Redemption

Redemption Part 23

 Sym strode down the purple carpet ahead of all of us, her fists clenched, blue fire crackling inside them. Her hair flickered behind her in the breeze of her wake like golden flames.

Rip snapped his fingers and the Sojourner guard strode up beside her and grasped her arm with his metal hand, arresting her pace. She yanked away from him and kept moving, flinging the doors aside even as they opened for her.

Mist trailed into the hallway. The guard grasped Sym's arm; she tried to move but couldn't. He smirked. "I let you go before. No one can withstand my strength."

"This can," said Sym, raising her other hand, lightning spilling across it.

"Touché." The guard removed his hand from her arm but didn't stop smirking.

"Well, this is where I leave you," said Rip. "It's been a pleasure, but I have other matters to tend to." He strode down the hallway. The female guard gave her comrade a quick nod, which he returned, then she followed Rip around the curve.

"I'm Yarrow, by the way," said our guard.

"We don't need a babysitter," said Sym.

"Believe me, I'd rather be doing almost anything else. But I follow my leader's orders."

We couldn't even use our skyriders, since Dusk wanted his people to stay below the Marches' radar. I hated being grounded again, but it was true skyriders did attract attention—it was hard to be undercover that way. People would wonder why we had special privileges. And maybe it had been a mistake to bring so much gold.... It was probably best not to use my status to get things if I wanted to be a proper spy. I'd have to rely on my natural talents, whose existence I wasn't too sure of, despite Vy's encouragement.

A few blocks away, one of the hexagons had been dug up, and trees, grass, and flowers planted. Birds trilled in the trees. I could almost imagine I was back in the garden at home, if not for the huge pewter crystals jutting from the ground, beyond the lacy branches of the trees.

We sat at a table under a tree with large white flowers, embedded among the dark green leaves like silent trumpets. Yarrow stood near the edge of the tree's shadow, his hands clasped behind his back, his face stoic. The late morning sunlight traced the maze of his lightning scars with silver.

Sym sat on top of the table and shifted toward Sol. "Can you think of anything that could help us?"

"I...don't know. We didn't even know he was in the syndicate, so he hid most of who he was from us. He couldn't hide all of it.... I could sense there was something wrong. And in the end, he couldn't hide his violent nature."

"Violence isn't exactly a negative in here.... but if it implies he's volatile, we could exploit that weakness."

"He does have a temper. We eventually...experienced it when he couldn't hold back anymore."

"So he lacks control. That's probably why he's still small-time. Dusk really has earned his place—doesn't let feelings dictate his actions."

"He'll be gratified to hear that," said Yarrow, turning his head toward us slightly.

Sym ignored him. "It...might've been foolish to go to the syndicate. I should've known it wouldn't just be a simple trade. Once you're involved with them...you're pretty much owned by them. It's just that what we want is so high stakes.... If we can get out, it'll be worth every second. If we can get out, it won't matter—we'll be beyond their influence."

"You mean, we don't have a choice?" said Sol. "We have to follow this through?"

Sym nodded. "Failure isn't an option. At least Dusk is reasonable for a syndicate leader."