Green Jack (24 page)

“Most of my
life. Caradoc’s my uncle.”

“He is? I
didn’t think he was that old.”

“He’s not.” He
didn’t elaborate.

“Has he always
been a Greencoat too?”

“No.”

“When did
he---.”

“That’s his
story to tell, not mine.”

“Then tell me
yours.”

He wiped sweat
off his face with the side of his arm. “You know, when I suggested
this, it’s because you didn’t strike me as the chatty type.”

She thought of
Killian and the way he looked at her when she was pushing for
details. She had the sudden urge to draw him, in case she forgot
the tilt of his nose, the ironic slash of his eyebrows. She missed
him enough to tighten her hold on the rope until it scratched her
fingers, drawing blood. The pain helped.

Roarke didn’t
look at her, just kept working on the fence. “My mother tried to
wear the leaf mask when I was young.” He shrugged one shoulder but
didn’t say anything else.

She handed him
the next part of the rope, using her entire body to prop up the
next post. Sweat trickled down the small of her back. “But you’ve
never worn the mask? Never wanted to?”

“I prefer
fighting.”

She shot him a
look. “So do I.”

He
half-laughed. “Most Jacks like the chance not to have to fight for
everything.”

“I’m not like
most Jacks.”

“Believe me, I
know.”

The cedars and
pines towered over them, dappling the sunlight as it touched the
rosemary. “I like the trees and the quiet,” she admitted.
“Anything’s better than the City.” She stepped away from the
finished corner fence, splinters and rope burns on her fingertips.
“Roarke?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank
you.”

She walked away
before she could give in to the temptation to touch him. Not here,
not like this. Not when it might mean something.

Chapter
38

Jane

Jane had run
for an hour before spending twice that amount of time attacking
Nico with a staff. She’d practiced on her own just long enough to
form more painful blisters, not quite long enough to improve. Now
she felt rubbery and raw. Saffron leaned against the porch railing,
watching her wrap her hands. “You’re trying too hard.”

“I have to
prove myself,” Jane insisted quietly. The sun was hot and
intrusive, sticky as honey being poured between the tree branches.
She tried not to remember how it had gilded Caradoc’s face when he
looked at her and actually saw her.

“You don’t
actually.” Saffron grinned. “You’re with me, remember? And I have a
plant growing out of my head so apparently I’m gold.”

Jane had to
smile. “I think you’re getting used to it.”

“I had to pull
a burr out of my nostril this morning.” She sounded like she didn’t
care, which meant she cared too much. Jane hadn’t known her long,
but they’d already escaped certain death together. A lot. Some
friendships just started in fire and burned on.

“Well, you’re
getting used to Roarke, anyway.”

Saffron
groaned, pointing at Jane. “Don’t.”

She blinked
innocently. “Don’t what?”

“You know what.
You’re getting all starry-eyed with the romance crap.”

She laughed. “I
hope he reads you poetry.”

Saffron was
horrified. “That was just mean.” She nudged her. “I’m so
proud.”

Jane rubbed the
back of her neck with a towel. The memory of Caradoc’s knife
digging into the tattoo gave her an idea. She looked at Saffron
thoughtfully. “Got a minute?”

“For what?”

“I need you to
try and hit me.”

“I’m not
beating you up, Jane. You have enough bruises.”

“Just try. I
have an idea.”

She pushed off
the porch and circled her friend. “It’s a terrible idea, whatever
it is.”

Jane just
nodded. “Go.”

Saffron punched
her in the face.

Jane staggered
back, pain daggering up her jaw. Saffron lowered her hands. “What,
exactly is this supposed to prove?”

She massaged
her cheek. “Ouch. Try again.”

Saffron rolled
her eyes. “I wasn’t trying, Jane. I was doing. In case you hadn’t
noticed.”

Jane took a
deep breath, felt for the prickles of power under her eyelids.
Three breaths in, three breaths out, just as the Collegium
professors had taught her.
I am the earth where the seeds of
wisdom grow.

Saffron sighed,
as if she was the one being punched, and swung again. Jane jerked
back and her knuckles grazed her shoulder. “Better,” Saffron
approved. She swung again and again.

Jane followed
the pinpricks of light behind her eyes, the itch burning in her
legs, forcing her to move. She sidestepped an elbow aimed at her
nose. She avoided the fist careening toward her left kidney.
Saffron tried again, frustration turning her cheeks red. Jane
followed the steps to a dance she hadn’t learned yet. It continued
to work until Saffron kicked her in the thigh. She fell back into
the dirt but she was grinning through her bruises.

Saffron propped
her hands on her knees, leaning over to catch her breath. “What the
hell was that?”

“Numen,” Jane
replied, excited. “If I can predict the next strike, I can avoid
it.” She wiggled her jaw. “You hit like a girl.”

“Vicious and
precise?”

“Exactly.”

Saffron reached
a hand down to help her to her feet. “I think you’ve finally found
you’re fighting style.”

Something close
to excitement tingled in her belly. Was this how Saffron felt every
day? Walking through the world and knowing her worth, knowing that
she could handle whatever came her way? It was intoxicating,
invigorating.

“I’m getting a
drink,” Saffron darted into the cabin.

Numen continued
to pulse through Jane. Part of Jane knew she was moving, walking
silently between the cabins and the trees, eyes blind to the camp,
but tracking other movements. Her pupils went white, scaring most
of the Greencoats into scrambling out of her way. She heard birds,
the wind on the lake, footsteps.

She shot an arm
out, catching Livia in the throat. The other girl gagged and
stumbled back, attack interrupted before it had even properly
begun. Jane kept walking, climbing the steps to Caradoc’s cabin,
where few were invited. He rose from a chair, frowning. Beside him,
Roarke made a sound of surprise.

Jane lifted her
chin.

“Now,” she
said. “It has to be now.”

Chapter
39

Saffron

“Time to go,”
Jane insisted.

When Jane
wandered away, looking suddenly drunk, Saffron had followed. She
may or may not have paused to smirk at Livia. “What—whoa.” Jane’s
pupils were white as salt and old bones.

“Numen,”
Caradoc said softly.

“Time to go,”
Jane repeated. Saffron shuddered, waving her hand back and forth in
front of Jane’s face. “Stop that, Saf.”

“But the raid
was scheduled for tomorrow night,” Roarke said.

“Now.”

Caradoc just
looked at Roarke when he opened his mouth to keep arguing. “Can you
handle it?”

He snapped his
jaw closed and nodded curtly.

“I’m going
too,” Saffron said.

Caradoc handed
Roarke a stolen Protectorate rifle. “Green Jill’s don’t generally
go on raids.”

“This one
does.”

Roarke checked
the chamber of the gun. “Good luck, Caradoc.”

“You need me,”
Saffron insisted, reaching for throwing daggers before they could
stop her. It was rude to claim someone’s else’s weapons but she
didn’t care.

“And yet we’ve
managed fine without you for years.”

“’Fine’ is the
not the same as ‘well’,” she pointed out archly. She held up her
hands as placatingly as she knew how to—which wasn’t entirely
successful. She was pretty sure her conciliatory smile looked more
like a scowl. Caradoc only raised an eyebrow but at least he wasn’t
smirking like his nephew. “I can help,” she pressed. “Misdirection.
Lots of green stuff. And I can lead guards away. They won’t be able
to resist the idea of bringing in another Green Jill.”

“She has a
point actually,” Roarke said.

“And if you get
shot? Caradoc asked mildly. “If you die? What then?”

“Then you have
the leaf mask,” Saffron replied. “And someone more willing to wear
it.”

“Is this some
kind of suicide mission?” he asked sharply.

She waved that
away and reached for another knife. “If I go down, I go down
fighting. But no, that’s not what this is about.”

Caradoc watched
her for a long moment before glancing at Roarke. “Your raid, your
call.”

Roarke smirked
more. Saffron considered it the highest form of self-restraint that
she didn’t throat-punch him. He finally nodded. “Okay.”

She grinned,
adrenaline already blooming under her skin.

“You take
orders,” Caradoc cut in.

“Of
course.”

He grabbed her
wrist. “You take orders.” He repeated, unsmiling.

“No problem.”
She ignored Roarke’s snort of disbelief in favour of stuffing more
knives in every available pocket. She’d have liked a rifle or a gun
too but she had no idea how to use one. “Don’t let her fall on her
face,” Saffron tossed over her shoulder, leaving Jane staring
blindly.

Roarke took
Augusta, with her tattoos and tech knowledge, and the cook,
Kristoff. Saffron wasn’t sure what he could do besides cook stew,
but he was grizzled and scarred and managed to look deadly in an
apron, never mind a Protectorate uniform to match Augusta and
Roarke. “Same plan,” Roarke said “Stay low and stay quiet. This is
a raid, not a battle. We free the Jack and we get the hell
out.”

“Fall behind,
stay behind,” Kristoff agreed. “Standard raid rules.”

“Except for
you,” Roarke murmured behind Saffron. “We’d come back for you.”

As they left
the camp, Saffron studied a map of the farm Roarke had pulled from
his pocket. The main dome was in the centre, surrounded by smaller
domes, outbuildings, guards, barbed wire, and fences. “They’ll be
keeping him in the main dome, in a central pit,” he explained. “You
stay on this side. They’d expect us to attack to from the back so
we’ll go in through the front.”

It took over an
hour to walk to the edge of the Spirit Forest and another hour
after that to get to the farm. By the time they reached the stubble
of corn fields the clouds had gathered like a herd of grey horses
stampeding the starry sky. “Huh,” Kristoff grunted. “Little girl
was right.”

“Sweet.”
Augusta nodded. “The rain will cover us and explain the grid going
down when I cut the power.”

“Are you
giggling?” Roarke gaped at Saffron. “I didn’t even know you knew
how.”

She didn’t
mention she’d never giggled before in her life. She flipped a knife
between her fingers just to show off.

“Just come on,
Saffron the Stupendous.”

“How did you
know that was my sideshow name?”

“How could it
be anything else?”

The glass domes
glittered with a thousand raindrops. Roarke nodded to the guards,
two by a side entrance, three more around the back. Augusta and
Kristoff marched up to the front, rifles trained on them from
above. Barbed wire and electricity made Saffron think of the Wall
back home, and the bodies littered around it. She wasn’t sure what
to expect, but it wasn’t the front gates swinging open to admit
them. She sat back on her heels, stunned.

Roarked
grinned. “That’s Gareth. He’s one of us.”

“And one of
them?”

“But mostly one
of us. He’s saved our asses more than once.” He met her eyes. “Stay
covered.”

“I will.”

“I mean
it.”

She huffed a
breath. “Don’t be an old lady. Go on.”

Roarke loped
away, joining Augusta and Kristoff as they entered the farm
compound. Saffron couldn’t make out any details through the fence
and the silver rain beyond general movement. She scampered up a
tree, the branches moving to help her, and cradling her when she
stopped. Roarke and Kristoff were making their way to the main
dome, postures confident and alert. If she hadn’t known better
she’d have taken them for proper soldiers. Augusta veered left.

The wait was
long, boring and tense. Saffron had nothing to keep away the memory
of the soldier she’d killed, of the mask controlling her as
effectively as the Directorate, of worry over Oona and Killian. She
was almost glad when there was an ominous popping sound, followed
by a crackle of blue light along the fence. The lights in the
compound went out.

It wasn’t long
before a shadow burst out, running towards the shelter of the
woods. Saffron couldn’t tell who it was. She slid down the trunk
and eased out of the undergrowth. It was a woman she didn’t
recognize. She was all muscle and teeth. And Green Jill mask. “They
got you out!” Saffron exclaimed, amazed at the speed of the raid.
“Where are-.”

The Green Jill
didn’t answer, didn’t even pause. She did, however, punch Saffron
so hard in the stomach that she flew back several feet and knocked
into a tree. The branches tried to catch her, but they couldn’t do
anything for the burst of pain. She choked on a breath, Even Dahlia
didn’t hit that hard. “Bitch.” Saffron wheezed. The Green Jill was
already gone, vanished into the green darkness.

She’d left
behind two guards though.

Saffron pressed
back into the branches, willing them to grow leaves to cover her.
The grass shone in the rain, unfurling blades like tiny knives. The
tree sighed, leaves thickening.

It wasn’t
enough.

Or, conversely,
it was too much.