“They can’t do this to me,” I say into the dark.
I wanted to say it out loud so that I could hear the confidence in my own voice. But instead, all I hear is the tiny quiver underneath my words.
They can’t do this to me.
I don’t understand why they are.
THREE
I WAKE TO THE CHIMING OF THE CATHEDRAL BELLS. AGAIN.
It’s incredibly rude of them to interrupt my dream. Ale and I were at our wedding reception in the courtyard of his family’s manor, surrounded by a rapt crowd. I looked, somehow, even more stunning than I usually do. We were making the first cut into our massive wedding cake, and I swear I can taste the creamy frosting and the toasted pecans now.
Last night, full of pre-wedding jitters, I ventured down to my family’s kitchen to check on the cake. A maid was perfecting the white frosting. I stuck my finger in it for a taste, and she went pale with horror and scrambled to fix the dent. I waited until she turned her back. Then stuck my finger in again.
The cathedral bells die off, and the noise of the watercrea’s tower seeps back in. Somewhere below, someone else’s chain is scraping against the bars. The person next to me is still taking long, labored breaths. I wish they would hurry up and die. The sound is rattling my bones.
I just want to be out of here and in the House of Morandi. I want to be clean and warm and sipping sugary coffee in a parlor with my best friend.
The cathedral bells chime again. I close my eyes and count.
Five bells.
I wait.
Six bells.
This is getting ridiculous. I clearly don’t belong in this cell. If I did, my omens would be halfway across my body by now.
Seven bells.
I need to relieve myself, but I’m not going to just do it all over my legs. That’s humiliating.
Eight bells.
Well, I can’t hold it any longer. This is the guards’ problem now. They’re the ones who will have to pick up my grimy body when they carry me to freedom.
Twelve bells.
That doesn’t seem like the right number of bells.
One bell.
Three bells.
I’m thirsty.
I hear a strange clinking noise. It takes me a long moment to realize that somebody is undoing the chains around my wrists. My cell door creaks open. I try to sit up, but my head is spinning and my body is aching and the next thing I know, I’m in somebody’s arms, being cradled like a child. The guard holding me smells like sweat and salty blood.
“Leaving?” I croak out.
We’re moving.
“Am I leaving?” I press.
“Quiet,” he says. “I’m taking you to the watercrea.”
The watercrea. I remember the sharp shadows of her face in the cathedral chamber. I remember her dark, cold eyes.
“No,” I whisper.
“She wants to see you,” he says. “You don’t have a choice.”
I should have anticipated this. Of course she wants to see me. I’ve defied her for ten years. I’ve lived longer than anyone with omens should.
I struggle to take in my surroundings as we move up the stairs. We pass tiny cell after tiny cell, and in every single one, there’s the shadow of a person. Most of them are slumped on the floor, and I can barely make them out.
But then I see the girls. In the cell nearby, there are two little girls crammed into the same space. They’re naked and shivering, and they’re sitting up, watching me.
My insides turn cold.
“Why—” My mouth is dry. “Why are they in the same cell?”
“We need more blood,” the guard says.
There are so many people in here that they’ve run out of space. The watercrea’s tower is supposed to be a quick death.
“How long will they live?” I say.
“Until we can’t take any more,” he says.
I wonder how long that takes. I wonder how much blood I’ve already lost and how much more I’m going to lose once the watercrea gets ahold of me.
I’ve had quite enough of this tower.
I throw myself out of the guard’s arms and hit the stairs. I’m sure it hurts, but I’m too cold and numb to feel the pain. He scrambles to grab me back, and the moment his hand touches me, I grab it and shove his fingers into my mouth.
I bite down. Hard. It crunches, and he screams, and it’s disgusting and satisfying all at once. I’m already on my feet. I’m snatching the keys off his belt and scrambling for the cell with the little girls. I unlock it, but when they push on the bars with their tiny hands, I push back.
“They’ll come after me,” I tell them, breathless. “Stay hidden and wait for your chance.”
Their eyes are huge and terrified in the dark. I only have an instant to take them in, but I can see that one has an omen on her shoulder. The other has one on her wrist.
I’m sure their omens will start spreading soon. Even still, I can’t let them die crushed together in a cell like they’re not even human.
The guard grabs me from behind, but I twist and slip out of his grip, and then I’m running. I stumble down the spiral stairs. He’s right behind me. So I let him get closer, and closer, and then I throw myself to one side and stick my leg out. He trips and goes flying down the steps. He lands in a crumpled heap, and as I run past, I kick him in the head for good measure.
I don’t belong in this prison. I don’t want to be in this prison. And I always get what I want.
When I reach the door to the tower, I can hear the guard far above. It sounds like he’s managed to get to his feet, and he’s stumbling and shouting for help. But I’m already slipping outside into the black night.
Occhia has five different neighborhoods, made up of dark manors of varying size and grandiosity. They all cluster together to form a ring around the heart of our city—the cathedral and the watercrea’s tower. Off to one side of the cathedral are the Parliament buildings, and off to the other are the public gardens. It only takes me a minute to navigate back to the winding cobblestone street where my family’s house sits.
All the windows are dark. I’m shivering in the chilly air and desperate to get inside. Everyone is going to be amazed to see me. My parents are going to wrap me in blankets and my aunts are going to feed me hot drinks, and they’re going to help me hide from the guards.
I move toward our front door. But then my eyes fall on the enormous manor at the end of the street.
The House of Morandi has been the wealthiest, most powerful family since the city began, when they took charge of organizing our government and our entire way of life. The central manor, with its towering, ornate double doors, is flanked by two wings, five stories high. Each wing has a tall trellis with ivy creeping up the sides. It’s the most flamboyant way for a family to flaunt their status. Their household is so revered that they receive enough water to keep decorative plants.
Ale’s bedroom window is at the top of one of the trellises, overlooking a small iron balcony. There’s a burning candle sitting in his windowsill.
Without really deciding to, I’m running down the street. I run all the way to the trellis and peer up at the bedroom window that’s supposed to be mine by now, and I decide the climb probably isn’t as horrible as it looks.