My fingers are steady as I press the buttons to send the beasts east where warehouses and wagons line the street. The beasts roar, spitting fire at one another and anything else that moves, as they twist and claw their way up the street away from us. Behind them, the buildings they’d plowed through sway uncertainly and then begin to crumble, raining ash and flaming debris.
“Get back!” The Commander’s hand is rough as he shoves me aside seconds before another metal pole slams into the ground where I was just standing. My back hits the wall of Rufus’s home, and the shock of the impact is nothing compared to the shock of being saved by the Commander.
I start moving toward the stables. In seconds, the tanniyn will have destroyed the eastern edge of the camp. I want to be near my escape plan before I have to turn them back toward us. Especially as it’s clear that while the device might be powerful enough to call over a dozen tanniyn, and its signal might be enough to drive them in the direction of my choice, the effects are short-lived. Seconds after my fingers leave the device, the beasts turn in whichever direction they please. Another sonic signal from me jerks them to the east again, but not for long. Soon, four of them plunge north into the city streets. Another two return to the wreckage in the south.
Five more turn toward us.
I swallow hard against the smoky air and accept the facts. I can call them. I just can’t truly control them.
This would’ve been good information to have before I decided to see if the transmitters would bring up more than one creature.
Before panic can strike, obliterating my ability to plan my way out of this, Rufus launches himself from the doorway of his house and slams into me, knocking us both to the ground.
“Stop!” he screams as he grabs my hands and tries to wrest the device away from me.
“Get off me.” I elbow him. “They’re coming, you idiot. Get off me before they crush us both!”
Suddenly, Rufus grunts, his eyes glazing with pain. I stare past him at the Commander, who yanks his sword out of Rufus’s back and shoves the man off me with the toe of his boot.
“Get up,” he says, reaching down to help me to my feet.
I stare at him. “You save my life. Twice now.”
His scar twitches. “I saved the device and held to our mission. Now get those beasts away from us so we can leave.”
I hit the buttons to send the beasts east again and freeze as the tanniyn who were crashing through the south side of the street whip their heads toward us. Their claws dig into the rubble as they shudder, jerking their heads east and spewing billows of smoke from their nostrils.
“They aren’t moving,” the Commander says.
“I know that.”
“Send them east.”
“I’m trying. It’s like the longer they hear the signal, the better they can resist moving away from it.”
The tanniyn shake their heads and roar, a deafening rumble that nearly sends me to my knees as the ground shivers beneath me. The Commander stumbles, and I catch him before he can fall.
The irony that two people who so desperately want to kill each other are busy saving each other instead isn’t lost on me.
“Try harder!” he snaps as more tanniyn surge toward us. Their milky eyes and glistening scales reflect the flames as they crunch over the ruins of the road.
Beyond them, the city blocks that we can see are in flaming ruins. Black monstrous things heave themselves into the air and crash into buildings, leaving jagged holes or toppling structures that were already shaky. Metal rends apart with earsplitting shrieks, and one of the road-bridges topples beneath the weight of three tanniyn, who crush the rubble beneath them as they slither toward the next row of buildings.
We aren’t going to get out of here alive if I don’t do something. Abandoning my efforts to make them go east, I hit the button that will send them back to their nest instead. The Commander and I back slowly down the street, while the creatures roar and shudder and lash out with their tails, sending walls, trees, and sometimes one another flying.
I press relentlessly against the button that sends the infrasonic signal and pray that it works. The creatures closest to us finally dive back into the ground. I don’t wait around to see if the rest follow. At this point, fire has spread from the eastern edge of camp and is eating through the north side of the city. The Commander and I are the only people left on the street. Those hiding in the buildings are either going to burn to death or run from the city with only what they can carry.
With their leader dead and their supplies destroyed, I’m not worried about being followed. Quickly, the Commander and I hurry away from the camp and through the city. When we reach the outskirts, he turns to me.
“The device?” He holds out his hand. Reluctantly, I hand over the tech. He strokes it with loving fingers, and a vicious smile spreads across his face.
“It didn’t control them very well when we used the transmitters,” I say. “It works better when you’re just trying to control one at a time.”
“It will work well enough for our purposes.” He looks back toward the city, and I follow his gaze.
Fire consumes entire city blocks. Buildings lean against one another or simply crash to the ground in a hail of metal and stone.
“No wonder the previous civilization didn’t stand a chance,” I say. “If this was what happened in every major city, and no one knew that the right infrasonic frequency would send them away, they’d be defenseless.”
The Commander’s voice is quiet. “It was like this all across the globe. Chaos. Panic. Someone in NASA—our air and space department—figured out that the beasts could be repelled with the right sonic pulse. We could still communicate with other nations using satellite phones.” He glances at me. “Phones were devices that allowed us to talk to others over great distances and—”
“I’ve read about phones.” When his brow rises, I add, “Jared brought back books when he traveled.”
He grunts. “We shared what we knew with the leaders of nations we could still reach by sat-phone and coordinated the effort to send teams down to destroy the nests of tanniyn. You know what happened after that.”
“I know what happened here. What about the other teams? Were any successful?”
He shrugs. “No one ever answered their sat-phones again.” His hands tighten over the device. I leave him there and start up the bluff, one ear tuned for the sound of his footsteps coming up behind me. There’s nothing to keep him from driving a sword through my back now. He knows how to use the device. He’s seen firsthand what it can do.
I’m expendable now.
I reach the top of the bluff while the Commander still stands at the base, staring at the city. Maybe he’s lost in the memories of watching his home burn so many years ago. Maybe he’s trying to decide if he should kill me now or when we reach Rowansmark.
Willow is standing on the bluff, the crossbow cradled in her hands, its arrow pointed at the Commander. Nola and Jodi flank her, their daggers in their hands. The horses are tethered with the two that the Commander and I rode.
“I’m here,” I say. Nola runs to me and hugs me. I hold her tight and wish with everything in me that I didn’t have to tell her about Drake. When Nola lets go, Jodi launches herself at me. I wrap my arms around her and meet Willow’s gaze.
“Are you . . . did they . . . are you hurt?” I ask, my cheeks burning a little when she looks at me.
“I’m not hurt. Neither are Jodi or Nola.” She shows no inclination to hug me, but her eyes glow with something that looks like relief.
“I found something of yours.” I retrieve her bow from my bag. “I don’t have any arrows, but—”
“That’s okay. I can make some.” She straps the crossbow to the back of her saddle and takes her bow, running her fingers across it like it’s an old friend. She meets my eyes. “Thank you for the bow.”
“You’re welcome.”
“And for coming back for us.”
“We’re fam
ily now, Willow. That’s what family does.” I brush a strand of hair out of her eyes and smile a little, though now that the girls are safe, the pain of losing Drake is settling into me.
She raises a brow at me. “You aren’t going to hug me too, are you?”
I gently bump my fist against her shoulder. “No hugging.”
“Good. You creep me out when you get all mushy.”
I refrain from mentioning the fierce half hug she gave to me when she wasn’t sure I’d live and try to find the words to shatter Nola’s world.
“He’s coming,” Nola says.
I turn to see the Commander climbing the bluff.
“Now that he knows how to use the device, he might use it against us,” Nola says.
“We have his necklace to counteract the signal. It’s buried there.” I point.
“I can get it.” Nola moves toward the tree, but I stop her with a hand on her arm.
“Let Jodi get it.” I pull Nola to the side while Jodi digs up the necklace, and the Commander slowly climbs the bluff.
“What is it?” Nola asks, fear edging into her voice. “What’s wrong?”
I look at her wide, dark eyes and wish I didn’t have to be the one to do this. “During the attack, those who were guarding the camp were killed.” She starts shaking her head. “I’m so sorry, Nola. Your father . . . Drake is gone.”
She sways forward, and I catch her before she can crumple to the ground. Sobs tear through her, and I let her cry against me while Jodi runs to us and wraps her arms around her friend.
“He died a hero. I know that doesn’t make it easier to bear, but it’s the truth. He was a good man, and I’ll miss him. I’m sorry,” I say, though I know from experience how inadequate those words are. “I’m sorry” doesn’t bring anyone back. It doesn’t close the awful hole that opens up inside of you when someone you love dies. It doesn’t really help, but it’s all I have to offer.
Nola turns to Jodi, as the Commander reaches the summit and starts toward us. When he spots Nola crying, he scowls. I head him off before he can demand that we leave for Chelmingford before Nola is ready to ride.
“Give her a few minutes,” I say. “She just learned that her father is dead.”
He turns away from me and looks out at what’s left of the highwaymen’s city. “She can have five minutes. Then we’re leaving. If we ride hard, we can be at Chelmingford in two days.”
His eyes follow me as I move to Nola’s side again, and the expression in them makes the hair on the back of my neck rise. In his mind, I’m a dead man walking.
I smile grimly. If adding two transmitters to the device caused this much out-of-control destruction, imagine what will happen when I wire five of them to Melkin’s staff and drive it into the ground beside the Commander. He’ll rely on the device to control them. But the staff’s signal will be too powerful. Too overwhelming.
There’s no way the Commander will come out of that alive.
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF–NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
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CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
RACHEL
The sun is melting over the ramparts of Rowansmark’s wall as Samuel and Ian lead me outside to the garden. I’d spent the last night sleeping on a cot in a room no bigger than my back porch while a pair of soldiers stood guard outside my door. I tried to escape through the room’s one window, but it seemed to be welded shut. Night turned into morning, and I expected someone to come for me, but instead, I spent the day locked in the room with no food, no water, and no visitors until finally, just before sunset, Samuel and Ian came for me.
Now I walk through the garden, where roses in sunset hues of red, orange, and gold line a stone path that circles a fountain with a moss-covered statue of a woman whose plump arms are raised gracefully above her head, as if she was captured in stone mid-dance. Beyond the fountain, the path cuts through wispy purple wisteria bushes and azaleas bursting with pink flowers and then leads to a square of dirt, where James Rowan waits beside a thick wooden post, a brown leather whip in his hand. The air is clogged with moisture and heat, and my hair clings to the back of my neck as sweat beads along my skin. Ian’s hand digs into my right forearm, sending shooting pains through my wound, but I hold my head high and refuse to flinch.
If these men think they’re going to cut me down to size like James Rowan’s precious pecan tree, they’re wrong.
I’ve survived the Commander, the loss of almost everyone I love, physical injury, and kidnapping. I’ve walked through my own personal hell and come out the other side. I am my father’s daughter, and I will survive this. For Logan. For my dad. But most of all, for myself. I came to Rowansmark with a mission, and I’m not finished yet.
“Tie her to the whipping post,” Rowan says in that soft, regretful voice of his. Like he cares deeply about me, and hates to be the one to point out the error of my ways.
I glare at him and silently swear that I’m going to be his last mistake.
Ian shoves me against the wooden post, grabs the rope that is tethered to the post by a thick iron ring, and says, “Hold your hands up.”
“Why should I make it easy for you to hurt me again?” I’m proud that my voice doesn’t betray the way my knees shake or the way icy frissons of fear skate up my spine, threatening to make my teeth chatter.
How many lashes will he give me? Or will he hand the whip to Ian and let the boy who killed his father do his best to kill me too?
I tell myself it doesn’t matter as Ian yanks my arms over my head and pins my wrists together so that Samuel can wrap the rope around them like he’s securing a boat to its dock. I can take whatever they give me. I can breathe through the pain—scream through it if I have to.
“How many lashes?” Ian asks in the same cold, empty voice he’s been using since his confrontation with Samuel on the boat.
“Oh, I think fifteen should do it.” Rowan steps around the post until he’s standing eye to eye with me. I’d like to spit in his face, but my mouth is as dry as the wood I’m pressed against. “Ten to teach her not to take things that aren’t hers and five extra to remind her that she should be respectful to those in charge.”
Fifteen. Fifteen is enough to disfigure my back. Enough to cut my flesh from my bones and let infection set in if I’m not given first aid afterward. Fifteen is enough to incapacitate me, but not enough to kill me.
My armor would protect me from the worst of it, but no one gets whipped without baring their backs. They’re going to see that I have armor, and then they’re going to take it from me and hurt me.
I set my jaw to keep my mouth from trembling, and meet Rowan’s gaze with as much defiance as I can muster. He just smiles sadly and steps a little closer, the whip still coiled in his hands. The leather is cracked, and the tip is stained dark from the blood of all the people who’ve had the misfortune to be punished by him.
“Your father didn’t bring the controller to his leader,” he says. “You did. You knew about the bounty on your father’s head. You understood that the tech hadn’t been given to him through official channels and that we were searching for it. Your father didn’t try to use what didn’t belong to him. You did. You are as much at fault in this as Marcus McEntire and the Commander. Your father isn’t here to correct your actions. That duty now falls to me as the person you’ve wronged. I’m sure your father would be disappointed to see the kind of person his daughter has become.”
I’m stretched on my tiptoes, leaning hard against the post in an effort to keep the rope that binds my wrists above my head from cutting off all the circulation to my hands—not exactly the most defiant stance—but I lift my chin and speak in a loud, clear voice that would make Dad proud.
“I am exactly who my father raised me to be.”
Rowan shakes his head and then looks past me. “Which of you wants the privilege of purging Rachel from the dishonor of her actions?”
Ian says, “I should be the one—”
“I’ll do it.” Samuel brushes past me and takes the whip. His expression is distant, his mouth set in a thin, firm line. But his eyes meet mine for a second, and I take scant comfort in the steady confidence he exudes. He’s just doing his duty. Just trying to protect Ian from more sanctioned violence.
He won’t be trying to kill me.
I hope.
My wrists ache where the rope dig into my skin. My heart pounds, and the air feels too thick to breathe as Rowan says, “Bare her back.”
Ian presses close to me and slides his dagger down the back of my tunic, rending the fabric until it hangs from each shoulder like a pair of tattered wings.
“She’s wearing armor.” Rowan sounds surprised.
“We took some from a band of highwaymen on our way to Lankenshire,” Ian says. The casual way he uses “we,” like we’re still on the same team, still allies, makes something inside of me ache.
We faced down the highwaymen just after the bruises from Ian’s poison showed up on Sylph and the others who’d been injected. The night we defeated the highwaymen, we celebrated our tiny victory, only to quickly lose heart as those with purple bruises on their bodies started dying while we were helpless to stop it.
Gaining the armor was the beginning of losing my best friend, and I can’t bear to hear Ian talk about it like it was nothing. Just one more event in a long line of things that somehow ended up with me tied to a whipping post in Rowansmark when I should be searching the city for the army headquarters, for the tech labs, for the weapons stash before Logan arrives, and it’s too late.
“Get it off of her.” Rowan nods to Ian.
“No,” I say as Ian begins unknotting the rope around my wrists.
Rowan gives me a look so full of condescending patience, I want to wipe it off his face with the bottom of my boot. “You cannot be cleansed by pain atonement unless we remove the armor.”
Ian finishes untying me and pulls me away from the post. I grab the front of my tunic to keep it in place.