Deception (2 page)

The words have barely left my mouth when Ian, another boy my age who trains with the sparring group, steps away from the wagon he’d been leaning on. The morning sun carves deep shadows beneath his cheekbones. “Why would Rowansmark do that?”

“Because James Rowan thinks the Commander stole a very important piece of tech. He won’t stop until he gets it back,” I say, and catch myself reaching toward the device strapped to my chest beneath my tunic.

“Why not just make another one? What a waste of manpower,” Adam says.

“And let a theft go unpunished?” Ian shakes his head. “You don’t know much about Rowansmark, do you?”

No, he doesn’t. Most of us don’t. Other than Rachel, I don’t know anyone in our group who’s been to Rowansmark.

“And you do?” I ask Ian.

He shrugs. “I know what I learned in school, just like everyone else.”

Since the Commander wouldn’t allow me to attend school, I have no answer for that.

“It’s a stain on their honor,” Rachel says from beside the food wagon. “Another city-state successfully stole one of their inventions and refuses to return it. Their honor can’t be redeemed until the tech is returned and the thief pays the price for his crime.”

“Plus, they may not want anyone else to be able to copy their design,” Elias, a young man who often helps guard the camp, says.

I make sure my next words are very clear. “Which is another reason why we can’t stay here. The Commander wants to copy their design, and he’s convinced I have the stolen tech. We already know the Commander allows nothing to stand in the way of what he wants. I don’t know where he went or if he’s called in a favor from one of his southeastern allies, but I do know that he won’t let this go.”

I sweep the crowd with my gaze. “The only reason we didn’t leave earlier is because those who were injured in the fire weren’t well enough to travel. And because we needed enough time to find a way for us to escape these ruins without leaving a trail.”

“Where will we go?”

“How on earth can we travel without leaving a trail?”

“Won’t we be killed in the Wasteland?”

The questions fly at me from every corner of the clearing, and I raise my voice. “We’re going north. As for traveling without leaving a trail . . .” I look at Drake, Frankie, and Thom—the burly owner of Thom’s Tankard, who never has much to say but who silently guards my back with a steadfast loyalty I feel sure I haven’t earned—then gaze out at the survivors again. “With the help of a handful of men, I’ve been working on that. We’re digging a tunnel from the compound’s basement as far into the northern Wasteland as we can get before surfacing. By traveling underground for at least a thousand yards, we’ll be impossible to track. It will be like we just vanished off the face of the earth.”

“We can’t travel underground,” a man near Adam shouts. “We’ll be killed by the Cursed One.”

“I can keep us safe.”

More murmuring, more questions, more complaints from the crowd. I grit my teeth and feel an unwelcome stab of understanding for the Commander’s absolute refusal to entertain any discussion on his decisions. Trying to get one hundred fifty-seven opinionated people to agree on a course of action is harder than trying to herd a bunch of fighting tomcats out of an alley.

“Listen to me. Rowansmark is coming for us from the south. The Commander will be coming from the east. A river cuts us off to the west. North is the only logical choice. We’ll travel to Lankenshire. They have no alliances with the Commander or Rowansmark. We’ll try to secure an alliance of our own with them.”

“And if we can’t?” Ian asks, and several heads nod in agreement.

“I think once they see what we bring to the table, they’re going to want us on their side.”

Ian laughs. “A tiny remnant of survivors with barely enough skill to find food and water? Why should they extend us any kind of protection?”

I take a deep breath. “Because we have the tech that was stolen from Rowansmark, and it will be worth a small fortune to another city-state.”

I let the words fill the clearing. Let my voice ring out so no one doubts that we have to leave before our enemies arrive and that I can keep us safe while we travel. Ian stares at me in silence, and I turn to find the rest of the group staring at me as well.

“Shouldn’t we give it back?” someone asks.

Others murmur their agreement, and suddenly I’ve had
enough
.

I straighten my spine and speak as forcefully as possible. “That piece of tech is going to keep us safe as we cross the Wasteland. And it’s our only leverage for creating a new alliance. Besides, who would we give it to? To the Commander, who has already killed innocent people in his efforts to get his hands on it? He’d abuse the power in this tech just like he abuses everything else he touches. To Rowansmark? That would be giving them unlimited power over every other city-state. No one could stop them.”

“What do you mean?” Adam asks.

“The tech the Commander tried to steal from Rowansmark is a device that can call and control the Cursed One,” Rachel says, her voice cold, her blue eyes sharp. “Who knows how many of those they’ve created? If we give it back, then we voluntarily give Rowansmark the power to obliterate any city whose leader falls out of favor with James Rowan. Or to obliterate
us
.”

I nod. “But if we keep it, we can protect ourselves from the Cursed One while traveling through the Wasteland, and we can prove to other city-states that Rowansmark is a true threat. And given enough time, I can duplicate it so that our new allies aren’t defenseless.”

“That’s your plan?” Ian asks. “Duplicate stolen technology and turn it against Rowansmark?” There’s a curious intensity to his voice.

“Yes.” I don’t try to justify myself. I don’t have that luxury. I have one hundred fifty-seven people to keep safe, and two power-hungry leaders to thwart. I’ll do what I must.

“Why didn’t you use it?” Adam asks, and the pain in his voice echoes the pain inside of me. “If you have the tech, why didn’t you save Baalboden when the Cursed One tunneled under the Wall?”

“I tried. The device malfunctioned.” Before the murmurs can start up again, I throw a hand into the air, palm out, and say, “I’ve fixed the problem. I can’t turn back time and save our city, but I can keep us safe until we make a new alliance. Our only other choice is to sit here and wait for either the Commander or Rowansmark to destroy us. I’m not willing to do that.”

The people whisper and shift closer together, but no one offers another argument.

“We leave in two days. Sooner if we can manage. Drake, Nola, and Thom are in charge of packing up our supplies, loading the wagons, and completing the tunnel. If they ask for your help, you will give it to them.” I wait a beat, but no one questions me. “We’ll need a map of the northern territories, especially the road to Lankenshire. Has anyone been there?”

A voice speaks up from the middle of the crowd. “Many times. It’s about an eighteen-day journey. Maybe twenty with a group our size.”

I glance at the speaker, a short, weathered man with wispy gray hair and a brilliant purple cloth tied in a bow at his neck. He crushes a battered hat between fingers as brown and bent as twigs as he meets my gaze.

“Jeremiah Krunkel, sir. Head groom to the Commander for nigh unto thirty years. Done my fair share of travel.”

I stare him down. “Thirty years of loyal service to the Commander. Why not leave with the others three days ago and seek asylum at one of the southeastern city-states? Why follow me?”

Jeremiah’s pale eyes lock onto mine. “Figured thirty years of brutality was more than any man should have to bear.”

“Fair enough. Can you draw me a map?”

Jeremiah stands and shoves his hat onto his head. His fingers curl and twist like hairs held too close to a fire. “Have a bit of trouble holding a quill these days, but I’ll manage.”

“There are drawing supplies inside the compound. Meet me there in twenty minutes, and I’ll show you.” I look at the rest of the crowd. “We’re going out through the tunnel. I’ll collapse the basement ceiling in the compound to cover our tracks. It will be like we simply vanished. Until then, though, we have two days and a lot of work to do. Let’s get started.”

As the crowd slowly disperses, I gaze out past the city’s Wall at the vast expanse of the Wasteland that stands between us and safety.

Best Case Scenario: Everything runs smoothly, and we’re able to leave within the next two days without anyone realizing where we’ve gone.

Worst Case Scenario: Rowansmark or the Commander arrives before we leave, and I’m forced to flee across the Wasteland with a group of untrained, inexperienced men, women, and children while an army closes in behind us.

Because I’ve never once known anything to go according to plan, I dismiss the group and then head to my tent, where my pack of salvaged tech supplies beckons to me. I might put most of my faith in the tunnel, Rowansmark’s tech, and the steadily improving fighting abilities of those who are training each morning, but it never hurts to have a backup plan.

Just in case.

Chapter Two

RACHEL

A
fter Logan’s speech, I approach the training ground, located fifteen yards away from the first line of tents that mark our camp. Willow is already waiting for me, her olive skin glowing in the sun. The rest of the survivors are hurrying toward their various job assignments, casting furtive glances at the distant Wall that surrounds Baalboden as if wondering when Rowansmark might arrive to claim their stolen tech.

Quinn, Willow’s older brother, weaves around the scattering of people walking through this row of shelters, his movements graceful and controlled. I stop at the edge of the training ground and wait for him. His dark hair has grown past his shoulders, but unlike Willow, he doesn’t seem to care about restraining it before our practice sessions. He still wears the leather breeches and rough-spun tunic of the Tree Village that declared him an outcast before he met up with me in the Wasteland to fulfill my father’s last wish.

“I heard you screaming in your sleep last night,” he says as he walks up to me. His voice is as calm and emotionless as always. “I was walking past your tent after my guard shift.”

I glare at him. “What, no ‘hello’? No small talk? Just straight into things that are none of your business?”

“Rachel.” His tone is gentle but unyielding. “We’re friends. How is it none of my business?”

I sigh. “They’re just nightmares. They’ll pass.”

“Not until you face what causes them.”

There’s a glimmer of pain buried in his words, but I have to search to find it. I used to hate the way Quinn always holds himself under such tight control. Especially after he told me that, like me, he’d killed a man he wasn’t sure deserved it. Back then, fury and guilt burned inside me with equal strength, and I couldn’t help but scorch everything I touched.

But fires only burn until you starve them for fuel. And the ashes of my fury are as cold and silent as the streets of Lower Market.

“I’ll face what causes my nightmares as soon as we drop all these people off at Lankenshire and I can search for the Commander without risking their lives.” My lips feel stiff with cold, though the morning is warm. It’s like the icy silence that swallowed the grief of losing Oliver, my father, and my city is leeching the warmth from my skin. I walk toward the group waiting on the practice field without a backward glance while the silence inside of me shivers.

A breeze lifts silvery bits of ash from the wreckage behind us and slaps us in the face with grit as the twenty-three survivors who’ve faithfully attended every practice session spread out on the field. A pile of salvaged knives and swords lies to my right, and a stack of practice sticks fashioned from tree limbs is on my left. A few have reached the point where they can train with real weapons, but most are still using the practice sticks.

I clear my throat, and twenty-three pairs of eyes lock on me. My best friend, Sylph, is here, her curly dark hair tied back with rope, along with her new husband, Smithson. Jodi, a small blonde girl I recognize from my few years at Life Skills, the domestic arts class all Baalboden girls attended in place of a real education, stands next to Thom, who must’ve found someone to take his place in the tunnel in order to attend this session. A small knot of boys, most of them younger than me, stand close to Willow, eyeing her hopefully. Ian stands near her as well, the sun painting his brown hair gold as he flashes a charming smile in her direction whenever she makes eye contact. Most of the girls in camp melt when Ian aims one of his smiles at them. Willow is a notable exception.

Another boy elbows his way to the front of the pack, and I roll my eyes. If we could get the rest of the survivors as interested in Willow’s
instruction
, we’d have a battalion full of trained soldiers in no time.

“Are we going to get started, or what?” someone asks.

I look past Thom and see Adam. Bruises mar his golden skin, and his dark eyes glare into mine. He’d be almost pretty if someone hadn’t recently used him as a punching bag.

“Get in another fight?” I ask him.