“How does that make you feel?”
“Angry. The Patrician need to pay for what they’ve done and may do.”
We leave the room. Only a few people are still up. I go into the bedroom, take a quick shower, mainly to wash the blood from my hand and cleanse my wounds, dress, and get under the covers. Sleep comes quickly.
Seventeen
The glass of our apartment window is warm from the sun. I’m amazed by the colors captured in the light that’s refracting onto the carpeting beneath my feet. I curl my toes in it, savoring the softness. The plaza below is full of people scurrying about, their arms loaded down with packages, or dining in the outdoor café by the lobby of our building. I’ve always loved being able to see Pentras Tower from our home. It stands tall and majestic. I’m not permitted to go inside. No children are allowed inside, which is odd to me.
My mother has been out all morning getting provisions for the festival. Patrician Day has always been my favorite holiday. It’s the one time a year that everyone is allowed out, especially children. It’s not often we’re permitted to leave our dwellings. If we have to travel with our parents, or see a doctor, we can leave, but otherwise we stay inside. I learn my daily lessons, like all children, from the monitor that hangs in our common room. Just like my parents did. I prefer it actually. I’m not a fan of being around strangers. My father tells me when I turn of age that I will be going to a special academy to learn my trade and meet my mate. That’s three years away, so I try and enjoy my time with my parents as much as I can.
“Sadie, come here,” my father calls to me.
I leave my spot by the window and join him in the kitchen. He wants help baking the traditional breads and dishes for Patrician Day. Normally my mother handles this task, but this year my father volunteered to do it. He has his hands elbow deep in dough when I enter the tiny space. I laugh at him, then proceed to help extricate him.
“Thanks,” he says, wiping his hands on his apron. “I don’t know how your mom does this every year.”
“How many people are coming tonight?” I ask, rolling up my sleeves and placing an apron over my head, then tying it around my waist.
“Let me think. Probably at least twenty.”
“That’s double than previous years. Is there a reason why?”
He grunts while trying to lift a roasting pan out from under the counter. He sets it down hard next to the stove, plugs it in, and begins filling the pan with various vegetables and cuts of meat. “Yes, but you know I can’t tell you.” He smiles, tosses me an onion, and has me start cutting.
My mother returns around seven that night, an hour after she was due home. All our guests have already arrived and I’ve been busy entertaining them while my father finishes getting the dishes ready. She apologies to everyone in regard to her lateness, rushes to the back bedroom, and quickly changes.
My father hands me a plate and tells me to eat in my room. I don’t argue, but I am confused as to why I’m being exiled. Usually I’m permitted to stay and share the festivities with the adults, but not this year. I’ve always been the only child in the group my parents meet with. None have children my age. My parents had me late in their life, so even though I’m only thirteen, my parents are considered elders at the age of fifty-seven. I’m their only child, though sometimes I think they wish they had more.
I kiss my mother as she joins the room. I carry my plate and close my bedroom door. I turn on the monitor hanging by the back wall, climb onto my bed, and eat while watching the global coverage of Patrician Day. Large banquets are happening all over, and all to give thanks to our creators. My parents aren’t big on government celebrations, but Patrician Day is one they always honor. I asked my father once about the Patrician, but he said to ask my mother. She told me to ask my father, so I stopped asking.
As soon as I’m done eating, I put my plate on my desk, go into the bathroom to wash my face, and get ready for bed. Fireworks explode outside my window when I return. I turn off my lights so I can enjoy their colors. Of course they’re also showing on the monitor, but at a five second delay. I don’t normally go to bed this early, but it’s been such a hectic day that I’m exhausted. I crawl under the covers and fall asleep to the booms of celebration.
I don’t feel well when I wake. It’s been several years since the last time we had a happy event in our household. Today is the day my father goes on trial for the murder of my mother. I had only been at the academy a few months when I was called down to the Head Master’s office and informed about the incident, at least that’s what he called it. My father was found covered in my mother’s blood, a knife in his hands. He says it was an accident, but the Aedox detained him anyway for prosecution.
I dress in my academy uniform, a white, short-sleeved, collared shirt, blue vest with matching pants, and heavy black shoes. I leave my hair down in its curls, just as my father likes. I don’t care for the outfit, but am forced to wear it every day by the Matrons regardless of where I go. I stand at the base of Pentras Tower, home to the academy, and wait in the cold air. The carriage pulls up and I climb inside next to an
