Deception

Chapter Seven LOGAN

We lost four men at the gate. They were my responsibility, and now they’re gone. All my planning, all my careful instruction, all for nothing because Drake refused to do his part.

That his refusal saved Rachel and me makes the guilt I feel that much worse.

I don’t look at him as I give the order to strip the soldiers’ bodies of anything we can use. Weapons. Scabbards. Boots. We’re in no position to leave a single item of value behind.

“They’re from Carrington. The Commander is with them, along with the guards who fled into the Wasteland with him like the cowardly dogs they are,” Rachel says. Her voice trembles a little when she says the Commander’s name, but she lifts her chin and stares me down—stares everyone down—as if daring us to call her weak. “They’ll have Dragonskin on beneath their tunics.”

“What’s Dragonskin?” Quinn asks as he flips a body over and pulls his sister’s arrow free.

“Impenetrable armor worn beneath a soldier’s clothing. Kind of like a metal tunic with tiny interlocking scales,” I say.

“It’s thin and lightweight, almost the density of a cotton tunic, so it doesn’t hamper movement or slow them down,” Rachel says. “That’s why Willow’s arrows weren’t stopping the soldiers until she aimed for their heads.”

Drake bends down to tug at the bloodstained jacket of a soldier who died with Willow’s arrow in his throat. Rachel balls her hands into fists and looks away.

“It’s Carrington’s design, and they don’t trade it out to anyone. Ever,” Drake says, his eyes on me. “It’s their best-kept secret. They also don’t leave their city-state and attack others. They don’t have to. Because all of their soldiers wear Dragonskin, everyone knows attacking Carrington is futile unless—”

“Unless you have a weapon capable of destroying metal,” I say without meeting his eyes.

“The Cursed One can destroy metal.” Willow scrubs a handful of arrow tips against the bright green blades of grass that have pushed their way through the blackened soil at the edge of the path. “Looks like your Commander—”

“He’s not our Commander. Not anymore.” Rachel’s voice is cold.

“Fine. The man formerly known as your Commander must have explained the facts of life to Carrington, and they’re scared that if someone else gets ahold of the device to control the Cursed One, all the Dragonskin in the world won’t save them from being incinerated.”

“He must have promised them safety or shared control of the device in exchange for working with him,” Drake says as he removes a pair of almost-new boots from the feet of a dead soldier. “What do you think, Logan?”

I think he should’ve blown the gate and taken the survivors out of the city the way we planned. I’m spared the necessity of answering him when Willow laughs and says, “I just met the Commander, and I can tell you I wouldn’t trust him to keep his word unless I had a sword already cutting into his neck. The leader of Carrington is either stupid or is planning a double cross of his own.”

“Well, that isn’t going to be our problem,” Drake says, and stands, the soldier’s boots in his hands, while Frankie rips the bloody tunic off of the body and reveals the silvery sheath of armor underneath. “We’ll be out of the Commander’s reach soon. Right, Logan?” Drake reaches out to clap a hand on my shoulder, and I step back.

He nods. “Figured something was eating at you. Out with it, then.”

Willow slides her arrows back into her quiver and bends to help Ian remove another soldier’s Dragonskin. Thom slowly crouches down to unstrap a scabbard. Quinn unlaces a pair of boots, his eyes on Rachel, who frowns at Drake and me.

“You should’ve blown the gate,” I say, and my words are too small, too weak to contain the sharp sting of impotent fury raging within me. I look at him, at his steady brown eyes holding my own, and my fingers curl into fists. “We had an agreement, Drake. A plan. And four men died today because you didn’t keep your end of the bargain.”

“No, four men died today because they, like the rest of us, wanted to keep you safe.”

I slam my left fist into my right palm. “Do you think that reasoning makes it better? We exchanged four lives for two today. That’s a poor bargain any way you look at it.”

“So if the situation was reversed, and it was me and Frankie outside the Wall, you’d have blown the gate and left us to the mercy of that army?” Drake asks, his voice calm.

I glare at him.

Willow stands, tosses the Dragonskin onto the pile of goods we’ve assembled, and looks at me. “He’s got you there.”

“It’s a hard thing to have someone give their life for yours,” Quinn says quietly. “The debt feels impossible to repay.”

“They didn’t have to give their lives,” I say. “We’ve lost so many people already. We didn’t have to lose anyone else.”

“It was their choice,” Drake says. “Every person who went outside the gate knew their lives were in danger. One of the boys we assigned to the watchtower saw movement in the Wasteland. We had enough warning to gather a small team of people ready to keep the gate open for you.” He reaches for my shoulder again, and this time I let him. “I only took volunteers, Logan. They believed you were worth it. Don’t shame their sacrifice or their courage by calling their motives into question.”

I can’t find an answer to this, but Rachel steps forward and wraps an arm around Drake’s waist. “Thank you,” she says.

“You’d have done the same for me,” Drake says.

“Yes, but you’ve earned it,” she says quietly. She’s right. Without Drake and Nola’s aid, I might have died in the Commander’s dungeon. As far as I’m concerned, Drake can ask me anything he wants for the rest of my life, and I’ll do it.

“Oh, I think you’ve earned it, too.” He smiles and wraps one arm around each of us. For a moment, I’m back in my cottage with Oliver’s arm wrapped securely around my shoulders, his love for me a constant presence I’d learned to depend on. The ache of missing him grows larger when Drake lets go and steps back.

“So are we going to stand around hugging all day, or should we figure out how to tell the camp their psychotic ex-leader has returned with friends?” Willow asks.

“Maybe we should also figure out how to explain to them that we’re now trapped inside the city until the tunnel is finished,” Ian says as he brushes bits of grass and dirt from a scabbard and then slides the soldier’s weapon back into its resting place. “Of course, I guess if you really do have a device that can control the Cursed One, we could just call the monster and set it loose on the army. Problem solved.”

He flashes me a grin. My stomach clenches as I remember the desperate screams of Baalboden’s people while the beast turned the city into their funeral pyre.

“We aren’t using the Cursed One as a weapon,” I say.

Ian shrugs. “Seems the easiest answer to our problem.”

The last time I believed that line of reasoning, the device failed, and Baalboden was destroyed. I’m not risking it again. Not when I have the tunnel at my disposal.

“We’ll leave through the tunnel.” A glance at the sky shows that the shadows of twilight are already gathering. “I want us out of here tomorrow morning, even if we haven’t reached the one-thousand-yard mark I set for us.”

“Suit yourself.” Ian bends to lift a handful of Dragonskin tunics. He’s taller than me, all angles and sharp edges, but he’s strong enough to toss five tunics over his shoulder and scoop up three swords as well.

Thom, ignoring Frankie’s strident insistence that he take it easy because of the lump on his head, gathers up the knives we found strapped to the soldiers’ ankles. The weapons look small in Thom’s massive hands.

“We’ll sleep in the compound tonight and leave at first light,” I say.

“No one’s going to be happy about sleeping in the Commander’s home,” Frankie says, his lips turning down like he’s just bitten into something sour.

“It’s that or stay out in the open and hope Carrington can’t get into the city.” I hold Frankie’s gaze. “I’m sure you can find a way to convince them.”

I turn to Quinn. “We need to double the guards tonight in case we didn’t get every soldier that came through the gate. Use people from your sparring class if you have to.”

As the rest of the group divides the supplies into bundles they can carry, I take the remaining Dragonskin tunics and jerk my chin toward the northbound road. “Let’s go.”

They match my pace as we leave the grass-lined path behind and enter what used to be Lower Market. The streets, a swath of broken cobblestones and haphazard piles of debris, cut a path through the burned-out husks of stores, tents, and food stalls. I turn the corner at what’s left of Jocey’s Mug & Ale, and my boots grind bits of glass that lie across the soot-covered cobblestones like diamonds.

Rachel’s mouth is a thin, pressed line, and her eyes are shadowed by the same demons that seem to haunt her when she wakes screaming from her nightmares. I let the others move ahead of me and fall into step beside her.

“I should’ve waited for you,” I say quietly.

She says nothing.

“When I went over the gate, I was sure you were right behind me, and I was focused on catching the soldiers who already went through. I didn’t know that I’d be leaving you to face the Commander alone.” I swallow hard as the unwelcome image of Rachel lying dead at the Commander’s feet taunts me.

“You did the right thing,” she says, but her voice sounds detached. Like she’s saying the words she thinks I want to hear, but keeping the truth locked somewhere inside.

“The right thing is to protect you.”

Her shoulders straighten, and she shifts the load of boots and knives she carries. “The right thing is to take care of those who can’t take care of themselves. You don’t have to worry about me. I could’ve taken him if Quinn hadn’t interfered.”

It takes a second for her words to register, but when they do, I have to grit my teeth to keep from raising my voice. “Are you saying you deliberately stayed outside the Wall so you could face him? Alone?”

“Not at first. A soldier caught me.” She still sounds like the words she says mean nothing to her, and the fear that slides through me flickers into anger.

“And you got away from him. Didn’t you?”

“Of course.” She sounds insulted.

A gust of wind snatches her hair and flings it in my face. I swat it away, trying to figure out how to get through to her. How to make her care that she nearly sacrificed herself for vengeance and left me with yet another loved one to miss.

A sharp turn takes us north, and I clench my jaw as we walk past the ashes of Oliver’s bakery. I try to remember the way his dark eyes would rest on me, filled with gentle acceptance and later with love, but already his memory blurs around the edges. I know from experience that I can’t hold on to it. Not exactly. The smell of his baking, the warmth of his hand, and the way he would quietly encourage me will keep fading with every day that passes without him. But I can hold on to what he built into me—the strength to do the right thing even when it feels impossible and the belief that if I put my mind to it, I can accomplish anything—I can hold on to that, and a part of him will never leave me.

I can do that for Oliver, but I don’t want to have to do it for Rachel. I don’t want to struggle to remember the exact shade of her eyes or the way she smiles when she thinks she’s bested me. I don’t want to be left with nothing but regrets and the heartbreaking certainty that if I’d only done something differently, I could’ve saved her.

Keeping my voice low, I say, “So you got away from the soldier and had a chance to follow us into the city, but you chose to stay and face the Commander?”

Something in my tone gets through to her, and she frowns at me. “He was right there. The man responsible for all of this.” She gestures at the remains of Oliver’s stall and then at the ruined city itself. “He took everything from us, and he was right there. Tell me you wouldn’t have done the same thing.”

I stop and face her. “I wouldn’t have done the same thing.”

She shakes her head, and this time, I don’t bother trying to speak quietly. “No, Rachel. I wouldn’t have stayed out there to face him alone. Not when an entire army was surrounding me.”

“They weren’t attacking anymore. They were waiting—”

“For him to kill you!”

Sudden fury blazes across her face, and her voice shakes. “I would’ve killed him first, Logan. In case you’ve forgotten, I know how to do it.”

“And then what?” My voice shakes as much as hers. “If you managed to kill him first, what was your exit strategy with the entire army of Carrington surrounding you? Death?”

“If that’s what it takes!” Unshed tears gather on her lashes, but her expression is fierce.

I can’t breathe. Can’t think beyond the terrifying realization that the pain Rachel has endured at the hands of the Commander has led her to this precipice. How can I save her if she doesn’t even want to be saved?

“Rachel—”

“He deserves to die. There won’t be any peace for us until he’s dead.”

I drop the load of supplies I’m carrying and reach for her. She doesn’t pull away as I grip her shoulders and gently tug her toward my chest, but her spine is ramrod straight. I wrap my arms around her and lean my face against her hair as I search for the words I need.

“You’re right,” I say, and she trembles. “He deserves to die. But you don’t. Don’t you see that? You don’t deserve to die, and I can’t stand the thought of losing you. Please, Rachel, you’re all I have left.”

Her spine slowly curves toward me until she presses her forehead to my shoulder. I hold her, all lean muscle and soft curves, and for the first time in all the years I’ve known her, she feels fragile in my arms.

When she pulls away, I have a hard time letting go. But she starts moving north again, so I pick up the slippery Dragonskin tunics and walk beside her. It takes a while to weave past the splintered wood, scorched brick, and shattered glass on the streets of Lower Market and into the less damaged area of Center Square. The Dragonskin grows heavy in my hands. I look away from the remains of the Claiming stage and the memories of Rachel in her beautiful blue dress trying desperately to stand up to the Commander, who was so sure he had her firmly under his control.

He was wrong, and his mistake destroyed countless lives.

I’m not going to let him destroy anyone else. Including Rachel.

“Quinn was going to fight with me,” she says as we turn a street corner and see the blackened, spindly structures that were once the opulent homes of North Hub.

Forty yards past the Hub, the Commander’s compound, largely undamaged, squats behind its iron fence—all fierce turrets and unblinking panes of glass. Most of the medical and food supplies we’ve managed to recover have come from the compound. Still, every time I see it, part of me wishes it had burned, too. It’s impossible to look at it without seeing the Commander’s merciless eyes as my mother lay dying on the cobblestones for the crime of leaving her home to find food for her starving child. Without feeling the damp of his dungeon and the sole of his boot against the brand he burned into the side of my neck.

Without seeing the back of his hand slam into Rachel’s face.

My eyes find Quinn as he carefully navigates around a pile of debris before turning north, heading for the compound. The others are already out of sight.

“He helped me escape from the soldier who had me.”

“I thought he didn’t approve of violence,” I say, though what I really mean is that I’m thankful he chose to stand by us.

By her.

“I don’t think he does. He was trying to get me to go into the city, and when I refused, he decided to stay with me rather than leave me to face the Commander alone.” Her voice catches. “I didn’t ask him to put himself in danger for me.”

Neither did I, but I’m grateful he did. And after witnessing just how far Rachel is willing to go for revenge, I’m hoping Quinn will be willing to watch out for her anytime my back is turned. Not that I’m going to tell Rachel that. I like my internal organs right where they are.

“We’ll punish the Commander,” I say. “But we’ll do it with a plan. With an exit strategy that doesn’t involve either one of us dying.”

“Do you have a plan?” she asks as we trudge up the hill that leads to our camp.

I swallow hard and refuse to look at her, because I don’t. I don’t know how to punish the Commander and still get the survivors to safety like I promised. I don’t know how to defeat two armies just to get to one man.

But I’m going to figure it out. I’m not going to let the Commander take another person from me. Once I deliver the survivors to Lankenshire, I’ll devote every minute of every day to tracking him down. . . .

Tracking.

Wristmarks.

Sonar.

“Yes.” My voice grows stronger as an idea—a bold, risky, nearly impossible idea—hits me. “I have a plan. It’s going to take several weeks to build the tech I need, but I have a plan.”

Her eyes meet mine as we crest the top of the hill. The camp is already in motion, with people hurrying to tear down shelters and pack up supplies. A few survivors head toward me. No doubt with questions, arguments, or worries they need me to solve.

“Can you build the tech while we travel through the Wasteland?” Rachel asks.

“Yes. As long as I have the right supplies, I can build anything.”

“Too bad you can’t come up with a way to let Lankenshire know we’re coming. And to warn the other city-states about Rowansmark.” Enthusiasm lights up her voice. “Or invent something that would let us know where Rowansmark’s battalions are and how fast they’re traveling. Maybe you could—”

“Hold on a second.” I laugh a little. “The Cursed One destroyed the infrastructure that existed between cities in the old civilization, and we can’t build more without risking another attack. If there are no wires laid between city-states, we can’t build technology that would allow us to communicate with them. Or spy on them. We can, however, build tech that is individually targeted at specific people or local tasks by using sonar. The Commander used the science of sound to keep tabs on his people, and now I’m going to use it to destroy him.”

“So let’s get these people to Lankenshire, convince them to offer us shelter, and then hunt down the Commander and obliterate him. We’ll use your plan if it’s working. We’ll do it my way if our other options run out. Deal?”

“Deal.”

Best Case Scenario: I can build the invention that is slowly taking shape inside my mind, and we destroy the Commander before he ever sees us coming.

Worst Case Scenario: The invention fails, the Commander somehow anticipates us, or Rachel gets impatient with my plan and decides sacrificing herself is an acceptable price for delivering justice.

Before I can think of any solutions to those scenarios, a huge boom echoes across the ruins. We spin on our heels and scan the blackened city laid out before us. Nothing moves, but a cloud of ash and dust rises from the direction of the gate.

Seconds later, another boom shatters the stillness. The cloud of dust grows thicker.

“They have a battering ram,” I say as yet another crash ratchets my pulse into overdrive.

“How long before they get through the gate?” Rachel asks, and the same dread that fills me is written all over her face.

“It’s an unstable structure. It could take them days to make a dent, or the whole thing could slide into Lower Market in a matter of hours. We have to get everyone inside the compound now.”

As the battering ram slams repeatedly against the pile of debris blocking the gate, I hurry into camp praying that we still have enough time to tunnel to the surface and leave this place of death and destruction behind us.