Intermix Nation Read online

  “No.”

  Still, Nikolaus remained silent.

  “No!”

  Nazirah shoved Nikolaus, her all-consuming rage vivid upon her face. She screamed incoherently, grabbing the front of his shirt. He was a full two heads taller than she, but she didn’t care. She wanted to claw his eyes out.

  “You would offer amnesty,” she growled, “to the man who killed our parents?”

  And there it was.

  Once Nazirah said it out loud, it became real. Adamek Morgen, murderer of Riva and Kasimir Nation, would walk free, without so much as a slap on the wrist. At the hands of their own son. And Nazirah, in the bitterest twist of irony, would never have her vengeance.

  Nazirah’s legs buckled, collapsed underneath her as she fell to the floor. Nikolaus wrapped his arms under hers, steadying her, protecting her. But Nazirah could not look at him, she was so disgusted. She sat on the floor, staring blankly. Nikolaus slowly bent on one knee before her. He grabbed her shoulders, but she turned her face away. Nikolaus tilted her chin, forcing her to look him in the eye.

  “Irri,” he said, “I don’t expect you to understand this. Yes, he killed Riva and Kasimir. But the rebels have offered amnesty to many murderers before him. He turned himself in a few days ago, and is prepared to offer us his substantial riches and all of his knowledge and connections. You know who his father is. You know what this means for us.”

  “Don’t touch me, Nikolaus! I am so ashamed of you!”

  “Nazirah, the rules are the rules,” Nikolaus said. “I am bound as Commander to offer him the same terms that we would offer any other person who requests amnesty. I’m not exactly thrilled either, but it’s what’s fair.”

  “Fair?” Nazirah yelled. “What’s fair would be to cut his heart out, Nikolaus, and then feed it to him! Not to give him a goddamn reprieve! How could you trust him? His father is the fucking Chancellor of the entire country! He probably sent him to spy on us! Why else would he ever join us?”

  “Nazirah,” Nikolaus said, “you know I can’t tell you the conditions of the agreement. I’m under oath. But the time of our rebellion has finally come. We’ve worked towards this for years – decades – and Adamek Morgen is the missing link we need to set everything in motion. You and I, we must think beyond ourselves, and do what is right for the greater good.” Nikolaus touched her arm, but Nazirah shrugged his hand away. Frustrated, Nikolaus rose quickly, stepping over her legs towards the exit. “I’ll expect you outside in front at 5:00am sharp,” he said from the door. “Don’t be late. And try to get some sleep.”

  And he left Nazirah, curled on the floor, to pick up the pieces.

  #

  The old bus turns sharply onto the prison grounds, jolting Nazirah back to the present. Nazirah notices the large woman staring suspiciously and shifts uncomfortably in her half-seat. Nazirah tries to conceal her face more with the headscarf, praying the woman won’t recognize her.

  Niko wasn’t entirely correct in his assumption that Nazirah would go unnoticed. Sure, she is small, but everyone in the country knows her. The camera crews and reporters that showed up at their parents’ funeral saw to that. Nazirah’s face, wide eyed and grieving, was plastered on every newspaper and television in the country for weeks. She was portrayed as the young, orphaned intermix, daughter of dangerous anarchists … the living consequence of territories interacting.

  All the while, Chancellor Gabirel Morgen preached from his Median pulpit. He spread vicious lies and propaganda about Riva and Kasimir, calling them rebel parasites that had to be dealt with to ensure the continuing peace of Renatus. He needed a scapegoat to pin the rebellion on. And her parents, interracially married with intermix children, scum of the earth and leeching the country’s resources for their own welfare, were perfect targets. It was a warning to everyone in the country.

  Don’t challenge the authority of Mediah, or this could be you.

  The Chancellor’s only son, Adamek, part-time playboy, part-time soldier, was touted as a war hero. Already infamous, training to eventually take his father’s place in government, Adamek was no stranger to slaughtering citizens in the name of justice. And now, he bravely took matters into his own hands, putting an end to the Nation threat once and for all.

  How or why Adamek Morgen, Medi, son of the Chancellor, renowned sociopath, had turned himself over to the rebellion … Nazirah has no idea. As far as the rest of the country knows, he is still in Mediah, killing and whoring and doing whatever it is he normally does. Even though Nazirah’s brain tells her Nikolaus is an idiot, her heart cannot believe he’s dumb enough to trust Adamek without substantial proof. But Nazirah doesn’t know what that proof could be, and she frankly doesn’t care. All she knows is that Adamek will walk. And she is helping him do it.

  The large woman nonchalantly reaches her heavy, hennaed hand out and gives Nazirah’s own a reassuring squeeze. Shocked, Nazirah glances at her, but her expression is unreadable. The woman addresses one of her children, the eldest daughter. The girl stares curiously at Nazirah and slowly offers her one golden bangle. Nazirah looks between the two of them, hesitating for a moment before accepting the token.

  “Thank you.”

  Nazirah slips the bangle on her wrist, hoping they understand. The girl looks at her happily and returns to playing with her brothers. The gift is exactly something Riva would have made a younger Nazirah do, and the moment is bittersweet.

  They are waved through several guarded gates, electrified and barbed. The bus finally passes the last checkpoint, braking in front of the prison entrance.

  Stepping outside, Nazirah feels nauseous, even though she hasn’t eaten in almost a day. Lunch with Cato is a distant memory. Nazirah didn’t see him last night, like she planned to. She just sobbed in Niko’s office alone for a long time, eventually dragging herself to bed two hours before she had to wake up again.

  Nazirah stares at the looming fortress, stomach in knots. She searches for the woman who sat next to her, but she’s already gone. Nazirah gathers her courage and follows a group of visitors through the gates of hell.

  Nazirah looks around, trying to figure out what happens next. Nikolaus told her to seek out Solomon, the chief of security who also happens to be a rebel spy. But Nazirah has no idea how to find him.

  Luckily, she doesn’t have to wonder for long. A tall, muscled man, with closely cropped hair and several earrings in each ear, walks stiffly up to her. He scans her face. Nazirah is unsure if she should speak and reveal herself, so she remains quiet. The man inclines his head slightly and walks away. Nazirah considers the potential ramifications for only a moment, before chasing after him.

  He walks through a heavy iron door, not bothering to hold it for her. By the time Nazirah manages to wrest it open, he is already turning a corner down the hallway. Nazirah sprints after him, trying to keep up, because she would rather be with this complete stranger than get lost in the prison alone. She catches up, panting, as he begins climbing a staircase. Nazirah notes gratefully that his strides have slowed.

  “Excuse me, Solomon…”

  He gives Nazirah a sharp look as they exit the staircase, cutting her off. Apparently, Solomon is not a big talker. They walk through another corridor and he finally stands in front of a single door. Here goes everything, Nazirah thinks, as she enters the room.

  The person standing before her is definitely not Adamek Morgen. For starters, he’s a full head shorter than Nazirah. He has light brown skin, sparkling eyes, a huge smile, and a miniature red fez on his head.

  He is also literally hopping with excitement.

  “Oh, Miss Nation!” The small man clasps his hands around one of hers, shaking it enthusiastically. “What an unexpected delight to see you here this afternoon! I was expecting your surly brother to walk through my door, and instead I get this lotus flower!”

  “Uh … thank you,” Nazirah replies. “Not to be rude, sir, but who are you?”

  The man does not look insulted in the least. He ext
ends his small frame forward into a bow so deep his nose nearly brushes the floor. “Solomon Salaahi, at your service,” he tells her with a flourish.

  “You’re Solomon?”

  “Expecting someone taller?” Solomon smiles knowingly, as Nazirah’s face flushes in embarrassment. “Please follow me,” he says, leading her through another door.

  The next room is circular, with security monitors of every prison cell lining the walls. In the center of the room, there is a large circuit panel, with hundreds of gadgets and buttons. The blinking neon lights make Nazirah dizzy. Solomon waves his hands emphatically as he walks, clearly proud of his life’s work.

  “This is my office and home away from home,” he says richly, “otherwise known as the control room.” Solomon hops onto a small chair, cranking a lever in the side. Slowly, he rises up to meet Nazirah’s height. Beads of sweat form on his brow from the exertion.

  “It’s very … interesting,” Nazirah says, looking around.

  “Thank you kindly,” Solomon says. He is momentarily distracted as his sleeve catches in the armrest. “As you can … obviously tell … this is an extremely sensitive matter requiring immediate action. We thank you for coming here on such short notice, even though the journey is long and tiresome. I trust you have found the Deathlands charming though, yes? Are they not something?”

  ‘Charming’ isn’t exactly the word Nazirah would use. Her face is still itching from all the dust. “It’s definitely something,” she mutters. And then, honestly, “It’s captivating.”

  “Wonderful!” Solomon claps his hands together. “I will let you get to it, then. Have no fear, Miss Nation. My trusty servant Olag here will escort you to Mr. Morgen’s interrogation room.” Solomon indicates the surly man who brought Nazirah here, now standing quietly to one side of the room. “His tongue was cut out as a child, so he does not speak, but he is fiercely loyal. He will be in the room with you the entire time. And I,” he taps a video monitor emphatically, “will be watching to make sure you have no … difficulties.” He clears his throat.

  “Got it,” Nazirah says queasily. “Thank you, Solomon, but I would rather see him alone.”

  Solomon is clearly intrigued and says something to Olag in Deathlandic. Olag nods and opens the door beside him, this time holding it for Nazirah. “You are much more like your brother than you let on,” Solomon says. “Olag will take you to see Mr. Morgen now, and will wait for you outside of the room. The rest is up to you. Good luck.”

  Nazirah thanks him and walks through the open door, trying to breathe. She follows Olag for a minute or two, her mind distant. He stops in front of an unremarkable door. “Here?” she asks and he nods.

  Nazirah is not ready, not ready, not ready.

  She must be ready.

  She stares at the door, willing her body to move. Olag stands patiently by her side, giving her all the time she needs. Nazirah closes her eyes, takes a shaky breath. In a strange moment of clarity, she unwinds the headscarf, letting her hair fall freely down her back in its natural waves. She hands the long ribbon of fabric to Olag, who looks at her questioningly.

  “I want him to recognize me.”

  Chapter Four

  The first thing Nazirah notices as she shuts the door behind her is the room, which is small and windowless. The walls and floor are matte gray stone, cracked and grooved from years of abuse. There’s a draft coming from somewhere. Nazirah feels goose bumps forming on her arms, even though she’s in the middle of the desert. She sees the blinking security camera in one corner of the ceiling and knows that Solomon is watching. It doesn’t reassure her.

  At the center of the room is a wooden table with two adjacent folding chairs … one of which is currently occupied. The sitting man has his back turned to her. He is wearing a traditional black prison jumpsuit and his hands are resting on the table. Nazirah can see from the door that he is handcuffed at the wrists. His posture is straight, but restrained. He must have heard her come in. Yet he remains still, staring straight ahead.

  Nazirah doesn’t know what she has been expecting. Maybe for him to be dirty, covered in his own filth, bloody, chained to a wall, or sobbing in a corner. Certainly not this calm and collected person before her. Her heart races as she walks around the table. Palms sweating, Nazirah takes her seat, finally facing him.

  Remember to breathe.

  Nazirah cannot look him in the eyes. Her attention focuses immediately on his hands, as she wrings her own in her lap. His are large and calloused, with bruised knuckles. Small black scratch marks cover the backs of them. Nazirah knows from the newspapers that these tattoos tally his number of kills. He wears them like badges of honor, she thinks, revolted. She feels sick, reminded that two of those miniature lines are Riva and Kasimir.

  Nazirah forces her gaze upwards to his arms, which for the most part are covered by the jumpsuit. The silence is deafening as Nazirah’s eyes skirt over the muscles outlining his upper torso, honed from years of killing and torturing. She focuses on the pulse in his neck, the pulse that beats life into him. Nazirah wishes she could wrap her hands around his throat until she feels that pulse slow, and then stop completely. Wishes it so badly that she has to sit on her hands, afraid she might attack him and ruin everything.

  Her gaze travels further up. Past the neck, past the slight stubble that shadows a defined jaw, past the split lip – which Nazirah notes with satisfaction; it seems Adamek Morgen has not had the most pleasant stay in prison – past the purple bruise on his cheek which mars otherwise smooth, ivory skin. Medi skin. And still further up, past the aristocratic nose, the dark arched eyebrows and black hair.

  Finally, finally, she looks him in the eyes.

  They are blindingly green.

  If he is surprised to see her, he doesn’t show it. He stares at her expressionlessly. Nazirah realizes in embarrassment that he has probably been watching her all along, waiting for her to finish assessing him. Waiting for her to be ready.

  She is startled by how young he looks. Shouldn’t murderers be gruesome and scarred and … older? She searches for the guilt and torment that should have aged his face. She finds none of it. All she sees is a boy her age, maybe a few years older.

  Not just any boy.

  Every emotion flickers across Nazirah’s face. Fear, embarrassment, hate, guilt, loathing … she feels it all and it all shows. But Adamek’s face is a mask, undecipherable, impenetrable. She has never seen someone so controlled in her life. Nazirah, who has never been particularly good at hiding particularly anything, feels completely uncomfortable. She breaks eye contact with him, breathing through her nose. She needs to get out of here, fast. All of her feelings are rapidly being overtaken by one consuming emotion … rage.

  What is Niko talking about? This is not the face of a reformed man! This is a monster, who obviously feels no remorse at all. And she hopes he sees it written all over her face. Adamek may fool Nikolaus, but he is not fooling her.

  Nazirah pulls the amnesty pendant and a folded piece of paper, stamped with the rebellion’s wax seal, from her pocket. She admired the pendant on the train ride to Rubiyat. It is simple, just a gold ring on a chain, with Nikolaus and Adamek’s names inscribed into it. Nazirah knows Adamek will have to wear it for the rest of his life. It saddens her that something so beautiful will forever be a part of someone so ugly.

  Nazirah feels his stare, but she will not look up again. She is not sure she can handle it, and feels ashamed that her one chance to confront him is slipping through her trembling fingers. Right now, all she wants to do is leave. She wants to run – like usual, Nazirah is letting everyone she loves down. She hates him for it, but she hates herself more.

  Nazirah sets the chain down on the table, within Adamek’s reach. Give him the chain, read the short contract, get him to sign on the line. Niko had made her repeat the steps several times over before the train left the station in Krush. Nazirah recites the short list in her head, finding that the set directions calm her nerves. She def
tly breaks the seal, opens the contract, and begins to speak.

  “Adamek Morgen,” she reads, “son of Gabirel and Victoria Morgen, you have entered into a binding amnesty agreement on this day, at your own behest, willingly and honorably.” Nazirah resists the urge to snort. Sarcasm is unfortunately not on Niko’s checklist. “The terms of this contract have been previously negotiated and agreed upon and I, Nikolaus Nation, son of” – Nazirah’s voice cracks – “Kasimir and Riva Martel Nation, pledge to you that I will honor our conditions from this day, until my last day, should you agree. In trust, let there be truth.”

  Nazirah finishes reading the short paragraph, which is followed by the date and Nikolaus’s signature in red ink. There is a blank line under Nikolaus’s name, indicating where Adamek should sign. Nazirah sets the contract down on the table, realizing that she doesn’t have a pen for him to use. Flustered, she searches her pockets. She feels his eyes trained on her the whole time, almost amused. Nazirah is about to go ask Olag to bring her one from the control room when Adamek speaks for the first time, halting her thoughts in their tracks.

  “That’s not how this works.”

  Nazirah looks at him in surprise and confusion. His tone is clipped, but there is something else there as well. Curiosity. And as Adamek stares at her, Nazirah comes to the unnerving realization that he is curious about her. Like she is some puzzle he can’t quite solve. Nazirah watches as Adamek grabs the chain and finds the small point in the ring that Nazirah had thought was only for design.

  Without hesitating, he stabs himself in the back of the hand with it. Nazirah’s jaw drops open and she doesn’t even try to hide her shock. Adamek dips the point into the blood that is now flowing from his small wound. With some difficulty, because he is still handcuffed, he writes his name on the contract. Nikolaus had not signed in red ink after all.

  Nazirah thinks she might pass out. Niko should have warned her that this was going to happen! He should have prepared her! Just get him to sign his name, he said. That’s it, he said. Nazirah is going to give Niko a well-deserved kick in the groin the next time she sees him.