Resurgence (32 page)

The King cowers, rocking back on his heels, crying, saying he is sorry. The Minister Prime is disgusted by the entire scene.

‘He wasn’t the only one,’ I add. ‘Lumin was an Offering from a few years ago. He tried to escape and was dealt with brutally. Rush was an Elite from the North. He gave
his life to help us escape. He was a true hero, tortured because of what he was made to do by killing others in the King’s name. You all saw Head Kingsman Porter murdered – that was for
saving me. I’m here now because so many have given their lives for mine.’

I have to clear the blood from my top lip again. The gush has become a trickle and my mind is struggling to stay focused. I try to remember the next name. It was so vivid before but now I feel
cloudy, blinking twice quickly until it drops on to my tongue.

‘My whole village was massacred or imprisoned; people who have known me since I was a little girl were brutalised for being in the same place as me. My friend’s father was killed for
daring to tell your Kingsmen that I should be left alone. The other Offerings who left with me were slaughtered underneath a church as they begged for their lives. Someone you’ll never meet
named Vez had his life ripped apart because of you and was left feeling useless by the Reckoning. When he did find a community he could thrive in, you destroyed that too.’

It is hard to speak but I am desperate for everyone watching to know the names, to hear the stories. I grasp the cylinder more tightly, feeling the solid borodron against my fingers and the lure
of the trigger oh so close to my thumb.

‘And then there are others: a little boy named Paisley whom I never met, and my wonderful friend, Faith. If you’re watching, Rosemary and Max, then know I’m so sorry. Paisley
died as I escaped from the North Tower, trampled by terrified people. I have to take my share of the blame but they were only scared because of what you told them.’

I close my eyes and breathe deeply, struggling to say her name a final time.

‘Then there’s Faith. A Trog, someone you disregarded as irrelevant. She was the sort of person I could only ever aspire to be: fearless, loyal and forgiving – even when
betrayed by everyone she should have been able to trust.’

By the time I am finished, I am a wreck of tears and blood. This is my final goodbye to them, the beautiful people who got me here.

The King won’t meet my eyes but this time I don’t care. I slide across the catch at the bottom of the tube and hold it higher into the air, my thumb resting on the trigger. I
can’t control my voice as it rises in a crescendo, shouting with a guttural fury I have never felt before.

‘You deserve this for what you’ve done to your people.’

The King flinches, eyes closed, ready for what’s coming, but I use my little finger to strike the safety catch a second time and the bottom of the capsule falls to the
ground. He opens his eyes to see a small trickle of his own blood dribble from the end of the tube before I hurl it to the floor and stamp on it.

My voice doesn’t sound like my own. I’m not shouting any longer but the words graze the back of my throat, every syllable tinged with anger at myself.

I so wanted to press the button.

‘If I had used that weapon, everyone with your blood type would have been incinerated within a fair distance of here. They would have died a horrific, agonising death because of me.
It’s what you deserve but I won’t kill thousands to get revenge on you.’

I choke back what I think is a sob but can taste only blood. I drag my sleeve across my mouth but it gathers a wide smear of red. There is pressure behind my nose, pinching and squeezing at me
from the inside. I have one last thing to say and then I am done.

I look at the King, who is thanking me for sparing him, but I dismiss him with a wave of my hand, not caring what he has to say. I focus on the camera again, seeing my face duplicated hundreds
of times in the screen beyond.

‘I’m not a soldier and I’m not a leader. My name is Silver Blackthorn and I come from a tiny village in the North. I’m seventeen years old and this is the life I’ve
been forced into. If you want different lives, a new way of doing things, then now is the time. Go out onto the streets and shout to the heavens that you expect more. I can’t promise you
there won’t be casualties because there will. People you know and love will die – but life has to be better than this.’

The King howls at my feet. I shake my head disdainfully. ‘This is for your future, everyone’s future. If you’ve got children, or ever want them, you don’t want them to
have the life I’ve had. That endless hunger gnawing at your insides, that fear of the Reckoning, the worry that Kingsmen may come in the night and burn everything you have to the ground
because you’re doing well.’

My throat is raw, my head fuzzy. There is more blood around my mouth. I close my eyes and take a breath of the hall’s air, knowing I’ll never return here, and then turn, ready to
leave. With a jab towards the man scrabbling in the dirt, I make my final point.

‘If he’s who you want, then he’s who you deserve.’

With that, I start towards the main doors. The Kingsmen part and make no attempt to go for their swords. Even if they did, their impact would be absorbed by our forcefields. We could fight this
entire army while sitting cross-legged on the floor playing cards.

Imrin, Hart, Jela and Pietra follow, but I’m not sure how much further I can go. Each step is making me dizzy, each drop of blood from my nose another stab of pain. As soon as I get
through the doors, I’m going to have to ask for help.

I am five steps away when I hear my name being called. The words hum majestically from the Minister Prime’s mouth. He really does enjoy saying it. I stop and turn, exhaustion wracking
through me.

‘It’s over,’ I say.

He already knows. He is resigned but is furious too, embarrassed and seething that I have caused this.

He nods in acknowledgment but moves quickly, pulling up his trouser leg with one hand and grabbing a dagger with the other, throwing it in one fluid movement. I see its entire journey, spinning
and swishing in the air. My head knows I should move to the side to avoid it but my body is sluggish. The last thought I have before it thuds into my chest is that perhaps I wanted it to hit
me.

Another vworp screeches around my body and this time it is too much. The knife disappears, absorbed by the field, but it has already done the damage. I am falling, blood in my eyes, my mouth, my
nose. I stare up into the bright lights, eyelids flickering shut amid the mask of crimson, and I know beyond any doubt that this is my final breath.

The sun feels heavenly on my arms as the endless, cloudless blue sky provides the perfect backdrop for the saddest of days. I have come to Martindale with everyone I know for
the funeral that will surely be the end of another chapter in this country’s history. All six of my sisters are here, as are my parents. They are out of hiding and so proud of everything I
was a part of. They stand at the back, listening as people with cameras trail in between the trees, sending pictures to everyone’s screens at home.

Pietra is on my right, clinging to Hart for comfort. Until today, we hadn’t seen each other in three weeks, but she is as full of tears now as she was then. Pietra and Hart have been here
since we left Windsor Castle, Hart pledging to rebuild the place in which he grew up. What he didn’t expect were the thousands of people who joined him. A people united in saying their thanks
to Silver Blackthorn, desperate to remake this place in her name. Jela is next to them with a girl named Lola. Every few moments, Jela leans in and whispers something, with Lola nodding along in an
awestruck silence. Bryony is here, Gwen too – plus the young Offerings that were rescued.

Opie is on the other side, someone who should have been my rival but who never really was. I didn’t know what to make of him at first, but that was because I had seen it in Silver’s
face the moment he picked her up at the bottom of the gully a few miles from this spot. For a fraction of a second, I could see that love between them, a longing in her eyes. She corrected herself
quickly, knowing I was watching, knowing she hadn’t told me who Opie was, but she couldn’t take back that single moment. I knew then that I had no chance with the girl with whom I had
fallen in love.

‘Are you all right, Imrin?’ Opie asks.

I nod but feel empty. He is distracted by his youngest brother fidgeting behind him. He swivels, glaring sternly, which soon quietens the squirming. At the far end of our row are Silver’s
brother and her mother, Olive. It has been nice to see them again. Our previous time together was so brief but it’s not hard to see where Silver got at least a little of the determination
from. Olive has planned the whole funeral, from finding the perfect clearing in the woods outside Martindale to somehow arranging the chairs, flowers and decorations.

I have no idea who the person leading the service is but he gives us each a chance to go to the front and tell everyone about the people we have lost. One body is going into the ground but this
is a celebration of everyone’s life. There are tears, cheers and laughs, but nothing can help with the deep feeling inside my stomach, as if someone is squeezing it.

Then it is the moment everyone has been anticipating. We are surrounded by hundreds of people. Everyone who was captured from Martindale has returned. Knave and the Offerings who owe their lives
to Silver are here. The crowd of people who have arrived to help rebuild the village are behind them. Thousands mass behind me, hanging from the trees, shuffling to find a spot. There will be
millions more waiting at home too.

The hole has been dug deep into the ground on the edge of Martindale’s dried-out lake. In front of us is the sea of rusting metal and plastic that stretches as far as I can see. Silver
called it the gully and it is beautiful in its own way. I can understand why this is her favourite spot.

Then a hush falls among us, allowing us to hear the birds chirp and squirrels scurry. Finally, she stands and walks to the front of the crowd, frail but perfect. Beautiful and brave. She looks
stunning in the purple gown.

When Silver Blackthorn opens her mouth to speak it is as if I am being sung to, each word drifting effortlessly from her mouth. It is like she has eyes only for me, but I know every person here
will feel the same thing. It is the way she is. She had me hooked from the moment I saw her across that banqueting table in the castle. Everything about her overwhelms me, from the way her silver
streak of hair slides across her skin to the darkness of the rest of her hair. The fact she will never be mine is softened only by the fact that I feel privileged to know her.

She cries for Faith, telling everyone that they buried her originally in the woods outside Lancaster. The body has now been brought here so they can say goodbye properly. Faith’s parents
are out there somewhere and I wonder if they are watching, regretting what they did to their daughter. As Silver’s tears flow, I want to go to her, to hold her and tell her that things will
be fine, but it is not for me to do.

When I saw her fall in the castle, I thought, as everyone did, that it was over. We had all seen her nosebleeds and bloodshot eyes, even when she insisted she was fine. She tried to wipe the
spots away before we noticed, to pretend that there was nothing wrong.

She would never save herself, so we did it for her. I took the final syringe from the hiding place inside her trousers and plunged it into her arm. She screamed a deathly, agonising wail and
went limp. We thought she was gone but then she coughed, sitting up straight and roaring in pain as everything she has had to live with exploded in an outpouring of emotion.

If the country had any doubt that she was their champion, that sealed it: the girl who would not die.

Things changed overnight, a bloodless coup. The Minister Prime and King couldn’t even rouse their own Kingsmen to fight for them, let alone anyone else.

Silver mentions none of that, but she always knew the right thing to say at the perfect time. She repeats the names of the people we have lost, hammering them into the consciousness of the
nation, making sure we never forget. She bows her head and apologises to Rosemary and Max once more. They sit in the front row, grieving at their son’s death, for which Silver will never
forgive herself.

No one thinks it was her fault, but that’s the person she is.

When she finishes, people stand and clap. It isn’t just for the speech; it is for everything we owe her. She humbly bows her head and steps away, not wanting the attention, but the ovation
doesn’t stop. She walks to her seat, pats her brother on the head and hugs her mother, before turning to the seat behind her and telling Opie’s little brother to stop making so much
noise.

She would be better asking the thousands of other people.

Our eyes meet and she smiles that breathtaking grin of hers, understated but the picture of perfection. Then she clings to Opie’s arm, burying her face into his shoulder and willing
everyone to stop.

Eventually things quieten and the man at the front thanks us all for coming. Slowly, people begin to drift away, back through the woods towards the village and the train tracks to take them
home. So many of them want a moment of Silver’s time, thanking her, telling her their stories.

They love her, we all do.

I
do.

She has time for everyone, saying she appreciates them coming, even though I’m sure she doesn’t know many of them.

I sit silently next to Opie, the pair of us watching in awe as she works her magic. Everyone is enraptured by her, wanting those few extra seconds before the next person comes along.

I have no idea how long it takes but I could watch her forever anyway. Eventually she hugs her mother and then it is the three of us. Perhaps it was always going to be the three of us? I’m
ready to say my goodbye, perhaps the final one, but she smiles and I am hers again.

‘Can you give us a minute?’ she says, turning to Opie.