The Girl Who Dared to Think Bella Forrest (best classic literature txt) 📖

P-l-a-y a-l-o-n-g. I signed this using the Callivaxian alphabet, rather than any of the more complicated signs that the Divers were fluent in. All citizens of the Tower received rudimentary training in each department’s language, but it was when we were young, and many people forgot them from lack of use. I signed it once, then again, and kept signing it, meeting his gaze and then looking pointedly at my hand down by my thigh. Praying he would understand what I was trying to tell him. Praying that he’d get it before it was too late.

“Liana, you’re on the switch!” Gerome suddenly exclaimed.

I jerked with faux surprise and turned around, immediately flipping the switch and killing the lighting.

“I apologize,” I said, trying to work just a smidge of mortification into my voice. “I didn’t realize. Do you think... Do you think he saw me?”

I turned, keeping my face neutral, but with just a taste of apprehension.

Devon and Gerome both stared at me, and then Gerome gave me a friendly smile. “It won’t matter—he’ll be dead soon.”

“Yeah, about that.” I sucked down a deep breath and grounded myself, preparing to spin my fair share of lies. “Sir, I want to collect his body afterward.”

Gerome and Devon exchanged baffled looks, and I barreled on. “My father and I were talking about this last night, and he told me that one of his Squires asked him the same thing once. My father, understandably, was confused at the time, of course, because he wasn’t sure why. So he asked the Squire, and he said, ‘If I kill this man, then it is my responsibility to see that his remains are treated with the utmost respect, for this is the last service he will perform for the Tower, and that is important.’”

“Who was this?” Devon asked, blinking over at Gerome, and Gerome shrugged.

“Not entirely sure, but the story sounds familiar.”

I blinked and managed not to smile, but Gerome’s acknowledgement had unwittingly given me validation. Too bad the story was a complete lie.

“When my father told me about it, I realized that was how I could cope with what I had to do here today. I want to remember these people for the sacrifice they made.”

Gerome looked expectantly at Devon, and the older man stared at me, his eyes hard. “It seems like a reasonable request, but I fear you humanize them too much.”

I fear you don’t humanize them at all. While Gerome’s participation in this was, in the loosest way possible, understandable, Devon’s was not. He was a man who could actually change things in the Tower, but decided not to. And that made him worse in my eyes than anyone else involved in this monstrosity.

There was an abrupt movement in the cell, and I looked over to see Grey sitting back down, staring at the glass. I hoped he’d received the message I had risked so much to send. And understood it.

“Disgusting,” Devon muttered. “Like an animal, really. Imagine what depravity it must require to become a one.”

Gerome nodded, obedient as ever.

“We tried rehabilitating them,” Devon said, his lip curling. “We really did. But no matter what we did, they fell, and they fell, and they fell, and they dragged others with them. Good people. Honest people.” He shook his head.

Rehabilitating. Yeah, right—from what I had seen and heard coming from those rooms, rehabilitation was anything but. You couldn’t get compliance from people by driving needles into their heads and scrambling their brains. They’d be lucky to function at all after something like that, but I doubted they could do more than perform the simplest of tasks. No creativity. No innovation. No thoughts.

Which definitely meant they weren’t dragging anyone down with them, as Devon had stated.

I watched as Grey folded his knees to his chest, using him as a visual reminder to hold my tongue and keep from saying anything rude to Devon. Keep from giving us away. I hated being in that room with Devon, and found myself hating him more than I’d ever hated anyone or anything in my life.

“Do it, Squire,” Devon said. “Earn your place. Show us why Scipio graced you with that nine.”

I swallowed, and Grey looked up. I knew he couldn’t see me, but in that moment I met his gaze. Held it. Here sat the man who had saved me. Who had taken a risk on me—and had been repaid with capture, with torture. The wound on his chest was turning yellow with infection, and I could see the tired pain he was in, the hollow hunger in his eyes. I felt my heart swelling. This confirmed all over again that my purpose was not to kill.

“Do it,” Devon said again, his voice sharper this time.

My purpose was to save.

I slapped my hand onto the button, feeling a wave of terror flowing through me, seated deep in my bones, convincing me that I had just condemned a man to die. This wasn’t supposed to kill him anymore—this would just be steam. Please let it just be steam. There was a click, a whirr, and then the gas began pouring into the room.

Grey’s eyes grew theatrically wide when he saw the white mist pouring in, and he immediately flattened himself to the ground. He’d gotten my message, I told myself. He was acting.

Devon let out a little chuckle of amusement at that. “Does he think that will help?” he asked into the silence. My hand clenched into a fist as his words crashed into me, and I fought off the urge to hit him.

Noise from the other room was completely cut off, and I watched, clenching my hands behind my back until my nails bit into my skin. Anger shifted to apprehension and fear as I saw the first tendrils of mist slip into Grey’s nose, and waited, apprehensive and nervous and certain that Zoe had made a mistake.

Please, I begged. Please let this work.

Nothing happened for a second, and then