The parade is in full swing, but, thankfully, not on our block. As Tristan and Roc lead us toward it, I look up at the subchapter roof, my eyes widening as I take it in. Another artificial sun, this one hot white, fills the city with light. Even wearing my sunglasses, I can’t look directly at it. Covering the dark ceiling roof are speckles of light, shimmering like diamonds, reflecting the rays of the sun in a thousand different directions.

“Tawni, look,” I breathe, my eyes lost above.

“Wow,” she says when she looks up. “What are those?”

“Diamonds,” Roc says.

So not shimmering like diamonds, shimmering because they’re diamonds.

“Where did they all come from?” I ask, finally looking away from the spectacle to meet Roc’s eyes.

“Where do you think?” he says, his voice lowering into an angry tone.

No, can’t be. All the blood and sweat I saw on his face and clothes when he came home from the mines. The worrying when there was a cave-in—that maybe this time I’d be the one to lose their father, not the girl down the street, or the boy two blocks over. The two Nailins a day wages, barely enough to buy half a bag of rice to eat with our week-old bread and well water. All for what? To supply the Sun Realm with a million diamonds to plaster their subchapter roof with so they have something pretty to look at every day when they wake up?

My lip turns up into a snarl. “My father mined them,” I growl.

“Some of them for sure. Subchapter fourteen was the biggest diamond mine in all the Tri-Realms. Eighty percent of the diamonds above us are from the mine your father worked in.”

He survived the harsh working conditions: the stifling and disease-causing air, the claustrophobic tunnels, the filth and the grime, the crumbling support beams, the unstable mining dynamite and razor-sharp pickaxes. All to get him to a single moment—one that haunts me still—where one man crushed everything in my world.

I slam a fist into my palm, generating a loud slap that makes Tristan turn toward me, his eyebrows raised, his mouth opening to ask a question.

“I’m fine,” I say, cutting off his unspoken inquiry.

Another reason I like Tristan: he usually knows when to let things go. He nods and continues on, leaving me to work things out on my own. Just his simple act alone helps to calm me. Come to think of it, the only time he’s ever really pushed me when I wanted to be left alone was after our fight. At the time I thought I wanted to be alone, but really, I needed him more than ever. If he hadn’t chased after me, who knows where we’d be in our relationship right now? Even when my father died and I fell into a deep, dark depression, he knew not to force my feelings out; instead, he was just there for me, by my side, every chance he had, despite the fact that he had lost a friend too.

My father trusted Tristan. Even when many others didn’t.

And so shall I.

As we approach the first cross street, I cast my thoughts aside as the parade passes. Although there are hordes of sun dwellers, just like in the last subchapter we were in, I can see the action pretty clearly, as those in the parade are raised on high platforms, which are being pushed by muscular, shirtless men of all different colors, black, brown, white, their heads down, their muscles toned and flexing.

“Are those…?” I say, trailing off.

“Slaves?” Roc says. “Is that what you were going to say?”

Honestly, I’m not sure what I was about to say, which is probably why I didn’t finish the question. As far as I know, there’s no such thing as slavery. At least not anymore. We didn’t learn much about the old ways in history class at school, but we did learn that people used to use slaves to do things they didn’t want to do, but that it was abolished long before Year Zero.

“I’m not sure,” I say. “Do they volunteer for that?”

“They’re not slaves,” Roc says. “Well, not technically. They’re servants, like I am…I mean, like I was. But they might as well be slaves. They don’t get paid, just fed and sheltered and clothed.”

“Why don’t they just leave?” Tawni asks, lowering her voice as we get closer to the back row of the crowd.

“It’s called a breach of contract under the law, punishable by being sent to the Lower Realms or by imprisonment—usually both. Wealthy sun dwellers travel to the Lower Realms to find servants. They promise them an extravagant lifestyle, easy jobs with lots of time off, gourmet food, things we could only ever dream about.”

“You mean, you were a moon dweller?” I ask.

Roc laughs. “My father’s father was a star dweller.” His laugh fades and he screws up his face, wincing slightly, as if he’s just been slapped. “I guess he’s not my father anymore,” he murmurs, staring off into space.

“So the man who raised you—his father was a star dweller?” I ask, trying to distract him from his dark thoughts.

“Exactly,” he says. “He was recruited by President Dervin Nailin to come and work as a servant for him.”

“Mine and Roc’s grandfather,” Tristan adds without turning around. Apparently he’s been listening to every word.

Tristan plows into the cheering crowd, jostling his way through. I dive after him, heavier things on my mind than bumping into a bunch of sun dwellers. As I swim through the sea of parade watchers, I notice something. These people seem different than the ones in subchapter eight. They’re less…horrible. At least that’s my initial impression. There are kids, for one, riding on their parents’ shoulders and laughing and craning their necks to see the next float coming down the street. And the adults seem more civilized and fully sober, cheering and making noise, yes, but in a much more respectful manner than the young partiers we came across in the last sun dweller city.

A different crowd.

Even their clothes are different, albeit still strange and unusual to me. The women wear long, elegant gowns in silvers and purples and greens, some sparkling, some shining, all beautiful. The men are in gray or white suits, the kind I’ve only seen people wearing on the telebox. In my subchapter you’d look ridiculous wearing a suit like that. But here it just seems normal. The kids are dressed like their mothers and fathers, their faces bright and cheerful as they dance with delight at the parade passing by. I wonder whether the people here are really bad, or just ignorant. On the face they don’t look bad, which gives me hope.

The throng parts momentarily and I have a good view of the parade. Girls wearing flowery dresses dance and wave flags over their heads and around them, fully synchronized. Behind them are men dressed in sun dweller red, riding horses, carrying rifles and wearing black hats.

My first thought is: Horses! And then: Soldiers! Instinctively, I duck, trying to get out of their sight.

But then Tristan’s by my side, holding my hand. “They’re not real,” he says, his lips practically touching my ear. “It’s just for show.”

My heart slows and my face goes warm. Duh. Of course all the real soldiers would be fighting in the war.

I gaze at the horses, having never seen the majestic animals in person before. They’re much bigger than they look on the telebox, their majestic heads held high above the heads of the people. Magnificent. That’s the only word to describe them. With lustrous black, brown, and white coats, they prance along, bucking their heads from side to side at the people lining either side of the street. Growing up, I always wanted to see the horses, especially after my grandmother read me a story about a girl and her horse, and the adventures they went on together. Why there are no horses in the Moon Realm, I do not know.

Tristan pulls me away from the parade just as a squad of smallish acrobats dressed in bright gypsy outfits appears, leaping and somersaulting and springing through the air. Watching the parade and the horses, I’ve almost forgotten why we’re here. There’s no time for fun when death awaits.