“S. A.?”
“Sarabeth Adams. My mother.”
Quiet falls between us, though the Wasteland is quick to fill it up with the warbling chirps of birds and the drowsy buzzing of insects. Beneath the chirping and buzzing, I catch what sounds like the faint snap of a twig.
I freeze and look at Melkin, but he’s staring at the ribbon and seems oblivious. Turning, I scan the area around us, but can’t see anything amiss.
I’m not reassured.
“Do you miss her?”
I snap back around to Melkin. “Not really. She died right after I was born.”
I don’t have time to give him more than that. Someone is behind us. I’m sure of it. I toss the rest of the rabbit meat away from me, slide my arms into my pack, and remove my knife from its sheath.
“I bet Jared does.”
“I guess,” I say, keeping my voice low. “Come on. We need to go.”
He looks at me, the ribbon threaded through his fingers like a bedraggled set of rings. “I can’t lose Eloise. She’s …” He chokes, clears his throat, and says, “Do you think the Commander will keep his promise to set her free if I …”
“If you what?” I can barely focus on him. I’m standing now, my Switch in my hand, scanning the trees.
He stands as well, towering over me again, his eyes suddenly reminding me of the dark, depthless holes carved into the ground by the Cursed One. “If I do what was asked of me. Will he keep his promise if I do what he asked of me?”
His knife is out too. That’s good. At least he isn’t completely immune to the signals I’m sending out. My voice is little more than a breath of air as I tell him, “I think someone is tracking us. Coming for us. I heard a branch.”
He palms the knife.
“To the right. About thirty yards. Maybe more. I haven’t heard anything since, but either we leave now or find a place to set up an ambush and wait.” I look up at him, expecting a decision, and see the endless dark of his eyes still pinned on me.
“You didn’t answer my question.”
I glare and consider whacking him with my Switch, except I don’t want to make the noise. “We’re in danger, Melkin. Get moving.”
His arm snakes out and snags the front of my cloak as I try to pass him, and I stare at him in disbelief.
Does he want us to die?
“Do you think the Commander will free Eloise if I do what he asked of me?”
The idiot isn’t going to move until he hears what he wants to hear. Is the Commander going to keep his word? Not unless it somehow benefits him to do so. But I’m not about to open up that can of worms while someone is bearing down on us, and Melkin’s common sense has taking a flying leap to parts unknown.
“Yes,” I say with as much conviction as I can manage in a whisper. “Yes, I’m sure he will. Keep your end of the bargain, and she’ll be fine. Now, let’s go.”
He releases my cloak. Pressing his lips into a thin line, he uses his knife to gesture toward a dense line of trees to our left.
“You first.”
I don’t need a second invitation. Brushing past him, I slip into the trees, moving like a shadow, while Melkin slides in after me, his knife glittering beneath a stray ray of sunlight.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
LOGAN
I think it’s Saturday now, which would mean I’ve been a guest in the Commander’s dungeon for a week. The girl from Thom’s Tankard hasn’t been back since she slipped me a paper-wrapped package of medicinal powder on Tuesday. Instead, a plump, stoop-shouldered woman old enough to be my grandmother has cared for the prisoners in silence.
I decide it’s a good thing I haven’t seen the girl again. Thinking about revolution might distract me from the pressing issues already on my plate. The most important of those is escape, but I’m not sure I’m well enough to outrun any pursuing guards as I sprint toward the Wall. I estimate another two to three days before my broken rib will allow me to run without doubling me over in pain.
Less if I can find a cloth to bind my chest.
I suppose I could use the shirt off my back, but I’d prefer not to be so obvious. Especially when Eloise in the cell across the aisle watches me every second of the day like a desperate baby bird hoping for a worm.
The Commander hasn’t visited again, and the anticipation stretches my nerves until I want something to happen just to get it over with. I’d think he’d relish the opportunity to taunt me. Hurt me. Make sure I know he’s won. I decide to take his absence as a sign Melkin still hasn’t succeeded in killing Rachel, and focus on readying my body for my escape. Still, waiting for the inevitable festers in the back of my mind like an infection.
I’ve spent the last few days sitting or lying on the dungeon floor, doing my best to look hopelessly injured while I tighten and hold my muscles until they shake from the exertion. I’ve also done my best to honor the grief I feel for Oliver with a solid plan of action I think would make him proud.
But mostly, I’ve spent my time thinking of Rachel. The way her laugh makes me want to join her before I even know why she’s laughing. The light in her eyes when she stares me down and challenges my opinions. The curve of her hip in the torchlight as she climbs the ladder to my loft.
I used to feel awkward and uncomfortable with the single-minded intensity she aims at anything in front of her, and distancing myself from her gave me peace. Now, the distance between us opens a hollow space inside me that can only be filled by her. I don’t know how to explain it, and I don’t bother trying. It’s enough to know I need her like I’ve never needed anyone else. Once I find her, I’ll take the time to figure out the rest.
“Sarabeth Adams. My mother.”
Quiet falls between us, though the Wasteland is quick to fill it up with the warbling chirps of birds and the drowsy buzzing of insects. Beneath the chirping and buzzing, I catch what sounds like the faint snap of a twig.
I freeze and look at Melkin, but he’s staring at the ribbon and seems oblivious. Turning, I scan the area around us, but can’t see anything amiss.
I’m not reassured.
“Do you miss her?”
I snap back around to Melkin. “Not really. She died right after I was born.”
I don’t have time to give him more than that. Someone is behind us. I’m sure of it. I toss the rest of the rabbit meat away from me, slide my arms into my pack, and remove my knife from its sheath.
“I bet Jared does.”
“I guess,” I say, keeping my voice low. “Come on. We need to go.”
He looks at me, the ribbon threaded through his fingers like a bedraggled set of rings. “I can’t lose Eloise. She’s …” He chokes, clears his throat, and says, “Do you think the Commander will keep his promise to set her free if I …”
“If you what?” I can barely focus on him. I’m standing now, my Switch in my hand, scanning the trees.
He stands as well, towering over me again, his eyes suddenly reminding me of the dark, depthless holes carved into the ground by the Cursed One. “If I do what was asked of me. Will he keep his promise if I do what he asked of me?”
His knife is out too. That’s good. At least he isn’t completely immune to the signals I’m sending out. My voice is little more than a breath of air as I tell him, “I think someone is tracking us. Coming for us. I heard a branch.”
He palms the knife.
“To the right. About thirty yards. Maybe more. I haven’t heard anything since, but either we leave now or find a place to set up an ambush and wait.” I look up at him, expecting a decision, and see the endless dark of his eyes still pinned on me.
“You didn’t answer my question.”
I glare and consider whacking him with my Switch, except I don’t want to make the noise. “We’re in danger, Melkin. Get moving.”
His arm snakes out and snags the front of my cloak as I try to pass him, and I stare at him in disbelief.
Does he want us to die?
“Do you think the Commander will free Eloise if I do what he asked of me?”
The idiot isn’t going to move until he hears what he wants to hear. Is the Commander going to keep his word? Not unless it somehow benefits him to do so. But I’m not about to open up that can of worms while someone is bearing down on us, and Melkin’s common sense has taking a flying leap to parts unknown.
“Yes,” I say with as much conviction as I can manage in a whisper. “Yes, I’m sure he will. Keep your end of the bargain, and she’ll be fine. Now, let’s go.”
He releases my cloak. Pressing his lips into a thin line, he uses his knife to gesture toward a dense line of trees to our left.
“You first.”
I don’t need a second invitation. Brushing past him, I slip into the trees, moving like a shadow, while Melkin slides in after me, his knife glittering beneath a stray ray of sunlight.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
LOGAN
I think it’s Saturday now, which would mean I’ve been a guest in the Commander’s dungeon for a week. The girl from Thom’s Tankard hasn’t been back since she slipped me a paper-wrapped package of medicinal powder on Tuesday. Instead, a plump, stoop-shouldered woman old enough to be my grandmother has cared for the prisoners in silence.
I decide it’s a good thing I haven’t seen the girl again. Thinking about revolution might distract me from the pressing issues already on my plate. The most important of those is escape, but I’m not sure I’m well enough to outrun any pursuing guards as I sprint toward the Wall. I estimate another two to three days before my broken rib will allow me to run without doubling me over in pain.
Less if I can find a cloth to bind my chest.
I suppose I could use the shirt off my back, but I’d prefer not to be so obvious. Especially when Eloise in the cell across the aisle watches me every second of the day like a desperate baby bird hoping for a worm.
The Commander hasn’t visited again, and the anticipation stretches my nerves until I want something to happen just to get it over with. I’d think he’d relish the opportunity to taunt me. Hurt me. Make sure I know he’s won. I decide to take his absence as a sign Melkin still hasn’t succeeded in killing Rachel, and focus on readying my body for my escape. Still, waiting for the inevitable festers in the back of my mind like an infection.
I’ve spent the last few days sitting or lying on the dungeon floor, doing my best to look hopelessly injured while I tighten and hold my muscles until they shake from the exertion. I’ve also done my best to honor the grief I feel for Oliver with a solid plan of action I think would make him proud.
But mostly, I’ve spent my time thinking of Rachel. The way her laugh makes me want to join her before I even know why she’s laughing. The light in her eyes when she stares me down and challenges my opinions. The curve of her hip in the torchlight as she climbs the ladder to my loft.
I used to feel awkward and uncomfortable with the single-minded intensity she aims at anything in front of her, and distancing myself from her gave me peace. Now, the distance between us opens a hollow space inside me that can only be filled by her. I don’t know how to explain it, and I don’t bother trying. It’s enough to know I need her like I’ve never needed anyone else. Once I find her, I’ll take the time to figure out the rest.
