Page 86 of This Cruel Fate

Chapter Thirty-Five

Xolia awoke to voices talking over and around her. She was on her back, still in the Senate Hall. Smoke drifted across the ancient stones of the ceiling. Medical personnel had a blood pressure cuff strapped to her arm, and on the other side of her, there was a single IV drip in the pit of her elbow.

Xolia tried to sit up, but something was restricting her movement at her midsection. A nurse caught her. “Chancellor Stone, you need to stay still.”

“I’ll be fine. Let me up.” She moved her arms, trying to free herself from the medical devices. The pain in her chest was more of a dull ache, and she could breathe uninhibited—for the most part.

“Chancellor—”

“I said, let me up.”

The nurse obeyed quickly, carefully removing the long needle from her arm, uncuffing her from the blood pressure monitor, and unstrapping the supportive restraints that had prevented her from getting up herself. The room was in a state of chaos, medical staff were tending to the wounded while dead bodies were carried out of the room in haste by soldiers.

Xolia unsteadily stood. Using the railing of the gurney to guide her, she stumbled over to General DuBois, who had made it out of the fray with only a grazed shoulder and a cut to his cheek.

“General.”

“Chancellor.”

“Where’s. . .”—she coughed into her arm, a few spots of blood adding to the filth of her sleeve—“Where’s Atlas?”

“He escaped during the explosion, along with General Perrin. Twelve senators are dead, including Senator Davenport.”

Those losses were staggering. “Of those left, how many support us?”

The general shook his head. “We have them all detained right now. And, Xolia? The reports from the Meillus explosion? At least 1,500 people died.”

A sharp pain emanated from her stab wound, and Xolia struggled to breathe. 1,500 people dead? This wasn’t how she’d wanted to start her term. One terrorist group killing civilians. And now there was Atlas and his actions to contend with. It was treason. Unforgivable.

“Has news of the Palace attack leaked?”

General DuBois nodded. Of course. It’d been a naïve hope that this had all been somehow contained under the shadow of the hospital bombing. Of course, if the press was owned by the state, they would have been able to suppress the news a little longer. Xolia breathed in slowly, ignoring the throbbing in her side.

“Do we know anything about Perrin or Atlas?”

“I have my men searching for them.”

“How much of the military will follow Perrin?”

“I don’t know.”

“Find out.” Xolia exhaled, trying to straighten out her body. “Where’s Adonis?”

“He suffered eight fractured ribs, a snapped spinal cord, and a severe concussion. He’s in a coma right now.”

Xolia winced. That kind of injury would take almost a week to fully heal, and she needed Adonis by her side now more than ever. She couldn’t delay in leading, no matter how much she wished she could. With two attacks from two enemies in such quick succession, the entire country was vulnerable. The irony that she had now started two chapters of her life with such violence and loss was not lost on her. Last time, she’d lost Silas. This time, Peter. There was no one to guide her now. No steadying or comforting presence to either push her or comfort her.

“We need to bring in some of the press,” Xolia said. “And I need Bridget.”

Four hours later, Xolia was surrounded by Jareth and Emily; Isiah had been one of the casualties of the Palace attack. They sat in the octagonal office that Peter had used for official addresses and meetings. His ghost lingered in the small photographs on the eastern-facing wall and in the small handwritten notes that were still on the desk from his last televised speech. She ran her fingers over the lined paper, hoping to draw comfort from this small piece of him.

Alas, it was just ink and paper. A final remnant immortalized in such scraggly penmanship that she could never hope to read it. A single tear slipped down her cheek. She wiped it away before either of her companions could notice it. Xolia buried her sadness and sat down behind the desk, Emily and Jareth flanking her at either side. On the wall behind them, FAR’s flag stood next to a flag with the mark of the Selermine, representing both sides of her. Xolia was grateful to be dressed in clean clothes, though she was constantly aware that her scar was exposed. It took almost all her mental strength to avoid scratching at it.

A knock sounded at the door. Xolia licked her lips. “Come in.”

Bridget peeked her head in. “I’ve got Violet with RNN here for you.”

“Send her in.” Violet was the only journalist Xolia wanted to talk to. Violet was the only person she trusted to share the events honestly and faithfully to the country. With a fractured military, a huge death count, and a slaughtered Senate, Xolia needed to make sure everything she said gave off the assurance of her capabilities as a leader and as a figure that would set the country back to order.

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