Andrei

When I was first brought to Palisade, Councilwoman Zelda Faust would visit my room every other night. She would ask how I was, how the other children were treating me, and if there was anything she could do. I'd tell her everything was fine, that everyone was fine, and that I required nothing. And then, when she'd leave, I'd steel myself not to cry.

When I was confined to solitary confinement, the Councilwoman would visit every other week. She would bring me new books to read, ask how I was, and if there was anything she could do. I'd thank her for the books, tell her I was fine, and that I understood there was nothing she could do—not really—but that I appreciated the question nevertheless.

When Councilwoman Faust walked into the office that day, the initial silence was like a vortex, pulling everything that had happened in Amalia over the past months into its orbit.

"Andrei." Her voice caught in her throat.

I could only imagine Sinclair's steely gaze narrowed on the Councilwoman as she made her way toward me. Perhaps even roll of her eyes when Faust put her cold, dry hand to my face. My posture stiffened. But at least we weren't in trouble—yet.

"Best be here to explain yourself, Councilwoman," Sinclair said. "You might be stronger, but I'm armed and faster, and thanks to you, we're all alone."

I internalized a wince. Then again, she had a point.

More silence, bleeding into the familiar rustling of a satin dress while Councilwoman Faust took her seat across from us.

"Your anger is justified, Rhian Sinclair," she finally said. "I was only twenty-five years old when my mother passed. That was forty years ago now—a drop in the bucket against the eight hundred and seventy-five since the inception of Palisade."

Sinclair sighed, her heat signature pulsing red hot as she shifted in her chair. I didn't have to see her expression to know it: she was, without a question in my mind, bored and annoyed.

"I've questioned so many things over the years," Faust continued. "The morality of what we do. The why and the how of it. It wasn't until Andreas, I—well, your father was a paragon of all that's good and ethically sound, Andrei. So when he—when I found out what he and your mother were up to." A pause. "I understand you've learned the details of their story?"

"I have," I said.

Another frustrated huff from Sinclair.

The Councilwoman carried on nonetheless. "Good. But it wasn't the right time, then. Davina Kelly hadn't yet joined our ranks, and neither had Ulla Hall. And it was with them I would eventually forge an alliance."

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Even though I hadn't yet understood the implications, an instinct within me seemed to have. My heart palpitated.

Sinclair remained silent.

"You're not the first." A sharp, scraping sound—the legs of a wooden chair adjusting against the stone. "We've considered others before you, and they've all failed to meet our expectations. Too pragmatic, not pragmatic enough. Too easily corruptible, too rigid."

"So what," Sinclair said, "are you seriously suggesting that you're opposing the sick and twisted nature of Palisade by playing a sick and twisted game of your own?"

"A game within a game, yes, I suppose," the Councilwoman confessed. "But your fates, like of those before you, would have been the same regardless. You were sent to Amalia to cull the herd of Anima, and if the Six had it their way, to die in the process. This is how it has been for centuries. The way the Assembly both makes use of and destroys its more rebellious servants."

"Fuck you, Faust," Sinclair said.

If the Councilwoman were at all offended, her tone did not betray it. "But in you, Rhian Sinclair, and in your friends, and in the way you lead them to victory with conviction, loyalty, and bravery, we saw an opportunity. You are what we three have been searching for."

"All right," Sinclair said. "Whatever you say. Can we go now? Bit busy at the minute, what with worrying about getting Michael fixed up. Which, by the by, is also your fault."

"I must take responsibility for a great many things. Things I wish I didn't have to live with. But you understand that, don't you, Enforcer? I will see to it that Commander Reider is released into your care. 'Fixing him,' however, is another matter."

It wasn't the time to question the Councilwoman's motives or her sincerity. We would do that later, Sinclair and I, behind closed doors. For now, I believed the safest and most sensible thing to do was to gather as much information as possible, quietly.

"I have a question," I said. "You mentioned we'd be dead if the Six had it their way, as if you are directed firsthand by the will of the pantheon."

"And this is where you both may have overlooked something critical," Councilwoman Faust answered. "The Assembly are not the ultimate authority. Just as you answer to us, the Assembly answers to the Six."

"The Assembly answers to make-believe people in the sky?" Sinclair said. "Give me a goddess-be-damned break."

"The Six are very much real, Enforcer."

I held up a hand in protest. "I've spent time in prayer, in communion with Amalia, and I'll be honest, Councilwoman, I tend to agree with Sinclair. There's nothing there. No divine messaging. No connection. Nothing but a dead, distant silence."

"I'm not here to prove or disprove the existence of the cosmos. Or whether there are or aren't any gods in the literal sense. A philosophical conversation for another time. But I can tell you this: the Six are not gods in the way we've led you to believe."

"So what, then? You lot been listening to mystical sock-puppets this whole time?" Sinclair asked.

I bit the inside of my cheek.

Councilwoman Faust released a quick breath from her nose. "The Six reside deep below the Hexagon—in the bowels of where you both have stood so many times before the Assembly. The Six are Partisans. They are the founders of Palisade. And they are, too, collectively the most powerful Anima to have existed."

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