The Girl Who Dared to Think (The Girl Who Dared #1)

“Squire Liana, by my power as a Knight Commander of the Citadel, you are to seek Medica treatment tomorrow. There will be no arguments, no exceptions, and no complaints. You will serve the Tower.” My mother’s words held the ring of finality to them.

I scowled at the floor. I hated it when she did that. Took off the mask of mother and put on the mask of commander, like they were utterly interchangeable. I met her gaze and lowered my hand from my cheek, trying not to wince at the sting. Managing a curt nod, I turned and made for the front door, needing to be anywhere but there.

“I want to hear you say it, Liana.”

I froze at the steel in her voice. “I will go to the Medica tomorrow,” I managed, barely able to force enough air through my vocal cords to produce a sound. I squared my shoulders and continued toward the door.

And just like that, she was trying to be my mother again.

“Liana, where do you think you are going?” she asked, and I heard her step up behind me. I instinctively took a step away, closer to the door.

“Out,” I said. “I need to think. Settle my mind before tomorrow.”

I heard my father begin to speak, but my mother cut him off. “Let her go. Tomorrow these little tantrums will be over and done with once and for all.”

I didn’t wait to be excused. I shoved open the door and rushed out into the hallway beyond.

As soon as the door automatically locked, I leaned my back against it and turned my head toward the narrow ceiling, exhaling slowly and fighting back the urge to cry. I didn’t know what I had been expecting; they rarely cared about anything I had to say. Why had I ever thought that story about Grey Farmless would give me an out? Neither of them could ever hear anything past what they wanted to hear. They had never really let me make my point. Or maybe I had—and I’d just screwed it up.

Feeling absolutely dejected, I made my way down the hall, needing to continue my journey and get as far away as possible. My parents lived in the lower levels of the Citadel, where the other high-ranking Knight Commanders lived. We had lived on this level for the past ten years, although Alex’s room had been given to our neighbors after he had been accepted into the Core—the walls of his room were reprogrammed so that the door on our side was sealed to us, but open to them. I liked these quarters better than our old ones; it meant that I was closer to the wide lash openings that led directly to the outside of the Citadel—exactly where I wanted to be.

I turned right and then left again, following the wide halls and keeping my head down so as not to draw any attention to myself. The walls of the Citadel were all exposed dark steel, carved with intricate designs during the cooling process so that they looked like they had been stacked, like rudimentary brickwork. I came to a stop at the lashway—a cut-out section of wall leading to the outside walls of the Citadel. I could see the gleaming black-and-blue walls of the Core through the twisting arches and gargoyles that ran around the Citadel. There was a soft sound as I took a step to the edge, and the light around the door turned from white to red, pulsating in warning.

“You are approaching a lashway,” the familiar, clipped voice announced. “Please make sure that your lashes are ready.”

“Thank you,” I said as I stepped over the edge, already pulling my lashes into my hand. The air caught my hair, pulling it up, and for a moment I didn’t throw any lashings. I just fell, oddly peaceful, watching the view of the exposed lower level rush past me. A mother and child, walking hand in hand over one of the flat bridges from the Medica. A young pair of Squires sparring as they lashed by, their batons emitting sharp flashes of light. A statue of a man, eyes held high, hands open and accepting.

Why can’t they just stop and listen? I wondered. I know I’m onto something here with Grey and Scipio…

I tossed out a lash, hitting a column and letting the cables slow my fall and pull me closer to the structure before detaching again, keeping close to the Citadel walls and arches, which collapsed inward the farther down it went. If I didn’t, my lashes wouldn’t be long enough to hit, and I’d continue falling until I reached the bottom. Then I probably wouldn’t do much of anything, after that.

Why can’t I just… please them? I should have been a perfect Knight. I loved the athleticism, the speed and exhilaration. The Knights were stiff, but at least I knew them. The Citadel was my home—I didn’t want to go anywhere else. I didn’t have anywhere else to go.

I just wasn’t suited for anything else, not really. I wasn’t smart enough to be considered for the Eyes, nor would I work for them. I still couldn’t understand how Alex could, but it was his life. The Cogs were too insular, the Medics too coldly logical, and I couldn’t swim well enough to go to work with the Divers in Water Treatment. All that left were the Hands, and I wasn’t sure I could grow a potato, let alone be responsible for feeding the massive population of the Tower.

I threw another lash reflexively, the harness tightening as it caught, slowing me down and drawing me closer to the building. I disconnected it heartbeats later, just as reflexively, my mind still churning.

You do ask a lot of questions, a traitorous voice in my mind announced, adding to the frustration. So what if I did? What was wrong with a liberal dose of curiosity? Why did Scipio only want us to look down and not ask questions? What did he have to hide?

I threw yet another lash out, only this time I had it draw me up, and slowly began to climb, one lash at a time, up the edifice of the Citadel. I didn’t make myself climb like the other Knights—hand over hand, mutinously devoid of any fun. I played. I didn’t zig, I zagged. I used gravity and the winch in the harness to my advantage, sometimes going down so I could flip up to higher levels, casting my lashes up at the apex of the climb, barely latching on to a column or arch, or even the sheer walls of the Citadel itself.

But even with a smile cracking my face, my cheeks flushed from exertion, the dark seed of doubt remained. What if something really was wrong with me?

Something inside me eventually gave, and I spun myself onto a landing, hitting the ground hard and stumbling forward. A nearby Knight reached out to catch me as I toppled, and I caught his arm with my hand, managing to avoid making a total spectacle of myself.

I straightened, a grateful smile forming and dying on my lips in the speed of a glance. His eyes were on my wrist, the three illuminating the horror and revulsion on his face. He quickly snatched his hands back, as if afraid I would suddenly decide to keep them with or without his permission, and took a big step back. It could’ve been funny, if it weren’t so visceral.

Am I a degenerate? I asked myself as I watched him scurry away.

For a moment I stood there, the people milling about and keeping their distance from where I had landed. My own little bubble, with nobody in it. I thought briefly of my friends, but they weren’t Knights. They weren’t my people. These were my people—and they hated me. When they didn’t even know me.