The Savior's Throne

Chapter Ten

For the past couple weeks, I have been following a consistent schedule: wake up, eat breakfast with Arlo, inform Desmond on everything I know, train, weapons practice, eat lunch with Winn, more combat training, war planning, dinner, and sleep.

Everything has been well, until today. Today, I die...well, technically the day I was supposed to die. The execution Sahil scheduled for me is at noon today.

When I woke up, I was overwhelmed with dread. Now, I stare blankly at my food and push it around with my fork. Arlo hasn't said a word to me, but continues to glance over at me every five seconds.

I stab a piece of broccoli and attempt to bring it to my mouth, but halfway up, my hand falls limp to the table. I can feel the weight of my impending death on my shoulders.

Logistically, I know there's no way Sahil can come and get me and still execute me at noon, but I can't escape the endless possibilities of what would've been. I would have been killed for no reason. Sahil would've ended my life to stop a prophecy he knew was never going to be fulfilled.

"Okay, what's wrong?" Arlo grumbles. I shake my head, not saying nothing, but saying that I don't want to talk about it.

"Don't shake your head, use your words." I sigh because what is the point of hiding the truth? "I'm supposed to die today." I turn my head towards him, "my execution is scheduled at noon."

He nods, "you're not dying today."

"I know," I say. "It's unsettling though. I should feel immortal, like I escaped death, but I don't. I feel like I'm on the edge of a cliff and Sahil is seconds away from pushing me down."

"You're safe here," he says.

"Again, I know that, but for some reason, I can't stop feeling like I'm on death row." Arlo pushes his plate away and puts his elbows on the table. "I don't know how to make you feel better, but I can give you a distraction." He sounds weird and I don't understand what he's talking about, so I ask him what he means.

Arlo doesn't look at me, but he does start talking. "I had a brother," he says. While the crowd in the cafeteria roars with voices, I stay quiet. It's the first time he's revealing information about himself to me and I don't miss his use of had instead of have.

It's like a give and take between us and for the first time, he's giving me a part of himself. "He was two years older than me," Arlo continues. When he stops there, I urge him on, "what happened?"

"Desmond found us when I was eight years old and he tried to get us both out of the South, but he couldn't. My brother, Phoenix, he was shot by a racer. The racer took to the sky and had a clear shot at Phoenix and...he took it." Arlo's voice becomes unsteady and he takes in a shaky breath. I put a hand on his shoulder, an act of comfort, and Arlo looks at me.

"You asked me why I trust Desmond so much." I nod and he continues, "when my brother died, I didn't blame Desmond, like at all. But Desmond felt guilty and he blamed himself. I remember that day like it was yesterday. When me and Desmond were out of harm's way, he kneeled in front of me and apologized. He had real tears in his eyes and he truly felt horrible that he couldn't save the both of us. He was the first person to ever try to help me and my brother, the first person to care about us. It's easy to be loyal to a man like him."

My hand tightens on his shoulder as I search for adequate words. I never had anyone, so I never truly lost anyone. I guess there's my parents, but I never knew them, so their absence doesn't sting like it should.