Defiance (13 page)

The boys received six more years of schooling and learned things like math, reading, the history of the Wasteland, the differing laws and protocols of the other eight city-states, and Commander Chase’s pivotal role in saving the citizens of Baalboden from the Cursed One.

I never thought it was fair that anatomy decided what my brain was fit for. Dad agreed, and I’d soaked up everything he could teach me. Once, I’d tried to teach Sylph the wonders of being able to open a book and understand the words inside, but she’d shrugged it off. She didn’t need to read. She’d have a Protector for that.

Now I study her dark green eyes, lit with pleasure at the prospect of our day, her black curls that constantly mock her mother’s attempts to conjure a ladylike style, and the excitement quivering through her softly rounded frame, and lean forward to give her a hug.

She hugs me back. We enter Madam Illiard’s shop, where fancy Claiming dresses hang near the front window and bolts of fabric line the walls in a feast of color. Two tables are set up on either side of the shop. One has baskets of useless things like beads, buttons, and rolls of ribbon. The other is empty of anything but a measuring tape and two pairs of scissors.

I don’t know how anyone can spend more than five minutes inside this place without going stark-raving mad. Sylph, however, bounces on her toes and hugs her mother as they examine the almost completed Claiming dress designed just for her. Seeing them pressed close to each other as they finger the fabric and admire a piece of lace sends an unwelcome shaft of longing through me.

I don’t usually miss my mother. How can I? She died right after I was born, and I never knew her. But at moments like these, I miss what we might have had together. I imagine our hair would’ve been the same shade of red. Our eyes the same shade of blue. Maybe we would’ve both loved lemon cake and hated spinach. Or maybe we would’ve both thought the only truly useful items in Madam Illiard’s shop were the scissors, because pointy things make excellent weapons.

I’ll never know, and thinking about it won’t help me escape Baalboden and find Dad, so I shove the longing away and follow Sylph into the windowless back room for her fitting.

Nearly two hours pass before Madam pronounces Sylph’s dress perfect. The dark green velvet hugs her upper body and falls in graceful lines to her ankles. Black lace panels shimmer between the skirt’s folds, and black ribbon laces up the back. When Madam Illiard and Sylph’s mother leave the room to haggle over the final cost, Sylph twirls in front of me and asks, “Don’t you love it?”

“It’s beautiful.”

“Do you think Smithson will like it?”

“I’m sure he will.”

She grabs my arm, and looks at me properly for the first time. “What’s wrong? You don’t think Smithson is right for me?”

“I think he’s a nice man,” I say, because Sylph’s heart is set on him, and because it’s true. He’s quiet, sturdy, and seems to want nothing more than a wife, a home, and a decent crop from his patch of farmland. “He’s perfect for you.”

She glows for a moment, but then her expression falls. “I wish you were in this year’s ceremony with me.”

“I’m not yet seventeen.” I try to sound as if I’m disappointed too, though I’m not. I can’t even think about wanting to parade across the stage in Center Square while one of the eligible townsmen decides I’d make a perfect wife. Besides, what do I know about being an obedient wife? There are much more important qualities to have than a docile disposition.

Logan seems to agree.

Warmth spreads through me at the thought of Logan’s fumbling attempt at giving me a compliment today.

Stunning.

His words feel like a gift I want to keep reopening when no one else is looking. What would Sylph say if she knew I’d almost kissed Logan? If she knew I sometimes watch him while he’s bent over his inventions and want to trace my fingers over the muscles in his shoulders for no apparent reason at all?

The secret trembles at the edge of my lips, but there are other secrets right behind it. Secrets about the Commander. Oliver. Treachery. Sylph can’t know anything about that. It’s the only protection I can offer her after I’m gone.

Sylph is still talking, rambling on about ways to get me into the Claiming ceremony with her. None of her ideas are plausible. Finally, she slumps her shoulders and says, “You’re so close to seventeen! If only your dad was still here, he could’ve petitioned for a special sanction …” Her eyes widen and fill with tears.

“Sylph—”

She runs to me and envelopes me in a cloud of velvet and lace. “I’m so sorry! I wasn’t thinking.”

I push her away gently. “I’m not mad. I know you didn’t mean anything by it.”

Her eyes brighten. “Maybe Logan could Claim you!”

My heart speeds up, but I shake my head. “Don’t be silly.”

She grabs my hands and dances in place. “Wouldn’t that be romantic? I’d be Mrs. Smithson West. And you’d be Mrs. Logan McEntire. We could host dinner parties together, and go to Market together, and—”

I laugh a little desperately and link my fingers with hers. She twirls us around, and I let her spin me, let myself ignore the Wasteland, the bounty on my father’s head, and the complications lying between Logan and me. She doesn’t know it, but it will be our last time together. I want to leave her with nothing but happy memories.

We stumble and fall to the floor, doubled over in breathless laughter. I wrap my arms around her and squeeze. She hugs me back, but then her laughter chokes into the kind of silence she’s rarely capable of. I turn my head to see the cause and feel my stomach lurch.

Commander Chase stands in the back doorway, his sword drawn and his dark eyes cold.

S
ylph’s arms tighten around me, and I squeeze her back before slowly disengaging. My knees are shaking as I force myself to my feet, moving to stand between the Commander and my best friend.

“You’re coming with me.” He gestures toward the door behind him. The polished silver buttons on his crisp blue uniform catch the morning sunlight and wink like little diamonds. I look away.

It doesn’t occur to me to argue, despite my promise that I would strike him down and get away if he threatened me when Logan wasn’t around to help. Sylph is here. She’ll pay the price for my actions just as surely as I will, and I’m not about to risk it. Besides, he still needs me.

I hope.

“Rachel!” Sylph whispers as I head toward the door. I toss one look at her and try to smile, though my lips are trembling. I step into the morning light, a light breeze playing with my hair as I face the trio of Brute Squad guards waiting for me on the cobblestone street.

Their swords are drawn too.

The Commander presses his palm against my back. Without my cloak, the heat from his body scorches mine.

“Get in,” he says, and the Brute Squad steps aside to reveal a large mule-drawn covered wagon.

I glance around the street, but if anyone notices what’s happening, they aren’t stopping to stare. I can’t blame them. Shrugging off the Commander’s hand, I refuse the assistance of the guard closest to me and climb into the back of the wagon. The Commander and one of the three guards follow on my heels. In a moment, the wagon lurches forward and rumbles over the cobblestone street.

The heavy canvas covering dilutes the morning sun into something dim and gray, and my eyes struggle to adjust. It takes a few seconds to notice the cloth-covered lump leaning against the far wall of the wagon. Foreboding fills me, an oily poison that makes me queasy.

I don’t know what’s under the cloth, but it can’t be good.

“Have a seat.” The Commander moves past me, knocking me into the wooden bench lining the wagon wall behind me, and settles on the opposite bench, right beside the lump. His sword is still drawn.

The other guard braces himself against the back of the wagon and stands, sword drawn, blocking the exit. I want to scan my surroundings looking for possible escape routes, but I can’t tear my eyes away from the lump. There’s something horribly familiar about its shape, but I don’t want to put it into words because it isn’t possible.

It can’t be possible.

“You and that inventor have been keeping secrets.” The Commander’s eyes are bright, hard orbs lighting the dim space with malice. “Did he really think I wouldn’t know your every move before you do?”

I look at the cloth-covered lump and dread pools in my stomach. It’s just the right size for a person.

Logan.
The Commander’s always hated Logan. He didn’t want him to come with me. I look at the person shrouded in cloth and try to find my voice, though I have no idea what I’ll say.

“Not going to tell me what you’re up to?”

I open my mouth but nothing comes out.

“I see you need a bit of convincing.” He smiles and drives his sword into the lump. Whoever is trapped beneath the cloth sucks in a raspy breath and moans. Blood blossoms beneath the cloth and spreads like a fast-blooming rose.

My breath leaves me as if I’ve been hit in the stomach. “Who is that?”

Oh please, oh please let it be a stranger. Another guard. Another object lesson. Please. Don’t let it be Logan.

The Commander ignores me. “I don’t trust Logan McEntire. I don’t trust you, either, but you have a quality he lacks.”

I can’t look away from the blood, and I feel a scream clawing for freedom at the back of my throat.

“Do you know what that is?” He pulls his sword free, and the person beneath the cloth twitches. “It’s loyalty.”

I can’t breathe. I try to stand, but my knees won’t hold me, and I crumple to the splintery wagon floor.

Logan.

Ignoring the Commander, I crawl toward the person beneath the cloth. I’m nearly there when the Commander drives his sword into the wagon floor, inches from my face.

His voice is harsh as he bites each syllable into pieces. “Logan isn’t loyal. He thinks he is, but if I put him to the test, he’d fail. His own agenda will always be more important to him than anyone else.”

My breath catches on a shuddering sob, and I try to crawl around the sword. It nicks my shoulder as I pass, and the Commander laughs.

“You, on the other hand, are loyal to a fault. You won’t scheme, manipulate, or betray. Not if it will cost you someone you love.” He yanks his sword free of the floor and slides it into the blood-soaked lump again. “No, you’ll go to the ends of the Wasteland, do everything that’s asked of you, ignore your own ethics and instincts, as long as you get to save the one you love.”

I’ve reached the cloth and am tearing at it with shaking hands while the person beneath it moans in agony.

“Please.” I can’t loosen the cloth. “Please!” I look at the Commander, and his scar twists his smile into a grotesque parody of mirth.

It will be a guard. A prisoner. Someone who means nothing to me. I can’t bear to be wrong.

I can’t bear to lose Logan.

“Allow me to help you,” the Commander says in a voice filled with malice. Pulling his sword free again, he slices it through the cloth and splits it top to bottom.

I snatch at the pieces and yank them free. A scream builds in my chest as I stare.

Not Logan.

Not a stranger.

Oliver.

Oliver.

He’s supposed to be outside the Wall now. Safe. He’s supposed to be, but he isn’t.

Oliver looks at me, sadness and pride mingling with the love he’s always shown me, and then moans again. I come undone.

“No, no, no, no, no.” I try to find the cuts, but there’s so much blood. So much. It pours from his chest and covers my hands, and I can’t stop it.

I can’t stop it.

“You shouldn’t have plotted behind my back,” the Commander says, his voice as hard as the wagon floor beneath me. “You were disloyal, and now it’s cost you.”

“It’s going to be okay,” I tell Oliver. Tears burn my eyes, and I have to blink to see him. “It’s going to be okay,” I lie, because I don’t know what else to do.

He tries to speak, but blood bubbles from his lips instead. I grab the cloth and press it against his chest with both hands.

“It’s going to be okay,” I say again, and press harder, though I don’t know how to make my words true.

Oliver shakes his head slightly and tries to raise his arm. I grab his hand with mine and wrap our fingers together the way he used to when I was little and he was walking me through the Market. His hand still swallows mine, though now his skin is like ice.

“Save him,” I say to the Commander. “Please. Get him to a doctor. I’ll do anything you want. Anything.”

“Yes, you will,” he says. “Because if you don’t, I’ll kill Logan in ways the citizens of Baalboden will remember for decades to come.”

“Logan?” I look up, tears obscuring my view of the Commander’s face. “I don’t understand. This is Oliver. I want you to save
Oliver
!”

“Oh, it’s far too late for him,” he says and, with a flick of his wrist, drives his sword through Oliver’s neck.

The scream inside me rips through my throat. I reach for the sword, but it’s already gone. Throwing myself on Oliver, I shove the cloth against his neck and beg for him to look at me, though I know he can’t.

He can’t, and he never will again. Wild sobs choke me, and I can barely find the air to let them loose.

Rough hands grab my arms and pull me from Oliver. I scream and beat at the person behind me to no avail. The wagon stops, and the two more guards enter, scoop Oliver’s body up inside the cloth, and haul him out. The guard holding me tosses me to the floor and exits as well, leaving me huddled at the Commander’s feet.

He crouches to my level, Oliver’s blood still glistening on his blade.

“You will be in the Claiming ceremony tomorrow.”

I stare at his sword, cross my arms over my chest, and rock back and forth.

“Are you listening?” He grabs my chin with his hand, forcing me to meet his gaze. “Pay attention. Logan McEntire’s life depends on it.”

My teeth are chattering, and my body shudders, but I make myself nod. Logan is all I have left. Whatever it takes to get him off the Commander’s kill list, so help me, I’ll do it.