SAPR

by Scipio Smith

Unwelcome Discoveries (New)

Unwelcome Discoveries

The sunlight crept in beneath the curtains to gently illuminate the bedroom of Lieutenant Martinez.

She and Mike had both been up for a while, and now Mike lay on his back, recovering from his exertions. Martinez would have been quite happy to go again, but for Mike's sake, she, too, lay in bed, on her side, watching the room get lighter around them like an insistent knocking on the door.

At the point at which the actual knocking on the door started, the message would become inescapable.

"We should probably get up," Mike murmured.

"Not yet," Martinez said quietly. "Just a couple more hours."

Mike snorted. "The kids will be up soon."

"And when the kids are up, I will get up," Martinez replied. "But unless I've gone deaf, the kids are still in bed, which means that I am gonna stay right here until—"

Her scroll buzzed on the nightstand.

Martinez glared at it.

That glare had reduced hardened criminals to quivering wrecks but did nothing to shut the scroll up.

She felt Mike's hand upon her back. "Are you going to answer that?"

"No," Martinez grunted.

"It might be work."

"Then that's too bad," Martinez said. "I'm on vacation. I was told to take a vacation. They can't tell me that I work too much and then call me in on my off-day."

The scroll continued to buzz insistently, oblivious to Martinez’s irritation.

Martinez huffed wordlessly and sat up, swinging her legs out of bed as she threw the covers off herself. With one hand, she reached for her scroll, opening it up. It was work. It was Mallard, to be precise.

Martinez scowled and answered the scroll on private mode, so that she had to raise the device to her ear in order to hear what Mallard was saying. She didn't want him to disturb the kids if she put him on speaker. "This is Martinez."

"Sorry to bother you, El-Tee," Mallard said. "It's just … there's been a body found in the warehouses near Springhill Market. A dead girl."

"Murder?"

"Yes, boss."

"Sounds like one for the Murder Investigation Team," Martinez said.

"MIT don't want to touch this one with a ten foot pole, boss," Mallard explained. "They've thrown it to us, and ninth floor is backing them up on it."

Martinez frowned. It wasn't usual for the Flying Squad to be called in on a simple murder case; organised crime was their beat, and even when that was the case, she'd never heard of MIT voluntarily relinquishing a murder case before; usually, you had to fight tooth and nail to get them to back off.

"What's going on, why us? Who is this girl?" Her first thought was some gangster's girlfriend, or their daughter. Except she couldn't think of any that had daughters she knew of.

"… she's an Atlas student, boss."

Okay, that explained why MIT didn't want to touch it. She didn't want to touch it either.

Martinez bowed her head, letting her dark hair fall down around her face. "Ah, crap.”

---

Gilda was in the safehouse kitchen. The coffee was in the cup and the kettle was on, and Gilda herself was bent over, rooting around in the fridge for something to eat. She had just straightened up, a box of eggs held in her hand, when she noticed Ilia standing in the kitchen doorway, watching her.

Her expression was grim.

Gilda frowned. "Is something wrong?"

"We need to talk," Ilia said, her voice firm, like a slab of concrete. "Everyone's waiting in the living room."

"So 'we' is bigger than you and me, in this instance?" Gilda asked.

Ilia nodded. "This involves all of us."

Gilda wasn't too keen on that, to be honest; the people that the High Leader had assigned to this operation were … well, Gilda was sure that they were perfectly good fighters, and skilled in infiltration and … assassination, and she understood that with the Vale Chapter having lost a lot of its best and brightest, they were going to be dependent on the High Leader's entourage for a mission like this.

None of that meant that she liked the team that she had been picked to lead, however. Of the Menagerie fighters, Ilia was the most tolerable of the bunch, and other than her…

But they were the group that she had been tasked to lead; they were the team that the High Leader had given her, and that meant that Gilda had to put up with them just as she had to put up with orders that she didn't like. That was what a good soldier did.

Compared with the fact that she was going to have to kill Dashie, the fact that she didn't like Yuma was pretty trivial by comparison.

And so, Gilda shrugged and put the eggs down on the light brown sideboard of the galley kitchen and followed Ilia out and into the living room next door.

Ilia was correct: everyone was there. Yuma — Gilda didn't know his surname and didn't much care to — was a bat faunus, with a pair of black leathery wings sticking out from his back, kind of folded up but at the same time a little bit spread out too. He was tall, and muscular too, with short brown — slightly reddish-brown, but not much — hair that was cut short and styled in rows of spikes sticking up out of his head. A goatee covered his chin, while leaving his square jaw bare and hairless. He was wearing black and grey, with only a brass-coloured zipper breaking up the colours, and he wore a black glove on his right hand, although his left hand was bare.

Trifa was another one whom Gilda didn't know the surname of. She was a spider faunus, and her traits manifested in the form of grey hands, like they'd been covered in stone, or turned to stone, and a greyness that spread visible up the veins on her arms, grey lines beneath her skin. She was on the shorter side, taller than Ilia but not so tall as Gilda, but with a bit of muscle definition on her bare arms. Like Yuma, like Ilia, she wore black and grey suitable for stealth, but her top had no sleeves, and the zip was undone, exposing the grey lines criss-crossing her chest. Her hair was as grey as the lines beneath her skin, cut short level with her jaw and the nape of her neck, framing her face and combed over so as to cover one of her grey eyes.

Woundwort was a rabbit faunus, with a pair of oversized incisors jutting down from his upper jaw that looked big enough to tear a man's throat out. There was a lot about Woundwort that looked big; the man was a giant, he looked ridiculous sitting in an armchair made for someone of average size, as though he would start to bulge out over it at any moment. When he stood up, he had to duck to avoid the ceiling. Muscle corded his entire body, and his black sleeveless vest wasn't really doing anything to conceal it. His face was puffy, bloated looking, and one of his eyes had been ruined by the SDC brand across his face.

Savannah was … Gilda wasn't entirely certain what she was; an ape faunus, Gilda thought, one of the ones with big teeth, but Gilda couldn't have said exactly what kind of ape, and Savannah had been in no mood to enlighten her. Like Woundwort, she had lost an eye, but there was no brand upon her face, just a lot of old scars concentrated on the left side of her face. Her remaining eye was a soft golden colour, one of the few things about her that really did look soft, because the rest of her features looked sharp enough to cut. Her arms were a little bit too long, and there was a wiriness about her whole body. Her hair was a light brown, like grass dried out under the sun, but cut so short that she might have been bald.

Rill was an otter faunus, with a large rudder-like tail visible between his legs; he was not so visibly bulging with muscle as Woundwort, but he clearly had some there, and he was nearly as tall as the rabbit faunus besides. Unlike the greys and blacks of many of his companions, Rill wore bright red pants that were a little too big for him and a river-blue vest that was sleeveless and half open, revealing the tattoos on his arms and chest — as well as what looked like a couple of bullet wounds that he'd survived at some point in the past. He had blue eyes and golden-brown hair cropped short on top of his head, and as he stared at Gilda, his hand kept straying to the knife at his belt.

There were seven of them, with Gilda and Ilia. Six of them chosen by the High Leader and Gilda chosen to lead them.

Seven of them against Dashie and Blake.

Gilda's eyes swept around the group. "Okay, I'm here," she said. "What's this all about?"

"Kali Belladonna is here," Ilia said.

Gilda's eyes bulged. "Ka— you mean Lady Belladonna? She's here? In Vale?"

"'Lady'?" Savannah repeated. "'Lady Belladonna'?"

"She's our High Chieftainess, isn't she?" Gilda replied.

"I serve one high lady, and Kali Belladonna isn't it," Savannah said. "She is no ruler of mine; she's nothing but a … a pampered housecat, sitting in the lap of luxury while the rest of us scavenge in the trash."

"Let's not use words like that, okay?" Gilda asked. "House cat, house faunus…" She tried to remember if she'd ever called Dashie anything like that. She didn't think that she had. She'd called her a sell-out, for sure, and a traitor, but she hadn't called her anything like that. Secure in the knowledge that she might be a lot of things but she wasn't a hypocrite, Gilda went on, "Especially not someone who does a lot of good for our people. There are a lot of folks living it up on Menagerie who wouldn't be if it weren't for Lady Belladonna."

"Including … your parents, Sister Gilda?" Yuma asked, his voice sinuous, soft, and a little slippery to Gilda's way of thinking.

"I'm not your sister," Gilda muttered.

That affectation — brother this, sister that — wasn't a White Fang thing; it was religious, hardcore God of Animals stuff: those whom the God had called to the Shallow Sea had been bound together, brothers and sisters of the spirit, joined together by fate, they and their descendants, in a common purpose. Gilda was no militant atheist, she believed in the old stories, but as far as she was concerned, addressing everyone as brother or sister was carrying it a bit too far.

Especially when you made it sound as though the person you were addressing was the black sheep of the family you would rather disown.

"But yes," Gilda said. "My parents live on Menagerie, thanks to Lady Belladonna." She returned her attention to Ilia. "How do you know that she's here? Are you sure?"

"I saw her on the news," Ilia replied, getting out her scroll. She opened it up and held it out towards Gilda as she started to play a video clip, some kind of news item.

"The Vytal Tournament began yesterday with sixteen thrilling battles between teams of four," the voice of a female reporter declared, as clips of various students — Gilda recognised Dashie and her team amongst them — played in a swift montage of bright colours and flashy moves. "At the end of the day, five Beacon Academy teams had emerged victorious, alongside four teams from Atlas Academy, four from Haven Academy, and three from Shade Academy. A shocking upset came early in the day as Team Coffee, a Beacon Academy team widely tipped to make the one-on-one round, was demolished in their match, the entire team being eliminated by a single Haven student, Arslan Altan of Team Auburn. With me in the studio to discuss this is former Vytal champion—"

"Hang on," Ilia muttered. "Let me move ahead." She ran her thumb around the bottom of the scroll screen, moving the video along before pausing it on a picture of a fairground at night, lively-looking even though there weren't many people around.

In the centre of the picture, sitting at some kind of noodle stand, Gilda could see Lady Belladonna, sitting with a man in an Atlas uniform and a woman in a bright pink trouser suit.

It was definitely the High Chieftainness of Menagerie; Gilda had never met her, but she'd seen plenty of pictures.

"Huh," Gilda said. "What's she doing here? Do you think she came to see Blake?"

"She came to sell us out," Ilia declared. "That's an Atlesian councillor she's talking to."

Gilda frowned as she looked down at the picture. There did look to be some security goons standing around in the picture, but still… "At a noodle stand?"

"That's Councillor Mi Amore Cadenza," Ilia insisted. "She's been on our list ever since she destroyed the Atlas Chapter. And she's meeting with Kali Belladonna. What does that tell you?"

"I don't know what it tells me," Gilda replied. "Maybe … maybe they're just talking about how well Blake and Rainbow Dash did in the first round matches?"

"Or maybe she's selling out our people to Atlas," growled Savannah.

"How would she do that?" Gilda demanded. She barely waited for a response before she said, "What is this? So what if Lady Belladonna is here, what is it that you want?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Woundwort growled.

Gilda snorted. "Maybe it is," she admitted. "But I want one of you to have the guts to say it, partly because I hope I'm wrong."

She looked at Ilia, but she said nothing. She opened her mouth, but no words emerged. She looked away, hugging her arm with her other hand as her skin turned a pale shade of green, while her spots and eyes turned a light blue.

"Say it," Gilda growled. "Somebody say it, or we're done here."

"They have to die," Trifa said, her voice flat and a little distant sounding, as though she wasn't really there in the room with the rest of them. "The Atlesian councillor and—"

"Lady Belladonna?" Gilda asked.

Trifa shrugged. "We're killing the daughter, why not kill the mother too?"

Killing Blake is bad enough, Gilda thought. "Because she's the High Chieftain's wife? Because what do you think Lord Belladonna will do once he finds out that we killed his wife?"

"What do you think he'll do when he finds out we killed his daughter?" asked Rill.

"That's different; that's our mission," Gilda declared. "Those are our orders from the High Leader. Nothing was said about killing Lady Belladonna, or any Atlesian councillor for that matter."

"The High Leader didn't know that she was here," Ilia said, finding her voice once more.

"That's irrelevant," Gilda said. "We have our mission objectives, objectives, I might add, that will be hard enough for us to accomplish without diverting our efforts onto this!"

"Surely you can see that our objectives pale into insignificance in the face of the prize that now lies before us, Sister Gilda," Yuma said, leaning forward. "Who is Rainbow Dash? Who is Blake Belladonna? Today's heroes, yes, but tomorrow, they will be nobodies, forgotten women."

So the High Leader says, Gilda said. But she wants them dead all the same. Maybe she's not altogether certain that they'll just fade away.

"But," Yuma went on, "if we strike down a Councillor, we will not only avenge the Atlas Chapter, but we will demonstrate that there is no one, no matter how high or mighty, who is safe from the wrath of the White Fang. We will have shown how long and sharp our claws truly are in a way that will be remembered for decades to come!"

"And Lady Belladonna?" Gilda demanded.

"Sic Semper Tyrannis," Ilia muttered, the green shade of her skin deepening.

Gilda's brow furrowed. "Translation?"

"Thus ever to tyrants," Ilia explained. "Why should the Belladonnas live so high on the hill and leave so little for the rest of us?"

Gilda shrugged. "I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm here to fight for faunus rights, not worry about inequality amongst the faunus." She paused. "More to the point, I'm here to do as I'm told, and I've not been told anything about Lady Belladonna or Councillor Cadenza. Everything that you've said, about killing them, that's not for us to decide. Only the High Leader can make those sorts of calls, and the High Leader isn't here. So are we going to follow our orders and complete our mission, or shall I be sure to tell the High Leader when we get back that you lot thought you knew better than she did and see what the Higher Leader thinks of your initiative?"

As Gilda had expected, as she had hoped, she struck home with that question. It was clear to her that the High Leader did not value disobedience, and the reminder of that fact caused a silence to dampen the fire of the group for more bloodshed.

Ilia's skin changed from green to blue, matching the colour of her speckles and her eyes. Rill shifted uneasily in his seat. Savannah scowled and looked away. Neither Yuma nor Trifa would meet Gilda's eyes. Only Woundwort seemed unaffected, but even he didn't speak up in favour of the course that they had so desired.

Gilda … Gilda believed in everything she'd said — these weren't their orders, this wasn't their mission, and the High Leader wasn't likely to look kindly upon them just deciding to do something else other than what they'd been told to do. But she also just didn't want to do it. She didn't want to kill Lady Belladonna. She didn't really want to kill Lady Belladonna's daughter either, but she wanted to kill the mother even less. As far as she was concerned, Lady Belladonna was a hero to the faunus, and she'd imagine she was far from the only one who felt that way.

It was bad enough to kill those who were trying their best, even if they were wrong; it was something else to kill someone who was honestly making the world a better place, for some people anyway.

But she wasn't sure how far that would get her with this lot; they were a bit of a band of cutthroats in Gilda's opinion, so if she could just convince them to knuckle down and do as they were told, then so much the better.

"You're right," Ilia whispered. She spoke more to the floor than to Gilda, but she spoke nevertheless. "We are all … loyal and obedient servants of the High Leader, and we will obey the commands the High Leader has given us. The High Leader has commanded that Blake and the Altesian who corrupted her shall die, so we will do it, no matter what … no matter what else we might want to do, or how we might feel about our orders." She paused, and her skin colour returned to normal, as did the colour of her eyes and her speckles. "So … how are we going to do it?"

"We…" Gilda trailed off, gathering her thoughts together because she had been giving it some thought, even if she'd rather have had something to eat before getting into this. "We're going to start," she said, "by getting tickets to the tournament…"

---

Cinder stared at the screen.

She could hardly believe it. She couldn’t believe it at all.

She had meant to catch up on what she’d missed as she and Emerald snuck into Vale to deal with Phoebe once and for all. She had meant to see who was going forward into the two-on-two round and who would be up against whom in that round. She had watched the news merely to sate her curiosity, to find out early what she could have found out by simply watching the matches as they came up. It wasn’t as though it took Lisa Lavender to inform her that Sunset would choose Pyrrha and herself to move forward, after all, and she could have waited to find out which poor saps they would be crushing beneath their chariot wheels.

But she had watched, because she wanted to see a few clips of how it had happened, and because … well, because she had nothing better to do.

She was also, she confessed, curious as to how the death of Phoebe Kommenos would be reported, although it had not yet been reported. Apparently, the Vytal Tournament was more important than a dead Mistralian heiress.

What was the world coming to?

Cinder would have been amused by it in other circumstances.

But now, having watched the news on something of an impulse, having looked upon it as a relaxing diversion, now, all of a sudden, Cinder found herself transfixed by the screen, held captive by it, unable to tear her eyes away, unable to do aught but stare into wonder and amazement.

Emerald had put the stream on pause, holding a single frame suspended before their eyes. No doubt to the editors, it seemed a frame of no great import; there was some passing mention of Pyrrha Nikos, and so, alongside a brief clip of Team SAPR’s victory over Team PSTL, there was also a clip of that same Team SAPR walking amongst the fairgrounds.

But Cinder was more interested in who had been captured walking with them in that picture. There, besides Sunset and Pyrrha and Jaune Arc, there was a fourth girl, not Ruby … actually, there were five girls; the Atlesian was there as well, the redheaded one, but she wasn’t important - she was so unimportant that Cinder couldn’t even remember her name. She wasn’t why Cinder was staring in awed disbelief.

There, with most of the members of Team SAPR, walking through the fairgrounds as though she hadn’t a care in the world, was Amber.

Amber, the Fall Maiden. The Fall Maiden who Cinder had…

At last, Cinder was able to tear her gaze away from the screen and from the sight of Amber; at last, she was able to look away, but only to look down at her own hand, the hand from which a thread of grimm essence had leapt, like the fire that had kept Phoebe huddled beneath her shield, to half-engulf Amber’s face and bind the two of them together, dragging Amber’s magic, and her aura, out of her and passing both to Cinder.

The hand that had made her powerful.

The hand that had made her monstrous.

The hand that had made her so much more and less than human.

“Is that…? That can’t be,” Emerald murmured. She leaned forward, back bent, getting very close to the screen as she squinted with her dark red eyes. “Can it?”

“It is her, unless mine own eyes deceive me,” Cinder said. That was possible, but the weaknesses of her eyesight had so far pertained only to reading. Amber was not blurry to her sight; she could still make out her face and all the details on it.

“I don’t see…” Emerald began, but then trailed off.

Cinder waited a moment for her to finish. “What?” she demanded. “What don’t you see?”

Emerald looked up at her. “Scars,” she said. “When you … there were a lot of scars on her face, but I don’t see them.”

“Because she’s hiding them with makeup,” Cinder said. “Do you not agree that if that is not Amber, then it is the most uncanny resemblance?”

Emerald was silent for a moment. “I thought,” she said. “I mean … how?”

“That,” Cinder replied, “is the question. There is no way that she should be walking after…” She looked down at her hand once again, clenching and unclenching her fist. She could feel the grimm essence within more strongly than she could feel the stolen magic; she could feel it numbing all other sensations: warmth, the feel of her sleeve upon her skin. There was nothing but the cold, cold fire burning her up from the inside out.

“After what I did to her,” Cinder murmured. The process, the transfer, the theft of her power and aura should have killed Amber. It would have killed Amber if one of Ozpin’s huntsmen hadn’t interrupted it. He had severed the connection between the two of them, cleaving the grimm tendrils with his sword, and Cinder and the others, worn out by their battle with Amber, had been forced to beat a retreat — even as Ozpin’s huntsman had done likewise, prioritising Amber’s rescue over pursuit of the enemy.

The last that Cinder had seen of Amber she had been lying comatose in the arms of her rescuer, her face … scarred, just as Emerald had said.

Cinder did not believe that she could have recovered from that, from what had been…

From what I took from her.

The technology did not exist to heal the injury that Cinder had dealt her; the power was not…

The power was not in this world.

But in another world.

“Sunset,” Cinder breathed.

“Cinder?” Emerald asked.

“Sunset,” Cinder repeated. “Sunset has done this.”

Emerald looked, stared really, up at Cinder. She stared up even as she straightened up, forced to do so by the difference in their heights. “How can you be so sure?”

“I know of none other who could have done it,” Cinder replied.

Emerald’s eyes narrowed. “That doesn’t mean—”

“Then how was it done?” Cinder demanded. “She did not simply get better!” Seeing Emerald take a step back, Cinder closed her eyes and sighed. “Forgive me,” she murmured. “That was … this revelation has me…” She sighed again, and even deeper this time. “Sunset, what have you done?”

There was a part of her that felt betrayed, even as another part of her recognised the absurdity of that feeling of betrayal. Sunset owed her … nothing. At the very least, even if you could make a claim upon some gratitude on Sunset’s part — she had saved their lives, after all; Merlot would have blown the whole of Team SAPR to kingdom come if it hadn’t been for her — then one would be hard pressed to argue that it extended to letting Amber die, or letting her languish in a sleep like death, waiting for a prince to kiss her awake.

If one were being perfectly fair, one would probably have to say that Cinder’s actions in saving Team SAPR were as a molehill compared to the Mistral mount of debt that Cinder owed to Sunset for all the grief that Sunset had been forced to endure, in every sense, because of Cinder’s actions.

In either case, no one could reasonably say that Sunset owed Cinder enough that she ought not have to saved Amber’s life if the opportunity arose.

But the heart was not always rational, and Cinder’s heart no more rational than Sunset’s own, and so, her irrational heart could not but feel betrayed, to see not only the other Fall Maiden, the true Fall Maiden, awake and well-seeming and happy-seeming because of Sunset’s actions, but also walking with Sunset, smiling, happy.

And Amber looked happy to be with Sunset too.

Of course, Sunset made her choice long ago. I have no right to complain of it now.

By what right could I ask her ‘how could you do this’? Rather, I should ask myself what else I would expect her to do.

No … no the question is…

How did she come to do it?

That was not the question, of course. The question was what she, Cinder, would do now that she knew that Amber was awake, but Cinder didn’t have the answer to that question just yet, and so, while she thought about it, she busied herself with simultaneously wondering just how Sunset had been in a position to heal Amber thus.

Obviously, Ozpin had given her the opportunity, but … why? Because she was dying? She had been dying for some time, and when Cinder had last been at Beacon, there had been no sign of Amber. And Sunset had believed Cinder when she told her that she was the Fall Maiden, whole and entire, that she had killed her predecessor. She hadn’t called Cinder a liar; she hadn’t pointed out the existence of another Fall Maiden, the true Fall Maiden from whom Cinder had stolen only some of the magic. No one had. At that point, at the time of their mission against Doctor Merlot, nobody had doubted that Cinder was the one and only Fall Maiden and that she had acquired the power through murder.

So it was after that that Ozpin told Sunset the truth.

Because … because he was desperate? Because he had realised that Sunset’s magic might be able to do what his could not?

Or did Sunset have the idea?

Because…

Because…

Because, because, because of the wonderful wizard he was.

Because… She could not answer the because. She could not explain why it had happened now, how Sunset had found out about Amber, any of it.

All she could do was … deal with it.

“What now?” Emerald asked. “What will you do?”

“An excellent question, Emerald,” Cinder murmured. “Perhaps the only question that really matters: what will I do?”

What will I do?

“Does it…?” Emerald cleared her throat. “Does it matter?”

Cinder looked at her, and raised one eyebrow inquisitively.

“I mean,” Emerald hesitated a moment, her hands balling into fists, before she said, with more force than was perhaps necessary, “why do you need the Maiden’s powers when you’re planning to die? If you don’t want anything but to kill Pyrrha Nikos and then get slaughtered by vengeful Mistralians, then what does it matter whether you have all the powers of the Fall Maiden or not?”

Cinder stared down at her, silent for a moment, and then a moment more. “Did it take courage to ask me that?”

Emerald swallowed. “Some, yes.”

Cinder chuckled. “I am sorry for it, even as I commend your courage. In truth, it is … a fair question. What need…?” She looked down at her hand again. “What need, indeed? I would not kill Pyrrha as a Maiden, and as you say … I will rouse such a fury against me by Pyrrha’s death that Maiden’s magic will not protect me. And yet…”

Emerald blinked. “And yet?”

“I would be something, Emerald,” Cinder said. “I would be … more than I am, more than I was, more than I was born, more than I was made, I would be … do you believe in destiny, Emerald?”

“No,” Emerald said flatly.

“That was quick,” Cinder remarked.

Emerald shrugged. “I don’t,” she said. “I don’t believe that we’re all on rails that someone — who? If destiny is a real thing, then who set it down? Who is laying these rails we’re on? — placed in front of us years ago, that we can’t deviate from. It just doesn’t make any sense to me.”

“The Fates,” Cinder answered.

“Hmm? I mean, pardon?”

“The Fates span out our … fates,” Cinder explained. “The sisters three who sit at heaven’s spinning wheel, weaving the tapestry of all things with the occasional pointed suggestion of the gods. So, at least, it was said in Mistral, by those who believe in such things.”

“But they’re not real,” Emerald pointed out, “are they?”

“Many — most — would say not in this day and age,” Cinder admitted. “And yet … I confess myself a little surprised.”

Emerald’s brow furrowed. “By what, and why?”

“Because when I was like you — powerless, alone, desperate — I clung to destiny,” Cinder said. “It was my comfort, my reassurance, my strength. If I had not understood that I was meant for more than I was and had, that there was something better and grander waiting for me … I could scarcely have put one foot in front of the other.” She paused. “I would see my destiny fulfilled. Though it avails me nought, I would become something glorious, majestic, powerful. I would rise transcendent above the run of the common men; I would be exalted ere they tear me down and lay me low. It is true that I could enter the vault and retrieve the relic with the power that I possess, if only we knew where the vault was, but for me … the power is like a victor’s laurels on my brow. The having, not the use, is all.”

Emerald did not look particularly satisfied with that response. The frown remained upon her face; her nose was wrinkled up, her lips crinkled with distaste. “Then what?” she asked. “What are we going to do?”

Finish what I started, was the obvious answer. Kill Amber and take the rest of the power. But how to do that? It was not so easy. Cinder could not simply walk into Beacon after all.

Sweetie Drops has abandoned me, and I do not trust Tempest Shadow.

And yet, unable to enter Beacon as I am, I may have little choice but to trust her.

Or perhaps… Cinder’s gaze fell upon Emerald. Not to kill, no, but to observe, at least.

“How would you feel,” Cinder said, “about disguising yourself for the second time in as many days?”

Comments

[Voltaje]

The plot is thickening, I wonder how things will develope now, and the real fallout of Cinders killing.

[Kiue Jin]

Makes sense that they're keeping the murder quiet. They do not want to go public with that, considering the dangerous political situation Vale is in regarding both Atlas and to a lesser extent, Mistral. Of course, if it's discovered that Vale was trying to cover up the death... (or at least, it's reported in that way)... it would certainly make things worse.

[AdverseFlower95]

11678936
It probably helps that Phoebe doesn’t have a family to make a fuss about it, and a headmaster that is a general that believes in a need-to-know information sharing.

[Stet709]

Yeah... I'd agree calling Sunset waking up Amber a betrayal a bit of an absurd stretch. I mean, Cinder, you do realize you're still on opposite sides of this war, right? The only thought of you that Sunset had while waking Amber up was how viciously brutal you were.

[Cyrus Windstrider]

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As it was put in this chapter, one's reactions aren't always logical, emotions swaying decision making. Cinder understands the *why* to some extent, but that doesn't stop her from feeling betrayed because she favors Sunset.

[Mastermind4892]

Welcome back! I hope your first month is going as smooth as can be!

No surprise that they're keeping Phoebe's murder under the rug, Cinder, to prevent exactly the reaction you wanted. I wonder why...

And well said, Gilda! You kept the radicals from acting like those enchanted police jerks, from assassinating someone without evidence just 'cuz. Now you can properly focus on just assassinating people for making the White Fang look bad.