The Runner (Part I of the Runner Series)

Chapter 45

My breath hitches in my throat, choked by the pelting sand and the pure exhilaration of the run. Adrenalin courses through my veins, feeding my limbs and heart with all the nourishment I could ever need. I race onward, delighting in the feeling of a solid roof beneath my feet and the newfound strength in my knee, mostly healed after an exhaustive regime of salves and exercises prescribed by Will.

The roof ends and I throw myself into the air, closing my eyes and grinning at the sensation of hot desert air beating against my skin. After the days spent trapped belowground, even the faultless glass walls of the Palace feel restrictive. It is only here, flying high above the City streets, that I am truly free. When I land on the next roof, I pause barely a moment, pushing myself harder, running faster and faster until I feel my lungs and heart will burst.

Rays of setting sun bounce off the Palace's glass spire, nearly blinding me with orange and yellow light. I race toward it, relying on my instincts and memory to guide me safely to my friends. Shouts and the sounds of celebration rush up to greet me, the bells of the coronation chiming endlessly from the abbey and calling every member of the City into the courtyard for the feast.

I slow and stop on the final roof, taking a few tentative steps toward the ledge, shoulders heaving as I struggle to catch my breath. From my vantage point, I can see down into the Palace courtyard, already teeming with guests as the maids and stewards light the lanterns and set the tables. I spot Harry, Gordy and the rest of my crew from the Beacon making their way through the gates and toward a table set high with food and drink. I wonder briefly where Lara is and how she is faring. After the rebellion and Meg's abolition of the sectors, several former courtiers abdicated to the Wastelands. Having not seen heads nor tail of Lara since the fall of the King, I assume she was among them. I shake my head to clear it, focusing on the party below again. Lara's welfare is no longer my concern—just as I was never any concern of hers.

Lifting my hair off the back of my neck to cool it, I stand with one foot on the ledge, poised to jump down and join the festivities. The crowd below swells ever larger, seemingly packed with every man, woman and child in the City. The sight is a far cry from the overstuffed splendour I'm accustomed to seeing at Palace events. Under Meg's rule, there is no hierarchy, no us and them. The people seem happy. They seem at peace.

I glance back behind me, toward the distant wall and the Wastelands beyond. One battle may have ended, but the war outside our borders has barely begun. Without the draft and with Will as the new Commander of Meg's army, we have an entirely new fight to contend with. I imagine the shadowy Wastelanders sharpening their spears, preparing to launch an attack on our walls; reflexively, I reach for the dagger at my belt, wiped clean of blood but ready for action all the same.

Crouching, I make to climb down but pause when my hand touches the first brick. I glance up again, watching as Meg and Will enter the courtyard through the door of the Great Hall. Meg is resplendent in a spun ivory gown, tall and regal as the queen she was always meant to be. Will walks alongside her, maddeningly handsome in his sand-coloured commander's uniform. Hope blooms within me as the clanging of the bells increases in fervour, nearly drowned out by the people's cheers. A path is cleared and Meg makes her way to a simple wooden throne, turning and smiling widely as one of her elected regents places a gold band atop her head.

I straighten, taking one step back, then another. The feast continues below, carrying on without me, despite me. The old Kay would not have hesitated to join in the ceremony, would have welcomed a drink with friends and revelled in the success of the rebellion.

The truth is that the girl who returned from belowground is not the same as the girl who first descended. The world before the gaol was black and white, made up of rich and poor, good and evil. Now, I see the varying shades brought about by our choices; I've heard the mumblings of the dissatisfied former courtiers. This is not a city made perfect by the death of a tyrant. Despite the sounds of celebration thundering from the courtyard, I know that our troubles have barely begun.

The carefree street-rat is gone. In her place is a girl unused to fame, who has been to the Burn and back, who will not hesitate to kill when threatened.

I finger the hilt of my dagger again. No, I am not the same as I once was. None of us are. The rebellion has given us a new beginning, a chance to right the wrongs of our past. We can't know what lies ahead, but at least we now have the wisdom of a true queen to guide us.

The sun dips below the horizon, inviting a cool desert breeze from the Wastelands. I shiver, my limbs once again buzzing with a familiar restlessness. I spin on my heel, turning my scarred back to the party, and return to the cascade of rooftops. The thrill of the run sings through me, pulling me into the depths of the city and beyond, toward the very stars above.

An old constellation twinkles to life, making itself known in the darkening night sky. I glance up at the Fireline as I race onward, my father's words pushing me to run ever faster, to leap ever higher.

Soaring above the streets, halfway between my old and new worlds, a clarifying certainty hammers home a reminder of what I have fought for and who I am meant to be.

The Runner.

THE END