Page 2 of This Cruel Fate

“Not here.” Peter shook his head slightly. “Somewhere more private.” He looked over his shoulder and waved someone over to their small group. “Please help Xolia get cleaned up and in a new uniform.”

“Right away,” the woman answered.

Protests from Xolia fell on deaf ears, and she had no choice but to follow the woman out of the main tent and into a smaller one where she showered in cold water behind a flimsy partition before slipping into the shapeless white uniforms that everyone else in FAR wore.

Once she was ready, her attendant led her to another tent, one that was farther back from the relatively organized row of medical tents. The interior was outfitted with a small folding table and two chairs. A large water bottle sat on the left side of the table.

“Please, drink some water and sit down. Peter will join you shortly,” the woman said and left Xolia alone.

She couldn’t deny how nice the chair looked, even if it was a simple metal folding chair. Xolia settled into it and tapped her fingers against her thigh. Silas was poised to take over the presidency. If he had died… Xolia shook her head, not wanting to follow that line of thinking. There had been no contingencies for the death of Silas, or Peter, who was in line for the vice presidency. The untouched water sloshed around the plastic barrier, responding to Xolia’s mounting anxieties. Inhaling and exhaling, she willed herself to let go of the water—to quell the pull in her body that constantly sought it out.

Once it had settled Xolia took a measured sip. Peter stepped into the tent, two armed guards trailing behind him.

Xolia made to stand, but Peter shook his head and sat down in the chair opposite hers. The guards took up positions on either side of him. “I’m sorry about them,” Peter said. “It’s just a precaution.”

A precaution? “So, Silas is dead then?”

Peter pursed his lips and glanced at his guards. Xolia’s heart rate picked up. This isn’t right. The hairs on the back of Xolia’s neck stood up. Peter looked at her, with the saddest smile she had ever seen. “Look, Silas betrayed us.”

“He wouldn’t do that.” Xolia didn’t even think before defending him. She’d known him practically her whole life. He was the only father figure she had, and he wouldn’t have betrayed them, wouldn’t have betrayed her. “This is what he wanted, what he planned for. It must be a miscommunication.”

“And what was his plan, Xolia?” Peter crossed his arms, those warm eyes hardening.

“Is this an interrogation?” Xolia asked, scraping her chair backwards. Once again, her frazzled nerves reached out to the water, something she could control, and sent it swirling around the cup.

Both guards shifted their guns, their fingers inching nearer to the trigger.

Peter held up his hands. “Stop, please,” he said to the two men. To Xolia he said, “I know this doesn’t make sense, but it happened. He tried to kill me. We have him secured right now.”

“Let me see him,” she demanded. Silas hadn’t told her of any plan to fight against FAR. The whole point of this final fight was to merge their two factions into one. It was why they had decided on a variant and a human for the highest political offices. It was supposed to be unification.

“We can’t do that,” Peter said, and as much as Xolia wanted to believe he was lying to her, he sounded contrite. “No one can see him until we figure out what’s going on.”

“But I’m telling you that Silas wasn’t planning anything,” Xolia said, splaying both hands on the tabletop and leaning into Peter’s space. “If I can talk to him, we can figure it out.”

“It’s not just my decision,” Peter said, words terse. “They’ve named me acting-chancellor. Everything’s changed.”

Xolia shook her head. “No, no I don’t understand. This isn’t what we planned.”

“Then tell me why he would do something like that,” Peter all but begged of her.

Peter was different from Silas in so many ways, and this vulnerable demeanor was one of them. Xolia didn’t know if she could trust it, she certainly couldn’t trust it more than she trusted Silas. He wouldn’t lie to her.

She leapt up, sending the chair flying backwards and held out an open palm. She called to the water, and it answered her by flying out of the cup in a long spiral. It was just enough for her to fashion it into a dagger, its tip sharp and deadly.

“You must have betrayed Silas.” Xolia lunged across the table and swung the blade without precision. It swiped across Peter’s cheek, leaving a trail of blood. “What did you do to him?”

Peter paled as he lifted a shaking hand to touch the gaping wound on his face. A loud bang filled the tent.

Then there was only burning, screaming pain in Xolia’s abdomen. Her body shifted from an intense warmth to a freezing cold and her extremities tingled before feeling faded away. She dropped her head; her white uniform was now red. Blood. Her blood was all over the front of the simple shirt.

The guard on Peter’s right still held his gun out, the barrel smoking. Xolia tried to draw in a breath, but something was in her lungs.

Peter slammed the gun out of his guard’s hand. “She’s just a child. One that we are trying to save.”

If he said anything more, Xolia didn’t have the consciousness to catch it. Instead, she was focused on the feeling of free falling to the ground, her body crumpling and beyond her control. She coughed, thick and bloody, and that was all she knew.

Chapter Two

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