Fireblood

EIGHTEEN

I jerk out of Devlan’s grasp. Whirling around, I stare first at Fallon’s downcast eyes avoiding me, then at Devlan, his features etched with pity. Anger sears my chest. “No.” I shake my head. “You’re lying. My father was a farmer—a cloner. You’re mistaken.”

No one responds. Devlan only continues to watch me with sympathy lacing his eyes. I wish he’d argue—be the stubborn ass he always is—but he just stares at me. Unexpectedly, Fallon steps forward.

“Zara,” she says, and my head whips in her direction. “The leader before me spent many years prepping me. And this”—she raises her hand and points to a silver ring—“was your father’s.” A sad smile slides across her face. My gaze moves to the band and my heart aches with familiarity.

“It was his wedding band,” she continues. “The dagger marked him as the leader. It bears the Rebel crest and his given name’s initials. But when he chose to leave, he took the dagger to always have proof of who he was, and gave Micah the ring as the marker. A strong reminder of our mission and what we stand for.”

My eyes slip over the ring. It catches the candlelight, glinting as she slowly fans her hand back and forth. When I took the dagger from under the floorboard, I’d studied the ring my father also kept there. It had my father’s name inscribed on the inside of the band: Rorick.

I take a step closer to Fallon. “Show me the inscription. If it’s his ring, my mother’s name will be inscribed on the band.”

Her eyes scan my face, and I see sorrow in them. My chest tightens. She slides the ring off her finger and hands it to me. I take a deep breath, then hold it up to the candlelight, my hand trembling. Inside the silver band, letters spell out a name. Carmen. My mother.

I palm the ring, squeezing it as my eyes burn. I shake my head once and forcefully hand Fallon back the ring. The tent air is suddenly stale and suffocating. I barge through the tent flaps. The cool night air engulfs me, and I drink it in, cleanse my lungs of the fiery ache.

How could he hide this from me?

“He was trying to protect you,” Devlan says from behind me, answering my unspoken question. My head snaps his way. Devlan stands with his hand resting on his hilt. I say nothing and walk away from the camp toward the woods. I don’t want to be near anyone who knows these secrets of the man who raised me. Not before I can understand them first.

He follows, his footsteps matching mine. “I’m sorry I didn’t put it together sooner. None of us knew his true name. We’re just told what initials to look for with the crest.” He pauses for a beat. “But with your age, and your father’s name…I should have made the connection.”

I look to the sky, continuing my slow trek. “You and me both.”

“Your mother was a Rebel, too,” he says. “She was rumored to be fierce.”

I stop and lean my shoulder against a tree, keeping my back to him. “My whole life has been a lie. But it’s good to know I officially have nowhere to go, nowhere to belong.” I bow my head. “Can you please leave me alone now?”

“I’m sorry, but no. We don’t have enough time, Zara.”

I nearly laugh. Time. That is something none of us have enough of.

“It’s all so recent,” I say, as if to myself while I ponder the reality that our world—this realm—hasn’t been functioning as long as I believed. If my father was the first Rebel leader, then Karm hasn’t existed long. How did King Hart wipe out the old customs so thoroughly?

I answer my own question as I think back on all the punishments, the tales of monsters and starvation and the impossibility of survival Outside. King Hart is far more ruthless and meticulous than I ever thought possible.

Devlan places his hand on the tree above my head, so close I could move just a fraction and lean against him instead. “After your mother was killed during a mission,” he says, “your father was distraught. Story is, he promised your mother that, if anything ever happened to her, he’d retire and raise you away from the rebellion.” He pauses, his fingers scrape at the bark. “After she died, he truly wanted to do nothing but give you a life that, if only for a short while, you could live happily.”

My mind catches up to his words, and I turn and face him. “My mother was Taken,” I argue. “I watched the Force drag her, screaming obscenities, from our home.”

“It was a ruse.” He lowers his face so that I can see his eyes in the glowing campfire. “She was a plant for the Rebels. Although she was discovered, her death wasn’t in vain. Because of her we now know the Force has a testing procedure for the Virus.”

A tear escapes down my cheek. I turn my back to him again and I let it fall. Everything in my life has been a lie. “So, my mother didn’t want me brought into this. But my father gave me the dagger,” I counter. “Why would he give it to me if he promised to keep me away? He must have known at some point I’d discover the truth.”

Devlan moves in front of me, his eyes finding mine. “I don’t know, but that dagger gives you our protection, so I’m sure he had his reason. And the ring? It’s a symbol of what we fight for. A reminder of all that has been and continues to be taken away. It’s what I fight for.”

My breath shudders out, fogging as it passes my lips. One thing occurs to me. “Then, my mother wasn’t Taken. She wasn’t mad.”

He shakes his head slowly. “She wasn’t. She fought hard…for you.”

His words wrap around me, comforting and solid, like the strength the dagger gives me. My mother wasn’t mad. My father endured cruelty at the hands of the Force to raise me. Yet I’m the orphan of two Rebels, who is to marry the son of the king they fought against.

I close my eyes and shake my head at the bitter irony. “At least my father won’t have to watch me marry King Hart’s son,” I say. “I suppose there are some small—” My words stop short when I open my eyes and see Devlan’s rigid features.

His brows pull together. “There’s something else I brought you here to see.”

His words slam against my chest like a mallet, and I press my hand to my heart. “Just tell me, Devlan.” I pull air into my lungs. “I don’t think I can take another shock right now.”

“Please, just come.” His eyes beckon me to trust him.

I do. Somehow, since the first day he told me to keep strong, I have trusted his guidance, whether I knew it or not. I follow him back to the campground as he leads me toward a tent in the far back. It’s strange that here he no longer keeps up his knightly duties following me.

A realization occurs to me. What if I continue to refuse to join them? Their original plan was to off me and use Sebastian’s grief as a way to get Devlan close to the prince. They will have no need of me. I can’t just wander back inside Court harboring this kind of knowledge. I shiver.

Devlan said he’d have never allowed that plan to go through. I wonder how much sway he truly has here. And Fallon? Who is she? Would she really see killing one small girl as being that big of a deal in comparison to the war she’s waging?

Devlan’s suspiciousness when he asked if I’d fallen for Sebastian slams into me. He was feeling out my loyalties. I wrap my arms around myself and stare at his back. He’s been slowly grooming me to be the one to get close to Sebastian. But if I was falling for the prince, that would be the fatal flaw in his plan. He wouldn’t be able to trust that I could go through with it and keep the truth from someone I love.

I know this, because I would question the exact same thing.

All these worries swirl inside my head as I try to figure a way out of this limbo and the many pressing dangers. I walk as if in slow motion toward a large brown tent. Somehow, I have to convince Devlan that I’m not the one for the job, but also maintain that I won’t reveal their secrets to Sebastian.

I can keep that promise; I plan to be far away from the castle, Sebastian, and this whole scheme the first chance I get to escape.

Devlan stops before a huge brown tent, and I take a breath, bracing myself for his newest surprise when he pulls back the flaps.

My jaw drops.

Monitors are everywhere—flashing blue and green screens. Wires drip from the top of the tent and run along the dirt-packed ground. People walk back and forth, and some are seated in front of the screens, hitting keys on boards before them. Towers, like ones I’ve seen in old magazines my father showed me, sit in the corners, blinking green and blue lights.

I look at Devlan. “What is all this?”

He cocks his head. “It’s Mordred. Our headquarters.” He walks to one of the desks and seats himself in front of a large monitor. A small smile curls my lips as I connect the name of King Arthur’s enemy in the fabled tale to their headquarters. The enemy who inflicted Arthur’s fatal wound. “It’s where we hack into the Force’s network, gain intel, and view Outside.”

My eyebrows shoot up. “Hack?” I quickly forget wanting to know what the word means as Devlan clicks his monitor on. I look at the screen. “Is that outside of Karm?”

“Yes.” He taps the keyboard, and the screen bleeps in and out. With a flicker, it displays a dark land as it pans, revealing a dry and dusty landscape. “This is right outside the barrier. Nothing much to see as it’s night, but nothing much to see anyway during the day. It’s all dead land. But see the barrier?” He points to the edge of the screen.

I do. I press my hands on the desk and lean in closer. It blazes blue-white with three-dimensional blocks of squares. “You can see the complete grid of the force field from Outside.”

He types something else on the board and the screen flashes, then displays a giant building. It’s a gray, three-story brick building, and lights shine from the windows as if…as if people are living inside.

“Here. This is the compound. We dubbed it Morgana.” He turns and meets my eyes, rests his hand over mine on the desk.

I barely register his touch as my eyes search the compound. “What is it?”

“This is where the Virus takes us after we leave Karm.”

“What are you saying, Devlan?” My voice cracks. The front of my head pounds. The flickering lights of the monitors penetrate my skull, making me light-headed and dizzy. “The Virus kills us. It has since the Final War.”

He quickly punches the keys and the screen changes angles.

People. So many people.

They’re digging a trench and laying something down in it. I get closer to the screen, squint my eyes, try to focus. “How…how are they Outside—what are they doing?”

Devlan clears his throat. “Laying cables. This is just the first perimeter, where most of the power to Karm is fed. It takes a lot of juice to power the barrier, so the cables are repaired often. Others work inside the plant.” He points, motioning off the screen. “This is the main reactor where the nuclear power is generated.”

I shake my head, over and over. “This can’t—no.” I cover my mouth with my hand. I’ve wondered all my life how King Hart powered his realm, but this can’t be the truth. It’s too bizarre and evil. “And the Virus?”

“Hart has his friars inject us at our christening with the Virus he developed during the Final War.” He sucks in a deep breath, scrubs his hand down his face. “He was the lead scientist for the American government’s warfare department. But he’s had the strain mutated since then.” He shakes his head and points at the workers on the screen. “Look at them.”

“What?” My voice is strained. “What am I supposed to see?”

“Look how they walk, how they move. How no one talks.”

I study them, and I see it. They’re in some kind of trance. Oh, God. This can’t be true. It’s too absurd. They move as if they’re sleepwalking. They’re faces are blank slates, pallid and emotionless—not human.

Devlan places his hand on my shoulder. “All right, that’s enough for now. I think you’re about to have a meltdown.”

I jerk out of his hold and grab the screen. “No.” I try to see into the monitor. “Move the camera closer. Do…make it get closer. Zoom in.”

He hesitates, and I snap, “Do it!”

Tapping the keys, he does as I ask, and the cam moves in closer. The pale faces of the workers become clearer. The hollowed, dark circles under their eyes. Their dirty smocks and greasy hair and filthy skin and—

My. Heart. Stops.

Lit by the radiant glow of the barrier, with dirt and sweat and blood smeared across his face, is my father.