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.
“You will be in the Claiming ceremony. I’ve seen the way Logan looks at you. I have no doubt he’ll try to Claim you.” His smile flickers at the edges. “You are going to turn him down.”
I’m too numb to protest. To wonder what the Commander thinks he sees when Logan looks at me. To argue that no one’s ever turned down an eligible man in the history of Baalboden’s Claiming ceremonies.
“When you turn him down, I will declare you a ward of the state. Logan’s influence will be legally severed, and you will then travel the Wasteland without him.” His voice lowers. “You will show my tracker where your father hid the package he received at Rowansmark, and you will return it to me, or Logan will be tortured and killed.”
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.
“You will be in the Claiming ceremony. I’ve seen the way Logan looks at you. I have no doubt he’ll try to Claim you.” His smile flickers at the edges. “You are going to turn him down.”
I’m too numb to protest. To wonder what the Commander thinks he sees when Logan looks at me. To argue that no one’s ever turned down an eligible man in the history of Baalboden’s Claiming ceremonies.
“When you turn him down, I will declare you a ward of the state. Logan’s influence will be legally severed, and you will then travel the Wasteland without him.” His voice lowers. “You will show my tracker where your father hid the package he received at Rowansmark, and you will return it to me, or Logan will be tortured and killed.”
