Outliers

My sore throat awakens me, reminding me the feeling of pain. Shivers run through my body. It’s quiet. I remember that we survived the bombings and we refuged underneath the Sentry building. The four walls are shattered, but still stand. My fingers rub the wool coat wrapped around me. I feel Prance next to me still.

“Take your coat,” I say, breaking the silence.

“I don’t need it,” he replies instantly.

“You’ll get cold.”

“I’m not cold,” he argues, without looking at me.

“But—”

His eyes lands in mine, abruptly, shutting me up.

“I got used to it. Like you said.”

I end my quarrel, pushing my arms through the large sleeves. I pull away from him and walk back up the staircase. Fear has frozen the others, but I move up and hop over the rubble. I push the metal doors with all my strength. A few people came to aid my struggle. Finally, we manage to tumble through the exit. Dust particles fly by, revealing the atrocity the Piths Square has become. Nothing is standing. All is white as snow. Remaining bodies fossilize underneath the grime. Everything is dead. Everyone is dead. The only thing alive is the flame. The flame dances where the camp used to be. My fists roll into a clench. I yell at the top of my lungs. I fall flat on my face, smashing my head to the ground repeatedly. My shoulders are pulled back. Prance’s shakes me to regain my senses.

I sob, “Who would do this?”

“My father, who else!” he shouts, “Did you really believe he cared for this?”

“So this is my fault? This is my fault!” I dig my fingernails on my skin.

He stirs me by the shoulders again, “Sage, none of this is your fault.”

“It’s my fault,” I stutter through my cries, “If I hadn’t said anything… this would have never happened…”

“My father wanted to destroy the Hitherlands long ago. So quit blaming yourself,” he tells me.

I pause, looking into his face and how he’s smeared with black dirt. He frowns at my staring and turns away.

“I’m going to send for a private jet. Stay here,” he orders, walking to the bay.

I caress my shivering body. I saw it. The look he had on his face. The way the corner of his eyes drew up.

After arriving back in Polaris, I was forced to return to the routine of finery. The nightmare keeps replaying in my head of girls and boys bodies decaying from the food and then blown to bits. My fever has never left me. After days of solitude, I decide to wander the mansion. My village has been obliterated from the face of the Earth. The few survivors have to seek refuge in the mountains to die slowly. I should have died with them. Why was my fate speared? Why do I get to live and they die? Am I being punished with blood on my hands? Am I forever responsible for their loss? My shoulders couldn’t feel any heavier. My head haunts me with the memory. Why is it that I can’t do anything?

Suddenly I hear piano singing in the distance. I approach the room and find Prance playing a tune with his fingers. I slowly walk up to him. He plays until he finishes. The beautiful song tugs my lips into small smile.

“It’s been years,” he speaks, “Since I’ve touched this piano.”

I steady my breath. I watch him look into empty space.

He continues, “I was never as talented as my brother, though. He was better at everything. He’s older, it’s normal. I never thought anything of it. I loved my brother. But I remember my father wanting me to be better, always.”

I listen, observing his minimal expressions. His hair is combed neatly; his collar caresses the bottom of his neck. He’s there, but his eyes are so far away. I search nonetheless, sitting beside him.

“One day, my father declared that I’ll be his heir, when it rightfully should be Eamon. Nobody understood his decision. He’s rushed everything for me to take over Polaris, even though I refused.”

“Your brother must hate you,” I add.

A light grin appears over his lips.

“Hate is not even the right word to describe it. My father’s council also hate me. That’s why I’m forced to entertain them,” he says. He then pauses for a moment between his words. “I have a feeling that I was wrong about my father sending those bombs to the Hitherlands. I have a feeling its Eamon’s doing.”

“But how would he know that we were there at that moment?”

Prance shakes his head and looks at me.

“Everyone knew that my father made you in charge helping the Outliers. So only you were supposed be there, not me.”

I frown a little, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, “I don’t understand. I—”

“At the meeting, I called you my fiancé. Unless I marry, I can’t take the throne. Eamon wanted to kill you off so that I wouldn’t become King,” Prance explains.

I swallow the rock settled in my throat.

“But Eamon knows I’m an Outlier,” I whisper.

“What’s a better way to fool my father,” he looks at the black and white keys under his stasis fingers.

My hand desperately grasps his sleeve.

“You can’t let Eamon be king. If he can destroy my village without anyone batting an eye… imagine what he’ll do when he is king!” I argue.

“I don’t want that responsibility.”

I stand to my feet, furious.

“But you can change the course of history. You can stop the Cygnus. You saved me many times. I’m begging you, please save my people!”

“It’s not that easy,” Prance sighs.

“Stop thinking of only yourself!”

Prance suddenly lifts to his feet, grabbing me by the arms. His face hovers an inch away from mine, his gaze piercing through me.

“I only think of you.”

My body paralyzes underneath his stare. Think of me? How could he even have a single thought of me? I’m just a plain Outlier girl and he’s the Prince of Polaris, soon to be King. I’m not used to this stare he inflicts over me.

Prance grazes his thumb over my cheek down to my chin, lifting it. Something in my chest flutters.

“And,” he says, “You’re going to have to marry me.”

He presses his lips on mine, before I can say anything.