Green Jack (37 page)

Chapter
63

Saffron

Saffron was
sure it said something unsavory about her character that she found
the riot comforting,

No matter what
happened, no matter how hard they were pushed down, Elysians always
pushed back. Something in her longed to be out there with them. But
even besides the fact that she was a Jill now, she was too weak.
Stronger than she had been, but not strong enough. She had to leave
the mask pushed up in her hair if she didn’t wear it on her face.
If she took it off even for a few minutes she felt like passing
out.

The others were
pushing out of their bedrolls. The Green Jacks stayed close to each
other. They would have to find somewhere else to hide soon. The
trees outside were probably taking over the street. Luckily, she
and Jane had already altered them so much to stop the Dust,
hopefully, the verdure would be attributed to that.

“They’re going
to bomb the amphitheatre before morning,” Killian said, pushing
abruptly into the basement.

“She’ll only
rebuild it,” Caradoc muttered. “She’s desperate.”

“Still, if
you’re going to go, I’d go now,” Killian said. “Before it’s too
late. There are bounty posters everywhere.”

“Thank the
Green Gods,” Livia muttered, already shoving her arms into her
jacket. “Let’s go.”

“Signals are
spotty,” Killian continued, his eyes on Saffron. “That should help.
And there aren’t a lot of Elysians likely to give you up. At least
not tonight.”

She frowned at
him. He frowned back. “What?”

“You’re looking
at me funny.”

“That’s because
I’m going to miss you, idiot,” he muttered.

“I’m not going
anywhere.” She felt Roarke’s eyes on her as well.

Saffron always
assumed that once she’d left the City, she’d never return. But she
knew Killian wanted to organize proper rebels, ones who actually
rebelled instead of obeyed, and she was fairly certain if she left
him alone he’d get an arrow in the back. And someone had to make
sure Titus and his bloody moles paid for what they’d done.

Not to mention,
someone had to help Killian distribute whatever food Jane and
Caradoc sent their way, as well as make sure the Tagging centres
didn’t go on unchallenged. There was no question the Directorate
would try again. And again. Especially if the last of the
satellites were failing.

“I’m staying
with you, dumbass,” she told Killian. His smile was startled and
sweet. She nearly groaned. He really would get himself killed
without her.

She stepped
closer to Roarke. She didn’t owe him explanations or excuses, but
she liked him. She’d miss him. “I have to stay,” she said. “The
Core will need a Green Jill more than the Spirit Forest does.”

“I know.” He
didn’t sound surprised.

She shifted
awkwardly. “I’m sorry.” She kissed him, and his hands closed over
her hips, as if he could keep her close. “Goodbye, Roarke.”

“Goodbye,
Saffron.”

Saffron turned
away, refusing to admit that her eyes felt hot. Jane watched her
sympathetically. “Don’t,” she muttered. Jane just smiled. “And
don’t die.” She hugged Jane hard. “We’re linked now remember?”

“I should be
saying that to you, don’t you think? All things considered.”

She snorted. “I
don’t know, but I think you might be as reckless as I am.”

“I shudder to
think,” Roarke said. She nudged him with her shoulder, glad for the
comraderie, even if it was a little forced. “I’ll look after
her.”

“She doesn’t
need it,” Saffron admitted. “She’d pretty bad-ass for an Enclave
girl.”

“For a Green
Jill, you mean,” Jane said.

“That too.”

They helped
Jane, Caradoc, Roarke, Livia and the three Green Jacks sneak
through the chaos of the Core. Bonebirds circled overhead. They’d
been feeding for days. Saffron tried to think of Oona as a Feral,
with her bones and body given to the birds.

Killian stood
next to her as the other disappeared into the shadows.

The riot went
on for three days. True to Caradoc’s prediction, Cartimandua and
the Directorate began rebuilding the amphitheatre within hours. The
makeshift bombs had only managed to blow apart on of the outer
walls and a section of seating.

In the end, the
Directorate still had the City, and the Green Jacks, though fewer
of them.

But the Core
had its own Green Jill now too. She walked the rope bridges at
night, visiting balcony and rooftop gardens, blooming dandelions
and chickweed and stinging nettles; all of the overlooked weeds
that grow a little stronger when challenged.

She was on a
rooftop when the lights flickered and died.

The whirling
pink and purple glow of the Rings lasted a little longer, but even
they faded. She knew they wouldn’t be turning back on again. She
met Killian’s eyes.

“Power’s
out.”

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Alyxandra
Harvey

Alyxandra
Harvey lives in a stone Victorian house in Ontario, Canada with a
few resident ghosts who are allowed to stay as long as they keep
company manners. She loves medieval dresses, used to be able to
recite all of The Lady of Shalott by Tennyson, and has been
accused, more than once, of being born in the wrong century. She
believes this to be mostly true except for the fact that she really
likes running water, women’s rights, and ice cream.

Aside from the
ghosts, she also lives with her husband and their dogs. She likes
cinnamon lattes, tattoos and books.

She is mostly
fueled by literary rage. And tea.

Find her at
www.alyxandraharvey@com

Other Books by
Alyxandra Harvey:

The Drake
Chronicles

Haunting
Violet

The Lovegrove
Legacy

Stolen Away

Love Me, Love
Me Not

Red