But then my ears ring, my eyes close, and darkness takes me.
Chapter Fifty-Seven
LOGAN
My sword slams against a tracker’s blade as I battle my way toward where I last saw Rachel. The smoke is lifting, shredding into long slices of gray, but I can’t see her. The man I’m fighting spins, blade slashing, and I parry his blow.
Easily.
Another slash. Another parry. Fighting him is like sparring with one of our newer guards. It takes very little effort on my part to keep him at bay.
A quick glance behind me shows that Adam, Frankie, Drake, and Nola are holding off the trackers easily as well. Which means they aren’t trying to kill us. They’re just trying to slow us down enough to let Ian get away.
“Rachel!” I yell her name and cough as acrid smoke burns my throat. The tracker lifts his sword for another attack, but I’m done playing cat and mouse. Turning on my heel, I run toward the southern corner of the square—toward where I last saw Rachel and Quinn.
I lunge forward, holding my cloak to my nose, but I can’t see more than a yard in front of me. The bell keeps clanging. Bodies brush past me in the smoky haze, but I can’t tell if they’re trackers or my own people. A hand grabs my cloak, and suddenly Willow is in my face, her dark eyes lit with fury.
“They’re gone.”
“Who’s gone?” I ask, though the terrible fear coursing through me is answer enough.
“Quinn, Rachel, and Ian.”
“The gate,” I say, and she doesn’t wait for more explanation.
The smoke is a thinning haze as we hurry out of the square. My people are all still standing, but most of the trackers are gone. Whether they left with Ian or just disappeared back into the depths of Lankenshire to keep an eye out for any perceived disloyalty toward Rowansmark, I have no idea.
We leap out of the square and onto the pale stone road that leads toward the gate and start running. It takes less than three minutes to race from the square to the gate. I spend the entire time alternately praying that Rachel is okay and thinking of terrible things to do to Ian.
We skid around the last curve of the spiraling road and find the gate locked. Coleman Pritchard, along with fifteen of his guards, stands in our way.
“Move,” Willow snaps.
He acts like he didn’t hear her.
“Did a tall boy about my age just come through the gate with a red-haired girl and a dark-haired boy?” I ask Coleman.
“No one’s come through this gate in over an hour,” he says, and there’s something heavy in his tone.
“They used the tunnels,” Willow says. “I know where those let out.” She turns back to Coleman and snarls, “Get out of our way.”
“I can’t do that,” he says.
“I’ll make it easy on you.” Willow nocks an arrow and whips it toward his face. “Move or die.”
“You can kill me, but that gate isn’t opening. We’re on lockdown. No one can open the gate except the triumvirate, now.”
“Lockdown? Why?” I grip my sword so hard it hurts. “We need out of that gate, Coleman. Ian is a killer, and he has the only people we can still call family.”
He nods as if he’s sympathetic, but there’s something dark in his eyes. Something that worries me.
“I’ll tell you why we’re on lockdown, Logan McEntire of Rowansmark.” He steps aside and gestures toward the gate. “Because you have yet another powerful enemy you neglected to tell us about, and now you’ve endangered all of Lankenshire.”
I step past him as the other guards part to let me through, and despair washes over me as I see the Commander’s army surrounding the city. It’s a sea of red uniforms mixed with the blue of Baalboden guards as far as the eye can see, and near the front, the Commander sits astride his horse, his face turned toward the gate.
“That man is really starting to get on my last nerve,” Willow says, and shifts her arrow to point through the bars of the gate at the distant Commander.
The Commander spurs his horse forward a few steps and shouts, “People of Lankenshire, this is Commander Jason Chase of Baalboden. I have no quarrel with you. Give me the Baalboden citizens you have sheltered within your walls, along with their belongings, and you will remain unharmed. You have until dawn. If you choose not to comply, we will attack you with intent to destroy.”
“You can give the Commander anything you want, but Logan McEntire and all of his belongings come with us.” The tracker with the dark skin and shaved head who first spoke to me in the square approaches the gate, flanked by two other trackers. He holds a folded sheet of parchment in his hand.
Coleman draws himself up straight and speaks with enough authority to rival Clarissa. “Logan McEntire, you are under arrest. You will go before the triumvirate by nightfall. They will decide what to do with you.” His voice leaves little doubt as to what he thinks they’ll do to someone who managed to invite enmity with their Rowansmark keepers and embroil them in a war with Carrington all in the space of one day.
“You can’t arrest him,” the tracker says, his voice full of baffled indignation. “We’re taking him. He’s wanted for crimes against Rowansmark.”
Coleman looks straight at the man. “Then you will be called as a witness when he goes before the triumvirate. You may be here to protect us from the tanniyn, but every person inside our wall is subject to our laws. Unless you wish to claim that your word is now law inside Lankenshire—which would, of course, potentially incite our thousands of people to protest and riot—you will stand aside and let me arrest this man. Your case against him will be heard by the triumvirate.”
All things being equal, I’d rather be taken into custody by the tracker, because at least his goal to force me to bring the device back to Rowansmark lines up with my goal to arrive at Rowansmark with a means to destroy Ian and rescue Rachel.
Actually, all things being equal, I’d rather not be taken into custody at all, but that isn’t an option.
The tracker sneers as if he smells something rotten, and steps toward me. Instantly, Coleman’s guards surround me, their swords gleaming beneath the sunlight. The tracker’s laugh seems to say that all the Lankenshire swords in the world couldn’t keep him from me if he truly wanted to take me.
I figure his orders are to keep me alive and unharmed until I lead him to the device, the booster pack, and any designs I’ve drawn based on their tech. Coleman’s orders are to keep me alive and unharmed until I can meet with the triumvirate and help them decide how to placate their Rowansmark keepers without inciting the army at their gate into declaring war against them.
The tracker shoves the folded parchment at me. “One last message from your brother. Better be sure to follow it to the letter. No one dies easily under pain atonement. Especially pretty little girls like your Rachel.”
I match his sneer with one of my own. Rachel is stronger than he thinks. She isn’t going to make the journey back to Rowansmark easy on Ian or the trackers helping him. She’ll slow him down, sabotage his progress, and do her best to make his life hell.
Ian won’t kill her, because she’s his only leverage against me, but he’ll wish with every fiber of his being that he could.
The tracker steps back as the guards begin dragging me toward the square. I look at Willow. “Go see Drake,” I say. “Make sure our people have enough food. If they don’t, go hunt for small game.”
The guards on either side of me look at me like I’ve suddenly lost my mind, but I can see that Willow understands I’m telling her to let Drake know what’s going on and then go retrieve the device.
“Oh, I don’t think so,” Coleman says from behind me. “She’s under arrest, too.”
“Why? She had nothing to do with this. She isn’t even from Baalboden.” Desperation sharpens my voice. I need her freedom. The only person left inside Lankenshire who knows how to get out of the city and who can help me rescue Rachel and Quinn is Willow.
“None of you are going anywhere until the triu
mvirate decides your fates.”
“No one decides my fate but me,” Willow says as guards surround her and begin pushing her back toward the square.
I meet her eyes and shake my head slightly as I see her hand tighten on her bow. Even if we fought our way free of these guards, we still couldn’t get the gate open without the triumvirate’s help. And we’d be immediately surrounded by trackers. We’d have gained nothing but a certain verdict against us or Rowansmark watchdogs making it impossible to get to the device without an audience. We’ll have to go peacefully and hope that what I can offer—a way to fight Rowansmark’s tyranny and an end to the Commander—will be enough to secure our freedom.
If it isn’t, then Willow can do what Willow does best, and we’ll either fight our way out of the city or die trying.
The jail cell is in the basement of the council building. The stone floors are dark gray, and the bars are the same gleaming ebony as the gate. Our weapons are taken from us. Willow is placed in the cell next to mine, and she starts pacing its length the second the door clicks shut behind her.
I step into my cell, hear the door slam shut, and unfold the paper Ian left for me.
Bring the controller, along with all modifications, to Rowansmark or she will receive the punishment you deserve. I guarantee she won’t survive it.
My hands shake as I sink onto the single stone bench within the cell. Rachel is badly wounded and at the mercy of a madman who has no qualms hurting innocents to get his way. The Commander and his borrowed army are camped outside the city’s wall with a bounty on my head that I doubt Lankenshire can afford to refuse.
And I’m locked inside this cell, trusting the fates of everyone I love to the wisdom of three people I know nothing about.
Best Case Scenario: The triumvirate agrees to my bargain and sets me free to kill the Commander and rescue Rachel.
Worst Case Scenario: Everything else.
The wound of Jared’s betrayal bleeds somewhere within me. The weight of it—the weight of all of this—sinks into my bones, an ache that rubs me raw from the inside out. Once, I was Logan McEntire—loved by the mother who gave her life to save me, rescued by the baker whose heart was bigger than his fear, trusted by the most respected courier in Baalboden, and loved by the girl whose honesty and courage were a beacon of hope in my darkest hour.
Now I’m Logan McEntire—raised on lies, kept alive until I proved useful, and locked away from my own story like a fool who cannot be trusted.
I can’t demand explanations from my mother. I can’t ask Oliver if he saved me for love, or if he was charged with keeping me fed until my father held up his end of the bargain. I can’t confront Jared and ask him how he could look into my eyes and never tell me the truth.
The only person left who might know the answers is the girl I love, and she’s gone.
For the first time since I lay on the filthy cobblestones beside my mother’s lifeless body thirteen years ago, I am Logan McEntire—alone.
Taking a deep breath, I ignore the ache of betrayal within me and focus on what I can control. I don’t have any solid exit strategies. I’m weaponless, tech-less, and I can’t communicate with any of my people except Willow. A carefully reasoned plan full of logic and sound science isn’t in my reach.
We have until nightfall before we see the triumvirate. That’s more than enough time to put together a backup plan that hinges on sheer audacity and dumb luck. The odds might be stacked against us, but I have Willow. And I have the loyalty of the Baalboden survivors.
Plus, I once promised Rachel that I would always find her. Always protect her.
I refuse to fail.
Folding Ian’s last message into a small square, I shove it into my cloak pocket and begin to plan.
Chapter Fifty-Eight
RACHEL
Sunlight paints the backs of my eyelids red and sends a piercing shaft of pain straight into my brain. I try to lift my hands to push at the ache, but my arms refuse to move.
“Rachel,” a voice says in a mocking, singsong rhythm. “I know you’re in there. Come out and play.” Something hard slaps my cheek, and the pain in my head doubles.
The familiar voice has lost its flirtatious charm, and the truth sinks into me like poison.
Ian.
Ian blew up the smoke bomb, dragged me through a side street, knocked me out, and . . . and what? I force my eyes to open, and immediately squint against the daylight that floods my head with agony.
“Oh, good. You’re awake,” he says, and I see him, crouched before me, his eyes glowing with hate like it’s the only thing keeping him alive.
I turn away and scan my surroundings. I’m inside the Wasteland, propped up against a thick oak in the middle of a vast sea of trees packed so close I can barely see the sky. Nowhere near the path. Probably nowhere near Lankenshire if Ian’s smart. Logan will already be looking for me. And when he finds me . . . I meet Ian’s eyes and bare my teeth in a smile.
“Logan will move heaven and earth to find me.”
“Oh, I’m counting on it,” he says, and a stray beam of sunlight gleams off the thick, double-edged knife in his hands. He flips the blade around to face me and cocks his head.
“We’re going to be traveling a long way, Rachel. Logan has his hands full with Carrington at the moment, but I have no doubt he’ll outsmart them somehow. And then he’ll come to ransom you from Rowansmark with the device, just like my father tried to ransom him.”
“You’re crazy.”
The knife plunges down, slicing through my bandage and digging into burned flesh. I scream as raw agony blisters my arm. Ian watches me with a terrible desperation in his eyes.
When he pulls the knife away, blood bubbles out of the jagged wound and pours over my hand.
He grabs my chin and tilts my face toward him. “You’ll watch your mouth.”
I spit on him.
The knife flashes, and the pain hits, and I scream until my throat fills with tears. Until the agony twists my stomach so that I gag.
“It’s a long journey to Rowansmark,” he says. “And I can inflict a lot of pain.”
My voice is hoarse as I say, “I can take it.”
He smiles, and something inside of me trembles. “There are all kinds of pain, Rachel.”
“You can’t break me,” I say, and I mean it. I’ve already been through hell, and I know I can survive it. I can rise above it. I might break for a little while, but I won’t stay broken forever.
“It will be a delight to prove you wrong,” he says, and yanks me to my feet by the rope around my wrists. “Now start walking. We have a lot of ground to cover before my spineless brother figures out how to bypass the Carrington army that surrounds him.”
“Let her go.”
I turn and see Quinn a few yards from us, lethal fury spilling off of him in waves. Blood pours down the side of his face from a gash in his head, and he sways a little as he stands.
“That’s quite a wound,” Ian says, and smiles. “Almost like someone kicked you in the head. I was actually trying to kill you. Pity.”
“You’ll have to try harder,” Quinn says.
Ian bows, his hands fluttering, and I see a second knife slide out of a wrist sheath and into his hand. The blades are dark gray metal and seem to absorb the sunlight that filters in past the canopy of leaves above us.
“Where did you get those weapons?” I ask, and pressure builds in my chest as the answer comes to me even before the pair of Rowansmark trackers step out of the trees behind us.
That’s going to making catching Ian off guard and killing him a bit more difficult.
“The same place I got all that white phosphorous. And the poison. And the smoke bombs. You didn’t really think I’d come all this way to recover stolen Rowansmark property and neglect to bring a pair of law enforcers and a wagonload of supplies with me, did you?”
We’re at a disadvantage. Ian’s armed. The trackers are armed. And all three are expert killers. I’m inju
red and tied up with rope, my weapons gone. And Quinn, who doesn’t want to be a weapon any longer, is barely able to stay on his feet.
“It’s okay,” I say to Quinn, because he can’t save me, and I don’t want him to try. I want him to live. Go back to Logan and Willow and live.
The trackers draw their swords. Ian flips both knives around in his palms. And Quinn takes a step toward them.
“Quinn.”
“She knows you can’t save her,” Ian says softly. “You can’t even save yourself.”
“I don’t want to save myself.”
My throat closes, and I whisper, “Quinn, please. Go back.”
“Oh yes, Quinn. Go back. Obey the girl. That’s all you do anyway, right? Obey others?” Ian’s smile is dipped in venom as he moves forward, a tracker on either side.
Quinn looks at me. “I’m going to do the right thing.”
“No.” Tears streak down my face, and I jerk against the rope that holds me.
“Sometimes the right thing costs us the biggest piece of ourselves, but it still has to be done.” He smiles at me, and there’s peace on his face.
He turns to Ian, and the feral rage comes back. “Pretty pathetic that you can’t beat me without the help of not one, but two trackers.” His voice mocks. “If I’m such a whipped dog, what does that make you?”
Ian snarls, and I start grasping at straws. If we separate the three, if Quinn only has to take on one at a time, he has a chance. The only way to separate them is to push Ian past logic and into rage.
“He’s crazy,” I say to Quinn. “Stark, raving mad.”
Ian hisses and turns as if to teach me a lesson.
“Yes,” Quinn says with soft menace. “He’s stark, raving mad. No wonder he needs their help.”
The trackers move toward Quinn, but Ian waves them off, his face purple with rage, his eyes pits of miserable hate. And then he lunges for Quinn, his knives slashing.
Quinn spins, strikes Ian in the face as he passes, and then drops into a crouch. Blood flows down his arm. Ian must have cut him as he passed.