I meet Ian’s cold gaze for one long moment, and then my eyes flutter shut.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
LOGAN
“What do you mean, the beacons have already been disabled?” The Commander leans across Lyle Hoden’s breakfast table, gripping his fork like he means to stab me with it. “We were going to do that this morning. We had an agreement.”
I meet his gaze evenly while beside me, Frankie drops the sausage he’d been about to eat and grabs his butter knife instead.
“No, we had a plan,” I say. “A plan whose success depended on no one outside of our inner circle finding out what we were doing. Considering the number of trackers currently roaming the halls of this mansion, I decided it was prudent to—”
“You decided! What gives you the right to decide anything?” Fury fills the Commander’s face.
His guards glare at me. Lyle, seated at the head of the table, flanked by Connor and Amarynda, glares at me. Smithson, Adam, Nola, and Drake all set down their forks and pick up their knives. Willow pushes away from the table, her hand on the bow resting against her chair. The Commander looks like he wants to skewer me where I sit.
“The only people who knew about the plan are sitting at this table,” Amarynda says, her voice cool. “If you’re suggesting that one of us would leak news of your intentions to a tracker—”
“Sleeping in my house! Eating my food!” Lyle pounds a fist on the table. “And you dare imply that I’m not trustworthy?”
“Or maybe we aren’t the ones you don’t trust.” Amarynda looks at the guards and then sweeps her eyes over the Commander. “Maybe you expected treachery from your own ranks.”
The Commander looks at me. “I knew better than to trust you. I should’ve cut off your head when I had the chance.” A vein in his neck bulges, and I scramble to think of something noninflammatory to say.
“It was my idea.”
Everyone at the table turns to stare at Connor. He raises a brow and calmly spreads a healthy serving of blackberry jam over his piece of toast before offering the jam to Jodi.
“The trackers have infiltrated your city, Grandfather. It seemed reasonable to expect them to be watching us closely during the daylight. You needed to be above reproach or risk being found in violation of your protection agreement. I asked Logan to assist me, and we accomplished the task. Your beacons are disabled.” He lays his knife against his plate and takes a large bite of his toast.
I’m impressed with his ability to lie with absolute conviction. I’m going to have to keep an eye on him. And keep him on my side.
“Where is the proof that the beacons are disabled?” the Commander asks.
“I did the task myself,” Connor says.
Another lie delivered with flawless confidence.
Connor sets his toast down and smiles at Amarynda. “Delicious jam, Aunt Mandy. I wish Mother’s cook had your recipe.”
“I want proof.” The Commander’s dark eyes are locked on me. “I want to see the inside of a disabled beacon with my own eyes.”
I bet he does. The sooner he learns his way around the Rowansmark tech, the faster he can betray me.
“Are you calling my grandson a liar?” Lyle’s voice rises. “Because if you are, you can forget about using any of my troops—”
“Keep your voice down,” the Commander snaps. “Do you want to be overheard?” He turns toward Connor. “Why wasn’t I included in this?”
Connor frowns. “We had to jump from rooftop to rooftop in the dark. Forgive me, but I wasn’t certain that would be a safe activity for a man of your age. Rest assured, the task is completed, and we can move on to another city-state. I assume Brooksworth is next on the agenda?”
The Commander slowly sits back in his chair, his expression cold and calculating. “I will say this once, and only once: I am the leader of the forces of Baalboden and Carrington. I don’t care what city you represent, whose grandson you are, or”—he glares at me—“what motives you claim to have, if anyone goes behind my back again, it will be considered treason and therefore punishable by whatever means I see fit.”
“And I will say this once and only once.” Connor’s voice is crisp. “I am an emissary from Lankenshire on official city-state business. I am subject to the laws ratified by all nine city-states, and to the laws of Lankenshire. I am not subject to you. Lankenshire has a stake in the outcome of this operation, therefore I am committed to seeing it through. I will take whatever actions serve our joint cause best. In this case, choosing the youngest team members, members whose loyalties are not tied to the same city-state but instead to the same cause, was the most expedient and safest course of action. If you disagree, feel free to bring it up to the triumvirate when we return to Lankenshire.”
Once again, we all stare at Connor as he calmly takes another bite of his toast.
I suddenly understand very clearly why Clarissa sent Connor. He may not have the wilderness survival skills necessary to trek through the Wasteland alone, and he may not walk into a room and instantly command the kind of attention his mother and sister do, but he understands how to wield his influence at exactly the right times.
Lyle reaches over and pounds Connor’s shoulder. “Well said! It isn’t easy managing a room full of old men and their egos.” He looks at the Commander, whose expression betrays none of his thoughts, and says, “Speaking of old men and their egos, you’d best let me approach Brooksworth. Hank isn’t in his right mind. Hasn’t been for years. Won’t have much to do with any of us, but I have it on good authority he’d shoot you on sight. The older he gets, the more he blames you for Christina.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
LOGAN
“What do you mean, the beacons have already been disabled?” The Commander leans across Lyle Hoden’s breakfast table, gripping his fork like he means to stab me with it. “We were going to do that this morning. We had an agreement.”
I meet his gaze evenly while beside me, Frankie drops the sausage he’d been about to eat and grabs his butter knife instead.
“No, we had a plan,” I say. “A plan whose success depended on no one outside of our inner circle finding out what we were doing. Considering the number of trackers currently roaming the halls of this mansion, I decided it was prudent to—”
“You decided! What gives you the right to decide anything?” Fury fills the Commander’s face.
His guards glare at me. Lyle, seated at the head of the table, flanked by Connor and Amarynda, glares at me. Smithson, Adam, Nola, and Drake all set down their forks and pick up their knives. Willow pushes away from the table, her hand on the bow resting against her chair. The Commander looks like he wants to skewer me where I sit.
“The only people who knew about the plan are sitting at this table,” Amarynda says, her voice cool. “If you’re suggesting that one of us would leak news of your intentions to a tracker—”
“Sleeping in my house! Eating my food!” Lyle pounds a fist on the table. “And you dare imply that I’m not trustworthy?”
“Or maybe we aren’t the ones you don’t trust.” Amarynda looks at the guards and then sweeps her eyes over the Commander. “Maybe you expected treachery from your own ranks.”
The Commander looks at me. “I knew better than to trust you. I should’ve cut off your head when I had the chance.” A vein in his neck bulges, and I scramble to think of something noninflammatory to say.
“It was my idea.”
Everyone at the table turns to stare at Connor. He raises a brow and calmly spreads a healthy serving of blackberry jam over his piece of toast before offering the jam to Jodi.
“The trackers have infiltrated your city, Grandfather. It seemed reasonable to expect them to be watching us closely during the daylight. You needed to be above reproach or risk being found in violation of your protection agreement. I asked Logan to assist me, and we accomplished the task. Your beacons are disabled.” He lays his knife against his plate and takes a large bite of his toast.
I’m impressed with his ability to lie with absolute conviction. I’m going to have to keep an eye on him. And keep him on my side.
“Where is the proof that the beacons are disabled?” the Commander asks.
“I did the task myself,” Connor says.
Another lie delivered with flawless confidence.
Connor sets his toast down and smiles at Amarynda. “Delicious jam, Aunt Mandy. I wish Mother’s cook had your recipe.”
“I want proof.” The Commander’s dark eyes are locked on me. “I want to see the inside of a disabled beacon with my own eyes.”
I bet he does. The sooner he learns his way around the Rowansmark tech, the faster he can betray me.
“Are you calling my grandson a liar?” Lyle’s voice rises. “Because if you are, you can forget about using any of my troops—”
“Keep your voice down,” the Commander snaps. “Do you want to be overheard?” He turns toward Connor. “Why wasn’t I included in this?”
Connor frowns. “We had to jump from rooftop to rooftop in the dark. Forgive me, but I wasn’t certain that would be a safe activity for a man of your age. Rest assured, the task is completed, and we can move on to another city-state. I assume Brooksworth is next on the agenda?”
The Commander slowly sits back in his chair, his expression cold and calculating. “I will say this once, and only once: I am the leader of the forces of Baalboden and Carrington. I don’t care what city you represent, whose grandson you are, or”—he glares at me—“what motives you claim to have, if anyone goes behind my back again, it will be considered treason and therefore punishable by whatever means I see fit.”
“And I will say this once and only once.” Connor’s voice is crisp. “I am an emissary from Lankenshire on official city-state business. I am subject to the laws ratified by all nine city-states, and to the laws of Lankenshire. I am not subject to you. Lankenshire has a stake in the outcome of this operation, therefore I am committed to seeing it through. I will take whatever actions serve our joint cause best. In this case, choosing the youngest team members, members whose loyalties are not tied to the same city-state but instead to the same cause, was the most expedient and safest course of action. If you disagree, feel free to bring it up to the triumvirate when we return to Lankenshire.”
Once again, we all stare at Connor as he calmly takes another bite of his toast.
I suddenly understand very clearly why Clarissa sent Connor. He may not have the wilderness survival skills necessary to trek through the Wasteland alone, and he may not walk into a room and instantly command the kind of attention his mother and sister do, but he understands how to wield his influence at exactly the right times.
Lyle reaches over and pounds Connor’s shoulder. “Well said! It isn’t easy managing a room full of old men and their egos.” He looks at the Commander, whose expression betrays none of his thoughts, and says, “Speaking of old men and their egos, you’d best let me approach Brooksworth. Hank isn’t in his right mind. Hasn’t been for years. Won’t have much to do with any of us, but I have it on good authority he’d shoot you on sight. The older he gets, the more he blames you for Christina.”
