The Gender Lie

  I made my way down several rows before taking a left turn down one and moving halfway along it. The ramp was already extended, waiting for me, and a guard was standing at the end of it. I nodded to him as I slowly moved forward.

  “Sorry I’m late,” I said to him. “I’m still injured so I’m a bit slow.”

  The guard was an older man whom I vaguely recognized from one of Violet’s many introductions. He had a cut on his head that was still healing, and it took me a second to remember this was Henrik, the man who had accidentally triggered Violet’s brother.

  “Henrik, right?”

  The older man nodded, giving me a tight smile behind his beard. “Indeed I am.”

  I nodded to the cell. “She giving you any trouble?”

  Henrik chuckled and shook his head. “Nah. She’s all right. I just wish…” he faltered, and I tilted my head to one side.

  “What?” I asked.

  Henrik waved a hand and shook his head. “Never mind. Not my place. You’re free to go in, Mr. Croft.”

  I hesitated, torn between curiosity and going inside. After a moment, I chose to head inside, clapping Henrik on the shoulder as I passed by—I couldn’t make a man talk if he didn’t want to.

  I slowly moved up the ramp, taking my sweet time, and then ducked into the room, practically collapsing on the floor as I landed. Sighing, I massaged my thighs and looked at Ms. Dale.

  She had raised her head from where her arms were folded on her knees and gave me a surprised look.

  “Patrian,” she said in greeting, and for some reason, I smiled.

  “Matrian,” I replied, and she smiled in return.

  “What brings you to my humble abode?” she asked.

  I reached into my pocket and dug out my handheld, tossing it to her. She caught it, her gaze narrowing on me before turning to the patient files I had loaded on there.

  “What’s this?” she asked, scrolling through the files.

  “A job, if you want to get out of this cell,” I said.

  Ms. Dale scoffed and shook her head, tossing the handheld back to me. “Desmond would never agree to that,” she announced.

  I frowned. “So you know Desmond well, huh?”

  She shot me a contemplative look. “You could say that. Did she really give you permission to let me out of this cage?”

  I shrugged. “Kind of—you’ll still be in chains and have an armed escort at all times, but yeah.”

  She scoffed again ruefully. “Interesting. How did you get her to agree to it, and why did you ask for me?”

  I rolled my lips between my teeth, rubbing the stubble on my jaw while I contemplated her question. “It wasn’t easy, but Violet helped convince her. And I asked for you, because I think I can trust you. I want you to help me train these boys.”

  Ms. Dale rolled her eyes and shook her head. “I’m not going to do that. If it were girls, maybe, but boys?”

  I shot a sharp look at her, suddenly feeling extremely angry. “Really, Melissa? You’re going to tow Matrian lines right now? Do I need to remind you of our little conversation in that torture chamber, before I pumped myself with adrenaline?”

  Ms. Dale paled and shook her head, but I pressed on, my anger getting the better of me. “Maybe I should go get Violet, and tell her about your role in selecting her brother as a candidate for this place. How you personally rigged his test for certain failure.”

  I knew I should feel bad about holding this over her, but to be honest, I was still bitter about it, and the need to hide it from Violet. When Ms. Dale had confessed this to me during our private meeting soon after we first arrived in the facility, she had done so out of a sense of guilt, at learning from the twins what this facility was. I saw her guilt, which was why I had to keep it from Violet. She would probably kill Ms. Dale without thinking about it, and while I’d understand her fury, I also had to remind myself that she had killed someone to keep Violet safe. It was the only reason I was still keeping Ms. Dale’s secret, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t use it to extort her.

  She darted forward and her hand reached out, striking me hard across the face. “How dare you,” she hissed. “I was doing what I had been ordered to do—test Violet’s loyalty to Matrus, to see if she was spy material. I didn’t know she would react the way that she did, and I certainly didn’t understand the full scope of what went on in this facility.”

  I rubbed my cheek from where she had struck me and met her gaze. “You know, you’re in a rare position to actually do something to make up for all of the wrongs you have caused these boys. I suggest you take it.”

  She settled back on her rear, folding her legs in front of her. I watched her scowl lessen as her anger drained, and she lowered her head until her chin almost touched her collarbone.

  I waited.

  “How do you do it?” she asked suddenly, looking back up at me.

  I frowned, not following her meaning.

  “How do you… I don’t know… always see things in the right light? Why is your moral compass so much better than mine?”

  I widened my eyes. “I, uh, don’t know. Honestly… sometimes I find myself wondering if it is so easy,” I replied, my mind drifting back to the argument with Violet. “Even Violet, she…” My voice trailed off, and I immediately regretting mentioning Violet’s name. I wasn’t in the mood to talk about her with Ms. Dale—not yet. But it was too late.

  Ms. Dale’s expression had turned curious. “So, this… wondering of yours has something to do with Ms. Bates?”

  I saw no choice but to nod.

  Ms. Dale leaned back. “Well, I’m not a relationship counselor, Mr. Croft… Take it up with her.”

  I snorted. “First of all, Melissa, I would never come to you for dating advice. Secondly, it’s more than just Violet… It’s about Desmond. And… how… Violet is taking to her ideas.”

  There was a flash of something across Ms. Dale’s face, so fast and imperceptible that I would’ve missed it, had it not been for our interrogation session after arriving at the facility.

  “You know something,” I accused.

  “I really hate that you can read me so well,” she muttered. “But you’re right. And if Desmond Bertrand has her hooks in Violet, things are about to get incredibly dangerous for you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Ms. Dale wet her lower lip. “I know you don’t think much of me, but believe me when I say that Desmond is far more insidious.”

  “How do you know that?”

  She gave me a dark smile. “Because I was once her pupil, Mr. Croft.”

  I blinked and leaned back, absorbing that tidbit of information. “I see.”

  Ms. Dale scoffed and rubbed her fingers together. “No, you really don’t. Desmond…” She shook her head. “I… I can’t explain it.”

  I shot her a look and she raised her arms in frustration. “It’s been decades since I thought she died... Now she’s up here, running a rebel faction? She might not even be the same person she used to be,” she said.

  “What kind of person was she?”

  Ms. Dale leaned forward, running the palms of her hand over her pants. “Desmond had this way of making you think, believe, that you were special. She could make you forget parts of yourself, and you don’t even realize that they’re missing until, suddenly, you’ve crossed a line you would never have crossed otherwise. She was like a virus, one that… gave you what you wanted, made you see what you wanted to see, while slowly manipulating you into a position that gave her the best advantage. She used to prey on vulnerability, using it to get you to do something that fulfilled her agenda, and then discarded you when you become of no further use. But Viggo—Mr. Croft—that was over twenty years ago. I have no idea who she is now, because in all honesty, the Desmond Bertrand I knew would never have betrayed Matrus.”

  I frowned again. “Are you saying that she’s changed?”

  Ms. Dale gave a shrug. “I’m saying I don’t know who she is now.”

&n
bsp; I blew out a breath and cracked my neck before we both fell into silence. Eventually I murmured, “Well, let’s dwell on that later. For now… can I expect you tomorrow?”

  Ms. Dale looked at me and nodded slowly. “Sure,” she replied and I smiled.

  I stood up and inclined my head to her. “Let me know if there’s anything you need, all right? I’ll make sure it gets brought down to you.”

  I moved through the door, pausing as I heard her soft thank you follow me out of the room. I turned around, offered her another smile, and then hit the button to close the door, sealing her inside.

  28

  Violet

  I felt awful. It had been forty-eight hours since my argument with Viggo, and we still hadn’t spoken about it. A part of me regretted how adamantly I had come down on him. Actually, all of me regretted it. Yet a part of me still felt upset that he hadn’t at least considered the other side of the argument.

  Living together had been… difficult. We barely spoke more than two words to each other, and it felt like everything we did was behind a veiled stand-off. It was frustrating. I had opened my mouth at least half a dozen times to bring it up, but each time I did, I reminded myself that Viggo had already made it clear to me that he wouldn’t change his mind.

  It wasn’t as if I hadn’t considered the same things he had. I still had a family in Patrus, like I’d told him. I remembered the girl, Josefine, from Merrymount. I thought of Mrs. Connelly, the kind old woman at the orphanage who had taken Tim and me in after our mother died, and all the other kids she looked after.

  Face after face flashed in my mind’s eye, reminding me that Matrus and Patrus weren’t just ideals founded on misandry and misogyny—they were people. And in war, it was the people who suffered, not the ideals.

  I knew Desmond’s plan involved a lot of collateral death, and it weighed heavily on me, threatening to further taint my soul with the dark stain of blood. I kept asking myself how could I support her in such a plan. There had to be a better way, one that didn’t involve killing the remnants of humanity, and I really believed that the Liberators should be above that. They were supposed to be freeing the people of the lies fed to them by the government, not getting them killed.

  But then cold hard reality set in, and I was forced to realize an uncomfortable truth: There was no good way to fix this problem without a regime change, and there weren’t many ways of making that happen. Viggo’s idea was too optimistic and left Matrus exposed to violence from Patrus. People would die, despite best intentions. Desmond faced the body count head on, acknowledging the toll her method would take, and pushing forward anyway. I couldn’t see a third option that would marry the two ideas, and it bothered me.

  I rubbed my forehead and stepped through the doorframe that separated me from the training room. Viggo had been up for hours. Desmond had selected the next batch of boys to start training, and the new schedule had sent him into a scramble, trying to come up with how to make it work. He came up with a system where the boys from the first group taught the second group what they had learned, making them responsible for the new group. Today was a trial run, and I was looking forward to seeing how it went.

  I leaned against a wall at the back and watched Viggo as he monitored the training and taught his own lessons for the day.

  My mind drifted toward the oncoming night and I closed my eyes, dreading it for what it had become. At first, sharing a room with Viggo had been an exciting prospect, to say the least, but now… with this rift between us? I just longed for him to pull me into his arms and reassure me that we were all right. Without that, I felt anxious and barely slept. I hated it.

  Viggo wasn’t faring much better, given the bags under his eyes. He was sitting with several of the boys, engaging them in conversation. His green eyes flicked over to me, and I bit my lower lip, meeting his gaze. I held my breath, searching for some indication that he was willing to talk to me, or that he recognized I was there to talk, but then his eyes moved away and back to the circle.

  I frowned, a moment of insecurity coming over me. Then I set it aside and squared my shoulders, determined to see this conversation happen. I reminded myself that he was with the boys, and they had to take priority. We were adults, and they needed stability, so it was important for them to see that he was there for them. I could wait for him to finish—I had finished all of my scheduled duties for the day, actually exchanging a few of the better jobs for some less-than-pleasing ones so I could have the whole afternoon off to make sure Viggo knew I wanted to talk to him.

  With a renewed sense of purpose, I sat down and watched. A collective sound of laughter rose to my right and I turned toward it. I spotted Tim with a group of boys.

  They were all participating in an exercise that involved them working together to get a ball that was dangling from the ceiling, probably eight feet over their heads. I watched as two of them locked arms, forming a square with their wrists and hands. They bent their knees and braced themselves, before shouting encouragingly at Tim.

  Tim backed up a few paces, and then launched himself at the boys, his face and eyes bright with excitement, his hair whipping wildly around his face as his legs churned, kicking up gobs of sand in his wake.

  He leapt, one foot landing perfectly on the other two boys’ interlocked wrists, and they heaved. My heart dropped into the pit of my stomach as he flew through the air, his arms reaching out for the ball. He snatched it quickly and then landed in the sand, rolling once and coming back to his feet.

  Laughing, he spun the ball on his finger before tossing it at one of the others. With a lazy speed, the other boy casually snatched it out of the air and then dropped it to the ground, kicking it to a third boy. The five boys kicked the ball back and forth, and for a moment, I teared up, seeing my brother in a new and beautiful light.

  He was happy and playing, like he deserved to be. I watched as Viggo waded through the boys, a genuine smile on his face as he congratulated them. He held up a hand to Tim, who high-fived him enthusiastically.

  In that moment, I felt my problem with Viggo melt away, as I watched my brother’s beaming face. He had done something magnificent with the boys, and I was so proud of them all. The sight alone was enough to remind me of something: For all of their differences and flaws, Matrian and Patrian citizens cared about one thing—the future for their children.

  That was where Desmond’s plan failed and where Viggo’s idea succeeded. As optimistic and foolhardy as it was, it allowed people the chance to choose. Hers was artificial, manufacturing finely crafted bullets with no gunpowder. His focused on the positive nature of humanity. Hers presupposed that there was no positive aspect to humanity.

  Watching Viggo, I felt infinitely more positive about the conversation that would follow. I kept my eyes on him, waiting for a free moment to pull him aside and make up.

  He was walking across the field to where one of the boys was sprawled out in the sand. I watched him approach, his long legs steady and strong as he made his way across the sand.

  “What’s going on, guys?” he asked, pulling up short in front of the group.

  One of the boys looked over to where the boy in the sand was starting to sit up, an angry expression on his face. “He fell,” he announced, squaring his shoulders.

  Viggo shot him a look, and then looked at the boy in the sand. “Is that true?” he asked.

  The boy wiped sand off his face as he glared at the older boy who had spoken. “No! He pushed me.”

  “I see. Colin—did you push Jacob?”

  Colin—the boy who had spoken first—glared at Jacob, his face going scarlet. “Yes, but only because he’s a baby!” he shouted.

  Viggo cleared his throat, and everyone focused on him. “Colin—Jacob is your brother.”

  “No, my brother is in Matrus,” Colin argued, folding his little arms over his chest. “And he doesn’t care about me—no one cares about me.”

  “Interesting. Why do you feel that way, Colin?” Viggo aske
d.

  “Because they left us up here to have those stupid doctors experiment on us,” he practically screamed.

  “That’s why you think your family doesn’t care about you. But what about the other boys in your unit? What makes you think they don’t care about you?”

  Colin opened his mouth and then hesitated, indecision and confusion marching all over his young face.

  Viggo went to one knee in the sand in front of Colin. He was very careful not to touch him, but his face was earnest as he spoke more quietly and directly to Colin. After a few minutes, the little boy scrubbed his eyes, and then went over to where Jacob was standing, holding out his hand.

  Jacob accepted it, and the other three boys who had been watching warily closed in on them, whooping and hollering loudly. Colin’s face split into a smile, and I smiled too, feeling my heart lighten on seeing that moment of joy on his face.

  Just then, I heard a sharp voice. Ms. Dale. She should have looked less imposing with the chains on her wrists and feet and the faded bruises on her arms and face, but she didn’t. She strode amongst them with her usual commanding attitude, excess chains dragging slightly behind her. The chains were at least loose to give her more movement during training.

  She gave her orders calmly, explained the instructions easily, and commanded the boys’ attention for drills. Viggo had asked her to start the boys with basic martial arts training, and she had accepted. I actually had no idea of the entirety of the conversation that took place between them, but Ms. Dale was playing nice, and making a real effort to help the boys.

  I hadn’t really interacted with her since the night she and I killed the princesses, and I was beginning to regret not being more insistent with Desmond about going to see her before. At the time, I had just been so angry, and a part of me had blamed Ms. Dale for what happened with Viggo, in spite of everything she had done to help.

  A heavy hand fell on my shoulder, scattering my thoughts. Looking up, it was Owen.