Page 82 of This Cruel Fate

“It’s going to be okay.” Adonis took her free hand in his and gently squeezed. Hand-in-hand, they made their way to the bouncer and listed off their names. The bouncer nodded at them and checked their IDs before opening the door.

Xolia stepped through the entryway first, no longer an easily passed-by patron, she was now garnering stares from everyone in the room. Some tried to hide their interest in what the Selermine was doing in a politicians’ bar, while others stared blatantly in her direction. She didn’t deign to make eye contact with any of them and focused on the warmth from Adonis as he tugged on her wrist to lead her to the back of the bar where a dark hallway beckoned them.

The hallway was dingy compared to the rest of the bar, just one pale lightbulb in the center with a frayed string to turn it on or off. Several doors lined the hallway, painted black and chipping along the corners. Adonis entered the first door on the left.

A small coffee table took up most of the room, and four chairs were placed around it. The farthest chair from the entrance was occupied by General Hugh DuBois. A legend more than a man. Another pale and uncovered bulb lit up the room, much like the hallway. They don’t care much for ambiance back here. Xolia settled into the hard chair and tried to imagine General DuBois taking all of his meetings here in a room that looked like it belonged more in the Hannith District, one of the poorest parts of Atalia, than the Armistice.

“Adonis. Xolia,” General DuBois greeted them. His hand rested against a sweating cup of some dark alcohol. The sight of it made Xolia’s stomach churn.

“You need to vote for Xolia tomorrow,” Adonis said, leaning forward and placing his fist on the table.

Xolia raised an eyebrow, she didn’t expect such an up-front strategy.

The general didn’t seem to be put off by the behavior. “Why should I do that?”

“You know what I did for you,” Adonis said, voice low.

Xolia’s brow raised further. What had he done?

“Yes, and I paid you for that favor. Will you pay me for mine?”

Bribery? The best strategist in the country would stoop as low as bribery? “You don’t need money,” Xolia said. “You don’t need power. What do you need?”

“I need someone I can trust running the country. Atlas is too concerned with buying the barracks to give a shit.”

Atlas is trying to buy Helen’s property? She glanced at Adonis. The property that now belongs to Adonis. Getting Atlas out of the picture was shaping up to be something that was at the top of Adonis’s list. Atlas was probably a higher priority than Adonis’s parents.

“Even when we were on opposite sides of the war, I respected you,” Xolia said. “I want what’s best for Ris, the same as I’ve always wanted. I know all FAR’s policies?—”

“We don’t need another Peter,” the general interrupted. “That hasn’t worked. We have a terrorist organization hiding right under our noses. Peter refuses to believe it. Atlas doesn’t want to risk upsetting anyone to do anything about it. What would you do, Xolia?”

He must be talking about the Underlings. The variants that were tired of being under human rule. Under the weak protection of the bureau. Xolia was back on the street the night of the charity dinner, listening to how they didn’t care for her or what she stood for. After all she did for them. “I will do whatever it takes.” Xolia’s resolve hardened. Should Peter live, she would make him see the truth. Terrorist groups, human or variant, couldn’t be given an inch of space in a modern-day Ris.

“She has the backing of the Rheathian church,” Adonis added. “They will follow her anywhere.”

General DuBois sipped deeply from the glass. The only sound was that of a large ice cube clinking as he sat the cup back on the table. “I saw the video. Is it truly real?”

Xolia clenched her jaw and nodded. That day was by far the worst of her life. The general’s eyes settled on her neck, and fighting back no small amount of shame, Xolia pulled aside the top of her coat, revealing the jagged scar made redder with the tattoo ink.

“So what, are you divinely destined to rule?” General DuBois asked, but the question was buoyed with a slight breathlessness.

“I’m the Selermine. My path is true and will not lead me astray. If I am to rule, I will not lose.” Xolia felt that conviction that flowed through her when she needed it most. She was the Selermine. This was her right.

“Ris has been a secular nation since the fall of the monarchy,” the general mused. “But you’d be hard-pressed to find anyone who can deny that.” He rubbed his chin with his fingers. “I’ll cast my vote for you tomorrow, but you will let me make decisions as I see fit when it comes to leading the military and dealing with domestic terrorists.”

“Naturally, a man of your talents should hardly be restricted.”

Adonis stood. “You’ll explain the situation to Senator Davenport, won’t you?”

The general smiled without joy. “Of course, son.”

“It was good to meet with you, General,” Xolia said, standing. “I look forward to tomorrow.”

“And you as well.” The general bade them goodbye with a tip of his drink in their direction before downing the rest of the liquor.

They were back in the warm glow of the main room of the Armistice when a loud boom broke the soft whisper of conversation. Xolia’s body immediately loosened into a defensive stance. Adonis did the same.

There were three beats of utter stillness before a gust of wind knocked out the windows of the building and car alarms sounded up and down the street. Adonis and Xolia met each other’s eyes while the rest of the room descended into chaos.

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