The Sun Dwellers

“Tristan,” I say, “it’s going to be okay.”

He looks at me, his eyes misty again. “Is it?” he says. “I’m sorry, that’s more than I can hope for right now.”

Is it just Roc that’s bothering him? Or is it that I—

“Tristan, I’m sorry I killed your father. I know that was the whole point of all of this, but I’ll understand if you never forgive me.”

Tristan’s eyes flick to mine, his anger melting away. “What? No! I’m not angry about that. I would’ve done it myself if I had the chance. He wasn’t my father. Was never really my father, any more than he was Roc’s father.” There’s a sincerity in his deep blue eyes that once again proves how different he is to the ex-president. “I’m just tired. Killen…Roc…Trevor…what my mother did and how she died…it’s all too much at one time.”

With everything we’ve just gone through, I’d forgotten about the revelation the President made before he died. It seems so science fiction, so farfetched that it just might be true. “So you believe him?”

“Sometimes the truth hurts the most,” he says, glancing at the doctor, who has cut off Roc’s shirt, revealing his lean and muscly frame. The body of a servant, a workhorse. “We were ninety percent of the way there on our own. Our matching scars. The instant, almost neurological attraction we had for each other. How it suddenly turned off and the buzzing on our scalps and spine were gone. It all makes sense now.”

He’s right. In my heart I know that. But a microchip? I’m not sure what I’m more shocked about: that there’s a microchip implanted in my spine or that one or both of my parents worked with Tristan’s mom to put it there. The only strange thing is…

“How did it turn off all of a sudden?” I wonder aloud. “You know, stop pulling us to each other.”

Tawni, who’s been watching the doctor treating Roc in silence, suddenly says, “The scientist who created them probably figured out a way to disrupt the signal, maybe cancel them out or something.”

Tristan nods. “Sounds about right.” He cringes as the doctor paints antiseptic around the point where the sword enters Roc’s skin. For some reason it doesn’t bother me. The gore, that is. I should be grossed out, ready to spew all over myself, but it just doesn’t seem real. I mean, who has a sword sticking out of their gut and requires treatment? Most of them are just taken to the morgue in that situation. Roc’s a fighter.

“Did you…?” I say, trying to coax some information from Tristan.

Tristan laughs, which catches me off guard. It’s the last thing I expect him to do right now. “Did I what?” he says, still smirking. “Did I stab him?”

I nod, wondering what’s so fu

“No,” Tawni answers for him. “He stabbed himself.”

The pieces fall together. He wanted to end the fight against his best friend without causing any harm to me or Tawni. My heart swells with love for Roc, for being the kind of person that would willingly give his own life for his friends. “You saw him do it?” I ask Tawni.

She looks away, back to Roc. The doctor is wrapping thick gauze around the sword, mumbling something under his breath. “I sensed it,” she says thickly.

Staring at my friend, who’s watching the procedure with interest, I say, “What do you mean?”

Finally she looks at me, her eyes welling up with tears for the first time since entering the Sun Realm. It’s catching up to her. The fear, the emotional pain, seeing Roc with a sword in his gut, everything. She can be so strong for so long, but eventually everyone needs to let it all out. “I know him, Adele. I know it sounds crazy, but in the short time that we’ve been talking, I’ve learned so much about him. Roc is—he’s a good person. Genuine, you know? He always talked about how he’d be willing to give his life for Tristan or me or you. It’s almost like he’s been waiting for an opportunity to be a hero.”

“He is a hero,” I say, meaning it.

“Damn right,” Tristan says.

“From the moment you started fighting,” she says, looking past me to Tristan, “I could just sense he was going to do it. No one was watching me—they were all looking at the President, or the action down below, or Adele. I was just a bystander, unimportant. So I worked on my ropes with my hands. The guy who searched me for weapons was more interested in my body than in doing his job. He didn’t find the gun you gave me, Adele. And when he tied my wrists he left a lot of slack. I managed to slip the ropes off without anyone seeing. I grabbed the gun and waited for an opportunity.” She pauses, blinks away more tears. One slips out and meanders down her cheek. “I was too late,” she cries. “Too late to save Roc.”

“You did awesome,” I say. “You saved the day, Tawni. If you hadn’t done what you did, we’d all be dead, Roc included. He’s still alive.”

We all turn our attention back to the bed at the same time, as if we’re just remembering that there’s a life and death procedure going on. Slowly, slowly, ever so slowly, the doctor pulls the sword from the wound, applying pressure with the gauze in his other hand. Roc, his eyes still closed, shakes violently as the sword is extracted, but doesn’t wake up. “What’s happening?” I whisper, a hand on Tristan’s shoulder.

Overhearing, the doctor says, “His body’s reacting to the trauma. An involuntary spasm, nothing more. He’s doing okay, but he’s not out of the mines yet.”

My hand bumps off the edge of a table and pain surges through my shoulder. “Uhhh,” I groan.

“Your shoulder is not okay,” Tristan says.

“It’s fine,” I insist, cradling my dangling arm like a baby. I grit my teeth, try to blink away the pain. “It’s not like I have a sword in my stomach.”

“I’ll fix it right up,” Tawni says. “I’ll make a sling. But first I have to set it. It’s going to hurt like hell though.”

I know I’ll need treatment at some point, but there are more pressing matters.

“I’m not trying to sound insensitive,” I say. “But there’s not much we can do here to help Roc. I mean, what do we do next? The President’s dead and no one knows yet. The war will continue on until we stop it. People are dying down there. My mom—” My breath hitches.

Tristan takes a deep breath. “I want to stay with Roc.”

“But you’re the President now.”

“What? No. No, I’m not. I don’t want to be.”

“You are,” I press. “Your father’s dead. Killen’s dead. You’re the only Nailin left. Until everything gets sorted out, it’s you. You have the power to set things right.”

Tristan stares at his feet. “But this is exactly what I never wanted—this kind of power.”

I put an arm around him. This is one of the many reasons I fell for Tristan. Yeah, we had microchips pulling each other together, but there was always more to it. He’s not like the other sun dwellers who are hungry for power and fame. “That’s exactly why you’re the right person to have it. Anyway, you can help shape new laws that will spread the power out amongst a broader group with representation from all the Realms.”

He looks up and our eyes meet. So soft and so serious at the same time. Another contradiction I love about him. “Go, Tristan. Set things right. End this u

Chapter Twenty-Five

Tristan

It’s hard for me to leave Roc like that. Although the doctor promises me he’ll take good care of him, there’s no guarantee he’ll be able to save his life. Not that me being there would make a difference one way or the other, but I’d just hate for him to wake up—after stabbing himself to save my life—and me not be there. Some friend I am.

But, on the other hand, Adele is right. Roc would want me to stop the war as soon as possible if I was able to. He wouldn’t want me hovering by his bedside while people are dying in the Lower Realms. In the end, it’s that thought that convinces me to leave him. I trust Adele to protect Roc and Tawni and herself while I’m away.