Defiance (12 page)

I can’t look at Rachel as we walk inside. The room feels charged with awkwardness, and I have absolutely no idea how to defuse it without just addressing my sudden, inexplicable attraction to her head on. Which I might do, if I could explain it. And if Oliver wasn’t in the room.

He claps me on the shoulder and uses his other arm to drag Rachel to his side. “It’s nice to see the two of you putting aside your differences and discovering how much you really have in common. Rachel, would you mind getting me some water?”

As Rachel hurries toward the kitchen, Oliver looks me in the eye. “You’re a good man, Logan McEntire. You’re the son I never had. I know I can trust you with her.”

The weight of his trust lands heavily on top of the trust already placed in me by Jared. “It won’t happen again,” I say, though I don’t know if I mean it.

He grins. “Oh, I wouldn’t go making promises you might not be able to keep. Just see that if you do decide she’s the one for you, you handle it properly.”

The one for me? I stare at Rachel as Oliver leaves my side and enters the kitchen, settling his bulk at my cluttered table. It was just an impulse. She’s beautiful and strong in a way I appreciate. Of course I find her attractive. It doesn’t mean I’m ready to Claim her. Or anyone else, for that matter.

Feeling unaccountably irritated by Oliver’s assumption, I follow him into the kitchen. Rachel settles on the floor, leaning against Oliver’s legs as he takes out a towel-wrapped bundle of sticky buns and hands it to her. I take the other chair. Time to set aside the baffling subject of my feelings for Rachel and concentrate on something far more straightforward: my plan to get Oliver out of Baalboden with us.

Before I can speak, though, Oliver says, “You two may be right. I think Jared’s still alive.”

“What?” I lean forward as Rachel’s eyes meet mine, full of shock and eager anticipation.

“Why do you think that?” she asks, setting the sticky buns on the table.

“I talked with some folks who were out trading with that band of highwaymen that got themselves killed by the Cursed One the other day. Word among the city-states is that your father is the most wanted man in the Wasteland.”

“Wanted for
what
?” I ask.

“For thievery and treason against the ruler of Rowansmark.”

Rachel sits up straight. “That’s a dirty lie! He never stole anything, and he wouldn’t commit treason, either.”

Oliver gives her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “I know that. Everyone who knows him knows that.”

“He didn’t steal that package from Rowansmark. Someone gave it to him,” she says.

“I’m guessing whoever gave him that package is the one who committed treason,” I say. “It’s possible the Commander managed to bribe or coerce a citizen of Rowansmark into stealing it for him, intending to use Jared as the delivery person.”

“Except Dad got suspicious, figured out what was inside—”

“And had the integrity and courage to keep it from the Commander,” I say.

“But why not return it to Rowansmark if it belongs to them?” she asks.

Oliver shakes his head. “I don’t know, but James Rowan is doing everything in his power to get it back. There’s a reward posted. A year’s supply of wheat, a head of cattle, and a lifetime appointment to Rowansmark’s Military Council for whoever brings in your father. Alive.”

Rachel and I are silent as the absurd generosity of the reward sinks in.

“No one’s claimed the reward yet, so unless he got caught by the Cursed One, he’s alive.” Oliver gives Rachel’s shoulder one more squeeze and heaves himself to his feet. “Thought I’d make a trip out here to tell you that.” He picks up the water set before him and downs it in five long gulps. “Best be on my way. Don’t want to get caught out after dark.”

Rachel launches herself at his chest, clinging to him. “Not yet. We have something to tell you.”

He looks at me.

“We’re leaving the day after Claiming.” I stand, wrapping my arm around his shoulders and hoping he understands that though I don’t know how to show it, I understand I owe him my life. If he hadn’t quietly defied the Commander’s decree and befriended a dirty little street rat, I wouldn’t be a man worthy of calling people like Jared, Rachel, and Oliver family. “We’re traveling the Wasteland to find Jared. And we’re bringing you with us.”

“I’m too old for journeys across the Wasteland.” Oliver wraps one arm around my middle as well. “I’m proud of you both. Jared would be too. Remember that, and stay alive.”

“But you have to come with us!” Rachel’s eyes are damp.

“We aren’t coming back,” I say. “We trust that Jared’s reasons for not delivering the package to Baalboden are sound, so we won’t be giving the Commander what he wants. When we don’t come back, he’ll take our treason out on you.”

“How am I supposed to hike across all that wilderness looking for Jared? I’ll just slow you down.”

“There’s another group of highwaymen scheduled to trade tomorrow. You’ll go out to trade as usual, but you won’t come back.”

“The guards sweep the area with Identidiscs,” he says.

“I have tech that can block those. You usually bring a donkey out with you to carry supplies to and from the trading area, don’t you?” I ask.

He nods.

“This time, beneath your baked goods, pack clothing, food, a torch, and a weapon. Trade only for items you can use in the Wasteland. At the guards’ shift change, mingle with the highwaymen’s wagons, hand out baked goods to deflect suspicion if you have to, and then just walk right into the Wasteland. We’ll join you the next day.”

“That’s downright brazen.” Oliver’s smile is full of pride.

“It will work. It has to.” I clamp my hand on his shoulder. “You’ll be invisible on the Identidisc. You can ride the donkey across the Wasteland to make the journey easier. We’ll leave you at one of the safe houses until we find Jared. Then we can all build a new life together somewhere else.”

His dark eyes meet mine, calm and assessing. “Seems a lot of risk for you two to take just for one old man.”

“You’re family. We aren’t leaving without you.”

“If you stay, he’ll kill you.” Rachel’s voice breaks, and Oliver hauls her close.

“Don’t cry, Rachel-girl. I aim to be a great-granddaddy. If that takes riding an ass across a godforsaken wilderness, I guess that’s what I’ll do.”

“Thank you.” I slip a magnetic wrist cuff into his hand. “Wear that over your wristmark on trading day and the Identidisc won’t be able to find you.”

Oliver holds on to us both a moment longer, and then he’s gone. The cottage feels empty without him.

T
he Claiming ceremony is tomorrow. By this point, Oliver should be mingling with the traders, getting close to disappearing into the Wasteland to wait for us. I finish the last piece of equipment I need to cover every conceivable contingency for our mission. Need to evade another tracker? Not a problem. Guards refuse to be left behind? I can handle that. Rachel and I get separated? I can find her anywhere. The Commander double-crosses us?

I almost hope he tries.

I have every avenue covered, every plan fleshed out, every piece of technology working as it should. The sense of triumph I feel at having an edge on the Commander and any other tracker he employs to go after Jared is a vicious light burning within me.

Rachel feels it too. I can tell by the battle light in her eyes as she double-checks our weapons while I make sure the list of last-minute provisions I want to purchase at Market today is in my inner cloak pocket.

We’ve avoided touching each other since our sparring match. I don’t know her reasons, but mine are clear: I’m attracted to her. I’ve always found her beautiful, but now I see beneath that to the courageous, passionate girl who would go against any foe to fight for those she loves. She’s … admirable.

But I’m not sure the craving I feel to run my hands through her hair and pull her to me can be accurately labeled admiration. Until I can get it under control, I keep my distance. I have to. I’m standing in Jared’s place. He trusts me.
She
trusts me, a fragile development at once terrifying and immensely gratifying.

I’m not ready to discuss my irrational inner thoughts, but still I want to reach out to her with something more than battle plans and Worst Case Scenarios. With that in mind, I look up from my Market list and say quietly, “We leave day after tomorrow, and we won’t be spending a lot of time together before then, so—”

“Why not?” She looks up from the weapons she’s packing.

“I have some last-minute supplies and information to gather, and this is your last chance to see Sylph. I thought you’d like to spend the day with her.”

Pain flashes across her face and she resumes packing the weapons.

“Anyway, I wanted to give you a compliment.”

Her eyes widen, flash to mine, and then look down again. “Why?”

“Because I realize, even though it doesn’t make logical sense given what I know of you, that you need softer words from me sometimes.”

Now she’s looking at me like I’ve suddenly sprouted two heads, and I feel like an idiot.

“You’re telling me you’re going to give me a compliment even though I shouldn’t logically need one?” Her voice doesn’t sound pleased.

I pick back through my words, but don’t see anything that could cause offense, so I nod. “Common sense would dictate a woman like you shouldn’t be dependent upon—”

“What is that supposed to mean?” She throws the bow and arrow set she’s holding onto the floor and stands, pink spots of color in her cheeks. “Why shouldn’t I need a few compliments?”

I have no idea how this conversation went awry so quickly. I just want to tell her something nice. Does it have to be a ten-minute discussion about motives and semantics?

Maybe if I enunciate clearly, she’ll understand. I lean toward her and say with exquisite clarity, “Because of the kind of woman you are.”

Speaking slowly solved absolutely nothing. She looks like she might pick up one of the weapons and throw it at my head. I feel more than a little irritated myself.

She speaks around gritted teeth. “And what kind of woman do you think I am, Logan McEntire?”

I snap right back at her. “Confident. Strong. Capable. Stunning. An equal partner in this endeavor in every sense of the word.”

The pink in her cheeks darkens, but instead of sparks, her eyes look soft and warm. I have no idea how a compliment delivered in anger can work that kind of magic with her, but I’m grateful.

“You think I’m stunning?” she asks, and suddenly I feel like the tunic laced at my throat is choking me.

“I didn’t say that.”

“Yes, you did,” she says softly, a tiny smile on her lips even as she refuses to meet my gaze.

Did I? I scroll back through the words I threw at her and realize she’s right. I did say
stunning
. Which, incidentally, isn’t a crime. Anyone looking at her would think the same.

I shrug and make sure I sound casual when I say, “I guess I did. Ready?” I pull my cloak over my shoulders and wait for her to call me on my words. To demand an explanation I’m not ready to give.

Instead, she says, “Let’s go.” Her voice sounds stilted and unnatural, but I let it go. I have no idea what else to say.

The tension between us lingers as we walk the dusty road into town with nothing but the early-morning sounds of farm animals and birds to keep us company in our silence.

The torch boys have already extinguished the streetlights in Center Square, and we pass the stage as workers scrub the wood and set up booths in preparation for tomorrow’s Claiming ceremony.

I’m grateful we’ll be leaving Baalboden before Rachel reaches Claiming age. The thought of standing behind her on the stage while a group of eager townsmen try to convince me to give her over to them forever makes me want to knock their heads together. Not because I can’t give Rachel to the right man for her. But I know every available bachelor in Baalboden, and while I’ve never really considered it before this moment, I’m quite confident none of them measure up to her.

We enter North Hub and arrive at Sylph’s house. Rachel barely says good-bye before heading inside. I plant myself on the road and wait until I see her enter the house before continuing on toward Lower Market.

Halfway there, I duck down a side street, take a short cut through an alley, and slide into the back entrance of the butcher’s, where the first of my black-market contacts waits to give me the most current information on Rowansmark and the search for Jared.

I’m going into the Wasteland armed to the teeth with knowledge, technology, and the kind of fierce tenacity the Commander always assumes no one owns but him.

I can’t wait to prove him wrong.

S
ylph, her mother, and her oldest brother are waiting for me in their main room. Sylph shoots me a quick grin as she puts on her cloak. “We’re going to get my final fitting at Madam Illiard’s North Hub shop. Can you believe the Claiming ceremony is tomorrow?”

She lingers over the word
tomorrow
as if her dreams are pinned to it. Maybe they are. I try to smile as she bounces next to me, chattering about her dress and the weather predictions for tomorrow’s ceremony, but it’s hard to pretend. Knowing I’m leaving day after tomorrow twists me up inside until I don’t know how to feel.

I want to stop wasting time. Stop lingering while somewhere out there, Dad is alone in the Wasteland. I also want to savor every precious moment I have with Sylph in case I never get the chance to see her again.

Sylph doesn’t notice my lack of response. We’ve fallen into step behind her mother and brother, and she’s whispering about her secret hope that Smithson West will Claim her. I listen with half an ear, nod at the appropriate times, and try to memorize everything I love about her while grief swells within me and makes it hard to breathe.

We’ve been friends since we shared a table at Life Skills, the few years of schooling deemed appropriate for a girl in Baalboden. We learned things like cooking, bargaining, sewing, and proper etiquette when out in public with our Protectors.