Fire Country

“I’m going,” I say. I should be helping the cleanup efforts, but this is something I hafta do.

I hafta.

Skye shrugs. “Yer call. Want some company?”

I shake my head. “I hafta do this on my own.”

I feel numb as she leads me through the village, past cries of pain as fire stick pellets are pried outta Hunters’ skin with hot pokers, past hobbling Wildes, who are both bleeding and gri

I shudder when I realize where Skye’s taking me. We enter the section of Greynote huts, following a route that’s as familiar to me as my own bellybutton. She pushes through the door of our old hut. Inside, darkness awaits.

The first thing I see is my mother’s bed, where she lay dying the night of my Call. The bed she dragged herself out of, to help me, to save me, to kill for me. I imagine her still there, not stricken, but healthy, alive. The image vanishes when I hear a groan.

“Go, Skye,” I say. She touches my shoulder briefly, and then leaves. Behind his curtain, my father cries out again. A voice murmurs something to him. “Who’s there?” I ask.

Feve steps out.

“You!” I say.

“Me,” he replies calmly.

“How dare you? Get out!” I have so many questions I wa

“Siena, please,” he says.

“What are you doing here? Plotting and scheming with my father even on his death bed? You’re a real baggard.”

“I know,” he says. “I screwed up. Your father…he was very convincing. He offered me a lot in return for watching you the night of your Call, following you if you escaped—skins and food and wood—things we desperately needed. We’ve been working together with the Greynotes for a long time, trading our services in exchange for goods that only your father can get from the Icers.”

Although I’m surprised to hear that the Greynotes have a secret agreement with the Marked, I don’t wa

“I didn’t know, Siena. I swear!”

“Are you so daft as to not realize what he’d do the moment he knew where the Wilde Ones were? He tried to kill us!”

“I thought he just wanted you back. To bring you home. To keep you safe. I believed him.”

“Then you’re dumber’n a tug stuck in the mud,” I say.

“I’ll make this right,” he says, touching my hand as he passes. I pull away sharply, wiping my hand on my clothes.

“There’s nothing you can do to make it right,” I say.

Head down, he leaves.

~~~

When I pull the curtain away, I gasp. It’s my father on the bed, but not how I remember him. His eyes are closed, hiding his dark and brooding eyes. Dried flecks of blood are crusted on his lips and cheeks. His face is broken with pain.

“Sienaaaah,” he murmurs.

“I came here for me, not for you,” I say, keeping my distance.

His eyes creep open to slits, and then widen slightly when he sees me. “You’ve changed,” he says. “You look different.”

“I’m better for having left this place,” I say.

“I’ve made mistakes,” he says, his voice weak and unsteady.

“Name ’em!” I demand, dead set on hearing him admit what he’s done.

“I should’ve listened to you—to what you wanted,” he croaks.

“Searin’ right,” I mutter.

“I thought Bearing was the right path for you, for all the women…” He almost sounds penitent, but I ain’t about to let him feel better ’bout himself.

“Bearing’s fine,” I say, “but you can’t force it. And you can’t force who we do it with!” My voice is rising.

“I don’t know why the Icers are keeping us out,” he rasps, his voice fading.

“’Cause they’re afraid of catching the Fire,” I say.

“Don’t make sense,” he gasps. “They have a cure. Why would they be scared?”

His question stops me. I’d never really thought ’bout that. Why indeed. But that’s a question for another time. Now, he’s just ducking all the mistakes he’s made.

“You killed Mother,” I say.

“No, I didn’t help her. There’s a difference.”

“No there’s not!” I scream, rushing forward. I grab him by the throat, squeeze. My hand is shaking, not with fear or uncertainty, but with power, with strength. This is the moment I been waiting for. Vengeance’ll be mine.

“Wait,” he rasps. “Circ…”

I release him slightly, maintaining a firm grip. “Don’t you speak of him. You got no right. You killed him, too.” My head’s throbbing with rage. This man has taken everything from me.

Everything.

“No. I’m sorry, I never should have…” His voice falters and he gasps.

I let go, my shoulders slumping. I can’t kill a man who’s already dying. “You never shoulda what?” I say. “I wa

He licks his chapped lips, wheezes, says, “I never should have fooled you, Siena.”

“What? You’re not making no sense. You NEVER fooled me. I found out everything, Father, did you know that? I snuck outta my cage in Confinement, saw the lifers—the i

“Not…what I…meant,” he slurs, fading fast.

“Get to the point then, Father. What the scorch are you trying to say?”

“Circ,” he moans. “All fake. Not really dead.”

Chapter Thirty-Six

I don’t know what to believe anymore. Father’s dead, and the meaning behind his words with him. If he was trying to give me hope that Circ’s out there somewhere, living, breathing, waiting to sweep me off my feet, he failed. There’s no hope left for me, ’specially by my father’s lies.

Circ would never fool me into thinking he’s dead. Never. I only know it ’cause I’d never do that to him. It’d be the cruelest act of all. I saw him, watched him dying, pierced and broken. He gave me his searin’ charm for tug’s sake!

Burn it, burn it, burn it all to searin’ scorch!

I’m full of rage so deep and controlling that I don’t leave the hut for a long time. At my father. At his lies. At the hope that creeps into me even as I’m denying that it’s there.

I break down. Right there on the floor. Curl up into a ball and cry my eyes out.

I don’t stop until Skye and Lara arrive and wrap themselves ’round me.The two people who mean the most to me. They don’t ask questions, just hold me.

My mind cleansed by my tears, a thought takes hold. At first it’s just a wild idea, but then hope and imagination grab onto it, expand it, turn it into something that feels real, more real’n anything else that’s happened to me over the last year.

I have no choice.

“I hafta go to Confinement,” I say.

~~~

I wa

“So yer friend Raja’ll be ’ere?” Skye says when we’re partway there. I told them we were coming to free the prisoners, which we are. They don’t need to know what else I’m thinking. Plus, even if I wanted to tell them, I don’t think I’ll be able to speak what I won’t allow my heart to hope.

“Yeah,” I say. “If he’s still alive.” I don’t dare to hope that either.

“I still can’t believe your father confined i