Deception

Chapter Twenty-One RACHEL

We’ve been traveling hard for two days while the army at our backs slowly closes the distance between us. We’ve tripled the guard at night, and everyone carries a weapon during the day. I alternate between walking beside Logan and positioning myself by Sylph in the middle of the group. If Carrington attacks, I’m going to be in a place to defend the two people I love.

Last night, we camped beside a river and were nearly eaten alive by mosquitoes. This morning, Logan had us up at dawn and moving east while the early morning gloom was still clinging to the sky. It’s going to take us another two days to get to the ruined city where we’ll meet up with Quinn and Willow. I find myself worrying that they won’t catch up. That they’ve been hurt or killed.

I don’t want to add anyone else to the list of people I’ve lost. I’ve learned that death is an insatiable creature with greedy hands, and the people I love seem to be easy targets.

Which is why I’ve dedicated chunks of time every day to tutoring Sylph, Jodi, Cassie, Mandy, and any other girl who wants to learn the art of surviving in the Wasteland. I teach them as we walk. We discuss which plants are edible, which are medicinal, and how to cover your tracks so your enemy can’t find you. We hunt small game, skin it ourselves, and find hiding places in the dark underbelly of the forest’s depths. We shoot arrows and hit our targets. We throw knives and hit those targets, too. And we know how to fatally injure a man who makes the grave mistake of underestimating us.

If the Commander catches up to us, I want the girls he tried so hard to keep under his thumb to be his worst nightmare.

“Chickweed,” Sylph says, and tugs on my arm as she points to a thick bush on the side of the trail. The small oval leaves form a cross with a white flower in its center. “Am I right?”

“You’re right.” I smile as she bounces off the path and begins gathering handfuls of the edible plant. Jodi joins her, her blonde hair coiled on top of her head in a thick braid.

“And blueberries,” Jodi says as the springy chickweed plant gives way to a tangle of berry-covered vines. “Right? Or are these pokeweed? I don’t want to pick something poisonous.”

“That’s pokeweed. See the bright purple stem? That’s how you tell the difference.”

Sylph and Jodi return to my side, each carrying a cloth sack full of chickweed. I wrap my arm around Sylph’s waist and give her a quick squeeze. “Lesson’s over for today. I have something to discuss with Logan.”

“Sounds serious.” Jodi wiggles her brows at me.

“I think that’s just Rachel for ‘I need to go kiss my boy.’” Sylph laughs when I glare at her.

“She does like to lock lips with him every chance she gets, doesn’t she?” Jodi laughs, too.

I reach up and pat them both on the head. “Poor things. If you had a boy who looked like Logan, you’d be kissing him every chance you had, too.”

“I was right, you know,” Sylph says.

“About what?”

“About Logan. I told you he was waiting for you.” She grins.

I laugh. “Took him long enough to figure it out.”

“So is he a good kisser?” She elbows me in the side and bounces a little as she waits for my answer.

“I don’t . . . I mean, I’ve never been kissed by anyone else, so . . .”

“Well, how do his kisses make you feel?” Jodi frowns at me. “He doesn’t drool on you, does he?”

“No, he doesn’t drool. He just . . .” He just makes me feel almost whole. Almost better. Like if I could just get close enough to him, everything else would fade away and never come back. I lose myself for a moment in the thought of his callused fingers gently sliding over my back, his lips pressing urgently against mine, his breath quickening against my skin.

Sylph laughs and snaps her fingers in front of my eyes. I jerk my attention back to her and feel heat in my face.

“Well, I don’t know what you were just thinking about, but I’m going to guess it means Logan knows what he’s doing when he kisses you.”

The heat in my face spreads down my neck. “Yes. He knows what he’s doing. I only hope you can say the same about Smithson.”

“Smithson is just as good a kisser—”

“Then why are you over here with us picking chickweed instead of kissing him?” I ask, and Sylph’s dark eyes light with mischief. Without another word to us, she jogs to where Smithson walks, throws her arms around his neck, and kisses him. When she comes up for air, Smithson’s cheeks are as bright as the pokeweed stems, and his expression is dazed.

“Your turn,” Jodi says. I’m about to offer to stay with her so she won’t have to walk alone, but she isn’t looking at me. She’s eyeing Ian with a speculative gleam in her eye. I silently wish her luck prying him away from the two girls who are currently admiring his biceps and giggling over his compliments and then head toward Logan.

The ground beneath me is spongy with the river’s damp. My boots skid a little as I hurry past the wagons, intent on reaching Logan, who walks at the front of the line as usual. Even from here, I can see the weary line of his shoulders. The way he keeps rubbing his eyes like he can push the fatigue away for another hour. Another day.

When he isn’t leading us through the Wasteland, he’s giving orders and then double-checking that the orders have been followed. At night, when he should be resting in our shelter, he’s either poring over the Rowansmark tech, trying to understand the device well enough to re-create it, or he’s taking a shift of guard duty.

I, on the other hand, have walked the edges of the group by day, ready to fight off an attack that never comes, and have slept in the shelter by night because Logan keeps telling me he has the night-shift guard duty covered and doesn’t need me.

I think it’s because he’s afraid I’ll die next.

Hurrying past the wagons, I slip through a knot of men who talk in fierce undertones while they watch the forest around them. Adam walks a little ahead of them, his golden skin free of bruises for the moment, and his beautiful eyes full of the kind of darkness that lurks somewhere inside of me as well.

“Where’s Willow?” he asks me quietly as I try to walk past him. “She’s been gone for two days now.”

I push a low-hanging branch out of my way and look at him. “She and Quinn had something to do.”

He opens his mouth. Closes it. Stares at me like he just broke his only compass and has no idea how to find his bearings.

I sigh. Angry Adam I can handle. Adam pining after Willow leaves me fumbling for words. “She’ll be back.”

“When?”

“Soon.” I start to move past him, and he touches my arm.

“Did she leave for good? Was it Frankie?” His voice rises. “Did she get tired of the people who treat her like an outsider but are more than willing to eat the food she hunts and let her stand guard over them while they sleep?”

I stare at him.

He leans toward me. “The girls treat her like competition. The men treat her like she’s a baby playing at war. And the older women avoid her.” His mouth is a tight line.

“I promise she plans to come back.” My voice is quiet, and I scrub my hand against my heart as guilt prickles against my skin. I could ask myself why I’ve ignored the fact that Willow is being mistreated, but I already know the answer. I’ve been so caught up in my own pain, in looking strong during the day so that no one knows how fragile I feel at night, that I haven’t really looked at anyone else.

And if I did look at someone else, it wouldn’t be Willow. The girl who always seems so self-assured. The girl who threatened to hurt me if her brother lost his life because of me.

The girl who has fought beside me and for me since the day I met her.

“They think she’s unnatural because she doesn’t wear dresses and always carries her bow and arrows. Because she can hunt and fight,” Adam says.

“I can hunt and fight too.”

“But you’re from Baalboden.”

“Why does that matter? I hardly act like it.”

“Your dad was well-respected. And some of them knew your mother.” His voice gentles unexpectedly. “They think you bucked Baalboden traditions because you lost her at such a young age, and your father didn’t know any better when he raised you.”

I glare at him even though I know he isn’t the real target. “My father raised me exactly how I needed to be raised. I’m not some lost soul acting out because I don’t have a mother. I’m a fighter, both by nature and by training, and they should be thanking both Willow and me for being willing to stand between them and everyone who wants us dead.”

His smile slowly transforms his face, and I find myself smiling back.

“I think I like you,” he says.

My smile falters.

“No! Not like that.” He holds up his hands as if to ward off the ridiculous assumption that he would ever be attracted to me.

My eyes narrow.

“Not that there’s anything wrong with . . . I mean, you and Logan seem to have a pretty good thing going, and I’m not . . .” He meets my eyes, but I can’t read his expression. “I just meant that I didn’t like you before because you can be sort of cold. I thought you didn’t care about us. But now I think maybe you’re just really good at hiding it.”

I don’t know what to do with Adam-being-friendly. I’m far more used to Adam-being-angry. I hope he means what he says; I can’t help but compare the earnest look on his face to the fierce anger that burned there just a few days ago. Maybe he’s sincere. Maybe he’s trying to come to terms with everything he’s lost. Or maybe I’m not the only one who’s really good at hiding things.

“I’ll watch out for Willow when she returns,” I say. My voice sounds odd. Shaky. I clear my throat. “And maybe part of the problem is that I’m not standing guard with her at night. I’m about to fix that.”

Before he can say another word, I move away, trying desperately to shove the warmth of his sudden friendship away from me before it can linger and take root. Logan walks beside Ian, about twenty paces in front of the pack. The faint path we’re taking follows the riverbed and then veers east into the forest. I catch up to Logan and Ian just as the road wraps around a corner and the river slips out of sight.

Logan smiles and holds out his hand for mine. Beneath his smile, I see the exhaustion that clouds his eyes and drains the color from his face. I take his hand and hold on tight.

“I’m taking your guard duty shift tonight.”

His smile disappears. “No, you aren’t.”

“Yes, I am.” I give him the look that used to make Oliver send me to my room for hours. “You’re so tired you can barely function. If you keep pushing yourself this hard, you’ll get sick. Or you’ll make a mistake, and you know you’re impossible to live with when you realize you’ve made a mistake.”

Ian snorts out a little laugh, and I level him with my gaze. “You’re impossible to live with, period, so don’t start.”

He shakes his head and smirks.

“Rachel, you need your sleep.”

“And you don’t? How much sleep have you had in the past few days?”

He looks away.

I rub my thumb across the back of his hand. “You know I’m right.”

“I know you aren’t going out there to stand guard while there’s a chance the killer might come back.” An edge of fear sharpens his words. “Plus, there’s the army to worry about.”

“Who is better qualified?” I ask, and he closes his eyes like I’ve hurt him.

“She has a point,” Ian says, and Logan’s eyes snap open.

“Stay out of this,” he says.

“Logan, I can guard the camp. I can fight a professional killer—”

“I wouldn’t be too sure of that,” Ian says softly.

“I’ve had far more training and experience than anyone else in the camp except you,” I say to Logan. “And there’s Willow to think of.”

Logan frowns. “What does this have to do with Willow?”

“Adam told me some people are mistreating her. Mocking her or giving her the silent treatment because she’s different from what Baalboden told us a girl was supposed to be. If they see that I’m like Willow, maybe they’ll have to reconsider their ideas.”

“Or maybe they’ll just start mistreating you as well,” Ian says.

“Maybe I don’t care what they think of me,” I snap at him.

He grins. “Maybe you don’t.”

“I’ll put a stop to it,” Logan says. “I’ve seen how Frankie treats them. How some of the others treat Willow. I’d hoped that if everyone spent enough time around the Runningbrooks, really got to know them, the prejudices would die. But I’ll step in and make it stop.”

“How?” I ask.

He rubs his temples. “By punishing Frankie or anyone else who disrespects them. Publicly.”

“Good, we got that settled. Now tonight. Guard duty. Do you want me to take first shift or second?”

“Rachel, please.”

I tug him closer to me and meet his gaze. “I know why you don’t want me out there, and I understand it. But I’m a fighter, and this is my battle. You can’t hide me in our shelter to keep me safe. It isn’t fair to the others, and it isn’t fair to me.”

He stops suddenly and wraps his arms around me. Burying his face in my hair, he whispers, “I don’t care about fair. I just don’t want to lose you.”

I lean into him and let his warmth press against my skin. “I know. But you need rest, and I’m a lot harder to kill than most of our guards. I’m not asking your permission, Logan. I’m simply asking if you’d prefer to sleep during the first or second shift.”

His shoulders shake, and for a second I think he’s lost his mind and is crying in front of Ian and everybody else, but when he pulls away from me, I see he’s laughing. There’s a note of despair under the laughter, but still, I smile back.

“You are the fiercest, most stubborn girl I’ve ever met.” He makes it sound like a compliment. We start walking again before the rest of the group can catch up to us.

“You’re pretty stubborn, yourself.” I nudge him with my elbow, and see Ian roll his eyes.

“Not so stubborn that I can’t see reason,” Logan says. “You’re right. I need sleep. And we need your instincts on the guard shift. I’ve delegated the task of assigning and rotating the guards to Ian during Quinn’s absence. He can choose which shift you take.”

I raise my brows and glance at Ian.

“First shift,” he says.

“Fine.”

“Don’t screw it up.” He winks at me.

I heft my Switch. “If your eyelid twitches one more time while you’re looking at me, I’m going to remove it and feed it to the birds.”

Logan wraps his arm around my shoulders and tucks me up against his side. His eyes are suddenly serious when he looks at me. “Be careful tonight.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him that I’m always careful, but even I don’t have the audacity to lie like that. “I will,” I say, and I mean it.

I will carefully stand guard, and if anyone tries to hurt someone in the camp again, I will carefully spill their guts across the Wasteland floor and carefully wait for the vultures to feast on the remains.

For the first time since Melkin died beneath my blade, I don’t mind the thought of having more blood on my hands.