Jay Posey - Morningside Fall

When they saw her coming, they opened a gap in the line for her to pass through, and one of them jogged up the steps and opened the door for them. The inside had changed significantly since the last time Cass had been there, the night they’d fled the city. Some of the tables remained in the middle of the room, but many had been pushed to the corners and stacked. Now the main hall was segmented by folding screens and blankets hung on cords. And there were people everywhere — sitting at tables, sitting in their makeshift rooms, sitting on the floor. Others seemed to be milling around aimlessly. It had all the look of a refugee camp. Many Awakened were among them. Most, in fact. But Cass didn’t see Kit anywhere.

Mister Sun quickly brought them through the main area and after a brief exchange, he took charge of Swoop and led him back to his own room. Mister Sun helped Swoop remove his clothes and then assessed the wound. To Cass’s surprise, Mister Sun seemed to know quite a lot about cleaning and stitching up such injuries. After sealing the wound, Mister Sun applied some kind of salve and dressed it in a layer of bandages.

Once they made sure Swoop was as comfortable as they could make him, they left him to rest and returned to the main room. It was only then that Cass realized the two women who had helped her get Swoop to the Tea House were gone. She never even got their names.

“Mister Sun,” Cass said. “What happened when we left? What’s going on?”

He shook his head and slid a stimstick in his mouth. It activated, and he took a drag before he answered, “Trouble, Lady Cass. Much trouble.”

He led her through the main area and then up the back stairs to a small room on the top floor. Painter’s old room. They went inside and he closed the door.

“There was a riot, after you left,” Mister Sun said. “Many were injured. Some killed.”

“What started it?”

“Who can say which pebble caused the landslide? It had been building for weeks,” he answered. “Citizens of old resent those brought in from outside the wall. Both despise the Awakened. When it was announced you had slain Connor and fled, there was outrage.”

“I didn’t kill Connor, Mister Sun.”

He shrugged. “You were not here. It was convenient to believe what they said, for those who desired the same outcome.”

“What outcome?” she asked.

“They’re rounding people up,” Mister Sun said. “Preparing to move them out of the city.”

“That’s why all those people were gathered at the gate.”

Mister Sun nodded and took another pull on his stimstick.

“They can’t,” she said. “They can’t do that. Those poor people will get slaughtered by the Weir.”

“They claim the guard will patrol to protect them. Some have resisted. Most have not.”

“And the people downstairs?”

“There was backlash against the Awakened,” he replied. “We brought some of them here.”

“What about the others?”

“With Aron.”

The mention of his name shocked her. “I thought he was dead.”

Mister Sun shook his head.

So, they were forcing the non-citizens back outside the wall. The pure foolishness of it struck her. Particularly now, with the danger that lay ahead.

And logistically, she didn’t see how they could possibly expect to pull it off. There was no way the Council could have put together such a plan in such a short amount of time. Unless of course, they’d been planning it for much longer.

“I need to see Aron.”

Joris opened the door to the throne room, and the first thing that struck Wren was the fact that there were now three throne-like chairs on the dais instead of one. No one was sitting in them yet, which somehow seemed worse than facing whoever was supposed to be there. The room was cleaner than it’d been the last time he’d seen it. The night that Connor and Aron had dragged him through it. Only a few days before, though it seemed like weeks in his mind.

They closed the door behind him and, when Wren looked back, he saw that only Joris remained with him.

“What’s going to happen now?” Wren asked.

“The High Council will be here in a moment,” Joris said without looking at him.

“But what will happen?”

“I don’t know,” Joris answered. Then his eyes flicked to Wren. He lowered his voice. “But try not to be scared.” He tried to give a little encouraging smile.

But just then the door opened, and Joris snapped to attention. Three people strode in, followed by several guardsmen. The guards moved into a semicircle, half on each side of the dais with the chairs in between, while the three moved to sit upon the thrones: Hondo, North, Vye. The new High Council. Hondo sat in the middle, though from the arrangement of the thrones, it was hard to tell if that was meant to be a more important seat or not. It was farther back on the dais than the other two, which were angled slightly inwards. From where Wren stood, it felt more like he was at the focal point of all three. But there was still something inherently more intimidating about that center seat — where Hondo now sat. Vye was on Hondo’s right, and North to his left.

Wren tried to remember everything Swoop had taught him about commanding a room. He pulled his shoulders back, widened his stance. Looking at the three of them seated there, Wren was surprised to find he wasn’t intimidated. Before he had left, he would’ve frozen at a time like this. After what he had seen, after what he had learned, these three people seemed somehow lesser than he remembered. The adrenaline was coursing through his body, but he found it within himself to bend that nervous energy to his purpose.

“Wren,” Vye said. “We’re so glad you’re alive. We’ve been worried.”

Her kind voice took Wren completely by surprise. He’d expected an immediate confrontation.

“Where is your mother?” North asked.

Wren paused before answering. Swoop had always encouraged him to take a breath before he answered a question. “I don’t know,” Wren answered.

“You can tell us, Wren,” Hondo said. “It’d be best for everyone.”

“I don’t know,” Wren repeated. “I left her at the gate. With Swoop.”

“And the rest of your guard?” Vye asked.

“We came back without them. Because of the order,” he answered. Then, before they could ask another question, Wren pushed back. “Where are Aron and Rae?”

“They no longer serve on the Council,” North said.

“By whose direction?”

“Aron by choice, Rae by vote,” Vye said.

“And so you decided to steal my rightful authority?”

Hondo exhaled through his nose, a dismissive sound. It annoyed Wren. Hondo seemed small.

“You abandoned your post,” Vye said. She said it with a hint of sadness, like she was explaining to a child why he was about to be punished.

“At this Council’s direction,” Wren answered.

“At one member’s suggestion ,” Hondo said. “You have to understand our side, Wren. Connor was dead, Aron hurt. You ran away. You left the city in chaos. So while you thought only of yourself, we had to take measures to ensure the security of every one.”

Wren felt anger rising at the accusation, the twisting of facts to suit their purpose. But he knew there was no use in arguing. Truth would change nothing here. “Then why exile? Why didn’t you just call for us to come back?”

“To prevent further chaos,” North said. “Trust has all but disappeared within Morningside. If we took control and then handed it back to you whenever you returned again, the citizens would never know what to expect. They’d never know who was in charge or why. It was a difficult decision, but it’s for the best of the whole city.”