Rise by Anna Carey Read Free Book Online Page A

under the covers. He stayed in the shower for nearly an hour. Then he finally flipped off the light and curled up on the lounge in the corner, his breath slowing in sleep. I remained awake, studying the shadows on the wall, trying to imagine what it would be like to be here, inside the City, when the rebels came. How long would it take them to reach the Palace? I imagined the terror of it, pictured Charles in the stairwell, his hands bound. What would he think, what would he say when they came for him? They’d kill him, I felt certain of it now.
    My limbs went cold. I lay there, willing myself to stay quiet, willing myself to keep the secrets I’d promised to keep. But I knew something else—perhaps just as certainly, the thought tightening my lungs.
    He didn’t deserve it.

seven
    MY FATHER WASN’T AT BREAKFAST. I WAITED, LETTING THE SECOND hand make its slow lap around the clock, once and again. Two minutes passed. He always came in at nine, not a second later. But still the empty plate sat there, the silverware untouched.
    â€œJust one more minute,” Aunt Rose said, nodding to his chair. Sweat ran down the side of his water glass, pooling on the table. I pushed my stiff eggs around the plate, trying to keep my eyes off Clara and Charles. I hadn’t slept the night before. Today, sitting here, I felt like I was surrounded by ghosts. The siege would happen tomorrow, Moss had said. Once support from the colonies arrived, they could take the Palace within the week. That plan—our plan—seemed so much more complicated now. No matter what my allegiances were, no matter what had been promised, how could I leave them all here?
    Clara fingered her small, straw-colored braid. “You don’t know where he is?” she asked, her eyes meeting mine. We hadn’t spoken since the reception, where she congratulated me and Charles as if she hadn’t witnessed the events of the morning. Her gaze kept catching mine, and I knew she was desperate to talk to me. I’d avoided walking by her room last night, afraid she’d hear me and ask again about the knife and the tiny bag I’d tucked away in my pocket. They were waiting on the bookshelf, ready for me to take them tonight when I left.
    Charles turned his fork over in his hand, rubbing his thumb against the silver. I watched that simple gesture, bringing the air into my lungs, trying to lessen the nausea. It had already started. My father was already sick. It was the only reason he wouldn’t be here. Moss had wanted the poisoning to go undetected for as long as possible. He’d hoped the illness would confuse the doctors, and while they were running tests the rebels would make their way toward the City.
    â€œI’m going to go check on him,” I said, glancing around the table. “You can start without us.”
    Clara watched me as I left the room. I didn’t dare look at her. Instead I kept my eyes on the door, then the hallway in front of me, on the spot where it dead-ended at my father’s suite. I rapped my knuckles against the wood, letting my hand rest there for a moment, not quite ready to go inside. I heard the faint murmur of voices. Then there were footsteps as someone approached the door.
    The doctor opened it just enough so I could see his face but not the room behind him. His glasses had slid down the bridge of his nose, his skin wet with perspiration. “Yes, Princess Genevieve?”
    â€œCan I come in?” I stepped forward but he held the door, not letting me inside. He put up one finger and disappeared for a moment, shutting it tightly behind him. There was more murmuring. I heard my father cough. Then the door swung open again.
    The suite looked the same as it had the day before, every surface slick and shined, the wide plate-glass windows exposing the gleaming City below. But a sour stench had settled into everything. That smell—of rot and sweat—hit me in an instant, sending