Page 35 of Triplets for the Barbarians

He’s gone, and I’m alone in Shaytan and Blaze’s personal residence. I'm helpless, furious, and terrified. There must be a way out of here.

I don’t want to even touch my food. I shouldn’t. Being the enemy’s captive doesn’t sit well with me, but that’s just my ego acting out. I need nourishment and a clear head for the coming hours. I need a sharp mind and a strong body, so I find enough willpower to eat the meat and grilled vegetables off my plate.

Hell, I chug the sweet tea and devour the baked plum cookies, too. The energy will serve me well. Besides, the people who cooked this meal aren’t my enemies, per se. It’s their boss. Their precious overlord.

I could tell from the fleeting looks from the servant who brought this stuff up that they’re not that happy with the Sky Tribe’s presence here, either. Much like in the other cities of Sunna, the civilians have become tired and weary of the violence, uncertainty, and empty promises. All they’re getting is a gradual degradation of their homes, their streets, their way of life, and their culture. As if losing almost all of their women weren’t bad enough, they must contend with all these wannabe dictators’ and mercenaries’ demands.

Cynthia found support in the least likely of places when she tried to breach the Sapphire City lab. Kingo ended up being one of our closest and most capable allies. I dare not hope for the same. My own experiences in the service and in this war have varied, but I can take a page from Cynthia’s book either way.

I pace the room continuously, taking in every detail, every possible means of entrances and exits of this place. The windows aren’t locked, but the garden and the entire perimeter of the palazzo are heavily guarded.

The constant buzzing of drones flying overhead further proves that I would have a hard time escaping on my own. I need another way, another method, something akin to that fake bottom of a wine barrel.

There are plenty of objects here for me to use as weapons, should I need them. Candleholders, sharp pens, and letter openers in Shaytan’s study, and decorative rocks that are heavy enough to maybe bash Blaze’s head in for good. Yet as the hours pass, my anxiety reaches peak levels, and I find it’s getting increasingly harder for me to breathe.

Thinking about Yossul and Fadai’s situation only serves to amplify everything, turning anxiety into pure despair. I end up sitting by the window and crying my heart out for the better part of an hour as I wonder what happened to the rest of the Yellow Gang.

It’s not just the prospect of losing the war that’s got me twisted up and sobbing. No. It’s the fact that I have developed a bond with Yossul and Fadai over the years—a bond I’ve lied to myself about for too long, a bond I’m about to lose if I don’t figure out a way to save them.

I love them. I love them so much, it fucking hurts, and we’ve only just started exploring our connection. We were looking toward a brighter future together. The idea of sacrificing ourselves for Sunna and the safety of our loved ones is beginning to fade, replaced by a fierce desire to live and thrive alongside them instead.

It isn’t fair to watch it all come crumbling down at my feet tonight.

I wipe the tears away and sit up as I hear footsteps approaching the door. Shaytan and Blaze come in, both smiling as they carry a bottle of spiced wine and three fine crystal glasses.

“Sorry, it took us longer than we expected,” Shaytan says in a casual tone. “Planning an execution is more work when the subjects are some of Sunna’s most-wanted criminals.”

“You mean freedom fighters,” I reply.

“That’s ridiculous,” Blaze says. “Freedom fighters. The Fire Tribe is no more than a bunch of mindless savages. That’s why it was so easy for us to take the cities in the first place. They’re old-school barbarians who think a miracle will save our species. In the meantime, we of the Sky Tribe have been working day and night toward securing Sunna’s future, and your people have done nothing but cause trouble. Calling yourselves freedom fighters is ridiculous. Ridiculous!”

“You didn’t tell Shaytan about Solomon Daron, did you?” I shoot back with a cool grin.

There it is—the first crack in his arrogant armor. Shaytan's look of surprise tells me I’m right. Blaze waves my words away. “Lies. All lies. Just another ploy the Fire Tribe is using to steer us off our sacred path.”

But Shaytan sets the bottle and the glasses on the table and raises an eyebrow at his lieutenant. “What is Jewel talking about?”

“It’s nothing,” Blaze insists.

“We’ve been investigating the plague,” I tell Shaytan. “I assume the Mal brothers have been trying to get you to sit down and talk to them for a while, haven’t they?”

“I’m done talking to the Fire Tribe. We have bigger fish to fry these days,” Shaytan replies.

“I’ll tell you then. The plague was made in a lab,” I say.

General Hull stares at me for a moment, then shifts his focus to Blaze, who seems particularly uncomfortable with my statement. “Do you have proof?” Shaytan asks, his gaze returning to me.

“We have proof, and we’re close to developing a cure based on Daron’s research. There’s a lot we need to talk about, General Hull. You and your people have been lied to for too long. This entire war has been based on a lie. Haven’t enough of you died for Solomon Daron’s madness?”

He opens the bottle and pours the wine into all three glasses, offering me one. “Come, let us sit down and enjoy this fine vintage. I’m willing to listen.”

“Shaytan, it’s crazy. It doesn’t make sense—” Blaze tries to interject, but Shaytan raises a hand to silence him.

“Come on, my brother. If we’re going to marry this woman, we might as well prove ourselves worthy of her love. And there is no man worthier than a man who listens to his woman,” he says, giving me a soft smile. “Go on, Jewel. I’m all ears.”

I’ve got a feeling he’s lying. There’s a hint of condescension in his gravelly voice, but at least I have his attention. It would be a shame to squander it, so I make myself comfortable in one of the chairs by the window and start talking.

I do my best to specify that Opal City is still very much dead and a toxic danger zone and that we took great risks to venture into the area for our investigation. I tell him about Solomon’s journals and his intention to build a utopia in Opal City, weaving in the necessary lies to protect his widows and their people.

---