The bright sun had woken me up, but what I saw over the brim of the hedge kept me from falling back to sleep. Crouching low, I crawled to where Kambili sprawled on the floor. She'd kicked off her blanket in her sleep, and her lips were parted as she breathed through her mouth.

"Kambili." I prodded her awake.

"What did I tell you, Atulu?"

I rolled my eyes. "Excuse me for daring to wake the Great Kambili from her rest. I'm only a mere mortal, so forgive my irreverence."

One of her eyes popped open. "Is there something you need from me?"

"There's a group of men standing about fifty feet away from us. I thought you should know."

Her hand reached for her gun as soon as I mentioned the men. She rose and then balanced on her haunches before peering over the bush.

There were seven of them, armed with automatics that dwarfed Kambili's pistol. I moved forward for a better look, but Kambili held me back. "Those aren't men; they're smugglers."

She pushed me down, and I plastered my cheeks to the ground, watching the smugglers through the thin branches of the shrubbery. The men were arguing amongst themselves, waving their weapons to emphasize their point.

"How long have they been there?" Kambili asked.

"I don't know. When I woke up, they were there. If they saw us, would they actually shoot?"

She shrugged. "Not if they thought you were worth something."

I didn't need to ask to know what she meant. Chills racked through my body at the thought. I was about to ask her something else when a line of thirteen men and women came into focus. Thick chains encircled their hands and feet, looping around each body to connect them to each other. They followed the lead of a tall woman with an indigo robe. Her hair was covered by a matching headscarf, but I saw wisps of grey hair escaping confinement.

"They're slaves." Bile pooled at the base of my stomach.

She squatted next to me unblinking, as if this were an everyday occurrence, and I had to wonder if for her it was.

She didn't correct me, which meant I was right. "Some sold themselves back to the state when they were unable to pay their taxes. Some were stolen from their families, but the smugglers will lie and say that they were willing."

"The state couldn't have sanctioned this. Look at them." I gestured at the men and women. They were walking corpses, starved and bruised. "My father can't know about this." Like he couldn't know about me sneaking from the city every month, like he couldn't know about Jack? The insidious voice crept into my mind, voicing my doubts.

"I hear the palace is reconstructing the west end. Your mother likes limestone, yes? Who do you think mines the quarries, Celeste?" Her eyes were hard, and her voice was flat. "Not the nobles of Celestia or—heaven forbid—the First Family, nor the servants and professionals who live within the wall."

I faced her, reconciling myself to the verity of her words, but she didn't stop. Her voice pitched to a low whisper as she said, "What else is there to do but to use the labor of the people of Verium. Work them to death, no sustenance, no rest. What are few lives here or there? If they're not from Celestia, do they really matter?"

"My mother isn't involved in politics. She doesn't know."

"She knows. You all know."

"Things are different in the city. Education is standardized. Information is regulated. We're not taught about the lives of those outside Celestia. It's not right, but it is what it is."

"Ignorance does not absolve you, not when the blood of thousands is on your hands. You are complicit. Your mother is complicit, and your father is the instigator, perpetrating the imperial regime of your great-great-grandfather." She turned her head away, dismissing me. "You don't have to like the truth, but that doesn't mean it's any less true."

I watched as the thirteen prisoners slowly marched onward. "How long do they have before they die?"

"A few days for the weak ones. Half will die within the first weeks. Some will be driven to suicide. Only one or two will survive, only to be murdered by the state to eradicate hope and send a reminder to all that there is no escape. Then, the state will commission select smugglers to scout for more and bring them to the limestone quarry—by any means necessary."

"The cycle repeats," I said, desperately wishing for Nathaniel to reassure me that Jack, Liam, and Tristan weren't a part of this evil, that their hands were clean. I wouldn't mention Cookie. I'd learned not to ask the question if I couldn't handle the answer.

"We have to help them." I started to push myself to my feet, but Kambili shoved me down.

"What are you doing?" My eyes were on their retreating backs. "I can't just stand here and do nothing."

"You can and you will."

"You used them to prove to me that my father is as evil as you say. Now, you have the chance to save a life, and you want to sit back and let fate run its course? How is using their suffering to deliver a point any different from using their free labor to gain resources?"

"Careful, Atulu, you're showing your city roots again. I've never tried to be more than who I am. You seem to have forgotten, so I'll remind you. I am the sole leader to a crew of fifty. What happens to my people if something happens to me? What will they do? Idealism is a privilege that I don't have."

"What about those people? What do they have?"

"They have my pity, and they're in my prayers."

"Empty platitudes."

"And you, Celeste, what have you done for them? Since the time our argument began, you've had ample opportunity to launch yourself between the prisoners and the smugglers, get shot—or worse—and die a quintessentially sacrificial death. Yes," she sneered, "you are a true martyr for the people."

"They're gone now, so it doesn't even matter," I said. The smugglers led the prisoners down the sloped hill.

"And when they die," Kambili said, "another thirteen will take their place."

I rejected the finality in her tone, the way she shrugged her shoulders so matter-of-fact, easily shrugging the prisoners' plight from her mind. It was because of my privilege that I could be so idealistic, but I never wanted to lose that part of me. My wonder in life and all the ways it manifests. I respected Kambili. Never in my life could I ever carry the burden that she has shouldered for these years, but I never wanted to be her.

This was not the life she chose, I reminded myself. So what did my father do that stole the carefree childhood everyone should have? I turned to ask her, but the question never left my throat.

In a flash, Kambili flipped to her feet. Gun in hand, she raised it at the man standing before us. The image of this slight girl, poising her pistol at such a hulking figure brought the story of David and Goliath to my mind. I'd laughed when I first read it. No sign of humor crossed my lips now.

He didn't have to raise his weapon to demonstrate his power. He topped six feet with a few inches to spare. Black leather pants and a tight shirt stretched over his thick arms and thighs.

"Two females. You're too beautiful to work in the fields," he said, almost thinking aloud. "The pair of you can sell for over 15000 citz each...if I find the right buyer."

Kambili gripped my arm. She was warning me.

He stepped further into our circle. "Drop your weapon," he told Kambili. "I don't want to have to bruise you. It lowers your sale value."

As she flicked off the safety of the gun, I saw a familiar gleam in her eye. The smuggler frowned, his lips drawing into a pout. "You females, always causing the most trouble." He moved closer, and I could see a faint scar stretching across his face, slashing from his left brow bone, cutting across his nose, and ending at his chin. Kambili nudged my arm again. Focus, Celeste. I couldn't afford to be distracted.

In a flash, he seized Kambili's pistol, crushed it in his hand, and swiped at me. I tried to roll away, but I was a moment too late. His sweaty arm grabbed hold of my waist, and he slung me over his shoulder.

My vision was obscured as my long hair covered my eyes. I pounded his back, dug my nails into his neck and scratched him. I felt like a bird pecking a mountain. I jammed my elbow into the back of his neck, feeling his head reverberate and hearing the bones crack. His arm slackened, and I slid off his shoulder and onto the ground.

As I tried to find my bearings, I heard a gunshot echo in my ear.

"Kambili," I shouted. Only the birds answered my call. No, no, no. "Kambili!" I raised my voice. Why, why...why did he have to shoot?

I pushed myself up onto shaking legs. I could barely hold myself up. My head smarted from my fall. The pounding magnified as I swung my head wildly as I searched for her, dreading the discovery of her bloodied body.

How would I fend for myself without her?