“I can teach you,” Logan says quietly, and my eyes snap open.
He’s a few yards away, his face shadowed by the branches of the tree he stands under. As he steps forward, I swear if I see pity on his expression, I won’t speak to him ever again. But when the sunlight brushes against his face, there’s no pity in his eyes. Instead, they’re steady and filled with the same determination I always saw in Dad’s.
He walks toward me and reaches out to slide his hand along the weighted end of the Switch I still hold.
“I miss him,” he says. “That unmovable assurance he always carried with him. Like he could shoulder the weight of the world, and it wouldn’t break him.” His fingers brush mine, but neither of us pulls away.
My voice is quiet. “I miss his laugh. Remember?”
He smiles. “He filled a room when he was in it, didn’t he?”
I nod, and the raw ache of feeling so alone subsides a bit.
“I know I can’t take his place, and I don’t want to. But I know how to use a Switch. And you’ll need it in the Wasteland. Will you let me teach you?”
I smile a little. “If you don’t mind getting humiliated by a girl, tech head.”
“You’re going to eat those words.”
I toss my hair out of my face. “Make me.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
LOGAN
She stands in front of me, wild red hair streaming in the wind, a fierce gleam in her eyes. I want to reach out and touch her. Let some of the brilliant light she carries spill over onto me. I stretch out my hand, but rational thought kicks in at the last second. I grab Jared’s Switch instead.
“This is too big for you. I’ll make one your size, and we’ll train.”
“But the tracking device—”
It takes me a second to realize she still thinks I need time to work on the device to find Jared. I don’t. I simply need another day or two to finish the one I’m making to find her. Just in case the Commander gets away with whatever treachery I’m sure he’s planning.
“I can do both,” I say. “Listen to me, Rachel.” I wait until her eyes meet mine. “I want you to promise me that if the Commander ever makes you feel threatened, you’ll do exactly what Jared taught you. Strike him down, and get away.”
“If I do that while we’re still in Baalboden, everyone I love will pay the price. I can’t.” Her voice is firm, but her eyes look shadowed. She knows the kind of danger she’s in, but she’s determined, if it comes to it, to lay down her life for Oliver. For me.
As if I could ever let her do that. Anger licks at me, chased by a cold frisson of fear. She isn’t my Protector. I’m hers. And I’m not dropping this until I get her promise.
“Yes, you can.” When she shakes her head, I snap at her. “You can. He’s just a man. A cruel tyrant who doesn’t deserve the power he’s been abusing.” Pain pierces me, swelling on a tide of something almost feral as I remember the heat floating off the dusty cobblestones, the heavy smell of my mother’s blood, the way her breathing hissed in and out slowly until suddenly it was gone. She was gone.
“But—”
“Do you know what happens to girls in Baalboden who cross the Commander, Rachel? Do you?” My voice cracks. “They die. He kills them. He’ll kill you if he finds out what we’re planning.”
“Logan—”
“He’ll kill you. Do you understand?”
She nods.
I look away. At the distant orchard where men crouch behind trees waiting for us to run. Where the idyllic picture of early spring is nothing but a mirage covering the bloody truth of life in Baalboden. I look, but I can’t quite erase the sight of my mother’s lifeless eyes staring at something far beyond anything I could imagine. Missing her is a constant ache I carry with me.
“Logan?”
I turn toward her, braced for the pity I’m sure I’ll find, but she has none. Instead, she watches me with steady understanding.
“I never told you how much I admire your mother.”
The ache in my chest eases. “Really?”
“Really. Dad told me how she was the only woman in Baalboden who wasn’t allowed to go through the Claiming ceremony again after her husband passed on. I guess he died before you were born?”
I nod. Mom rarely spoke of my father. Instead, she’d hold me close and say she was lucky. She had me, and who needed anything else?
“Dad also told me the Commander assigned himself as her Protector, but he wouldn’t check in on her for weeks at a time. Don’t you find that strange? Why break the protocol for your mom and no one else?”
“I don’t know.” But I wish I did. Maybe if he hadn’t kept her from being Claimed again, she’d still be alive.
She frowns, and says slowly, “It’s almost like the Commander hated you from the very start. Dad said he, Oliver, and some of the other men would bring her food. See what she needed in between the Commander’s visits.”
“Until Oliver was sick. Jared was out on a mission. And no one else remembered us.” The words are hard to say. The memories they evoke are worse. The bare cupboards. The desperation in Mom’s eyes as days passed, and we slowly starved.
“She was a hero. It was unfair of the Commander to deny her real Protection. Unfair to treat her differently than any other woman here. It took courage to go to Market without permission. She did it for—”
“Me! She did it for me, and it cost her her life.” I can’t breathe past the sudden wave of guilt and grief tearing at me. “If I hadn’t been hungry, she never would’ve risked it.”
Rachel leans close until all I can see is her. “No. If you hadn’t been there, she wouldn’t have had anything left to live for at all. She loved you, and you were worth the risk. You still are.”
We stare at each other as her words hang in the air between us. Then she steps back, looks at the ground, and says, “Are you going to make me a new Switch or not?”
Turning my attention back to the matter at hand is easy. Figuring out what to do with Rachel’s words isn’t. Setting them aside for now, I search for a stick heavy enough to turn into a Switch, and start working.
By late afternoon, I’ve finished making her Switch and have turned her loose on the dummy. The weighted end smacks into Bob with a satisfying crunch, and she spins the stick, releases the double-edged blade, and buries it into Bob’s heart as he crashes back toward her.
She grins and yanks her weapon free. “For someone who spends his days hunched over boring old papers, you sure know how to create a nice killing stick.”
Time to teach her who she’s dealing with. “I didn’t grow up in South Edge without learning a trick or two,” I say as I pick up Jared’s Switch. “Sheath your blade. We’ll count a solid touch from the blade end as a strike.”
She sends her blade back into its hiding place, widens her stance, and rolls to the balls of her feet. I walk toward her, the resolve I feel to protect her blazing into something hard and bright in the face of her courage.
“I spend my days hunched over boring old papers, do I?” My stick whistles through the air, and she leaps back to dodge the blow. Spinning, I tap her with the sheathed blade before she can raise her arms in defense.
“My point,” I say, and don’t bother hiding my smirk.
She circles me. “Lucky shot.”
I lash out again, but she’s ready. Blocking me with the middle of her Switch, she whirls beneath my outstretched arms and slams the weighted end into my thigh.
Pride keeps me from swearing at the pain. Instead, I sweep her feet out from under her. She flips in midair and rolls forward as she lands, coming up with her stick ready.
The controlled grace of her movements would make Jared proud. I decide the warm emotion sweeping through me must be pride too.
“You’re fast. That’s good,” I say, advancing toward her.
“You’re not bad for a tech head.”
We block, parry, and break apart. She’s strong and quick, but I worry she doesn’t know h
ow to anticipate the unexpected. I step back, inviting an attack, and she charges forward, swinging the weighted end of her stick like a butcher slicing the head from a sheep. I wait until the last second, then drop to the ground and ram her with my shoulder. Her forward momentum carries her over the top of me and she lands face-first in the grass.
She spits dry blades of grass from her mouth, and swears, but a new respect for me is in her eyes.
I laugh, and my fear for her eases into something I can use to focus on planning. She stares at me, a tiny smile flitting across her lips, and the affection on her face makes me feel like the richest man in the world.
“I was a fighter long before I was a tech head.” I offer her a hand up. “You need to be ready for an opponent who does the unexpected.”
She takes my outstretched hand, closing her soft fingers over mine without breaking my gaze. The sun blazes a golden path through her fiery hair, and my eyes slide over her pale skin and come to rest on her lips. Warmth pools in my stomach and spreads lazily through me as I tug her hand and pull her closer.
I’m not going to kiss her. That would be … I don’t know what that would be. I can’t seem to think straight. All I see is Rachel, filling up my empty spaces and making me into more than I ever could be on my own.
Maybe this is what family does for each other. She’s my family now. Which is why, even as I lean toward her, unable to tear my gaze away from the softness of her mouth, I tell myself I’m not going to kiss her.
She steps toward me, face upturned. I lean in.
Behind us, someone clears his throat.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
LOGAN
I drop her hand and whip around, my Switch ready. Oliver stands on our back porch with the sternest expression he can manage aimed straight at me.
Rachel steps back and bends to pick up her weapon. I find I’m suddenly very interested in the exact position of the sun, and I take a moment to study the sky. When I look back at Oliver, his brow is raised.
“Going to invite an old man in? Or going to stand there pretending I didn’t just see—”
“We were sparring.” Rachel hefts her Switch to prove it.
“That’s not what we called it in my day,” Oliver says, and motions for us to come inside the house with him.
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.”
“T
hat’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.
CHAPTER TWENTY
LOGAN
The 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.