A LOUD BANGING woke me, jolting me from my dreams. It took me a moment to remember where I was. Something heavy was draped over my body.
The banging vibrated the room and suddenly the pressure on my body was gone. Triven moved swiftly to the door, holding up a finger asking me stay put.
What time was it? How long had we been asleep?
Archer stood in the dim hallway, her eyes uncharacteristically wide with fear. There was blood on her shirt.
I jumped to my feet as Triven's shoulders tensed. Something was wrong.
"What happened?" His voice was deep, commanding.
"There was a second recon mission. They were meant to retrieve some of the weapons we discovered." She shook her head, unable to meet our eyes. "The Ravagers ambushed us, two dead and four injured."
"Who?" Triven's hands were clenching and unclenching at his sides.
"Marks and Weaver." Archer stared at his chest. It was the first time I had seen her look ashamed. It made the hairs on my neck stand up.
"Why wasn't I informed of this?" The tone in his voice sent chills down my spine. This was not the voice of the gentle man I had shared a bed with last night. This was the voice of a military leader.
"The orders came from above, you were not to be involved." Her eyes flitted to me.
I was not to be involved. That's what she meant. Apparently Arstid's distrust for me had only matured with time. Triven was not informed because of me. He didn't miss this either. Grabbing my wrist he pushed past Archer, pulling me with him. She looked hurt and ashamed as I glanced back at her. Triven moved with surprising speed through the halls. My usually nimble feet were struggling to keep up. Stragglers from last night's celebration still lingered in the halls, their curious eyes following our hurried progression. They didn't know yet.
We paused outside of the doors that led to the round-tabled meeting room. Voices were carrying through the door, but they were too muffled to understand. Only the volume gave away that it was a heated conversation. Triven's shoulders heaved as he took a deep breath, his hand tightened on mine. As I looked at our intertwined fingers, a dawning realization came over me. For the first night in six years, my parents' murders hadn't haunted my dreams. I had awoken in Triven's arms not because of my muffled screams but because of something else.
Before I could speak, before I could think any more about it, we were through the doors. The conversation stopped the instant we walked in. Arstid stood in front of her usual chair with her palms pressed to the table. Her face was flushed, her usually perfect hair falling around her face in a random array of white. Maddox stood across from her with Willets and the blonde guard whose name I still didn't remember. As her eyes fell on my hand in Triven's, her face tightened. I loosened my grip, but he only constricted his in response.
"Who ordered the mission tonight?" Triven's voice was like ice. Suddenly no one could meet his eyes, not even Arstid.
"We made the decision without you. It was decided that your judgment might be recently impaired—" Arstid stammered.
"Impaired?" Triven's voice rose. "The only judgment that seems to be impaired is yours, Mother. Since when have we ever sent out a team without the input of the entire council?"
The word mother was like a slap in the face. Why hadn't I seen it before? Triven wasn't just a well-spoken youth his peers looked up to. He was the heir to The Subversive. Every glare Arstid threw our way, every time Maddox had backed down from a fight now made sense. I should have been angry that he never told me, but in all fairness I never asked. I also understood him enough now to know it wasn't about lying to me about who his mother was, it was about being seen as a man within the community and not just their leader's son. While I stared with enlightenment at Arstid and Triven, the others shamefully averted their eyes.
"You sent our men out, without our best team to protect them, without the proper planning and look what it has cost us! Your stubborn prejudice has cost two of our own their lives. And for what?! Weapons we don't need? All because you can't see past your own hate? There will be no more missions without the full council's knowledge, do you understand? You are our leader, not our ruler and you would do well to remember that."
Arstid paled. I couldn't tell if it was from anger or because her only son had just pulled rank on her.
"Everyone out, I need to speak to my son alone." Her usually strong voice quavered.
The other members of the guard did not hesitate. As I turned to follow them out, Triven's hand tightened on mine. "Lyra stays."
Arstid's lips whitened to match her face, disappearing into a thin line.
She seethed, glaring at me. "I was foolish enough to trust her mother, I will not be the fool twice. This is all their fault! Her parents lead us here, lead your father to his—"
I cut her off.
"It's easy to blame the dead, isn't it? Seeing as how they can't defend themselves." My words were harsh, malice coating every syllable. A twisted pleasure blossomed as I watched the words slap Arstid's face. But even with that pleasure, a seed of doubt was still infiltrating my mind. What if she was right?
A spasm of pain flickered across Triven's face.
I took a deep breath and pressed my palm to his arm. "It's okay, I'll go."
He nodded at me and to both Arstid's shock and mine, he pressed his lips to my forehead before releasing my hand. As soon as the door closed behind me I was in motion. I bolted down the empty hall and darted into a cleaning closet I had seen once before. Scaling the shelves with familiar ease, I pressed against the air vent. Relief washed over me as it gave way and I slipped inside. Though it had been nearly two months since I had been in an airshaft, years of practiced movement rekindled instantly. I moved quickly and silently through the dust coated metal. Triven's deep voiced carried through the shaft giving me guidance. In less than a minute I was hovering above the round table watching Arstid's snow-white head through the slits.
"How dare you undermine me in front of—"
Triven interrupted her. "I was simply reminding you of what you seemed to have forgotten. We are not a Tribe, Mother, nor are we part of The Sanctuary. Years ago, it was agreed that we would be a democracy of equals. You were the one who pushed so hard for that. Or have you forgotten what you and Dad sacrificed so much for?"
She recoiled, stung before lashing back. "Do not bring your father up to me. Of course I know what I sacrificed for. Sometimes I think you are the one who forgets. You were too young to remember, too young to understand—"
"But I'm not too young now." His tone softened a little. "I am not a child anymore. I am a peer, a leader in this community and you owe me that respect."
She scoffed and sank into her chair. "Respect? Please. You can barely see past your own nose these days. That impetuous little street brat has you so wrapped up you can't see what is good for yourself much less your own people any more. I know what happened in the alley. She may have saved Archer but that rage she possesses makes her a threat. Lyra is like a wild dog, Triven. She may turn on you at any moment. It is foolish to trust her."
Pain stabbed my heart. She was right.
"Then I am a fool." Triven's words only drove the knife deeper.
"She can't stay here." Arstid's voice wavered as she pinched the bridge of her nose.
"If she goes, I go. She needs us even if she doesn't know it yet. She needs our help as much as we need hers." His voice was still strong.
"Triven..." Arstid faltered and he went in for the kill.
"We promised we would help all those in need. By your own creed she has the right to be here just as much as the rest of us. She may look like her mother to you but she is not. Lyra is a different person. The only one who can't see that is you. She stays or we both go."
I retreated from my hiding place as their voices continued. I didn't want to hear anymore. I couldn't stand to hear the trust in Triven's voice any longer, the compassion. He was wrong and for the first time Arstid and I agreed. I was a danger to him. Why couldn't he see that? Despite his amorous words, a prideful anger built in me. I didn't need them. I didn't need to stay here with them, to be protected by their walls and charitable handouts. I had survived by myself for six years. Screw them for thinking I needed them. I needed no one.
I pushed past people in the halls as I made my way back to our room. I made eye contact with no one, all niceties gone. It didn't matter. My hands flew over my few belongings, stuffing everything unceremoniously into my tattered bag. In my haste I dropped my father's pocket watch and it bounced under the bed. Cursing, I dropped to my knees. As my fingertips searched, I came across something stuffed under the corner of the bed. I grabbed it, along with the familiar chain of my watch and yanked. My heart sputtered.
It was a small piece of paper with a child's drawing on it. Three scribbled figures were smiling up at me. Mouse had drawn a picture of us. A little girl stood in the middle holding hands with a taller blonde girl and a tall sandy haired boy with hazel eyes. The word family was scrawled beneath it. My eyes burned.
"I assume you heard most of our conversation."
I hadn't heard him come in, but he was standing in the doorway watching me. His warm eyes waited as he leaned against the doorframe. I crumpled the drawing and shoved it into the backpack with my other things.
"Please don't leave." He whispered. My heart ripped as I kept my back to him. "I should have told you sooner that Arstid was my mother, but I didn't want you to see me as nothing more than her son. Besides, she stopped being my mother years ago. I don't agree with her about any of it. She's wrong."
I shook my head.
"She's right. I am a danger to all of you. I'm not good at working with others, you said it yourself. I'm not loyal to anyone." I kept putting things in my bag, ignoring the pain growing in my chest. I turned to leave and ran into his chest.
"Move." I said staring at his shoulder.
"No."
"Move."
"No."
I could feel the rage building in me. Why was he being so stubborn? Why couldn't he see how wrong I was for him? For everyone here? They would all be better off without me, even Mouse. I wanted them. I knew that now. I wanted people to love me. The drawing crumpled in my bag proved that. I wanted them, but I didn't need them.
"I don't need you, you know. Despite what you said to Arstid I don't need your help. I don't need anyone." I hoped the words would sting, that he would finally feel hurt and let me go. Last night had been a mistake. I had let him get too close. I stepped to the side but he moved with me.
"I know, Prea." He whispered my name and I froze, teetering on my thin emotional ledge. "I know that you don't need me, but I need you. Despite what Arstid says we need you."
My shoulders began to sag and he pressed on, taking advantage of my weakness. "You are strong and fearless and the kind of person we need on our side. If you won't stay for me, then stay for her. Mouse will be lost without you. She needs you. Without you she is just another child abandoned in Tartarus."
That was a low blow.
I pressed my head to his shoulder. I wanted to stay. I should leave. I wanted Mouse to be safe, to have the life I didn't. I didn't want her to be like me, but I didn't want to abandon her like my parents had done to me.
"For her." I said closing my eyes as I let Triven take the bag from my shoulder.
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