Deception (17 page)

No exit strategy except his own death.

Terror is a bright shaft of pain through my chest as Logan walks closer to the monster.

I jerk against Ian’s arms, but he won’t let me go.

The muscles beneath the beast’s scales writhe as it gathers itself. Smoke pours out of its nostrils.

I slam my elbow into Ian’s stomach and stomp on his instep with my boot. I have to save Logan.
I have to
. I can run onto the field and scream. The beast will come after me instead. I’ll be far enough away from Ian and Adam to keep them safe. No one else will die.

No one else here deserves to die.

“Not going to happen,” Ian says against my ear, his grip tightening as I struggle harder.

I grab his arm, drop my shoulder, and twist toward him in a move I’ve practiced a hundred times. A move designed to send him flying over my shoulder and onto his back.

Instead, he pivots gracefully and uses my own momentum to trap me.

“Like I said. Not going to happen. I don’t think Logan would appreciate you sacrificing yourself for him, and I’m not going to be the one he blames for it.” His eyes find mine for a moment and then flicker toward Logan, standing alone in the clearing, facing the Cursed One.

The monster howls, smoke gushing from its mouth.

“No!” I scream the word, straining against Ian’s grip, all thoughts of protecting Adam and Ian forgotten as the beast claws the ground and lowers its snout toward Logan.

Logan presses a lever on the top of the small box in his hands, and it emits a strange buzzing noise. The third button on the device is still tied down.

My breath is a sob of panic and despair as the beast shudders, lashing the fallen trees with its tail and sending sprays of kindling into the air.

“Go back.” Logan presses the lever again and raises his voice. “Go back!”

The Cursed One shakes itself, and its scales scrape together like metal rubbing against stone.

“Please,” I whisper. Ian crushes me against him until I can hardly breathe, but when I look at him, he’s staring at Logan with something like pain on his face.

Logan hits the button one more time, and the beast jerks backward. Coiling in on itself, it roars once more, strafing the ground in front of it with fire. The fallen trees burst into flame, hissing and popping, but the creature slithers over them, crushing them into splinters and extinguishing the fire. The earth trembles as the Cursed One dives back into the hole it created. Logan slowly lowers the device as the beast slips beneath the surface, its howl of rage fading as it tunnels down.

As the monster’s cry disappears, people creep from the surrounding forest to stare.

Jeremiah shuffles away from the tree he hid behind, his purple bow askew and his hat crushed in his hands as his eyes lock on the device Logan holds. An expression somewhere between dread and fascination washes over his face. Frankie struggles to his feet and clenches his big fists while he looks at the slim piece of gray metal as well.

Even Adam, standing next to me with his lips pressed into a tight line, stares at the device with hunger in his eyes.

“So he does have it. And now he’s proven himself to the doubters,” Ian says against my hair. He still holds me too tightly for comfort, and now that Logan is safe, I have time to deal with Ian.

“Let go of me,” I say. My voice shakes.

His grip eases. I step away from him as Adam leaves the shelter of the trees, calling for people to help him go find Thom and the wagon. Before I can rush to Logan’s side, though, Ian grabs my arm.

I glare at him. “I’m getting really tired of you—”

“But why didn’t he use it?” He sounds hurt and a little lost. His eyes are dark with the kind of pain that is rooted deep within me.

I stop trying to pull away. “What do you mean?”

“When the Commander used Carrington to attack us. When he was right
there
, easily in our reach, why didn’t Logan call the Cursed One and end it?”

I meet his gaze for a long moment while I search for the right words. “Because Carrington soldiers were there, and Logan doesn’t think they deserve to die because of the Commander. And because the last time we called the beast”—I swallow past the memories that choke me—“we couldn’t control it. I’m sure he didn’t want to risk our people again.”

“But you would’ve,” Ian says quietly, and my eyes snap to his. “You understand that Carrington chose its master, and that the soldiers are collateral damage. And if you had the opportunity to destroy the Commander, you wouldn’t stop to worry about whether you could control the beast. You’d risk anything to punish him. Even your own life.”

My skin tightens, my heart pounds, and the lie that I know should leave my lips—the one that will protect my secrets and keep up the pretense that I wouldn’t sacrifice everything I have for a chance to hurt the Commander—refuses to come.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” he asks, and this time I hear the desperate purpose that consumes him.

That consumes me.

Slowly, I nod.

“You’d go to any length to make the man responsible for your pain hurt, wouldn’t you?”

“As long as it doesn’t endanger the few people I love, yes.”

“Even if it cost your own life.”

“Yes.”

We lock eyes for a long moment, and something unspoken shivers in the air between us. He smiles, the sharp angles of his face transforming.

“So we understand each other,” he says.

“Apparently.”

“Who knew I’d have common ground with the mouthy redhead?” He winks.

I roll my eyes. “Who knew I’d have common ground with the camp flirt?”

He laughs. “You might try a little flirting. It would soften your image.”

“My image doesn’t need softening.”

“It does if you don’t want your enemies to see you coming.”

Now I’m the one who laughs. “It’s a little late for that.”

“But it’s not too late to finish this. Anyone who abuses his power and betrays his people must be brought to justice. No matter what.” He watches me carefully. “We could help each other.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him I don’t need help taking down the Commander, but I swallow the words, because he’s right. Two people working together toward a common goal are more effective than one.

Not that Logan isn’t already committed to bringing the Commander to justice, but he has lines he won’t cross. The only lines I won’t cross are the ones that would hurt Logan, Quinn, Willow, or Sylph.

And Logan has just proven that using the device is no longer a threat to us.

“What do you say, Rachel? If we have the opportunity, should we destroy the man who ruined our lives? Even if it means taking the device from Logan and using it ourselves?” He extends his hand as people brush past us to hurry onto the ruined field, clutching each other and talking in breathless, hurried gasps.

It’s just a backup plan. It doesn’t mean I don’t trust Logan. It doesn’t mean I’m not going to fight by his side to deliver justice. It’s just a piece of insurance in case something goes wrong.

In case Logan doesn’t capitalize on the opportunity when it’s in front of us.

I take his hand and shake it briefly. “If the Commander is in range, and Logan’s plan doesn’t work, you and I will kill the Commander.”

“Whatever it takes.”

I nod. “Whatever it takes.”

He squeezes my hand briefly and then lets it go. I weave my way past clumps of people, climb over ruined trees, and fight to reach Logan’s side, all while trying to shake the feeling that I’ve just done something that would disappoint the boy I love.

Chapter Eighteen

LOGAN

I
don’t call for us to make camp for the night until it’s nearly twilight. I wanted to put significant distance between us and the place of the Cursed One’s attack in case the beast returns to finish what it started. And I was looking for a location that could shelter us from the relentless wind. Wind that drove rain into our faces for most of the afternoon, and then whipped us dry as the sun steadily disappeared into the western horizon.

I find what I’m looking for at the base of a rock outcropping that blocks most of the wind and also seals off the western edge of camp from possible intruders. Not that we’ve seen anyone in the Wasteland since leaving Baalboden four days ago, but that doesn’t mean our luck will continue to hold.

Still, most of the survivors seem to feel like we’ve escaped the worst of our journey unscathed. We outwitted the Commander and left him far behind. We sent the Cursed One back to its lair without losing a single life. A sense of giddy triumph envelops the group. Children laugh and chase each other through the shelters while Jan, their assigned keeper, watches them with a light of hope in her eyes. A woman with wavy white hair and skin as wrinkled as a prune plays a violin she carried out of her home during the Cursed One’s rampage. The tune is lively and the notes swirl through the air, causing toes to tap until a few of the men gather up the courage to ask some of the women to dance.

I smile a little as I watch them, but the elation they feel won’t take root in me. I see too many worst case scenarios, too many ways the dangers of the Wasteland can still turn against us, to feel like celebrating.

The tall gray-white rock we’re camped beside is easily as high as Baalboden’s Wall. I feel better about our safety knowing that we have to keep watch in three directions instead of four, but the fact that most of my guards have no experience is a constant worry in the back of my mind.

So is the fact that Quinn and Willow have yet to return. That I don’t know where the Commander is. And that I can’t explain why the Cursed One attacked us today after nearly four days of safe travel. The fight between Ian and Adam wouldn’t have generated enough noise to attract the beast, especially when I had the third button on the device tied down. It’s a mystery, and that makes me nervous.

When Ian bows to a trio of girls and asks them all to dance with him at the same time, I shake my head and decide to work on the tech I’m building to track and destroy the Commander. Ducking inside my tent, I see a folded square of parchment on my bedroll and swear. I snatch it up and open it. The words
Payment is due
are scrawled across the parchment in thick, black letters.

I crumple the note in my fist and toss it to the corner of the tent. I have bigger things to worry about than whoever thinks it’s funny to leave cryptic notes in my shelter. Still, my worry over the sudden appearance of the Cursed One today mixes with irritation over this latest note and leaves me feeling on edge. I shove the canvas flap of my tent aside and find Elias standing a few yards away. He stares at me as I stride toward him.

“Did you see anyone go into my shelter?” I ask.

He shakes his head.

“Did
you
go into my shelter?” My voice promises swift retribution for him if he did, and he shakes his head faster.

“Then what are you doing standing out here instead of hanging around the campfire with everyone else?”

A pretty brunette who looks about Rachel’s age steps out of the tent beside Elias and joins him, her eyes glowing when he offers her his arm.

“Just waiting for Melanie,” Elias says, and they turn away from me before I can say another word.

Forget working on the tech. The restless energy coursing through me won’t let me sit quietly. I’ll walk the perimeter of the camp instead. I haven’t gone more than a few yards though, when Quinn and Willow, both carrying sacks of small game, step out of the trees.

“You’re back,” Frankie says, and he doesn’t sound welcoming. His eyes slide past the two Tree People as if he can’t see them. One more thing I’ll deal with when all of the life-and-death issues in front of me are resolved.

Brushing past Frankie, I say, “Good to see you both. Find anything?”

Quinn shakes his head and hands me his bag of game. “Found rabbits, some birds, and a small pig. Enough to feed us tonight, at least. We checked for pursuers, but there wasn’t any sign of Carrington. Either they’re too far back for us to find on a one-day tracking excursion, or we lost them at Baalboden.”

I turn to Willow, but she isn’t looking at me. Instead, she marches up to Frankie, elbows him aside, and drops her bag of game beside the cooking fire Jodi and Adam are busy building. Grabbing a knife from a sheath strapped to her thigh, she whips a rabbit’s body out of her bag, lays it on the ground, and skins it with quick, graceful movements.

“You’re making a mess right next to where people need to eat,” Frankie says.

Willow looks at him, her dark eyes glittering in the firelight. “If you can’t handle what goes into preparing meals in the Wasteland, go back to Baalboden.”

“I think he just means it’s not very ladylike for a girl to do . . . that.” A dark-haired girl who hangs on Ian’s arm during the day drifts closer to the fire and looks at Willow like she sees something that needs to be washed.