Atlantia

The priests stop chanting. I hear the door to the chamber close as they leave us alone.

Somewhere in the viewing area, Nevio and the Council are watching. Is Maire with them?

The water coming from the gods’ open mouths hits the floor. I wonder if True will understand when he finds out what I have done. I hope he knows how I feel about him, that I didn’t want it to have to be like this. But how else could I go?

My shroud is soon sodden.

The last time I was in this chamber was with Maire. That’s when I had the idea to go up through the floodgates.

This is the perfect way to escape. But it’s also the perfect way to get rid of the last remaining daughter of a Minister you wanted dead, a Minister who knew too much. The Council killed my mother. Did they ask Maire to kill me?

What if going up through the floodgates wasn’t my idea after all? What if it was hers?

All it takes is a little fear to creep in. It’s like the water in the deepmarket. Once it breaks, you will soon have a flood. And then there’s no telling what could happen.

Don’t panic. Don’t be afraid. You’re meant for the Above. Your inner voice has always told you this. Trust it.

It is a good thing that I practiced in the lanes, because as the water lifts me I am buffeted and spun around, and I have to adjust and move without seeming to do so. I have to work to keep my head upright, hoping that with so many bodies they won’t notice. I switch on the air, and it flows into my mask.

Up, up, up, I go. They accelerate the water once the bodies have lifted off the ground. Artificial currents keep us away from the walls and toward the center, but we bump into one another.

Bile rises into my throat, though I’ve eaten nothing.

Don’t think. Just breathe.

I feel the cold of the water, even through the wetsuit. I know that the exposure might send me into shock. I know the suit might not be enough to protect me.

Up. Up.

The shroud comes loose over my face. I must not have tightened it enough. I can’t help it. I open my eyes.

The petals above me spin, and it is all I can do to keep staring up and not swim straight for the exit. It’s bright. So bright. Is that real light or artificial light? I don’t think the sun can reach this far down, but other things I’ve thought were certain have been proven wrong.

Some of the bodies reach the opening of the chamber before I do.

They become blazing, brilliant, bright; they disappear.

Is this the third miracle? Do I believe in the miracles?

I do. I believe in the sirens, because they exist and I am one of them. I believe in the bats, because I’ve seen them. I’ve scrubbed up their leavings and marveled at their wings. So a third miracle could be true, too.

But something is happening. A darkening. A pulling down on the inside, the very heart of me, on my body.

Am I dying?

The petals spin inward instead of outward, closing instead of opening.

“Open,” I say. “Open back up. Let me out.”

But it doesn’t work. Because of the mask? Because I am too far away?

The water is lowering.

They are bringing me back down.

They know.

CHAPTER 19

How do they know?

Did Nevio figure it out somehow?

Or did I give myself away? Did someone notice that the shroud came open or see me move?

I want to pull the shroud closed, but I can’t risk it. Perhaps they shut the gates for another reason. Maybe it’s not me at all.

On the way down, I get caught in a current as the water swirls toward the floor. My head bobs under, and water floods into my mask. The seal must not have been tight enough, and I choke, my body convulsing. I can’t breathe, and I’m moving far too much. I reach up inside the shroud and fix the mask, hoping that in the whirl of bodies going down, no one will notice the movement.

The water settles me roughly on the bottom of the floodgate chamber. I lie perfectly still, on my side, flung there as haphazardly as the rest of the bodies.

I didn’t even make it out of the chamber.

For several long minutes, I rest there on the floor, surrounded by corpse-filled shrouds, trying to keep my chest from heaving up and down, willing myself not to shake with the cold, listening to the last of the water drain away.

Peacekeepers take me straight to holding and put me in a room by myself. It’s small, with a dark-glassed window and a table and two chairs inside, nothing more. But the chairs are beautifully carved and made of wood, true treasures from the ancient Above. Why would they put such things in a holding cell?

They don’t give me anything else to wear, even though the air coming through the vents feels icy. I stand in the middle of the room in my wetsuit and drip and shiver. I’m alive, I think. I’m caught.

Maire comes inside, a rush of warm air from the hall following her.

She looks neat and tidy, her hair braided in a way that reminds me of how Bay and I wore ours on that day in the temple. There’s even a ribbon, brown velvet, winding through Maire’s hair, and her clothes are neatly pressed. “Raise the temperature in here,” she says to a guard in her gorgeous, dangerous voice. “Bring her dry clothes. Now.”

Then she turns to me. “They’ve sent me in to talk with you,” she says. “Sit down.”

I stay standing. I don’t want to obey her. And I don’t want to ruin the chair. Salt water on that old wood—I can’t bring myself to do it.

“The Council wanted to interrogate you,” Maire says, “to find out why you tried to go up through the floodgates. I told them that it wasn’t necessary to question you. That you simply wanted to go Above because you missed your sister.”

I don’t say anything.

“You’re very quiet, Rio,” Maire says. “Is there anything you’d like to tell us?” She gestures to the mirrored window at the back of the room.

I wonder how many people are listening.

I know what Maire wants me to say.

I’m not sure if I hear it in her voice or see it in her eyes, but I know. She’s not commanding, but she is asking.

She wants me to say that I’m a siren.

In front of her. In front of whoever watches from behind that window. She wants me to give myself away, even though all this time she’s told me to save my voice.

A guard appears at the door with the clothes Maire requested—shirt and pants, underclothes, socks, and they’re all dry. I want to wear them so badly that my teeth chatter. There’s a blanket, too. Maire holds it up to screen me from the window.