Table of Contents
PART I: the chaos
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
PART II: the cure
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
PART III: the contagion
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
CHAPTER FIFTY
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
PART IV: the commencement
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
CHAPTER SIXTY
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR
CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE
CHAPTER SEVENTY
CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE
CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO
CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX
CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER SEVENTY-NINE
CHAPTER EIGHTY
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Rain’s Playlist
Aurora’s Playlist
white dawn
the black tiger series—book three
SARA BAYSINGER
StarFinder Press
white dawn
Copyright 2017 Sara Baysinger.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author.
Published by StarFinder Press
Martinsville, Indiana
This is a work of fiction. Characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events is strictly coincidental.
Composition/Song Title: THE SOWER'S SONG
Writer Credits: Andrew Peterson and Ben Shive
Copyright: © 2015 Jakedog Music (admin. by Music Services)/Junkbox Music. All Rights Reserved. ASCAP Song Time: 00:00
% Controlled by Licensor: 50.00%
Per Unit Rate: 0.1000 (Based on 100% Control)
Dollar Rate: 20.0000 (Based on Licensor's Share) All Rights Reserved. Used by Permission.
Cover Design by Sara Baysinger
Manuscript edited by Sarah Grimm
Typesetting and formatting done by Perry Elisabeth Design
Printed in the United States of America.
This one’s for Sarah Kate.
Dedicated fan. Fellow writer. Dearest friend.
Thank you for believing in this story.
I kneel
At the bright edge of the garden, at the golden edge of dawn
At the glowing edge of spring, when the winter’s edge is gone
And I can see the color green, I can hear the sower’s song
Abide in me. Let these branches bear Your fruit.
Abide in me, Lord, as I abide in you.
-Andrew Peterson, The Sower’s Song
PART I: the chaos
PROLOGUE
Rain pours from the sky. Thunder rumbles overhead. The ground trembles with its groans.
Defender Shepherd stands amidst the dead bodies, watching the procession roll away in one chaotic parade of confused chiefs, brainless Defenders, and two helpless prisoners: one who used to be chief, the other with gray eyes and a newsboy cap.
The rain soaking through his clothes, Shepherd kneels beside Ember’s body. Rainwater splatters against her olive skin, dripping down her neck and mingling with her blood. True to its training, the tiger mauled her neck, but her face remains intact, free of any scars, and with an almost…peaceful aura. She looks so much like her mother.
Shepherd places his fist on his chest, trying to ease the pain. It’s been nearly a decade since he last saw Ember Carter, since he last took art supplies to her and gave her a brief lesson in sketching. A terrible shame his next meeting with her ended like this. After her mother died, he’d stayed away to keep Ember safe. He should have stayed close by instead.
Take the bodies to the royal mortuary, Aurora said as she gestured toward Forest’s and Ember’s bodies. Who knows whose side Aurora is on. She arrested Titus, but she arrested Rain, too.
Shepherd waits until the procession is out of view, disappearing behind a crumbling building. The bombs have finally stopped going off. But the ringing in his head still resounds, telling him he failed the one order Lily Whitcomb ever gave him.
Protect my family, she’d said.
I’m so, so sorry.
“Shepherd.”
Shepherd looks up, and his eyes meet Isaac’s. Though Shepherd mainly stayed in Frankfort, he knows the key leaders of the Resurgence and was in regular contact with the Fearless Five when they paid their rebel visits. The Five and few other Resurgence members climb up from the river bank, soaking wet from the rain. They slow down when they spot Ember’s and Forest’s bodies.
“She’s dead,” Shepherd says, his voice thick with agony.
Isaac blinks in shock, then shakes his head and looks back at Levi. “Call President Mason. Tell them about Ember. Tell them if they have any hope of helping Ky, to get here as soon as possible.” He nods at Shepherd. “Let my crew take her.”
“What?” Shepherd straightens, tension creeping into his shoulders. “Aurora ordered a proper funeral for them. I think she means well.”
Isaac releases a hollow laugh. “Not well enough.” He jerks his head at his comrades, and they crowd around Ember, gently lifting her limp body off the ground and heading back toward the makeshift raft.
“Please,” Shepherd says, looking back at Isaac. “Tell me what’s going on.”
Isaac closes his mouth, considering. Then finally says, “The Indy Tribe has technology that can bring her back. But we have to work fast. They only hav
e so long before the technology won’t work anymore.”
Shepherd frowns. “Back to…life?”
Isaac nods.
“That’s impossible.”
“Not entirely.”
Unbelievable. Impossible. Shepherd shakes his head, tries not to allow the flame of hope to burn in his chest. If Ember came back to life, all might not be lost. There could still be hope, still be a brighter future for Ky.
“Take her, then,” Shepherd says. “And take Forest, too.”
Isaac looks at Forest. “Unfortunately, the technology won’t work on Forest, since the bullet went through his head.” He frowns. “A shame. He could have been a huge asset with all the information he had.”
Shepherd nods, then orders his Defenders to take Forest’s body. He had been starting to like that politician.
He wipes rainwater off his face and looks back at Isaac. “What would you have me tell Aurora?”
“Proceed with the funeral arrangements,” Isaac says. “We’re not even sure if the Indy Tribe will cooperate in reviving Ember, but if they do, I still want everyone to think Ember is dead. We can’t risk anyone chasing her down to kill her again.”
Shepherd cringes. “I can’t imagine Aurora will be happy about me lying to her like this. If she’s anything like Titus, she’ll have my head if she finds the coffin empty.”
Isaac nods. “If Aurora is on our side, she’ll understand why we withheld this information. If she’s not—and if she is like Titus—then it’s better she be left in the dark.” A look of disgust comes across his features. “In fact, don’t tell anyone what we’re doing with Ember. Not even Rain or Walker. I don’t want anyone catching wind of what’s going on.” He swallows, pins Shepherd with dark, determined eyes. “There’s no way in hell I’m letting anyone interfere with our plans this time.”
CHAPTER ONE
AURORA
The dirt stares at me, mocking, laughing, taunting as it swallows my sister’s coffin. She is ours now, the dirt says. She will become one of us.
Ember told me once she saw herself as the dirt. I doubt death is what she pictured.
Death.
Unforeseeable. Unavoidable. Unimaginable.
It happened to Forest.
And then Ember.
And I’m left to clean up the ashes. I’m left to watch the smoke clear and to see what the future holds. Because whatever is about to happen can’t possibly be good. This country is going down in flames, and not all the water in the world could put out the fire.
Ember’s coffin is lowered into the grave.
And Rain Turner is staring at me like he would love nothing more than to murder me.
Here. Now.
I can’t really blame him. To him, I must appear as cruel as Titus. As indifferent as every other elite, high-class Patrician. I wish there were some way to make him understand that I didn’t want this any more than he did. That’s why I set up an elaborate procession for his brother. That’s why we’re having a memorial set up for Ember—in the orchard in which she grew up.
The orchard that has been burnt to a crisp by my brother, Titus.
My name is Aurora Whitcomb.
And I am the Chief of Ky.
CHAPTER TWO
RAIN
I stare at Aurora across the gaping hole that is waiting to swallow Ember Carter’s coffin.
I stare at her.
And I want to kill her.
Because this is her fault. We’ve exchanged one Whitcomb dictator for another. Ember was supposed to lead. Ember Carter was supposed to take the helm. The Resurgence counted on her. I counted on her. All of Ky counted on her.
And now…
she’s…
gone.
It all happened so fast. I still have a difficult time processing the impossible events. We were close—so close to freedom. And this girl held us back. This ignorant child slipped from the railing of the bridge and fell into the water. And what does my brother do? Goes after her. And what does the girl I love do? Goes after him. The whole situation was a big train wreck, one boxcar derailing after the other. Even as I replay the events in my mind, my heart wrenches with the cruel agony of it all. And I curse the day Ember brought Aurora to the caverns. All for nothing. All these deaths.
For nothing.
Because we’re back to where we were. A shoddy Whitcomb taking the throne. The Resurgence in hiding, but this time they’re across the river and no doubt have no intention of coming back. And I’ve been left behind, this time as a prisoner instead of a high-class citizen playing the system.
Aurora says the final words, the final memories, the final goodbye, the final lie. She’s attending this funeral, not in rags of mourning, but in a black toga made of silk as if she’s hosting some ball. Like she’s celebrating instead of mourning. Like an elaborate plan had unfolded just as she intended. Black pearls around her neck, ashen eye shadow, her hair piled up on her head in a mountain of curls. So Patrician. So like a Whitcomb. So like a self-centered jackal. And yet, looking so much like Ember.
Just one glimpse, and I see Ember in her eyes. I relive Ember’s death like it’s happening right now, and the pain—it’s too much. The chasm in my chest swells. Aurora’s face is an endless, brutal reminder that Ember is dead. And the fact that Titus is still alive only proves where her loyalty lies.
She grabs a fistful of dirt and sprinkles it on Ember’s coffin. Why does Ember have a coffin? It’s so unlike her. She wouldn’t have wanted to be confined in a box. Her entire life has been focused on being free. She should have been burned, her ashes released into the wind and blown across her orchard.
Or better yet, across the river.
But not buried beneath the hard-packed dirt. Aurora doesn’t know her sister like I do. Aurora shouldn’t have been the one to make funeral arrangements. She chose the simplest route, the procession that would most please the media and the people. The elite people. Her people. She picked an easy funeral, but she doesn’t give a damn about her sister.
I stare at the box that holds the corpse that used to hold the soul of my loved one.
My Ember. My fire in December.
My throat closes. Pressure builds behind my eyes, and I shut them, shut out the past five days, shut out the reality that simply cannot be a reality. But when I open my eyes, the truth stands in front of me.
Ember Carter is dead. There is no changing the past.
Bending on one knee, I dig up a fist full of dirt, then stand and sprinkle it over her coffin. Ember always imagined herself like the dirt. She thought her life was meaningless. Invisible. She saw no value in her existence, and so gave her life for someone she thought could lead better than her. What she didn’t understand was that dirt is what gives life to the earth.
And Ember gave life to me.
The dirt sifts between my fingers the way her spirit slipped from my grasp. I couldn’t hold onto her. I couldn’t get to her fast enough. I didn’t immediately dive in after her; I didn’t stop her from jumping; I didn’t shove Aurora out of the car when I should have.
And now Ember paid for my mistakes.
The last chunks of dirt crumble and leave my palms, falling onto the hard wood of the coffin. A coffin. The way all patricians are buried. It’s like the final slap in the face from Aurora to her twin. Ember never wanted to be a Patrician, and now she’s receiving a Patrician burial. I could almost applaud Aurora for her clever jab. I could almost cry because she’s so brilliantly conniving. She has everyone eating out of the palm of her hand. Even Jonah Walker looks up to her. He stares at her now like she’s his long-lost niece, like he loves her as much as he loved Ember.
Like she is Ember.
Have you forgotten? I want to shout. Have you already forgotten what Aurora did to Ember? To you? To us? Have you already forgotten that
she led Titus to the ashen city? That she led Ember to her death? In the five days that Ember’s been gone, have you already forgotten who the enemy is?
But it’s because of Jonah’s devotion and admiration that he is safe. It’s because of his unwavering trust in Aurora that he’s free and not posed as a threat, like I am.
Defenders step up on either side of me. The one on my left straps an electroband around my wrist, and I’m so acutely reminded of my first meeting with Ember, when I strapped the electroband around her wrist. When I was leading her to her death. How little I knew that she would become my whole world. The whole future of Ky. Now I know why Forest fought so hard to free her. Ember had this effect on everyone, it seems. The ember that grows into a flame that completely destroys the hearts of those around her.
One more glance at the coffin, and I turn around and follow the Defenders through the burned-down orchard.
Spring is such a deceptive season. One day of warmth and the whole world thinks summer is coming, and then another winter storm rolls in. And rain and thunderstorms follow. Then more cold. More rain. By the time the season finally settles, it’s summer and too hot to enjoy anything. Spring is that shoddy, insecure sibling of summer and winter that can’t decide if it wants to be cold and heartless, or warm and inviting.
Kind of like Aurora.
But I know.
Holy rot, I know exactly who she is. She might have everyone fooled. She might even have herself fooled, depending on how bat-trap crazy she is. Y’know, being locked in a dungeon all one’s life doesn’t exactly work in one’s favor. And that possibly crazy one is our leader. Oh, God help us. Please.
Our leader is a shoddy psychopath.
A bitter wind sweeps across the orchard, biting into my skin like a thousand thistles. This orchard is dead, but already life is peeking up beneath the ashes; tiny blades of grass pushing up through the aftermath with the promise that things will be better.
But they won’t.
At least I don’t believe they will.