“That makes two of us,” I say.
“You really don’t know, do you?” Darius asks.
I stare him down. “I know exactly who I am. You’re the one who seems to be having difficulty.”
“I just thought . . . I didn’t realize it would be kept a secret from you.” Darius frowns at Jeremiah, who just keeps staring at me. “I lived in Rowansmark for a five-year scholarship exchange when I was fifteen. I was apprenticed to various scholars within the Rowansmark government so that our city-states could share knowledge and culture with each other. I remember the McEntire incident like it was yesterday.”
Jeremiah slowly shakes his head, but I don’t like the expression in his pale green eyes. It’s a cross between dread and worry, and a finger of unease skates up my spine.
“What McEntire incident?” I ask.
“Commander Chase from Baalboden was in town for his annual state visit, and things were already tense because he and James Rowan didn’t like each other much. There were areas of the Division for Technological Advancement that literally went into a lockdown while the Commander was visiting because James Rowan was afraid of spies and treason. A day after the Baalboden people left, it was reported that Marcus McEntire’s newborn son had disappeared. Marcus claimed that the boy died, but he couldn’t produce a body. Said he’d already buried the boy. Everyone suspected that the Commander took the baby as a way to gain access to the Division for Technological Advancement, since Marcus ran the entire operation. But when years passed and nothing happened, people forgot about it or decided maybe Marcus was telling the truth. Maybe little Logan died.”
I look at Jeremiah. “This is a coincidence. I was born and raised in Baalboden. My father died before I was born. Tell him.”
He takes a deep breath and says, “I can see the resemblance, but as far as I know Logan is right—he’s from Baalboden.”
Darius snorts. “Look at his eyes. Those are Marcus’s eyes, and you know it. He’s the right age, has the right name, and is the spitting image of his mother except for having his father’s eyes. I don’t believe in coincidences.” He turns to me. “Who raised you?”
The world tilts beneath my feet, and I grab the back of the nearest chair to steady myself. “My mother. She told me my father died. She was already pregnant, and he died. She wasn’t a liar.”
“She wasn’t your mother, either.” Darius shakes his head, and I can’t tear my gaze away from his shock of red hair, which quivers with his every movement.
My pulse is a deafening hammer pounding at my head. “This is ridiculous.”
“Nineteen years ago, the Commander took his annual trip to Rowansmark. I wasn’t head groom yet, so I stayed behind. But that year, my job changed.” Jeremiah looks in my eyes. “That year, the Commander returned home, accused the few who’d accompanied him on the trip of treason, and executed them immediately. That’s how I became head groom.”
“It’s not like executing people without cause is something the Commander never did. It doesn’t mean he was trying to cover up a kidnapping,” I say, because someone has to reach for logic and reason. “My mother—”
“Your mother had recently lost her husband and hadn’t been assigned a new Protector yet. She’d been grieving inside her home for several months, unseen by all but the older neighbor who checked on her sometimes and brought her food. When she reappeared, she had you. Everyone assumed she’d been in confinement due to pregnancy. But I don’t know, Logan.” Jeremiah’s eyes lock on mine. “I never had cause to think about it before now, but you do look a lot like Julia McEntire. She used to make it a point to visit the Baalboden staff when the Commander visited Rowansmark. At least she did for a few years. I never knew why she bothered, but maybe she was looking for you. You’re the right age, the right name . . . plus the Commander always treated you like you didn’t belong in his city. Darius is right. That’s too big of a coincidence.”
Something hot and vicious scrapes my thoughts, begging me to call him a liar. Demanding that I make him stop. That I keep the few precious memories I have of my mother—the only mother I ever knew—sacred. Untouched by this . . . travesty.
This truth.
The Commander’s last words, hurled at me as he took the fake Rowansmark technology from my hands and sentenced me to death, ring with unforgiving clarity in my memory. “You’ve outlived your usefulness to me. To all of Baalboden. It’s been nineteen years of waiting for my investment to pay off, and I can’t wait to rid my city of the stench of you.”
No wonder I was ostracized for a crime I didn’t commit. Treated like a pariah. Like I alone was unworthy of Baalboden’s protection. To the Commander, I was nothing but an investment. An interloper he couldn’t wait to be rid of.
“Why?” The word falls into the space between us, fraught with betrayal.
The sympathy on Jeremiah’s face is like salt on a wound. My mother, with her infectious laughter and her single-minded dedication to keeping me safe, even if it meant risking her life. My mother, whose necklace I’d passed on to Rachel as a symbol that she was now my family.
My mother, the liar. The grand pretender building a life with a child she had no right to call her own.
“Why let me keep my real name?” I have to push the words past my lips.
Jeremiah shrugs. “Your mother’s surname was Billings, but she told everyone McEntire was your middle name, and that’s all we ever heard you called. I guess after she died, and you spent years as an outcast, none of us remembered to attach Billings to the end of your name anymore.”
“You really don’t know, do you?” Darius asks.
I stare him down. “I know exactly who I am. You’re the one who seems to be having difficulty.”
“I just thought . . . I didn’t realize it would be kept a secret from you.” Darius frowns at Jeremiah, who just keeps staring at me. “I lived in Rowansmark for a five-year scholarship exchange when I was fifteen. I was apprenticed to various scholars within the Rowansmark government so that our city-states could share knowledge and culture with each other. I remember the McEntire incident like it was yesterday.”
Jeremiah slowly shakes his head, but I don’t like the expression in his pale green eyes. It’s a cross between dread and worry, and a finger of unease skates up my spine.
“What McEntire incident?” I ask.
“Commander Chase from Baalboden was in town for his annual state visit, and things were already tense because he and James Rowan didn’t like each other much. There were areas of the Division for Technological Advancement that literally went into a lockdown while the Commander was visiting because James Rowan was afraid of spies and treason. A day after the Baalboden people left, it was reported that Marcus McEntire’s newborn son had disappeared. Marcus claimed that the boy died, but he couldn’t produce a body. Said he’d already buried the boy. Everyone suspected that the Commander took the baby as a way to gain access to the Division for Technological Advancement, since Marcus ran the entire operation. But when years passed and nothing happened, people forgot about it or decided maybe Marcus was telling the truth. Maybe little Logan died.”
I look at Jeremiah. “This is a coincidence. I was born and raised in Baalboden. My father died before I was born. Tell him.”
He takes a deep breath and says, “I can see the resemblance, but as far as I know Logan is right—he’s from Baalboden.”
Darius snorts. “Look at his eyes. Those are Marcus’s eyes, and you know it. He’s the right age, has the right name, and is the spitting image of his mother except for having his father’s eyes. I don’t believe in coincidences.” He turns to me. “Who raised you?”
The world tilts beneath my feet, and I grab the back of the nearest chair to steady myself. “My mother. She told me my father died. She was already pregnant, and he died. She wasn’t a liar.”
“She wasn’t your mother, either.” Darius shakes his head, and I can’t tear my gaze away from his shock of red hair, which quivers with his every movement.
My pulse is a deafening hammer pounding at my head. “This is ridiculous.”
“Nineteen years ago, the Commander took his annual trip to Rowansmark. I wasn’t head groom yet, so I stayed behind. But that year, my job changed.” Jeremiah looks in my eyes. “That year, the Commander returned home, accused the few who’d accompanied him on the trip of treason, and executed them immediately. That’s how I became head groom.”
“It’s not like executing people without cause is something the Commander never did. It doesn’t mean he was trying to cover up a kidnapping,” I say, because someone has to reach for logic and reason. “My mother—”
“Your mother had recently lost her husband and hadn’t been assigned a new Protector yet. She’d been grieving inside her home for several months, unseen by all but the older neighbor who checked on her sometimes and brought her food. When she reappeared, she had you. Everyone assumed she’d been in confinement due to pregnancy. But I don’t know, Logan.” Jeremiah’s eyes lock on mine. “I never had cause to think about it before now, but you do look a lot like Julia McEntire. She used to make it a point to visit the Baalboden staff when the Commander visited Rowansmark. At least she did for a few years. I never knew why she bothered, but maybe she was looking for you. You’re the right age, the right name . . . plus the Commander always treated you like you didn’t belong in his city. Darius is right. That’s too big of a coincidence.”
Something hot and vicious scrapes my thoughts, begging me to call him a liar. Demanding that I make him stop. That I keep the few precious memories I have of my mother—the only mother I ever knew—sacred. Untouched by this . . . travesty.
This truth.
The Commander’s last words, hurled at me as he took the fake Rowansmark technology from my hands and sentenced me to death, ring with unforgiving clarity in my memory. “You’ve outlived your usefulness to me. To all of Baalboden. It’s been nineteen years of waiting for my investment to pay off, and I can’t wait to rid my city of the stench of you.”
No wonder I was ostracized for a crime I didn’t commit. Treated like a pariah. Like I alone was unworthy of Baalboden’s protection. To the Commander, I was nothing but an investment. An interloper he couldn’t wait to be rid of.
“Why?” The word falls into the space between us, fraught with betrayal.
The sympathy on Jeremiah’s face is like salt on a wound. My mother, with her infectious laughter and her single-minded dedication to keeping me safe, even if it meant risking her life. My mother, whose necklace I’d passed on to Rachel as a symbol that she was now my family.
My mother, the liar. The grand pretender building a life with a child she had no right to call her own.
“Why let me keep my real name?” I have to push the words past my lips.
Jeremiah shrugs. “Your mother’s surname was Billings, but she told everyone McEntire was your middle name, and that’s all we ever heard you called. I guess after she died, and you spent years as an outcast, none of us remembered to attach Billings to the end of your name anymore.”
