Page 75 of This Cruel Fate

“Oh, Xolia, I would never ask you to hurt yourself for the campaign,” he said, moving to sit down again. She held onto his elbows to offer extra support to guide him back down to the chair. Once he was seated, she took her seat on the other side of the desk.

“I know you wouldn’t. I wanted to,” she said. “What’s on our agenda today?” If they could focus on work, maybe Peter would momentarily forget his sickness. Is that how human illnesses work? It had come on so suddenly, and every time she saw him, he looked worse instead of better. It wasn’t right.

Lana and Bridget were quick to sit next to Xolia. Lana laid out Peter’s recent polling numbers. He was evenly matched with John Clemont, which was an issue. There were a few other minor people that had joined, but they fell so far short of Peter and Clemont that they were no threat.

A speechwriter came in and helped Peter and Xolia prepare some opening speeches for the first few rallies of the campaign. They were to spend six months traversing Ris and campaigning in local communities. Other members of Peter’s team came and went, offering their suggestions or research as to what mattered most to voters in different parts of the country and how they should present themselves. The information overload kept Xolia’s mind off her own life and Atlas.

By the day’s end, it was just Peter and Xolia in the office. He coughed twice before it broke out into a full-blown fit. Xolia winced and tried to support him, though nothing she offered or tried the whole day had made any difference.

“Drink some water,” she pleaded and held a cold cup of water out to him.

Peter took the drink, spilling a few drops as the coughing subsided. “Thank you, Xolia. It’s probably best to wrap up the day anyway. Before you go, I wanted to let you know that I changed the order of succession. If I die?—”

“You’re not going to die, Peter?—”

Peter held up his hand and Xolia stopped. “If I die, you will be named chancellor instead of Atlas.”

Something snapped in Xolia. She had never imagined herself as chancellor of Ris. She pushed that feeling away. “What happened between you and Atlas?”

“These past few years have been difficult. You were at the bureau; you know how many variants, and the few variant families that have started, have struggled to make ends meet. Atlas and I have very different ideas as to what resolution means for our nation.” Peter shook his head. “Him not staying on as my vice chancellor was a mutual decision.”

Xolia tilted her head. “But he made it sound like it wasn’t his choice.”

He smiled sadly. “Your childhood took a lot from you; the war took even more. And despite everything, you both have accomplished so much and the responsibilities you have. . .You are so very young. I don’t blame him for our discord.”

“You don’t think he’s. . .”—Xolia considered what word to use—“. . .evil?”

“Nobody is evil, Xolia.”

Xolia nodded, though she didn’t fully believe him. If President Gornne and all of his predecessors hadn’t been evil, what had made them treat variants like little more than weapons? How could anyone have goodness in them and so much hatred at the same time?

She considered Peter and all the things she had learned about him since they first met. He was good, truly good. It made sense that he couldn’t comprehend evil in someone. “Take care of yourself, Peter. I’ll see you for the announcement?”

He nodded. Xolia would keep coming to the palace every day to work with Bridget on her campaign as the vice chancellor, but Peter had other engagements with the Senate for the rest of the week, and doctors’ visits, Xolia hoped. They wouldn’t see each other until the museum’s opening, when they would officially announce her as his running mate. “Be good, Xolia.”

Wednesday, Xolia was back in Peter’s study, though he wasn’t there. It was just her and Bridget finalizing the schedule for Saturday afternoon. She and Peter would arrive together at the museum and deliver their initial remarks, before the building was opened for the first time to high-level politicians and journalists. Lunch would be served in one of the museum’s private rooms, and if everything went according to plan, it would be a triumph for the kickoff of FAR’s campaign for the election next year.

“The church will be there in an official capacity, correct?” Xolia asked, ensuring Irvine, as well as several other high-ranking priests, was on the guest list.

Bridget nodded. “They were given fifteen minutes of speaking time. I believe Irvine will be the one speaking.”

“Has he sent over a copy of his speech?”

Bridget looked up at her, and gave her a slight shake of her head. “I didn’t know you wanted to see it prior.”

“I do.” Xolia needed to make sure Irvine’s words aligned with her own, and with FAR’s. She needed to show a united front with the church, Bridget of all people should know that. She rubbed at her neck again, it had become a habit. Every hour, she had to check if the scar was still there. Each time she did, it was, and as she ran her fingertips over the cool, dead skin, it became harder to breathe, like her throat was constricting itself repeatedly where the scar was. Maybe her body hadn’t healed it correctly, maybe there was something seriously wrong underneath the scar tissue and red tattoo ink forever marring her.

Xolia sucked in a deep breath, trying to regain control over the situation. If only she could talk to Krista. . .None of her old mantras were helping in this new life. Xolia bit at her nails. There wasn’t any reason she couldn’t see if Krista had time before the announcement. One last session before she went off to gallivant around the country. It couldn’t hurt to ask.

“I’ll be right back.” Without waiting for a response, Xolia slipped outside of the study and scrolled through the contacts on her phone until she found Krista’s number.

She answered on the fifth ring. “Hello, this is Krista White, licensed clinical psychologist. How can I help you?”

A shuddering breath escaped Xolia. Her voice was familiar, comforting. “Krista, it’s me. I need to see you.”

“Xolia,” Krista said. She sounded surprised, like she had never expected to hear from Xolia again. “Are you not seeing anyone else?”

“No.” Xolia hated how thick her voice was. She was done with tears and crying and vulnerabilities. She wanted it to end. “I need to talk to you, before Saturday.”

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