“And why did being Logan McEntire of Rowansmark make me worth kidnapping?”
Darius says, “Marcus is a senior member of Rowansmark’s military council and heads the Division for Technological Advancement. He’s a brilliant scientist. Second to none.”
“Logan is brilliant, too,” Jeremiah says quickly.
I turn away. I don’t want to hear myself compared to this man I feel nothing for.
“Nineteen years ago, Marcus was working on an invention that would call and control the creature you call the Cursed One. Once completed, the invention would give James Rowan unbridled power, something the Commander could never allow,” Darius says.
I grab a quill from the table. Crushing it in my hand, I let its sharp edge press against my skin as something in me, some final piece that survived the heartbreak of my mother’s death, the terrible loss of Oliver and Jared, and the horror of watching Baalboden burn, shatters.
“Marcus was a loyal man living in a city-state that values patriotism and self-sacrifice above all else,” Darius says. “Bribery wouldn’t work. Threats against his life wouldn’t either. He’d fall on his sword in the grand Rowansmark tradition before dishonoring his leader by giving the technology to Baalboden.”
“So the Commander found his weakness.” My voice is a liar steadfastly refusing to reveal the wreckage beneath my skin. I’m not my mother’s son. Not my father’s either. Not really. I’m the ultimate pawn in a game that started long before I was born.
“We all figured the Commander struck a deal—your life in exchange for the completed invention. It’s not like Marcus could go to James Rowan for help. In Rowansmark, loyalty and patriotism to the city-state come before individual lives. James Rowan wouldn’t have attacked Baalboden to rescue you, and he would’ve immediately removed Marcus from the Division of Technological Advancement, thereby ensuring Marcus could never betray his city by trading technology for you—”
“He had to agree.” I know what it’s like to have my back against the wall because the Commander holds all the cards. A single, tenuous thread of connection unravels out of the tapestry of lies I was fed as a boy and stretches toward the man who spent nineteen years working on an invention meant to ransom my life.
“No wonder our people are being murdered in some twisted example of Rowansmark pain atonement,” Jeremiah says, and I silently curse him as Darius’s eyes grow large. That’s not a piece of information I wanted Lankenshire to have. “Remember that huge bounty Rowansmark put on Jared Adams because they thought he stole something from them?”
“Kind of hard to forget something like that when I’m in love with his daughter.” I draw myself up and stand straight and tall, like finding out my entire life was a lie means nothing to me.
“I assume Marcus gave the device to Jared thinking the Commander would then let you return home. But obviously James Rowan learned that the device was missing. That would be a stain on Marcus’s honor. He could only remove the stain by returning the device and then surviving his pain atonement.”
“You’re suggesting that my”—I can’t bring myself to call him my father—“that Marcus is the one who slit our guards’ throats, started the fires, and poisoned our people. . . .” I shake my head. “Why? Why work so hard to save me only to turn around and try to destroy me? It makes no sense.”
“Maybe to him it does,” Darius says. The avid interest in his voice turns my stomach. This might be an interesting family drama to him, but this is my life lying in pieces all around me.
Jeremiah speaks slowly, as if feeling his way carefully through each thought. “He must have dedicated himself to ransoming you, his son. Nine years after the Commander took you, we heard that your mother had committed suicide. He must have dreamed of a life with you. Introducing you to Rowansmark society. Telling others the glorious tale of how he defeated the Commander at his own game and rescued his son at the same time. I’m sure he was tracking the device. It’s what you would do, isn’t it?”
I nod.
“But then Jared didn’t deliver the package. And someone in the Department for Technological Advancement realized the device was missing. Marcus must have thought all was lost. Rowansmark would recover the package and the Commander would make good on his threat and kill you for Marcus’s failure.”
“Only Rachel and I got to the device first,” I say, and my heart thuds heavily against my rib cage as I realize the truth. Somewhere along the journey back to Baalboden, my father must’ve caught up to us and watched us from the shadows. The knowledge is a violation—a forcible unveiling of moments I thought were mine alone.
“And the first thing you did with the invention was bring it back to the Commander.” Jeremiah’s voice holds no condemnation, but I flinch anyway.
“We never planned to give it to him! We built a fake. We wanted to destroy the Commander’s hold on Baalboden.”
“But from the outside, it must’ve looked like you’d been raised to be the Commander’s son instead of Marcus’s. And a Rowansmark man wouldn’t question signs of absolute loyalty and patriotism.”
I stare at Jeremiah as sick horror crawls up the back of my throat. “And you think my father is the kind of man who would use that assumption as an excuse to murder innocent people?”
“No, and I don’t think it’s your father who’s doing it. Not directly. I’d recognize him if I saw him, and he isn’t here.”
Darius says, “Marcus is a senior member of Rowansmark’s military council and heads the Division for Technological Advancement. He’s a brilliant scientist. Second to none.”
“Logan is brilliant, too,” Jeremiah says quickly.
I turn away. I don’t want to hear myself compared to this man I feel nothing for.
“Nineteen years ago, Marcus was working on an invention that would call and control the creature you call the Cursed One. Once completed, the invention would give James Rowan unbridled power, something the Commander could never allow,” Darius says.
I grab a quill from the table. Crushing it in my hand, I let its sharp edge press against my skin as something in me, some final piece that survived the heartbreak of my mother’s death, the terrible loss of Oliver and Jared, and the horror of watching Baalboden burn, shatters.
“Marcus was a loyal man living in a city-state that values patriotism and self-sacrifice above all else,” Darius says. “Bribery wouldn’t work. Threats against his life wouldn’t either. He’d fall on his sword in the grand Rowansmark tradition before dishonoring his leader by giving the technology to Baalboden.”
“So the Commander found his weakness.” My voice is a liar steadfastly refusing to reveal the wreckage beneath my skin. I’m not my mother’s son. Not my father’s either. Not really. I’m the ultimate pawn in a game that started long before I was born.
“We all figured the Commander struck a deal—your life in exchange for the completed invention. It’s not like Marcus could go to James Rowan for help. In Rowansmark, loyalty and patriotism to the city-state come before individual lives. James Rowan wouldn’t have attacked Baalboden to rescue you, and he would’ve immediately removed Marcus from the Division of Technological Advancement, thereby ensuring Marcus could never betray his city by trading technology for you—”
“He had to agree.” I know what it’s like to have my back against the wall because the Commander holds all the cards. A single, tenuous thread of connection unravels out of the tapestry of lies I was fed as a boy and stretches toward the man who spent nineteen years working on an invention meant to ransom my life.
“No wonder our people are being murdered in some twisted example of Rowansmark pain atonement,” Jeremiah says, and I silently curse him as Darius’s eyes grow large. That’s not a piece of information I wanted Lankenshire to have. “Remember that huge bounty Rowansmark put on Jared Adams because they thought he stole something from them?”
“Kind of hard to forget something like that when I’m in love with his daughter.” I draw myself up and stand straight and tall, like finding out my entire life was a lie means nothing to me.
“I assume Marcus gave the device to Jared thinking the Commander would then let you return home. But obviously James Rowan learned that the device was missing. That would be a stain on Marcus’s honor. He could only remove the stain by returning the device and then surviving his pain atonement.”
“You’re suggesting that my”—I can’t bring myself to call him my father—“that Marcus is the one who slit our guards’ throats, started the fires, and poisoned our people. . . .” I shake my head. “Why? Why work so hard to save me only to turn around and try to destroy me? It makes no sense.”
“Maybe to him it does,” Darius says. The avid interest in his voice turns my stomach. This might be an interesting family drama to him, but this is my life lying in pieces all around me.
Jeremiah speaks slowly, as if feeling his way carefully through each thought. “He must have dedicated himself to ransoming you, his son. Nine years after the Commander took you, we heard that your mother had committed suicide. He must have dreamed of a life with you. Introducing you to Rowansmark society. Telling others the glorious tale of how he defeated the Commander at his own game and rescued his son at the same time. I’m sure he was tracking the device. It’s what you would do, isn’t it?”
I nod.
“But then Jared didn’t deliver the package. And someone in the Department for Technological Advancement realized the device was missing. Marcus must have thought all was lost. Rowansmark would recover the package and the Commander would make good on his threat and kill you for Marcus’s failure.”
“Only Rachel and I got to the device first,” I say, and my heart thuds heavily against my rib cage as I realize the truth. Somewhere along the journey back to Baalboden, my father must’ve caught up to us and watched us from the shadows. The knowledge is a violation—a forcible unveiling of moments I thought were mine alone.
“And the first thing you did with the invention was bring it back to the Commander.” Jeremiah’s voice holds no condemnation, but I flinch anyway.
“We never planned to give it to him! We built a fake. We wanted to destroy the Commander’s hold on Baalboden.”
“But from the outside, it must’ve looked like you’d been raised to be the Commander’s son instead of Marcus’s. And a Rowansmark man wouldn’t question signs of absolute loyalty and patriotism.”
I stare at Jeremiah as sick horror crawls up the back of my throat. “And you think my father is the kind of man who would use that assumption as an excuse to murder innocent people?”
“No, and I don’t think it’s your father who’s doing it. Not directly. I’d recognize him if I saw him, and he isn’t here.”
