[The Tempest trilogy: Book 3] After the fateful battle for Bifr?st, Zoya lost everything, including her will to fight. However, the war with Nightingale and the Yeomen is not over yet and Zoya soon realizes she has what it takes to settle them for g...
"I'm not sentimental!" she barks. "My loyalty belongs to you and our case."
"That's what Isaiah claimed, too."
"Don't compare me to him," she hisses, glaring at her with anger with her eyes. "Do you doubt my loyalty? Fine. Try and execute me like these pathetic suckers below us." The gunfire stopped; the last rebel collapsed on the ground. The city of Bifröst is calm once again.
I kiss Roxanna on the forehead. "There's no need to be upset. Of course I trust you. But it's no shame to admit you haven't cut out your past completely yet. I know how hard it is. It took me a while before I managed to kill the person I used to be for good."
Is it true? Or is a part of the hideous Birdie still living inside me?
That's for another debate. Now, I have to find someone to clean the bodies from the streets. This little uprising bugs me more than it should. Just like that annoying talking aircarrier above our heads.
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Two days passed since my visit to the Castaway hospital. Now, I'm getting ready for a live broadcast in the main news programme on TV Europe 24, Europe's most important TV channel. It will be a key moment in my life. This will be the moment I will spread Ryan's legacy.
In the backstage, the make-up artist is putting powder on my face and highlighting my eyes with a decent eyeliner. I squirm on my chair since I'm not used to such treatment, but I endure. Tonight, I won't be presented as a tomboy, wild Neoclash Champion. I will become the voice of many people.
Including my deceased friend.
For this occasion, I changed my usual hoodie, crop top and leggings for a dark red blouse and knee-long black skirt. Also, my hairstyle is something I'm not used to. But, against my will, I'm starting to like this ladylike look. Maybe I'll start going out like this more often.
I've been preparing my speech since I received the offer to perform in the show, but it seems to be in vain since I've already forgotten it. When I'm finally seated behind the table I'm used to seeing every day on TV, in a studio that seems almost unreal when seen in reality, next to an announcer whose voice I associate with both good and bad news, I'm so nervous I subconsciously start tapping my fingers on the tabletop.
"Stop it," Lucy Brolin, the announcer, scolds me. "We'll be on air in a minute."
Don't get me wrong, Lucy is a nice woman, just a bit of a pedant. She's in her mid-forties, but she's looking thirty for over a decade now (I'm not guessing how much did plastic surgeries help here). Her glossy brown locks and fashionable eyeglasses are helping to create Europe's most known face of news coverage.
I try to calm myself down; Lucy helps me with an encouraging smile. Finally, the camera drones come to life and start the live broadcast. Lucy starts to speak first, reading from the computer screen invisible to the viewers. Damn, I'd love to have such aid.
