Worst Case Scenario: Everything else.
Unless …
“I don’t think the Commander knows what the device looks like.”
“What makes you say that?” she asks.
“Did Melkin know exactly what he was looking for?”
She frowns and shakes her head. “I don’t think so.”
“I can guarantee if the Commander ever had the opportunity to see this thing in person, he’d already own it and the person who’d shown it to him would be dead.”
“Agreed.”
“So, at best, he only has a general idea of what it looks like.”
Her smile looks more like a snarl. “So make a duplicate.”
“And you can hold the real one while you hide. I’ll keep Melkin’s staff so my disguise looks more authentic.”
“And when the Cursed One comes, I’ll kill the Commander.”
“Yes.” I pull her to me so I won’t have to see the vicious fury on her face and hope that by giving her what she so desperately wants, I haven’t destroyed more of the girl I love.
We unstring Rachel’s bow and use the lightweight black wood to mimic the design of the device. I still have copper wires hidden in the seams of my cloak, and after dismantling her Switch to get to the gears inside, I make a passable imitation of the Rowansmark tech. The wires are obvious, and it has gears instead of finger pads, but it looks like a piece of workable tech, and that’s all we need.
We go over the plan, in detail, three more times until Rachel refuses to discuss it again. I don’t push the issue. Pulling her against me, I wrap myself around her and listen to her breathe as the darkness hides the device, the terrible fury in her eyes, and the evidence that this may be our last night together.
Her breathing slows, an even cadence that comforts me. I brush my lips against her ear and whisper promises I’ll die to keep.
CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN
RACHEL
Dawn is a faint, gray smudge on the horizon as we reach the ancient oak marking the line between Baalboden’s eastern perimeter and the Wasteland. Logan hunches inside his cloak, his hood pulled forward to cover most of his face. The fake Rowansmark tech is in one hand and Melkin’s staff is in the other.
I stay back several trees, the true device in my cloak pocket and a brilliant blaze of triumphant rage warming me from the inside out.
We’ve gone over the plan, the list of everything Logan worries can go wrong, and both of us are as ready as we can be. We might die. The whole thing might blow up in our faces, and we might fail. But it doesn’t matter. What matters is that we’re here. Standing against him. Committed to delivering justice, no matter what it costs.
Logan turns to look at me, his blue eyes lit with something I now recognize as uniquely mine. “Ready?”
“Yes.”
The torch is embedded in the heart of the tree, far below the tall canopy of branches. He strikes flint at it, and fire blazes immediately, throwing shadows over his face as he waits.
I melt back into the forest a few yards, far enough that I can’t be seen by anyone approaching Logan, but close enough that I can still see and hear what is going on, and climb into a tree. It takes two hours, but we finally see the Commander and the eight surviving members of his Brute Squad stride across the perimeter toward the tree.
It’s too easy. Surely the Commander suspects treachery. He knows Logan escaped. He must wonder if Melkin could really carry out his assignment against me. And yet he walks toward us as if he doesn’t have a care in the world.
The hair on the back of my neck rises, and seconds later, a team of guards slide out of the eastern Wasteland and converge on Logan.
No wonder it took two hours. The Commander needed time for his guards to exit the gate, enter the Wasteland, and circle around behind us. It’s a trap, but we knew it would be. The Commander never meant to keep the one who delivered the package alive. We just never realized there would be so many. Logan thought the Brute Squad would be all the Commander deemed necessary to take down the one insignificant person delivering his precious package.
Logan turns, sweeps the ranks of guards behind him with a glance, and tightens his grip on the staff.
We’d planned for Logan to fall back during the confusion of the Cursed One’s arrival, but there are too many guards behind him. He has nowhere to go. He can’t call the Cursed One and survive unless he shimmies up the oak and starts tree-leaping. In our planning, that was a last resort, as there are too many ways that could end in disaster. The moment he diverts his attention to climbing the tree and avoiding the lit torch sticking out of its belly, the Commander could kill him. Any one of the guards could kill him. No, he’ll need to talk his way out. Find a way to use the device for leverage. Maybe admit it’s a fake and get the Commander to leave him alive because he knows where the real one is.
All of those are flimsy excuses for a plan. They won’t work. Any of them. I can’t think of a way out, but surely Logan can. He always can. I strain to see him past the three rows of uniform-clad backs between us.
The Commander reaches him, but stays several feet back. Logan is looking at the ground, but I see the moment he comes up with a plan. His shoulders straighten. He lifts his head, throws back his hood, and looks the Commander in the eye.
Then he slams the staff into the ground.
My fury at the Commander dissolves into terror for Logan. He hasn’t made a new plan. He’s called the Cursed One with almost no chance of escape, and now he’s going to die in front of me.
My fingers shake as I snatch the device out of my cloak pocket.
The Commander laughs, a cruel sound smearing the morning air with malice. “Logan McEntire. I suppose you think I’m surprised to see you instead of Melkin.”
First two buttons together turn the beast east. Bottom two buttons turn it west. I wish my hands would stop trembling.
Logan holds up the fake device. “I brought what you want. But it’s going to cost you.”
The Commander’s smile is full of hate. “No. It’s going to cost you.” He waves the guards forward. Swords gleam, an impossibly thick row of sharp silver teeth reaching for Logan. “You’ve outlived your usefulness to me. To all of Baalboden. It’s been nineteen years of waiting for my investment to pay off, and I can’t wait to rid my city of the stench of you.”
I forget the device for a moment as the Commander’s words sink in, and Logan goes pale. What does he mean, he’s been waiting for this? No one knew when Logan was born that one day he’d be in this position. A tremor runs through the earth. I can’t think of the Commander’s words right now. I have bigger problems.
My hands are clammy as I grip the device. Top and bottom buttons send it north. All three send it south.
The ground shakes. A distant roar surges closer. The guards stumble to a halt and look around, fear on their faces.
“You’re going to die.” Logan’s voice rings out clearly.
The Commander’s smile snags on his scar and morphs into a predatory mask. He lunges for Logan, snatches the fake tech from his hands, and backs away. The guards back away as well, their swords raised as if they can protect themselves from what’s coming, but there are still too many of them between Logan and safety.
The ground cracks. The guards run. The Commander laughs. And Logan turns to leap into the oak tree as the Cursed One explodes into the air, black scales clinking together in deafening harmony, his mouth already spewing orange streams of fire.
Clumps of ground, roots, and branches fly through the air, a shower of debris that knocks a few guards flat on their backs. I check for the Commander’s location, and try to breathe through the panic seizing my chest.
North. I need to send the beast north. My mind goes blank for a crucial second, and the creature roars at the oak tree, sending the entire thing up in flames.
“Logan!” I scream, racing along my branch toward where I last saw him.
He’s already leaping clear. The guards behind him hav
e abandoned their positions and are running for their lives. Logan races into the forest, sees me, and yells, “North! Send it north!”
My fingers find the top and bottom buttons before my brain can translate the thought. The beast surges toward the Commander as he flees toward the northern edge of the city’s Wall. Fire leaps from the creature’s mouth. Two members of the Brute Squad are incinerated and then crushed beneath the thing’s monstrous length as it races forward. Now nothing stands between it and the Commander.
Reckless triumph surges through me. We’ve got him. There’s no escape. No way to stop the Cursed One. Logan climbs onto the branch beside me and together we watch, ignoring the screams of the guards as they run into the Wasteland behind us. Ignoring the crackling flames as they eat through the ancient oak tree. We watch and wait for justice.
The Commander stops, holds out the fake tech, and tries to manipulate the gears wired to its surface.
I laugh, but choke on it when the Commander throws the fake device to the ground, rips open his uniform, and pulls out a heavy silver chain with what looks like a severed lizard foot dangling from it, its talons curved into wickedly sharp tips. It resembles a smaller version of the Cursed One’s own limb.
The beast jerks to a stop and snorts, sucking in the air around it as if hunting for something.
“No.” I press the bottom two buttons again. The Cursed One roars, but doesn’t advance. “Why isn’t it attacking?” I press the buttons repeatedly, and the beast coils in on itself, scales clanking. It shakes its head and blasts the ground beneath it with fire.
It will attack itself. But it won’t attack the Commander.
“Logan—”
“Look at it. The beast is sniffing something—”
“It’s always sniffing something. It tracks by scent. I can’t get this to work!”
“No, it isn’t tracking. It’s shying away. Something about that lizard foot makes it unwilling to attack.”
The Cursed One shudders as I press more buttons, willing it to get over whatever issue it has with the Commander’s necklace and destroy him with fire. It shudders, giant ripples tearing along its frame, but it refuses to attack.
“The foot protects him. Where did he get it?” He mumbles beneath his breath, listing options, trying to make connections.
“Who cares where he got it? Let’s go rip it off of him.”
“He’s had that necklace for as long as anyone can remember. In drawings of him protecting the first survivors fifty years ago, you can see the chain around his neck before the rest of it disappears beneath his coat. That was right after his team returned from the beast’s den. It’s a trophy. He must have killed another beast. The Cursed One’s mate? Its children? No wonder it won’t attack. The lingering pheromones must keep it at bay. What do you want to bet all the city-state leaders have necklaces just like this one?”
“I don’t want to bet anything. I want the Commander to suffer and die. We have to kill him ourselves.” I’m already reaching for my knife, but Logan stays my hand.
“Keep the Cursed One as close to him as you can to distract him.” He throws off his cloak, drops to the forest floor and draws his sword. “I’m going after him.”
“Wait!”
He looks at me, cold purpose on his face, his dark-blond hair turned red by the flames behind him, and says, “I know you want to be the one to kill him. But please don’t ask me to send you against the Commander in the presence of the Cursed One with nothing but your knife.”
I do want to be the one to kill him. But more than that, I want him dead. My knife is no match for the Commander. Logan has a much better chance.
“I wasn’t going to argue.”
“Then what were you going to do?”
The fire hisses and pops as the oak tree caves in on itself, and I jump down to the forest floor beside Logan. I regret all the things I never said to Dad and to Oliver. I’m not going to have regrets here, too.
I throw my arms around his neck. “I love you, Logan. Always.”
A fierce smile lights his face for a moment, and he grabs the front of my tunic, hauls me against him, and kisses me. “I love you, too. Always.” Then he’s gone, and I’m pressing buttons with frantic fingers, trying to keep the Cursed One as close to the Commander as possible to give Logan a chance.
CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT
LOGAN
I circle through the tree line to position myself behind the Commander. No one stops me. Every guard in the area is either running for his life or already dead.
The Cursed One roars, spitting fire in every direction, blackening the dirt perimeter that encircles Baalboden.
The Commander holds his severed lizard foot in front of him and laughs.
I heft my sword in the shelter of the trees twenty yards behind the Commander. All of my anger, pain, and loss coalesce into an unyielding sense of purpose.
He’s mine. For Oliver. For Jared. For Rachel. For my mother. For the citizens of Baalboden who crave change.
For me.
My sword flashes in the sunlight as I step away from the trees and gauge my approach. I can sprint forward. Bury my blade in the back of his neck before he knows I’m there. And take the talisman that keeps the Cursed One at bay so I can hold off the creature’s attack until Rachel sends it back to the depths of the Earth.
Raising my sword, I lower the point to the necessary trajectory, drag in a deep breath, and start running. I’m over halfway there when the entire plan falls to pieces.
The Cursed One jerks its head up as if it hears something and suddenly lunges west.
Straight for Baalboden.
The Commander yells, drops his talisman against his chest, and runs toward the city. Rachel bursts out of the trees, her face filled with desperate terror as she presses the bottom two buttons on the device. The ones that should turn the beast away from Baalboden.
The Cursed One never deviates.
Fire bursts from its mouth as it strafes the Wall. The stone is scorched black, but the Wall is too thick for even the Cursed One to destroy. Any relief I feel disappears in an instant as the beast rears up, plunges into the ground, and explodes into the air on the other side of the Wall in a shower of cobblestone, dirt, and flame.
“No!”
Rachel is screaming. Running toward the Wall. Slamming the third button. The one that should send the Cursed One back into the bowels of the Earth.
I race to join her as plumes of thick black smoke billow up from the city. The turret closest to us explodes into flame and slowly topples to the ground in a hail of sparks and fiery chunks of wood.
The Commander veers north, apparently thinking to run the entire way around the Wall to get to the gate. He’s a fool. By the time he reaches it, the city will be nothing but rubble.
“It isn’t working. Help me!” Rachel thrusts the device into my hands, and I drop my sword so I can push the finger pads.
We’re close enough to the Wall now that we can hear the screaming from inside. There’s no way over the Wall. No gate unless we take the time to run all the way around the circumference of the city like the Commander. Rachel doesn’t hesitate. We reach the jagged hole left by the Cursed One, and she leaps into it.
I follow. We slide down about fifteen yards before the tunnel turns upward again.
She’s clawing her way toward the surface. I’m digging for footholds right behind her. Above us, the citizens in the East Quarter are screaming in agony.
We scramble through the crater left by the Cursed One, and my stomach sinks as I take in the chaos. Everything is burning. Everything. Brilliant gold and crimson flames chew through homes, spew thick black smoke toward the sky, and race blindly for the next piece of dry wood. Windows explode outward, sending hundreds of diamond-bright slivers of glass through the air. And through it all, the monstrous shape of the Cursed One coils, lashing out with its tail to crush wagons, buildings, and people. Strafing entire streets with blistering fire. Bellowing a hoarse, guttura
l cry that shakes the ground.
The few people still on their feet are running in a blind panic. As fire leaps from building to building, street to street, intent on destroying the entire East Quarter, the Cursed One abruptly heads toward North Hub, blasting anything that moves with flames.
“Make it stop, Logan! Make it go away.”
I try. I push the button, and the creature pauses, shakes its head, and slams the ground with its spiked tail, shattering the cobblestones beneath it. Then it slides north again, spreading destruction and death in its wake.
Either our device is malfunctioning, or someone else is out there with another piece of tech capable of overriding this one. It doesn’t matter which is true. The end result is the same. Baalboden’s protective Wall has become a death trap for anyone left inside its embrace.
“We can’t stop it.”
She whirls toward me, her eyes full of tears. “We have to!”
“We can’t. All we can do is rescue as many people as possible.”
She doesn’t argue as I pull her toward a side street that isn’t yet on fire. It takes an agonizing three minutes to find what we need. In that time, the Cursed One turns North Hub into a blazing inferno. I pray the citizens there heard the screaming of their neighbors and had enough warning to start running.
The fourth backyard I check has a wagon and a panicked horse stomping in a double-stall animal shed. I hand the device to Rachel, and hitch the horse to the wagon as fast as I can. She stands beside me, staring at the wagon and shaking, but when I offer her a hand up to join me in the driver’s seat, she doesn’t hesitate.
We head down the alley and turn north. The sky is a haze of thick black smoke. Entire streets are nothing but sheets of flame. I crack the reins against the horse’s back, and we thunder toward the destruction.
A few people still stagger about, and we stop to haul them into the wagon bed. Most of the East Quarter is in shambles, but set apart from the rest is the Commander’s compound, untouched by fire. I calculate less than five minutes before the flames bridge the distance and begin destroying it. Which means Eloise and the other prisoners face a terrible death if I can’t figure out a way to free them in time.