Reached

to destroy him anymore—they’ll want to circle around and gather close to smile back up at him. That’s how it’s always been with Xander. Girls in the Borough loved him; Officials wanted him for their departments; people who became ill wanted him to heal them.
    “I promise,” Xander says, “that I only did what Oker asked me to do. He wanted the cures destroyed because he realized he’d made a mistake.”
    Please,
I think.
Please believe him. He’s telling the truth.
    But I hear how hollow his voice sounds, and when he glances back at me, I see how his smile isn’t quite the same. It’s not because he’s lying. It’s because he has nothing left right now. He took care of the still for months without relief. He saw his friend Lei go down. He believed in the Pilot, then he believed in Oker, and they asked him to do impossible things.
Find a cure,
the Pilot said.
Destroy the cure,
Oker ordered.
    And I’m no less guilty.
Make another cure,
I told him.
Try again.
I wanted a cure as much as anyone else, whatever the cost. We all asked and Xander gave. In the canyons, I saw Ky get healed. Here in the mountains, I see Xander broken.
    A stone clatters into the trough next to Colin’s feet.
    “Wait,” Colin says, bending down to pick it up. “He hasn’t had a chance to finish speaking yet.”
    “Doesn’t matter,” someone says. “Oker’s dead.”
    They loved Oker and now he’s gone. They want someone to blame. When the stones settle, it might not be exile Xander receives. It might be something worse. I glance over at the guards who brought Xander here and who let him make the cures. They won’t meet my gaze.
    Suddenly, I see the other side of choice. Of all of us having it.
    Sometimes we will choose wrong.
    “No,” I say. I reach into my sleeve to pull out one of the cures Xander made. If I show them this, and the flower that my mother sent and Oker saw, they
have
to understand. We should have done this first, before the trial even began. “Please,” I begin, “listen—”
    Another stone rattles into the trough, and at the same time, something enormous passes across the sun.
    It’s a ship.
    “The Pilot!” someone calls out.
    But instead of moving down the mountain to the landing meadow, the ship hovers over us, the blades rotating so that it can stay suspended in the air. Eli flinches, and some in the crowd duck instinctively. They’re remembering firings in the Outer Provinces. Someone else moans, far back in the crowd.
    The ship dips down slightly and then comes back up. The intent is clear, even to me. He wants us to move so that he can land in the village circle.
    “He said he’d never try to land here,” Colin says, his face pale. “He promised.”
    “Is the circle large enough?” I ask.
    “I don’t know,” Colin says.
    And then everyone moves. Xander and I turn to each other and he grabs my hand. We race away from the circle, our feet flying over the grass and ground, the air whipping above us. The Pilot is coming down. He might not survive the landing, and we might not either.
    What would drive the Pilot to do this? It’s only a short walk from the landing meadow up to the village. Why can’t he spare the time? What is happening back in the Provinces?
    The ship dips and tilts; the air is always moving in the mountains. The ship’s blades churn and the wind whips around us, so we hear nothing but a howl and a scream as the Pilot comes down, down, down, crashing through the trees, ship turning to the side.
    He’s not going to be able to land it,
I think, and I turn to look at Xander. We’re pressed up against the wall of a building for shelter and Xander’s eyes are closed, as if he can’t bear to see what comes next.
    “Xander,” I say, but he can’t hear me.
    Again the ship tips, turns, shudders down closer and closer to us, too near the edge of the circle. There’s nowhere else to run. There’s not enough time or space to go around the building. These thoughts flash fast through my mind.
    I close my eyes, too, and I press against Xander as if either of us can keep the other safe. He puts his arms around me and his body feels warm and sound, a good place to be at the finish. I wait for scraping metal, for breaking stone and cracking wood, for fire and heat and an end as sudden as a flood.

CHAPTER 52
    KY
    C
assia’s not here anymore,”
I say. My voice is a whisper. Weak and dry.
    I don’t feel like I do when I’ve been asleep. I know time has passed. I know