I promise myself it won’t be much longer before I’m ready to escape this hellhole and track her down.
My food ran out this morning, but I’m not worried. I won’t be locked inside this cell much longer. Still, when the dungeon door creaks open, I hope it’s the girl because more food means more strength.
But instead of the girl’s light tread, or the dogged shuffling of the older woman, I hear crisp, purposeful boot steps striding toward my cell.
The Commander.
The next confrontation is upon me, and I need two things from it—information and a reprieve from further injury. I flip around to put my injured rib against the wall, out of reach of the Commander’s boot, and begin planning as he orders a guard to open my cell door.
He enters my cell, his scar catching and releasing the flickering torchlight like some macabre game of cat and mouse. I pretend I can barely lift my head to see him. I’ve been pretending this sort of weakness since I woke up cured of my fever, so if he’s had me watched, this won’t raise any alarms.
He laughs, a vulgar, ugly sound full of arrogance. “Look at you.” In three long steps, he’s at my side. “What a pathetic excuse for a man.”
I let my head roll to the side a bit and peer up at him.
“I leave you alone in this dungeon for a week. The great inventor Logan McEntire. The man who always has a plan.” His boot lashes out, connects with my shoulder, and sends me sprawling onto the cell floor.
It hurts, but not nearly as much as I pretend it does. He needs to feel I’m already beaten, or he’ll never give me what I need.
“And here you sit. Still locked up. Still unable to make good on your promises.” His smile is vicious as he plants his boot on the throbbing burned skin of my neck and leans down.
I don’t have to fake the pain this time. Waves of agony roll along my jaw and send dazzling lights exploding through my brain.
“You haven’t beaten her,” I say, pushing the words through teeth clenched tight against the raw, unending anguish eating at me.
He leans closer, grinding his boot into my neck. “What did you say to me, you worthless cur?”
“Rachel. You haven’t beaten her.” I draw in a shaky breath, tasting the leather and steel of his boot on the dungeon’s fetid air. “She’s stronger than you think.”
“She’s a girl alone in the Wasteland with a man who is both stronger than her and has more motivation to do as he’s told.”
His voice oozes his special brand of pride—two parts power, one part blind ego.
Perfect.
“She can take him. She’s smarter than you give her credit for.”
He snorts, but I can almost hear the doubt slipping in.
“You won’t know if you’re right until it’s too late to make adjustments,” I say.
“You’d like me to think that. But when Melkin sends the signal, inventor, you can bet your life he’ll be alone.” He laughs again. “And you are betting your life, aren’t you? Because the second I have what I want, you’re dead.”
He isn’t going to tell me what I need to know. He’s too smart for that. I either need to find another source of information, or wing it once I get out into the Wasteland.
He stands abruptly, his boot sliding across my burned skin like a dozen razors. I breathe heavily, trying to control the waves of pain wracking me, and see Eloise staring at me with horror on her face.
Which is interesting.
She doesn’t want me hurt. Because she can’t stand to see another suffer? Or because she somehow thinks I can stop her husband from becoming a killer?
If I can’t get the Commander to give me what I need, maybe I can force him to convince Eloise to do so instead.
“When the signal comes, I’d look long and hard at whoever sent it.” I curl up on the floor in case he decides to kick any of my vital organs. “Because I’ll happily bet my life that Rachel will kill Melkin when he attacks her.”
“She’s a girl.” The Commander’s voice is dismissive as he walks toward my cell door.
Time to play the big card. The one I hope will scare Eloise into spilling her guts.
“Every other girl in the city was raised with dolls and tea sets and proper etiquette. Rachel was sword fighting, clubbing our practice dummy, and learning how to eviscerate a man at close range with her knife.”
Eloise worries her blanket with nervous fingers.
“Melkin won’t even know what hit him. You’ve sent the man to his death.”
The Commander shakes his head and walks out of my cell. “Do you really think I care which of them makes it back alive as long as I get what I want?”
The cell door slams shut. “Next time I see you, inventor, it will be at your execution.” He leaves, taking his guards with him, and the silence in his wake is punctuated by sharp, gut-wrenching sobs from Eloise.
I wait, willing her to look at me, and finally get my wish. My voice is a thin whisper of sound as I say, “I can stop her. I can get to them in time.”
She frowns but inches closer to the bars on her door. “How? I thought you could get out somehow. The girl said you could. But you haven’t. You just lie there.” Her voice is a faint breath of sound nearly lost beneath the sizzle of the torches lining the corridor. I have to hope the snapping flames and heavy stone walls are enough to keep the other prisoners from overhearing this.
I sit up and face her, careful not to look like I can move with ease. “Of course I haven’t made it look like I’m anything but badly injured. You think they need that information?”
My food ran out this morning, but I’m not worried. I won’t be locked inside this cell much longer. Still, when the dungeon door creaks open, I hope it’s the girl because more food means more strength.
But instead of the girl’s light tread, or the dogged shuffling of the older woman, I hear crisp, purposeful boot steps striding toward my cell.
The Commander.
The next confrontation is upon me, and I need two things from it—information and a reprieve from further injury. I flip around to put my injured rib against the wall, out of reach of the Commander’s boot, and begin planning as he orders a guard to open my cell door.
He enters my cell, his scar catching and releasing the flickering torchlight like some macabre game of cat and mouse. I pretend I can barely lift my head to see him. I’ve been pretending this sort of weakness since I woke up cured of my fever, so if he’s had me watched, this won’t raise any alarms.
He laughs, a vulgar, ugly sound full of arrogance. “Look at you.” In three long steps, he’s at my side. “What a pathetic excuse for a man.”
I let my head roll to the side a bit and peer up at him.
“I leave you alone in this dungeon for a week. The great inventor Logan McEntire. The man who always has a plan.” His boot lashes out, connects with my shoulder, and sends me sprawling onto the cell floor.
It hurts, but not nearly as much as I pretend it does. He needs to feel I’m already beaten, or he’ll never give me what I need.
“And here you sit. Still locked up. Still unable to make good on your promises.” His smile is vicious as he plants his boot on the throbbing burned skin of my neck and leans down.
I don’t have to fake the pain this time. Waves of agony roll along my jaw and send dazzling lights exploding through my brain.
“You haven’t beaten her,” I say, pushing the words through teeth clenched tight against the raw, unending anguish eating at me.
He leans closer, grinding his boot into my neck. “What did you say to me, you worthless cur?”
“Rachel. You haven’t beaten her.” I draw in a shaky breath, tasting the leather and steel of his boot on the dungeon’s fetid air. “She’s stronger than you think.”
“She’s a girl alone in the Wasteland with a man who is both stronger than her and has more motivation to do as he’s told.”
His voice oozes his special brand of pride—two parts power, one part blind ego.
Perfect.
“She can take him. She’s smarter than you give her credit for.”
He snorts, but I can almost hear the doubt slipping in.
“You won’t know if you’re right until it’s too late to make adjustments,” I say.
“You’d like me to think that. But when Melkin sends the signal, inventor, you can bet your life he’ll be alone.” He laughs again. “And you are betting your life, aren’t you? Because the second I have what I want, you’re dead.”
He isn’t going to tell me what I need to know. He’s too smart for that. I either need to find another source of information, or wing it once I get out into the Wasteland.
He stands abruptly, his boot sliding across my burned skin like a dozen razors. I breathe heavily, trying to control the waves of pain wracking me, and see Eloise staring at me with horror on her face.
Which is interesting.
She doesn’t want me hurt. Because she can’t stand to see another suffer? Or because she somehow thinks I can stop her husband from becoming a killer?
If I can’t get the Commander to give me what I need, maybe I can force him to convince Eloise to do so instead.
“When the signal comes, I’d look long and hard at whoever sent it.” I curl up on the floor in case he decides to kick any of my vital organs. “Because I’ll happily bet my life that Rachel will kill Melkin when he attacks her.”
“She’s a girl.” The Commander’s voice is dismissive as he walks toward my cell door.
Time to play the big card. The one I hope will scare Eloise into spilling her guts.
“Every other girl in the city was raised with dolls and tea sets and proper etiquette. Rachel was sword fighting, clubbing our practice dummy, and learning how to eviscerate a man at close range with her knife.”
Eloise worries her blanket with nervous fingers.
“Melkin won’t even know what hit him. You’ve sent the man to his death.”
The Commander shakes his head and walks out of my cell. “Do you really think I care which of them makes it back alive as long as I get what I want?”
The cell door slams shut. “Next time I see you, inventor, it will be at your execution.” He leaves, taking his guards with him, and the silence in his wake is punctuated by sharp, gut-wrenching sobs from Eloise.
I wait, willing her to look at me, and finally get my wish. My voice is a thin whisper of sound as I say, “I can stop her. I can get to them in time.”
She frowns but inches closer to the bars on her door. “How? I thought you could get out somehow. The girl said you could. But you haven’t. You just lie there.” Her voice is a faint breath of sound nearly lost beneath the sizzle of the torches lining the corridor. I have to hope the snapping flames and heavy stone walls are enough to keep the other prisoners from overhearing this.
I sit up and face her, careful not to look like I can move with ease. “Of course I haven’t made it look like I’m anything but badly injured. You think they need that information?”
