Page 85 of Xantera
Nobody down below would notice that my hand trembles as I lift it to wave.
Examining Xantera from this angle puts the city into a different perspective. The main road stretches out in front of me all the way to farmland, where twin windmills twirl in the distance. The uniform rows of housing complexes look too much like a chicken coop. Too unyielding. Too harsh. Too cramped.
I switch my sights to the courtyard. A sea of faces peer up at us, all with matching expressions of awe and wonder, as if they really do think of us as honorable heroes. From my current balcony several stories up, I can just make out their features: toothy smiles and wide eyes, hands waving frantically whenever they spot their loved ones.
Desperately, my gaze hesitates over each man’s face with mousy brown hair, desperate for a slice of familiarity. For a moment, I worry that Malcolm didn’t even show up…
And then my eyes land on his smile, right next to Walter and someone else so familiar that my stomach clenches with homesickness.
Gaia jumps up and down when I spot her, smacking Malcolm and pointing me out excitedly.
“Hi!” I yell, my heart jackhammering in exhilaration. It’s only been a little less than a week since I’ve been in here, but I feel as if I knew the three people below me in another lifetime.
But they can’t hear me. And I can’t hear them.
Between the distance and the murmurs around the courtyard, it’s impossible to make anything out. Sylvia and Diggory’s way of communicating must have given them a tremendous advantage that others don’t have. I just can’t figure out how none of the Guardians spotted their hands moving in anything other than these repetitive waves.
Now, I zero in on Malcolm, wishing so badly I could communicate with him in the same way—tell him everything I’ve learned and what it means for the people of Xantera. Maybe, if the Guardians’ secret could leak out to the public, there would be too many rebels to drag into the palace and suck the life out of…
I turn away to reel back my emotions, right as a familiar face sidles up next to me.
“Look who it is,” the Chosen One—Tristan—teases, continuing to wave and smile with slow, graceful movements down at his own loved ones. “Your arm already tired?”
I rest my back against the balcony, taking in heavy breaths. “I can’t do this.”
“Do what? Smile and wave?”
“No,” I say. “Lie.”
Tristan lets an uncomfortable laugh slip out. “You’ll be punished if you don’t. I’ve seen it.” He pauses to let out an overenthusiastic whoop before he drops his voice. “I suppose maybe you won’t if you’re already the Third’s little pet.”
I turn my face up at him in disgust. “What?”
“Heard he came out of your room earlier. The Cardinal Rules don’t matter here, so gossip spreads fast.” Once again, his eyes make their lazy way across my chest, down my waist. “Not that I blame him.”
It hits me. His slow movements, his leisurely drawl. If I hadn’t discovered it already, I’d think he was drunk on venom.
He’s not, though. He’s in the beginning phases of turning to stone.
“That wasn’t what it looked like,” I insist.
Tristan shrugs. “No one blames you. I’ve slept with my Guardian plenty of times. They’re undeniably attractive. Though it took me months to be invited into the north wing… not a week.” Again he can’t keep his eyes off my body. “You’re undeniably attractive yourself. Also, you never came to play poker. I was looking forward to your company.”
“I was busy,” I mutter.
“Busy? There’s nothing to do in this place besides—”
“Wait,” I interrupt, my mood ticking up, “you’ve been in the north wing?”
“Yeah.” His brow creases in confusion. “I just said—”
“What’s it like?”
Tristan peeks over his shoulder to make sure nobody’s listening in.
“More palace,” he jokes.
“Specifically, what’s it like?” The irritation seeps into my voice. I want to shake him awake, shout in his face that I’m trying to save him and everyone else here.
