Page 41 of Insolence
“Shit!” My hand flies to my mouth. The finches’ shrieks are deafening.
Ailen’s hand is on my arm, gripping so hard that I stare at it and then at her. “Keep moving, girl.”
“But—”
The initiate’s unbound hair flies in her face as the sister lunges forward, tackling her to the ground. A panic-stricken wail explodes from the girl, rising in pitch and volume until goosebumps sweep every inch of my body.What in gods’ names?
Ailen tugs my arm hard enough that I stumble. My hands shoot out, my fingers wrapping around the wrought iron barrier as I vie to stay in place.
“What’s happening?” I wheeze, locking my knees.
“Butt out and let her deal with her own consequences, eh?”
What consequences?Every hair on my body stands on end. My horrified gaze swings between Ailen and the initiate as she grapples against whoever is assailing her.
Between the violent flurry of limbs and the shifting shadows, I can’t discern much about the sister. She’s too far away to identify.
The initiate's wails are rising. My mouth runs dry, my eyes rooted to the scuffle.
Ailen yanks me backward so hard she grunts with the effort. My fingers smart, the flesh raw and burning from being abruptly torn from rigid metal. I gape at her, shocked. She’s got to be in her seventies and uses a cane to walk. How can she be so strong?
The initiate is screaming now. She’sshriekingincoherently, and the sound cuts through me so fiercely my knees buckle.
The atrium finches are in a state of cacophony. Their frantic calls rend the air to rival the girl’s screams.
Her hand flies to the back of her head, her body contorting as if she’s being dragged by the hair. I can’t make sense of the frenzy; I hardly know what I’m looking at.
Her screams become ear-splitting—gut-wrenching—as the sister rises behind her.
What the hell? What the hell? What in the blazing Netherworld hell?Grooved wood grates against my spine, alerting me that I’ve backed into the carved door of someone’s room, that I’m uncontrollably trembling. There’s a surreal sense of self-awareness while I glance around.
Wait.Where did Ailen go?
It’s at this precise moment that the overcast sky breaks wide open. Moonlight pours through the glass and iron dome, showering the atrium in silver light.
The initiate—theScreamer—looks up, spotting me through her tumbled hair. She’s low to the ground, one floor up, and almost out of view, but from her jerky movements she must be kicking against the sister’s grip for all she’s worth.
Grabbing hold of the barrier, she hauls herself forward until her face is against the filigree ironwork. Moonlight cascades over her, her expression twisted with anguish.
She heaves for breath and bellows, “GET OUT.RUN.” It’s powerful enough to cut through the finches’ terrified screams. “DON’T LET THEM—aaaAAHH!” She’s yanked back, her warning obliterated along with her vocal cords.
She disappears from view only to re-emerge, scrabbling and clawing. She’s trying desperately to get her feet beneath her, her oval-shaped face imploring me for the breadth of a second. There’s a prominent beauty mark on her cheekbone, just below the outer corner of her right eye. Bathed in silvery light, it stands out starkly against her pallor. She can’t be that much older than me.
For the briefest moment our eyes lock. Her mouth moves, silently pleading for help I can’t provide. I should yell. Try to distract the sister. Run to the initiate’s aid.Anythingbut cowering against a gods-be-damned door.
Instead I choke on the dread clotting in my throat, paralyzed and useless.
Behind her, the sister lurches closer, into the light.
Oh, shit. Oh, hell... It’s Sister Kerrigan.
The Screamer is torn backward with an animalistic roar. Kerrigan comes into full view, stepping into the moonlight. Her face is contorted with rage and flushed with exertion.
I watch, my heart lashing against my ribs, as she raises a blunt object I can’t identify high above the Screamer’s head. She brings it downhard. The act is so shocking, so sudden, I barely have time to shriek.
The resultingcrackis sickening. It reverberates across the atrium, making me retch. The Screamer slumps to the floor, suddenly too still and quiet after so much noise and violence.
Panic surges through me. My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth. My face feels blanched; my ears and the tips of my nose and fingers are nuggets of ice.
