Page 16 of Spark of Madness

Theo sighs. “For a long time, I found her fascinating. She thinks differently, and it was fun to entertain it for a while. However, as of late, her thinking has turned in the direction of defiance and apathy.”

“Are you aware that she ran last night?”

I feel the collective attention of the Control turn their eyes to me, Theo’s head swiveling to look at me squarely as we move toward the wide stone steps leading up to the manor.

“No, I wasn’t aware,” Theo says, a twinge of concern detected in his voice.

“Who ran?” Killian asks from down the line.

“Mercy Madness,” I say. “She ran and hid from service in the forest.”

My foot comes down on the first step, and I stop on the second step when I realize everyone else has halted. I half turn to face the group.

“Unprovoked?” Owen asks with his pensive blue-eyed stare.

“Not exactly.” I turn completely to face them, moving down to the first step. “It was after Hyatt Price set Ivy Jane on fire. I saw him run after Mercy with his torch.”

I see unease strain Theo’s features—dark eyebrows drawing a line over his brown eyes as his shoulders tense. His reaction—that he has any reaction at all, really—to my story about Mercy causes something like jealousy to bubble up in my chest, and I’m not fond of the feeling.

“I left her unclaimed when I chased after Delle Carter,” he says.

“And Hyatt noticed. He came after her, and instead of welcoming her fate to serve his violent urge, she fled in cowardice.” I swallow around the word. I’d said it to her last night, too; and while it’s the appropriate word, it just somehow doesn’t taste quite right.

“Delle ran, too,” Ryker points out.

“She’s sixteen,” Theo counters. “It was her first service.”

“This needs to be addressed immediately. We should take it to the Elders,” Killian suggests.

I nod. “I agree. It’s a transgression worthy of severe punishment.”

“It may be worthy of death considering how rebellious Mercy’s been as of late. She’s developed a history of bad behavior. How long do we allow it before losing all control over our community?” Killian’s stare narrows in consideration. “That girl thinks too much for her own good.”

He’s right, though I admit to myself that Mercy’s unpredictable thinking is what drew my attention to her last night. There was a strong anticipatory thrill in not knowing exactly what she would say or do, whether I could find a way to break her, shape her, to discover her buttons and exactly how to push them to get her to do what I wanted her to do.

She’s a challenge…not easily controlled.

And though the mere idea of overcoming her is exciting, I understand why it can’t be tolerated. Allow one woman to think for herself, and all control is lost. She becomes a danger to herself with her foolish ideas and poses a risk to the very values our community was founded on one hundred and fifty-two years ago.

Intrigue on my part isn’t enough for me to argue for her life.

Was I thinking aboutarguing in favor of her life?

Theo sighs before making his way up the steps. “I’ve warned her about that.”

We follow behind, all of us climbing the thirteen stone steps to the concrete landing.

Killian scoffs, showing me his profile and his tuft of brown hair tied back in a knot. “And yet she still had the audacity to run and hide during service? She makes a fool of you in extending that kindness to her. At her age, she should be a model servant.”

Theo reaches the main entrance first, two large wooden doors, intricately carved with images of wildflowers that seem to leap out from the wood itself—dozens of three-dimensional flowers that resemble the grassy fields leading out to the mountains. He pushes his sleeve back to reveal the black band permanently fixed around his wrist—just as all the men of the Control have. He waves the device adorning his wrist over the concealed scanner above the door handle, and the locking mechanism beeps once before we hear it release.

“I’ve been more than kind to her,” Theo agrees as he pushes the door open, and we all filter inside. “I claimed her last night, as I did the first time Hyatt went after her. I’m aware of how brutal his impulses are, and some part of me wanted to spare her. I know I shouldn’t have…I should have let him have her. She offers me nothing in service—no passion, no pride, no gratitude.”

We cross the ornate floor where the burgundy and gold tiles are laid to form a sunburst pattern—a massive design that expands all the way across the large, circular foyer. The sun’s center lies directly beneath a golden chandelier that’s more decorative than it is functional. The space is dimly lit, save for the natural light filtering through the large windows on the west side—our home can seem a little grim, I suppose.

“She’s been given too much leniency,” Killian says.

Naturally, we gather in a circle surrounding the sunburst—not intentionally nor ritualistically. This is simply how we’ve always come to stand together and discuss important matters.

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