before this is all over. But the moral of it is the same no matter how you look at it: fate will take you where it wills—lies or no lies, love or no love."

I swallowed. "If that's true, then...then it was all hopeless from the start. We never had a chance."

"Oh, no. I don't think that's it at all. I think you've had many chances—and still have plenty of chances left. You just have to learn to play the game together. Before...Before you were on opposing sides—your boy knew that. But now you can fight with him, for the same thing. Fate hasn't closed any doors that you aren't capable of reopening. I'd think a girl blessed with fire would know that there is little she can't reach. After all, flame cares little about walls and locked doors. If your way is blocked—make a new one."

"Wise words," I said, repeating what she'd said to me only moments ago.

Mim smiled and rose from her chair. "Yes, well, I am only one opinion. And the opinions of the old have never mattered much to the young. So, take what I've said with a grain of salt."

"It matters to me," I said. "Thank you."

She laughed and patted me on the shoulder. "Of course. I've always liked a good romance. They're so few and far between these days. And I'm tired of tragic endings." She sighed heavily, her gaze drifting to Jaxon's cot. Her hand tightened on my shoulder and her voice lowered to a whisper, almost lost to the room. "I'm hoping yours has a happy ending."

***

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