Page 51 of Silver Elite

The lilting melody of the orchestra greets me as I walk through the arched doorway of the ballroom. The instruments are set up on one of two stages in the elegant space. The second stage sits empty at the other end of the room, adorned with navy-blue curtains and a backdrop of rich blue hues. I linger near the entrance, watching the crowd and wishing I were anywhere but here.

I arrived alone because Lyddie was meeting her parents outside. My instincts had screamed for me not to let her out of my sight, but short of handcuffing her to me, I can’t exactly tell her not to be with her parents. Still, I’ll feel better once I have both her and Ivy in my sights again.

That damn Ivy. Where did she run off to? Who has she spoken to? I don’t trust her as far as I can throw her, but at the same time, she never told anybody she saw Cross leaving my quarters that day.

I perk up. And…maybe I can use that to my advantage now. Convince Ivy that Cross was only there to discuss my undercover identity.

If I can track the damn woman down.

There’s a dance floor, but only a handful of couples make use of it. They twirl and sway across the polished floor, their laughter mingling with conversations filling the room. All around me, uniformed officers mingle with civilians in their finest attire, creating a striking juxtaposition of military formality and Sanctum Point glamour.

Sadly, I’m too shaken from killing a woman today to admire the silk gowns. But I do note that there’s more color and life in this room than I’ve ever seen from the General. Even his broadcasts feature a gray background, and when he delivers them outdoors, it’s almost as if the weather knows there’s a broadcast scheduled for that day, because it’s always overcast.

Cross isn’t linking with me, and it’s starting to piss me off. I know he’s busy cleaning up my mess, but I’m worried about him, and I’m worried he might be pissed at me.

It’s not like I set out to kill Jayde today. She was a precog. She had a vision. That’s completely beyond my control, something I never could have foreseen because, well, I’m not a fucking precog.

A waiter hands me a glass of champagne. This party is nice enough that I’m hoping it’s real, but when I take a sip, the synthetic flavor slides down my throat. Noted. The General will splurge, but not that much.

Finally, I feel Cross in my mind.

“On my way, Dove.”

“You should probably hurry. Things have gone from bad to worse over here. Lyddie and Ivy saw my bloodmark.”

“Fuck’s sake. You never should have removed that fucking scar.”

“I was trying to prove my love to you, asshole. And I did a stupid, impulsive thing. In my defense, I didn’t think many people would be seeing my bare thighs. I’m usually wearing clothes unless I’m with you.”

“Please don’t tell me you killed Lyddie and Ivy.”

“Lyddie, no. But I did get rid of your ex-girlfriend.”

“Daisy.”

“Joking. I fed them a story about how I’m undercover in Elite. I’m your secret weapon and you’re going to hold a briefing tomorrow to tell everyone in our unit.”

“Fucking hell.”

“I know. I honestly don’t know how we’re going to get out of this, but we need to come up with a plan.” I hesitate. “I might need to leave.”

“I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

“Lyddie loves me. She’s not going to do anything that will put me in danger. Ivy…I don’t know.”

I still don’t see either one of them, and my frustration intensifies. I give the ballroom another scan, blinking when a familiar face catches my eye.

Either I imagined it, or that was Adrienne.

I only got a quick flash of her, but I swear that was her face. The wide, sensual mouth. The delicate nose. The features that don’t quite blow you away separately, but together make for a striking face.

I search the room, but I don’t see her anymore.

“This is probably not the time to say this, but…you look beautiful.”

I lift my head to find Cross weaving through the crowd toward me. I melt at the sight of him. He’s in his dress blues, the jacket and trousers tailored to his broad body. I suppose as the General’s son, he has to keep up appearances. He’s clean-shaven, and his dimple peeks out at me as he smiles.

Our relationship isn’t public, so he doesn’t greet me with a kiss or even a hug. He simply stands beside me, the back of my neck tickling as he asks to link.

“Soldier Darlington,” he says formally.

“Captain.”

“You look incredible in green. Makes your witchy eyes look even yellower.”

I can’t stop a smile, but it fades when his expression sobers, as does his tone.

“The list of damage control keeps getting longer and longer.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I—”

I lose focus when I suddenly spot Ivy several yards away. She’s a vision in blue. Holding a champagne flute, watching me and Cross. Suspicious.

I don’t want to be seen standing together in total silence, so I speak out loud. “Ivy’s going to report me.”

“She might not. Also, that secret weapon story? It might not be so bad. We’d have to get you the black band—”

“I’m not giving myself a loyalist tattoo,” I growl into his mind.

“Sorry, you’re right. I know. I just can’t see a way out of this right now.”

We don’t have time to dwell on it, because the orchestra stops playing and a hush falls over the room as the General enters the ballroom.

He exudes power. Authority. His posture is pristine, but that’s only part of it. It’s in the way his gaze slices through you, assessing, as if on the spot he can decide if you’re worthy of his presence, of your own existence. His talent for split-second calculations has served him well all these years.

General Redden moves through the crowd, nodding at people. When he passes his son, his gaze doesn’t even register me. He simply nods at Cross, who steps away from me.

“It’s time,” he murmurs in my mind.

“For what?”

“The speech.”

He’s visibly unenthused as he follows his father. They share the same height. And when Travis joins them, they make for an imposing trio in their dress uniforms. Roe is the last to climb onto the stage. He’s rubbing his nose, and I know he just did a stim or two. His eyes have that manic look.

I notice Cross frown at him as if to say, You couldn’t keep it out of your nose for one evening? Roe gives his brother an insolent smile.

The room falls silent as the General ascends the steps to the stage. He waits for his sons to dutifully stand behind him, their dark uniforms a contrast with the light-blue backdrop. Only when they’re lined up like obedient ducklings does he approach the podium.

General Redden clears his throat. When he begins to speak, his voice rings with authority.

“Twenty-five years ago, I cut off the head of the snake.”

Lovely. He’s not speaking metaphorically, either. Everyone saw the beheading of President Tack Severn, broadcast directly into their homes.

“Violence is necessary in war. Necessary for freedom. And after twenty-five years, a quarter of a century, it’s only fitting that we reflect on the sacrifices and the triumphs that have brought us to this moment. Twenty-five years ago, the Primes of the Continent languished under the unjust grip of a corrupt and inept regime. Our society was fractured, and the will of the people was silenced by tyranny. The Aberrant wrestled society out of our ancestors’ hands and made us second-class citizens. President Severn tore the very fabric of morality by inciting the minds of both his Prime enemies and his Aberrant allies. But together, the Primes stood united in our resolve to forge a new path—a path of liberation and order. Under my guidance, we liberated ourselves from the aberrations that tried to destroy us. We cleansed the Continent, rooting out traitors and restoring honor to our institutions.”

He pauses for dramatic effect.

“But our journey is far from over. As we look to the future, let us remain vigilant in the face of adversity, steadfast in our commitment to preserving the peace and stability that we have fought so hard to achieve. I wasn’t asked to lead—I was called to it.”

I try not to roll my eyes. Isn’t that what all great tyrants say? Oh, I didn’t want this. Please take all my burdensome power away.

“I was a simple man. I led a unit of men. I served Severn dutifully, and my wife was in the garden, but—”

I blink. And his wife was in the garden? Okay. Strange digression.

From the corner of my eye, I notice Ivy creeping toward me. My shoulders tense, snapping back, but she’s only moving closer to the stage to listen.

“—and right before he died, Severn spoke the phrase with which he ended all his broadcasts. Audaces fortuna iuvat. Fortune favors the bold. Which is perhaps the only true thing he ever said.”

Redden is purposely omitting the rest of President Severn’s cry.

Et potentia fluit ad fortes.

Fortune favors the bold, and power flows to the strong.

In his dying moments, Severn was still trying to stick it to those inferior “piss-veins” he so despised.

“We were bold in the Coup, and fortune did indeed favor us. But the world he described is not possible, and we took the train there when my son was five and—”

He stops for a second. An uneasy feeling tickles at my gut.

“It was the kind of day that makes you want to stay at home with your family.”

What the hell is he talking about now?

“Severn wasn’t the sort of man who would, and before that, I knew. Before that, he knew.”

I notice several guests exchanging glances. Obviously, I’m not the only one baffled by this speech.

Redden clears his throat. Glances at his sons. “These three young men behind me will carry that mantle when I’m gone. Which I hope won’t be for at least another hundred years if the research grant I’ve approved for the regeneration ward at the hospital pans out.”

His attempt at humor falls flat. Mostly because everyone is still perplexed by everything that preceded it.

He chuckles awkwardly when the crowd doesn’t respond. “I’ve raised my sons to believe that we can be everything that’s ever tried to do was not good.”

Murmurs of confusion travel through the room.

His features grow strained, as if he’s starting to feel it, too. The same bewilderment we feel. He shakes his head. Clears this throat again.

“Twenty-five years and look at all we’ve accomplished. Our society is a well-oiled machine, and when she was in the garden, she told me—” He halts and blinks. Rubs his face.

I search the crowd for answers. And that’s when I see her again.

Adrienne.

It is her.

She wears a simple dark-blue dress with long sleeves and a high neck, her red hair secured in a neat bun at her nape. She stands near the far edge of the stage, focused intently on the General.

My stomach twists. She’s doing something to him. But what?

Redden continues to fall apart on the stage. Blinking, clearing his throat, getting a sentence in, stopping, blinking, shaking his head, getting another sentence in, a word, rubbing his face.

Nobody is quite sure how to react to the spectacle unfolding before them. His triumphant speech has devolved into a distorted jumble of words.

“And so, my fellow comrades, esteemed guests, and honored friends,” he says, then falters again. “Where did Vinessa go?”

Apprehension sweeps through the room like a dark shadow. I hear the people around me speaking in hushed tones, exchanging whispers as they watch Merrick Redden unravel before their eyes.

“Where is Vin?”

Travis steps forward, but the General holds up his hands as if to ward him off. A frown mars Travis’s lips.

“Where is she? What did you do with my wife?”

“Sir,” Travis hedges. His voice is steady as he reaches for the General. “Maybe we should go get you a glass of water. Your throat sounds dry.”

Redden eyes him incredulously. He shoves him aside. “I’m giving a speech, boy.”

Travis glances at Cross, who approaches with slow, measured steps. Roe stays put, but he doesn’t look so entertained anymore, only fearful.

Tension fills the room as the General insists on finishing his speech. A speech that is now nonsensical.

“And so, I want you to raise your glasses to another twenty-five years. Cross is not, but everybody is. And I saw her there and thought, yes. Or was it no?”

His voice grows increasingly erratic. His gestures wild. Then he scrunches his face and begins thumping his fist against his temple.

When Travis grabs his arm, he loses it, lashing out violently. I search for Adrienne again, but the agitated crowd keeps moving and swaying, obscuring her from view.

The General stops hitting himself. Then he stops talking altogether. He mumbles gibberish under his breath while everyone stands in wide-eyed shock.

He transforms into a pitiful figure up on that stage, and a chill goes through me as I watch his mind slipping away. Seeing him now, without knowing what came before, I would assume he was a fragmented Mod. But I do know what came before. I literally saw it happen, right now, right here. In warp speed. I watched his mind fragmenting in front of me, as if someone was—

Corrupting it.

Jayde Valence’s voice reverberates through my brain.

They’re unnatural. They’re corrupting minds.

The sick notion knocks the wind out of me, just as I spot Adrienne again. I try to catch her eye, but she’s pushing away from the stage.

Travis, meanwhile, is attempting to calm the crowd, leaning toward the podium. “Everything is all right, ladies and gentlemen. I think we might have a little blood pressure medication problem on our hands.”

Nobody’s buying it.

Cross tries to help Travis subdue the General, whose expression has gone completely vacant. The man walked into this ballroom with authority and he’s leaving it like a broken child, alternating between batting his sons away and slapping his own face.

“It’s okay,” Travis says into the microphone. “We’ll get to the bottom of this. He’ll be fine and—”

The rest of his words are drowned out by the explosion.