Page 52 of This Cruel Fate

A non answer, but his words were discomforting, nevertheless. If FAR hadn’t revoked the Variant Service Act, then it was still too easy to make variants little more than slaves in the eyes of the law. Something that was against FAR’s foundations. She raised her eyebrow, unsure of how that tied into his relationship with Helen.

“I told you I met Helen at a bad time.” Adonis sighed and lifted a hand to her shoulder, almost like he was seeking comfort from their proximity. “I was embezzling money from Persion, and we had started to get closer. I trusted her, and she used that to trick me into signing a contract invoking the Variant Service Act. I’m bound to her for life now.”

Adonis lifted his head, his features pulled back in a grimace. “I can only escape her if one of us dies.”

“Why haven’t you killed her?”

“And condemn myself?” Adonis asked. “She’s dangerous, not just to me, but to Ris. Her own father would thank you if you removed her from the equation. Helen is desperate for power, and the fights are full of desperate people looking for something to believe in. They already love her for what we’ve built the last seven years. If Helen died by accident or assassination, they’d sanctify her, and I’d lose everything. If she were beaten by a worthier opponent, their loyalty would be swayed.”

“You want me to kill her?” Xolia asked. Was this his plan the whole time? She’d never premeditated a murder before, everything had always been in the heat of the moment. On a battlefield or in a cage.

“She’s never without the twins. I can’t do it on my own.” Adonis licked his lips. “Please.”

He’s terrified of her, she realized. She didn’t think he would ever admit it; it was the same kind of pride that kept her from admitting how much Atlas terrified her out loud. We’re the same. “I’ll help you.”

They got out of the shower, and Xolia recounted what she could remember of the night. Adonis didn’t look pleased that she’d so willingly taken the obruo but refrained from remarking on it. After she finished her incomplete recollection, Adonis offered to get them food. She nodded, though as soon as he’d left, she collapsed into her bed and slept until nighttime.

She woke up, finding that the blankets had been pulled up around her, and the light of the living room filled the small crack at the bottom of the bedroom door. Her stomach growled, and she got out of bed to find Adonis sitting on her old couch, watching the news on her secondhand television she’d picked up after Marshall left. A group of variants had attacked a bank, stealing over $100,000 according to witnesses. The journalist interviewed the witnesses, and they were all similarly scared and worried about the lax legislation around suppressants after variants completed their court-mandated dosages. The attack hadn’t happened in Atalia but in Fortuna, a city that was almost as large as Atalia and sat on the southern edge of the country. It was the city that Atlas had come from.

“Are you hungry?” Adonis asked her.

She nodded; her eyes glued to the replaying security footage of the assault playing on the news. It was brutal. Fast. Terrifying, if she were human. Xolia clicked her tongue, this was the last thing they needed if they were going to settle century-old prejudices.

“It just happened,” Adonis said, moving over on the small couch. “A group is taking responsibility. The Underlings.”

“And they think this will fix things? Do they not understand what’s at stake?” she asked turning off the TV.

“I don’t think they are particularly concerned with what the general population thinks,” Adonis said.

She supposed he was right, which was why it was all the more important she and Adonis enacted their plans as quickly as possible. She and Peter had plans for the following—they would start interviewing potential staff members, and they were to finalize their schedule for the campaign circuit. Already the political pundits were gearing up for the interviews and rallies and were taking polls as to who would be next to cast their name in the race for chancellor. Not many of them had picked up on Peter’s deliberate disuse of Atlas as vice chancellor in the promotional material they were circulating.

“Do you think Ris will ever find peace?” Xolia asked. It was disheartening but unsurprising that one variant attack would be enough to convince an entire human population that they were unsuited for society. If only you could bring the humans to heel. This wouldn’t be a problem. Xolia clenched her jaw, banishing the thought.

Adonis leaned back against the couch, throwing an arm on the back. “If I don’t believe it, what’s the point of anything we’re doing? What’s the point of anything Silas did?”

Xolia shrugged. Once upon a time she’d been so convinced that everything had a point and would find itself fixed once the rebellion was over. Those few fleeting moments from the sight of the Gornne Administration surrendering to learning Silas was detained were the best moments of her life, before reality came crashing down.

“We’re doing what we can right now,” Adonis said, standing up to hand her the take out he had bought. “Everything is going to work out, Xo.” He pressed a soft kiss to her forehead before leaving her for the night. Despite his open offer, she was still stubbornly attached to her shitty apartment, and with Marshall not in any rush to return, it felt a little more like just hers.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Sweat dripped down into Xolia’s eyes. “Again,” she demanded. Her muscles trembled from exertion, but she wasn’t ready to give up.

Adonis stood on the other side of the training room. He was decidedly less covered in sweat, but his brows were drawn in concern. “Xo.”

She shook her head. “No. I need to figure out how to do this. You figured it out, so can I.”

Since 6 a.m. they had been at the gym, fully empty courtesy of Adonis, and they had been trying to coax from Xolia the ability to create water from nothing by trying to jump-start her self-preservation instincts.

Adonis would attack without water in the room for Xolia to try and defend herself with. Her only line of defense was to push him back through his blood. Xolia had suffered multiple burns to her cheeks and hands already.

“It took me years,” he said.

“I don’t have years,” she argued. “Again.”

He looked only slightly put out before nodding. “Fine. But I’m going to go harder.”

“Fine. Just do it.”

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