Intermix Nation (23 page)

“No,” she says, gesturing between the two of
them. “Are we okay?”

Cander sighs. “When have we ever been okay,
Nazirah?”

“Don’t hold anything back,” she snaps. She
moves to leave, but he holds her waist more tightly.

“Word on the street is you’re visiting the
slums tomorrow.”

“What of it?” she asks.

“Be careful,” he says. “Once the Medis find
out you’re here, and they will, it’s only a matter of time before
they try to get to you. I may not care much for your brother, but I
care for mine. And he cares about you. So don’t do anything
stupid.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Cander scans the crowd again, his eyes
narrowing. “I’m serious, Nazirah,” he says. “Nikolaus has got this
much right: you’re exactly the spark intermix are looking for to
blow this whole thing wide open … and the Chancellor knows it.” He
leans forward quickly, kissing her full on the mouth.

“What are you doing?” she hisses, pulling
away.

He chuckles. “You need to become a much
better liar than that,” he says. Cander winks and then walks away,
leaving Nazirah stunned on the sidewalk.

“Boys,” she mutters.

Nazirah turns around and stops short,
realizing whom Cander was really putting on a show for. Adamek
stands a few feet away, unusually smoking a cigarette, watching her
intently. Nazirah ignores him as she walks past. Seeing the Caals
was exactly the fix Nazirah needed. And she won’t let him ruin her
high.

He thinks she’s a frigid prude?

Nazirah will show Adamek Morgen exactly how
frigid she can be.

Chapter
Seventeen

Walking to the parked sedan the next
afternoon, Nazirah is in considerably heightened spirits. Her late
night visit to the Caals has renewed her focus and drive. She feels
unusually optimistic, excited even, to visit the intermix
slums.

Nazirah opens the car door, expecting to be
the last person there. To her surprise, Aldrik is unusually late.
The sun is high in the afternoon sky and the car is sweltering.
Nazirah smirks as she slides into the backseat. Adamek has undone
his two top shirt buttons and rolled up the cuffs of his sleeves.
This isn’t Krush anymore. Adamek clearly isn’t used to the muggy,
humid heat of southern Eridies.

Nazirah finds herself unwillingly drawn to
the patch of skin shining through his unbuttoned shirt. It reminds
her of him in the Iluxor. So much has happened in the last couple
of days that Nazirah keeps pushing that memory to the back of her
mind. She doesn’t want to think about it … how he has lost a mother
too … how he has essentially orphaned himself … how he has no one
to go to when the grief becomes overwhelming. She doesn’t want to
know that he has no one at all.

“See something you like?”

Crap.

She snaps her head up. Adamek’s eyebrow is
raised questioningly. “Just wondering why you’re not wearing your
pendant,” she replies, thinking quickly.

Adamek looks down where it would normally
be, shrugging lightly. “Forgot to put it on, I guess.”

“You guess?” she scoffs. “You shouldn’t mess
around! That amnesty pendant is the only thing protecting you from
some angry rebel who decides he just might like killing you after
all.”

“Is that so?” Adamek asks, heavily scratched
hands resting nonchalantly in his lap. “The only thing?”

“I don’t know,” she says, retracting
slightly.

“Right.”

“Whatever,” she snaps. “You still need to be
more careful.”

“Oh, honey,” he says, words calculated. “I
didn’t realize you cared.”

“I still don’t,” Nazirah says. “I just don’t
want you dead. Not while you’re still useful to the rebels.”

“You don’t want me dead?” Adamek asks
emotionlessly. “Or you don’t want me dead at someone else’s
hands?”

Nazirah is stunned silent. Sure, she has
imagined killing him, in various painful ways, for months now. But
for him to say it out loud? To make that desire, that darkness
inside of her, seem possible? Like she could really do it, if only
she had the opportunity?

It scares her.

“That’s what I thought.”

“How did your meeting with the fishermen
go?” she asks, changing the subject.

“I’d say very well,” he tells her,
“considering what we bribed them with.”

“Not everyone can be bought, you know,”
Nazirah responds crossly. “Some people have morals.”

“Morals have nothing to do with it.”

“Morals have everything to do with it!”

Adamek sighs. “Everyone can be bought,
Nation. It’s just a matter of price.”

“You’re talking about money?”

“That’s not what I said.”

Nazirah glances out the window, annoyed.
“Where is Aldrik?” she asks.

“Talking with your brother, I think.”

“By the way,” she says, “do you know what
he’s saying about us?”

“Your brother?”

“Aldrik.”

Adamek shakes his head. “What’s he
saying?”

“Well, uh,” Nazirah mumbles, “you remember
how I didn’t exactly answer Cander’s question yesterday?”

Adamek’s eyes flash. “Vaguely.”

“Apparently,” Nazirah continues, coughing
nervously, “Aldrik’s telling everyone that my silence was actually
because I … because we’re … together.”

Adamek snorts in amusement. “That makes no
sense at all.”

“That’s what I said.”

“I wouldn’t worry too much about it,” he
tells her. “I doubt anyone will believe it.”

“That’s not what Cander seems to think.”

“Afraid word will get back to your little
boyfriend in the Red West?” he asks.

Nazirah hasn’t thought of that. What if Cato
hears the rumors before Nazirah can explain how untrue they are?
Nazirah knows he will go crazy. And the two of them don’t need any
more strain on their friendship. “No,” she says stubbornly,
refusing to let him get the last word.

“Or are you afraid he’ll hear about your
midnight trysts with his brother?”

Aldrik appears by the inn’s entrance and
Nazirah sighs in relief. “It’s not like that.”

“Don’t you find it hypocritical,” Adamek
continues, “that you wax poetic about how I spend all my time
slutting myself around, and then you go and whore yourself out to
the first willing guy? Not to mention jeopardizing the entire
campaign in the process.”

“I do not whore myself out,” she hisses.

“Didn’t look that way to me.”

“As you made it so abundantly clear last
night,” Nazirah says angrily, “you know that isn’t true. And I
could not care less what or who you do.”

Lie.

Aldrik shuffles into the front seat, revs
the engine. Without a word, he begins driving, making the short
journey to the slums.

“You’re late,” Nazirah says.

“The Commander can be very chatty when he
wants. Morgen has probably already informed you, your highness, but
our meeting today with the fishing contacts was successful. They’ve
agreed to stop sending resources to Mediah and instead will be
redistributing their food quotas to the rebels.”

“I told her,” Adamek replies.

“Good,” he says, smiling wickedly. “There’s
also something else, concerning you two, that you should be aware
of.”

“We already know,” Nazirah answers.

Aldrik quickly glances between them, noting
their tension with delight. “Having a lover’s spat already, are
we?”

Nazirah only shoots him a scathing
glare.

“Holy hell, what is that?” Aldrik says as
they pass by the town square. A makeshift gallows has been erected
in the center. Nazirah gags as she sees bodies hanging in the
sunlight, slowly rotting corpses. They are a few feet off the
ground, hands bound behind them, heads lolled to the side. Seagulls
and flies circle overhead. It’s haunting.

They enter slum territory. Nazirah has never
been in this part of Rafu, even though it’s close to where she grew
up. Barefoot children wearing rags run alongside the car,
fascinated. Nazirah feels ashamed to be driving into the slums,
wishing they walked from the inn instead. She wants to yell out the
window that she’s like them, can count the number of times she’s
been in a car on one hand.

The motor eventually dies and the three of
them step outside. Nazirah looks through the hazy, blistering
heat.

Thousands of small huts line the narrow
beach in neat rows as far as the eye can see. They are flimsy at
best, constructed of driftwood and cardboard, tied together with
some metal sheeting and tarpaulin. Hundreds of children sit
lethargically in the sand. The children are all gangly limbs,
bloated stomachs, and swollen heads. Some play. Many beg for food.
Most just watch with hollow, hungry eyes that have seen too much.
Old women, faces lined with deep crags, skin like leather, stare
accusingly. Young men kick a ball around in the sand, yelling and
shouting.

“Nazirah!” a small voice calls. Nazirah
turns around and sees Cayu, the boy whom she spoke to at the
meeting. He runs up to them, grinning widely, not nearly as shy as
he was yesterday. Nazirah can see that he’s missing his front tooth
and she smiles, thinking of Caria.

“Good to see you again, Sir Cayu.”

Cayu brightens and then gets a serious look
on his face. “We’ve been waiting for you,” he says, grabbing
Nazirah’s hand and pulling her forward. “Follow me.” Concentrating
hard, he walks down the rows of huts fast as his chubby legs will
carry him.

Nazirah is amazed by Cayu’s ability to be
genuinely happy, regardless of the desperation around him. It hits
Nazirah that this could have easily been her life, had her
circumstances been slightly different.

As they walk through the endless rows,
countless intermix stare at Nazirah in wonder, and then at Adamek
in complete terror. Some people in Renatus, including the intermix,
know Nazirah Nation. But everyone in Renatus, especially the
intermix, knows Adamek Morgen.

What does it feel like to have people be so
afraid of you? To wield that heavy, heady power over them? The
Medis may want power above all else, but Adamek is the one who has
it. Whether he wants it or not is another question. Unable to keep
her eyes forward, Nazirah gives in and glances behind her. He is
watching her, not anyone else, like he knows exactly what she’s
thinking.

Cayu leads them into the largest hut in the
slum. Inside, it is bare but comfortable and surprisingly clean.
The dirt is so impacted from years of traversing feet it is almost
like a terra firma carpet. Cayu’s mother is there, holding an
infant in her arms. There is also a man Nazirah assumes is Cayu’s
father. Several other children, younger than Cayu, chase one
another around the hut. Cayu introduces Nazirah, Adamek, and Aldrik
to his mother Casha, his father Cayus, and all of his sisters and
brothers before Casha gently interrupts him.

“Cayu, darling,” she requests sweetly. “Why
don’t you go play outside? Let the adults talk.” Cayu nods, eyes
wide, and runs out of the hut. Casha motions for them to sit down
on three wooden stools.

“He’s adorable,” Nazirah gushes, sitting.
Nazirah doesn’t normally gush about anything, but she feels
unusually affectionate towards Cayu. Especially because he’s so
fond of Riva.

“He can be quite a handful.” Casha smiles.
“He wants to be just like his father.” Casha looks at Cayus
hesitantly before continuing. “When I first heard you were planning
a trip here, I didn’t believe it. I’m very glad that I was wrong.
Your mother was incredibly kind to my son, even when she didn’t
have to be, even when it was dangerous for her to be. I am forever
indebted to her. You are most welcome here, Nazirah Nation.”

“Is she, Casha?” asks Cayus quietly. He’s
tall, with tan skin and broad shoulders. In lieu of a tattoo on his
forearm, he sports a painted red circle. “I am Cayus,” he says,
“leader of the intermix here. If I may get straight to it, what
exactly are your intentions?” Aldrik opens his mouth, but Cayus
quiets him with a look. He nods meaningfully at Nazirah. “From one
intermix to another.”

“Right.” Nazirah proceeds slowly, unsure of
why he’s singling her out. “We’re hoping for your support and for
the support of all Eridian intermix.”

“Hoping to spill our blood, you mean,” Cayus
says.

Nazirah is surprised. “That’s not what I
mean at all.”

“Do you not wish for our able bodies?” he
asks. “For our strength of numbers? Will intermix blood not be
spilt in battle, should we choose to help you?”

“We’re on the brink of war with Mediah,”
Nazirah says, becoming agitated. “Yes, an unfortunate repercussion
of war is death. But you’re twisting my words.”

“Or perhaps you are not considering the
consequences of them.”

“I’m not your enemy, Cayus!” she argues.
“We’re the same, you and I. We both want the same thing.”

Cayus laughs. “Allow me to be perfectly
blunt. You are only a first generation intermix, correct? Your
father was a resourceful Oseni, your mother an educated Eridian.
You have lived a blessed life. My father was intermix, like his
father before him and his father before him. We have never had the
opportunities that you have had, could not even fathom them. This
is how it is for the vast majority of people living in my slum. So
with all due respect, Nazirah Nation, we may both be intermix, but
we are hardly the same.”

Nazirah is so shocked she almost falls off
her stool. Aldrik begins to protest, but Nazirah holds up her hand.
She’s been judged her entire life, but to be castigated by her own
kind? For not being intermix enough? Nazirah is disheartened to
find racism everywhere, even in places she would least expect it to
exist.

“With all due respect, Cayus,” Nazirah
growls, “you dare judge me for my lack of intermix blood? Am I not
diluted enough for your liking? Have I not suffered enough to be
deemed worthy by your racist standards? Your uninformed,
practically Median values disgust me! They’re what hold intermix
back. Not my intentions, whatever you believe them to be! I may be
‘only a first generation intermix,’ but I know a lot more about
tolerance than you ever will.”