Page 7 of This Cruel Fate

Shame at her own ignorance flooded Xolia. She hadn’t seen anything about that. And whose fault is that? No biting retorts came to mind, and there was no way she could feasibly deny the claim. “Change won’t make everyone happy, but they will see that FAR is trying to make things better.”

“Please.” Adonis rolled his eyes, and dark hair fell into his face. “Peter hasn’t made any meaningful progress. He chose his own Senate and they still manage to stall every radical reform proposed. No idealism can overcome high taxes and zero follow-through. He needs a new campaign to win the election next year.”

No one had ever disparaged FAR so blatantly to Xolia before. She didn’t think anyone could feel that way about them. Not after all the work FAR had done for the country. Any dissent that made it to her was trivial. Individual. Easy to fix. Not everyone would be happy with change. “What are you doing for Ris?” She turned the tables back on him.

“I’m trying to bring it into the future,” he shot back, and though she wanted to, Xolia couldn’t deny the earnestness in his eyes.

Without her suppressants, and after the lost years of maintaining control over her powers, Xolia was nearly overwhelmed. Her body longed to reach out and find water or to give into her more unsavory powers. In their youth, Adonis had been a rebel and poked fun, but there had never been this outright hostility. He had led the assault on the Presidential Palace. It unnerved her to see his allegiances so twisted.

Someone tapped her on the shoulder. She whirled around and bit out a strained, “What?”

It was only Marshall. Supportive Marshall. Unchallenging Marshall. She forced herself to relax a fraction, still aware of Adonis behind her. Xolia tried to relay that she was fine in response to Marshall’s worried gaze.

“It’s time for dinner to begin,” Marshall said. “Atlas is looking for you.”

She nodded and turned back to try and get in one last cutting remark to Adonis. Even though he was one of the few people dressed in all black, he had already disappeared into the sea of people making their way to the tables.

Chapter Four

Xolia sat to Peter’s right at the long table. Atlas sat on his left, and they ate their food in relative silence. She hunched in on herself, all too aware of the oversized suit jacket she wore and how she was in prime position to be scrutinized. Marshall hadn’t asked her about it, though there really hadn’t been the time.

She pushed her food around her plate. The podium loomed in front of the table. Its upright position kept Xolia’s attention while the murmur of conversation was at an all-time low. Her heartbeat wouldn’t settle, everything Adonis had said unnerved her more than she wanted to admit. I just have to say the same things I do every year, and then I can go home.

Peter smiled at her, the unscarred side of his face visible to her. She didn’t even attempt to smile back. There was no way she could fake it well enough to convince him. All she could do was continue to eat in silence and wait for Peter to start the speeches.

Her plate was a precarious mess of uneaten food when Peter finally cleared his throat and stood up. He smiled at the crowd, the crow’s feet in the corners of his eyes more pronounced than usual under the glare of lights. He took his time walking around the table and to the podium. The rest of the dinner’s attendees quieted and even the music halted when Peter drew in a deep breath. A deep cough tore through him for several moments before he managed to stifle it and smile at the room of attendees.

“Seven years,” he began. “It’s been seven years since the end of the Variants’ Revolution. While I can’t say things are perfect, I will say that things are better for everyone. And that has only been possible through the dedication and sacrifice from everyone in this room.”

Thoughts of Silas entered Xolia’s mind uninvited. Even if he lost his way in the end, no one would have sacrificed anything without his initial vision. She shook her head, now of all times was not the time to think about him. I am who I am in spite of Silas, not because of him. She tried to refocus on Peter.

“Progress is not a destination, but rather the journey of our people. Every one of us is making a better decision today than we made yesterday. I know that there is still distrust between humans and variants. The fight to fully integrate schools has only begun, but it’s a fight I won’t give up. I haven’t in seven years, and I will continue to fight for the next seven years should this great nation re-elect me as chancellor.”

Applause erupted, and Peter paused his speech. Xolia clapped politely. Two seats over, Atlas remained stoic, his face a neutral mask. Perhaps Atlas was still angry at Peter for changing the speech order. Either way, it gave Xolia a small jolt of excitement. Peter was choosing her over Atlas, even if it was just for tonight.

Once the clapping receded, Peter closed out his speech. “My competition will tell you we are in tumultuous and unstable times. That aggressors on both sides grow bolder by the day. But has it not been the history of Ris to find its most peaceful days after the bloodiest ones? These dissenters are afraid of the change we are enacting. They forget they are the minority. Allow me and my party to bring us into a new era of unprecedented peace and prosperity.” Peter bowed his head, and Xolia found herself standing while she applauded. Soon, much of the room was standing in ovation for him. As the first person to announce his candidacy, he had set the example for everyone to follow.

Peter introduced Atlas, who had noticeably remained sitting the entire time, and the two men shook hands before Peter returned to Xolia’s side. She longed to ask about the awkwardness between them, but they were too visible to the rest of the room.

Atlas’s face was stoic, the perfect mask of a politician, but Xolia was close enough to see the small tremor in his hand as he clutched the side of the podium. “Thank you, Chancellor Bellevue, for your courageous words tonight. I think we are all in agreement that the betterment of Ris and its peoples are our main priority. Variants have much to thank FAR for, and I know that, should Chancellor Bellevue’s reign continue, variants will continue to progress.” He abruptly announced Xolia and turned away from the podium, his back rigid and movement stiff. Xolia turned, sending a questioning look to Peter, whose features were drawn back, seemingly in resignation.

As Atlas was sitting down, he turned to her. “You’re up.”

What the hell? Like her, he was supposed to repeat his usual annual speech; she had expected him to announce his campaign to reprise his role as vice chancellor tonight. When they had rehearsed earlier in the day, he flew through the words smoothly, like always. She didn’t know what had changed between then and now.

Xolia stood and smoothed out the skirt of her golden dress, her borrowed jacket mostly hiding the stain. It wasn’t her ideal look, but it was better than anything she had ever worn to rebellion meetings. Each step toward the podium was another turn of her thoughts. What did Rowan and Director Howard talk about earlier? What made Adonis so cynical? What is Atlas playing at?

By the time she stood behind the podium and grasped at the sides, all of her well-rehearsed lines floated just out of reach. Her throat was dry. Too dry. Near the front, Marshall sat, leaning forward. He smiled; he was always trying to be the encouragement she needed. She took a long, steadying breath and brought her hands down to her sides.

“FAR is not the party of variants. It’s not the party of humans. It’s the party of Risians,” she stated. They were the same words she had said to Adonis. Despite his lackluster response, she spoke the truth. Right?

“FAR is the party of progress. I’ve known Pet—Chancellor Bellevue since the days of the rebel—Revolution, and never once has he wavered in his beliefs that all Risians should be treated equally. He was the first human to treat me as more than brute protection. FAR remained infallible even when…” She trailed off, unable to say Silas’s name. For some reason, knowing that he was dead made it harder to talk about his transgressions. She hadn’t even gotten to say goodbye, which was far from the thoughts she should have concerning him, but she couldn’t drop it.

Everyone looked at her expectantly. Their full attention stayed on her, which normally she reveled in, but tonight? Tonight, it was unbearable. Tonight, their stares weighed on her chest and the walls shrunk, drawing everyone in closer. Could they see her troubled thoughts, dangling for escape on the tip of her tongue? Did they see that no matter how hard she tried, no matter how much work she put into her job, there were still people like Adonis who didn’t believe in her words? Did they know she doubted her words?

She focused on Marshall again, but that sense of security she needed from him escaped her. People grew restless and murmured amongst themselves. Xolia looked back at Peter, all the exhaustion of his position was clear in the way he sagged in his seat. She didn’t want to disappoint him in the same way Atlas most assuredly had.

No matter how much she tried to get the rest of the words out, they were blocked by a lump in her throat. Once again, she turned to Peter. “I’m sorry,” she rasped out before running from the table. The murmur grew to confused conversation, but she didn’t stop to listen. Didn’t stop to see whether Marshall was running after her or whether Rowan had decided to check on her. She reached the open balcony doors and slammed them shut behind her.

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