Chapter Fifty-One

Zellion rolled across the deck of Union, face bloody, ribs screaming. The Cinder King had bullied and beaten him all the way back to where he'd started—across the bloodied mess where he'd killed many Charred, to the edge of Union.

He forced himself to his feet once again. But storms, he hadn't landed a second punch. He couldn't fight back. How could he beat this man if he couldn't fight…

Couldn't fight back?

The absurdity of it struck him, and he found himself laughing—even though it sent a spike of agony through his chest. The Cinder King paused, frowning.

"Don't mind me," Zellion said, struggling to lift a hand to wipe his eyes—but failing, letting it flop back to his side. "I just realized something. I've been training to beat you this entire time."

"This is what ‘beating me' looks like?" the Cinder King said, gesturing.

Zellion shrugged. His Torment, the stupid curse… It couldn't have been preparing him for this, could it?

He discarded the thought as ridiculous. The Torment wasn't alive; it didn't plan. It was a coincidence that he found himself in this spot, after being forced to engage enemies time and time again without being able to fight.

Storms. He had to get off this planet, or everything would start looking like part of some nebulous, deific plan. He nodded to the Cinder King, who came in to punch him again. This time, Zellion didn't try to block or dodge. He fell into the swing, grunting as it connected, but then grabbed the Cinder King by his clothing.

"Grappling," the man said, trying to pry free Zellion's fingers. "The coward's art."

"I know a few people who'd be seriously offended by that," Zellion said. Then held on tighter. His body was severely weighed down, but his finger strength had been unaffected, and so he managed to keep hold of the tyrant's clothing as the man spun them around, working to get free. The Cinder King eventually pushed his bare hand against Zellion's face and muttered something.

Heat began to flow from Zellion to the Cinder King, who—despite performing the maneuver purposefully—seemed shocked. "Wait. Why does that work now?"

"Because for some reason," Zellion said, "people still have faith in me. Thank you for turning us around."

The Cinder King met his eyes, then Zellion heaved toward him and let his weight topple them both backward. He wasn't in control. He just fell, using essentially the same maneuver he'd pulled on Elegy in the arena during their initial clash.

It worked just as well now as it had then. The Cinder King could struggle all he wanted, but he had made Zellion into a deadweight, four times as heavy as a man. You didn't simply shove that aside. Their momentum sent them both tumbling off the ship.

A brief fall followed, and then they hit the soft earth.

Zellion saw pain. It flashed across his vision with vibrant, garish colors as his already broken body was subjected to another terrible blow. Fortunately he broke his fall on the Cinder King.

"Idiot," the man said, shoving Zellion to the side. "What do you think you've done? Gotten me muddy?"

Zellion didn't have the breath to respond. Instead—arduous though the effort was—he stood up. Then raised his fists.

"You know," the Cinder King said, "I expected this to be a better show." He decked Zellion again, sending him to the mud.

And with effort, he got up.

"You should be a better fighter," the Cinder King said, tripping him, then kicking him in the broken ribs.

Zellion gasped, then—slowly—got up.

"This is almost painfully anticlimactic," the Cinder King said, attacking again.

Zellion took the blow.

Then got up.

And hoped it would be enough.

* * *

Most towns and cities on Canticle had a central command—where the whole community could be steered when locked together—but not all of them had the restrictions Union did. Rebeke explained to Elegy as they arrived: People weren't free on Union. They couldn't unlock their ships without permission.

The door into the command bridge was guarded by five Charred…who simply let Elegy and Rebeke pass. It felt wrong to have them behind her—Elegy almost engaged them on principle, but refrained. Inside the main command room, they found a group of men and women in white coats in front of an array of monitors with security footage, watching Zellion and the Cinder King fight on a screen. The two had fallen to the grass and mud, and the camera was zoomed in, tracking their movements.

At Elegy and Rebeke's entrance, several of the people reached for guns. Elegy moved to attack, but Rebeke took her arm. "We can't fight them all."

Elegy could absolutely fight them all. She just probably wouldn't win.

"You're from Beacon," one of the officers said. "You're the sister of…" He focused on Elegy, then paled. "Of her."

"I've brought her to you," Rebeke said. "To speak and persuade you."

Wait.

What?

"Rebeke," Elegy said, taking the younger woman by the arm and whispering. "I can't do that."

"You said you were remembering," Rebeke said, with what she probably thought was an encouraging smile. "Dig deep. You're still in there, Elegy."

Shades. "No. I'm not, Rebeke. I'm really not."

"Then…"

"You need to do it," Elegy said. "Say what I cannot."

Rebeke turned to the others in the room, who were regarding them with confusion—but with guns still raised at the ready.

"We're not going to hurt you," Rebeke said. "We're not going to attack you. I just want you to listen." She nodded toward the monitor they'd been watching. "Did the offworlder knock them down, off the city?"

The room was silent for a moment, then one woman—sitting at a control station—nodded.

"He's trying to show you," Rebeke said, "that the Cinder King is weak." She paused then, cocking her head. Because Zellion was not giving a good showing in the fight. He kept getting knocked down. What had happened to his skill?

"The Cinder King is cheating, isn't he?" Rebeke asked.

Again, the room was silent. Elegy would almost rather have gone the "fight them all and probably die" route. This silence was annoying.

"Yes," a different operator finally said. "He usually does something like this. Makes it seem like he's unstoppable."

"He fights Charred sometimes," another said. "But they're always weakened first."

"Thinks nobody knows," another added. "But we all do. I mean, it's obvious."

"This is your chance," Rebeke said, stepping forward. Then she stepped back again, raising her hands as their grips tightened on their weapons. "Look! He's off the ship, and the sun is rising. All we need to do is fly. Leave him behind."

"His Charred will kill us!" one of the operators said.

"The Charred who didn't stop us from coming in here?" Rebeke said. "Things are changing. Everything is changing. Listen. We have learned how to recharge sunhearts."

"What?" one of the men with a gun said, lowering it. "You lie."

"No," she said. "No more sacrifices. No more lotteries. No more immolating our parents." Tears leaked down her cheeks as she stepped forward again, this time uncaring of the reaction. "I left my mother for the sun. I watched my sister be taken, and my brother die to the Cinder King's own weapon. Haven't we sacrificed enough?"

"He's too strong!" one of the women said.

Rebeke waved to the monitor, where the Cinder King was forced to keep knocking Zellion down. "Does he look strong?"

Silence. This time, though, Elegy found herself thoughtful. She watched Zellion stand up again. She'd been wrong about Rebeke's strength. Had she been wrong here too?

Yes.

Because if the Cinder King couldn't break a man that he'd handicapped and beaten to a pulp, then what strength could he possibly pretend to possess?

There was so much to learn.

"I know," Rebeke said, "what it's like to feel powerless. I know you've felt it, watching what he's done to the city, to people you love. You've cowered before him because there was no other option.

"But today you have a choice. Steer us away. Leave him." Rebeke paused, then parted the remnants of her shirt, revealing her exposed cinderheart—and the skin burned around it.

A hush fell over the room.

"I," Rebeke said, "am the Sunlit One. I control the Charred now, and I have come to bring you freedom. I offer this, but do not demand. I will not force you because the world is changing. Today we make choices. Please."

Weapons lowered.

People exchanged looks.

Then finally the woman who had spoken first stood up. "Shades, I'll do it." She took the controls at the front of the room, and nobody stopped her.

With that, Union abandoned its king. Leaving him in the mud. And it was so gratifying to see his expression, filmed, as he watched it happen.

The people in the room settled down, seeming shocked by what they'd done—or allowed to be done. But one problem remained. Elegy took Rebeke by the arm and steered her to the side, speaking softly. "What of Zellion?"

"Shades," she said, turning to the room. "We need to send a ship to rescue the offworlder."

"Send a ship?" one of them asked. "Sunlit, the city is on lockdown by the Cinder King's order—we can't undo it. For one hour, no ships may leave, no matter what."

"The Cinder King is paranoid," another said. "Only he can unlock it. Until the time is up."

"Guess he never thought we'd fly the whole thing off without him…" a woman added.

Rebeke turned. "We need to get the ship Zellion flew in on…" She trailed off as she saw it in the background on the monitor. The Dawnchaser lay in a smoldering heap.

It had served them well, been through the great maelstrom and back. But it would never fly again. Particularly not with the sunlight advancing, relentless. Dangerously close to the two struggling men—mere specks now that the city was moving away at full speed.

"Farewell, killer," Elegy said, holding Rebeke as she wept. "And thank you, in turn, for giving me someone to fight with. Not merely someone to fight beside."