1
THEY ORDERED ME to shut my eyes and stay silent and touch not a drop of my power. They tied my hands and blindfolded me and led me out of the Scouring like a slave. Don’t they know ropes and blindfolds are pointless? With the collar around my neck, I have to obey whether I like it or not.
I march steadily and blindly ahead. The stone under my feet gives way to dirt—lots and lots of dry, crumbly dirt. Birds sing in the distance, but no one speaks a word. I feel sunlight on my face, but I can’t even crack my eyes to peek at the blindfold. All I can do is think, and that’s gotten me into enough trouble already.
Emma let them do this. She handed me over to the Yellow Tower without any warning, without any resistance. We agreed to go to Yellow together, but I never signed up for a collar. All Emma said was, I’m sorry, Cipher. This was the only way.
She’s sorry? After all we’ve been through, she owes me more than that. And why is this the only way? I have my doubts. I always have my doubts.
The sunlight suddenly dims. The dirt under my feet feels firmer. The rope stops pulling me forward. It’s quiet. The air is still. I am still.
I tense at a slight sound of motion. Something touches the back of my head. The blindfold shifts, then falls off.
“Open your eyes,” says a girl’s voice, silky but strong.
I expect a prison...or worse. But as my eyes blink open, I see no prison bars. I’m in a quaint little room. The earthen walls and thatch ceiling glow soft and yellow. Light pours through a window and beams down onto a loaf of bread on a small wooden table. Steam drifts lazily from the golden crust. A fire burns in an earthen hearth in the corner. It’s almost pleasant.
“He is surprised,” the girl says. “And hungry.”
She stands before me bright as an angel. She’s the one who collared me. She’s my master. Her face is made of steep lines, framed by straight black hair under a silver crown. She wears a yellow dress and slippers, delicate and refined and entirely out of place on the plain dirt floor.
“No wonder,” a boy says. “They do not feed them in Green.”
He stands in the doorway, silhouetted by the light outside. His features are hidden, but not his crown. He’s the tall boy who led the Yellow team into the Scouring. He made the trade that landed me in a collar. And, even if he looks as young as the rest of us in this place, he’s Emma’s father. I want to shout at him—where is she?—but the cold metal link at my neck allows no word. If only I could use my power...
“Do not provoke him,” the girl says. “He is angry.”
“We can use anger,” the boy replies. “Tell him what to do so we can return. I tire of this dirt.”
“Very well. Come with me.” The girl unties the rope around my wrists, then takes my hand, gently. The boy steps aside as she leads me out.
The flat ground around the little hut is cracked and yellow-grey, with a few scattered weeds. There is a gentle breeze. The suns shine down without any tree or cloud to block the light. I shade my eyes and scan the surroundings. In the distance, fields of grasses and grains grow in patchwork patterns. There are other small huts like the one behind me. Beyond the fields rises a tall palace—the Yellow Tower—dazzling as crystal. We must have walked past it, out of the Scouring and to this field.
A massive flock of birds swoops overhead. I turn and watch them soar away until they form a single dark pattern in the bright blue sky. Between the earth and the sky, a wall extends across the horizon, as if enclosing the land. I remember this wall. It’s the wall that Emma and I sailed to together from the Blue Tower. The same wall where the Green Tower’s forest ended. The wall that Yellow’s archers patrol, allowing no one to enter. Except now I’m within the wall, remembering the pain of an arrow through my leg. Emma had healed it quickly. Emma healed so many things for me. But now she handed me over to be enslaved. This was the only way, she said. Why? For her father? She wouldn’t betray me, would she? No, not Emma...
“What is this you feel?” The girl leans close, her wide-set eyes peering into mine like she’s reading an open book. “Very interesting. You have so little fear.”
“It takes only a little fear to be a coward,” the boy says.
The girl turns sharply to him. “This one is different. I am sure of it. Rarely does one with such courage come to Yellow.”
“All who come have fear,” the boy says. “He will remember it. Or he will be reset.”
The girl faces the boy with her back to me. Her shoulders show rippling tension under her yellow dress. “We must force nothing,” the girl says. “You know what Elijah and the Widow command.”
“But they are not here anymore, are they?”
“They will return,” the girl snaps. “Nothing is covered that will not be revealed. But we cannot reveal anything. Only the light can do that.”
“The light! You sound just like them...” The boy grins at her, sly and playful. “Maybe they really have gone for good.”
The girl shakes her head, making her black hair swing like a curtain across her back. “They could be here even now, listening to us. You grow too bold.”
“Too bold, or scoured?” he asks.
The girl glances back at me. The collar tells her what I feel—curiosity and confusion and anger.
“You reveal too much,” she tells the boy. “We will speak more of this. Shall I give the orders?”
The boy holds out his arms innocently. “By all means.”
“Pick up some dirt,” the girl commands me. “Study it.”
I bend down and scoop up a handful of the soil at our feet. The dirt looks grayish brown in my palm. Little clumps crumble as I roll them between my fingers, dry and dusty as they fall to the ground.
“Smell it.”
The earthy fragrance is thick and stale, like the dirt has been baking under the three suns for eternity. It has none of the moisture or decay of the floor of the Green Tower’s forest, and none of the red hue of Red’s mountains.
“You begin as a Serf, the first level of the Yellow Tower,” the girl says formally. “You will stay on your plot of land and work the earth. You may not leave. The animals will bring all that you need. Learn to grow your crop and you do well. Trade with your neighbors and you do better. Bake a loaf of nine grains and you will advance.”
“If, and only if, I approve,” the boy says, adjusting the crown over his golden locks. “No one advances without the king’s permission. That would be me.”
The king. His smug grin tells me this won’t be easy. But he’s Emma’s father. She knew about Yellow. She should have prepared me for this. I have to bake a loaf of bread? I should be ready for anything after the other towers—I plunged into a lake in Blue, faced a dragon in Red, and dangled in a net in Green. But baking bread? Why?
“So curious!” the girl says, interrupting my thoughts. “You must focus on what is before you. Anger will not help, especially not against William.”
The boy suddenly grabs the girl’s arm. His knuckles are white as he squeezes. “Are you challenging me?”
“No.” The girl shrugs away from his grip. “But you are not the only one who grows bold.”