“Ian too? Save him? Save both?”
I open my mouth, but nothing will come out. How can I promise to save Ian when I’m the one who wants him dead? But if I don’t promise, will Marcus still help me? Maybe I can convince him that Logan is the only one who needs my help.
“Ian doesn’t need to be saved. James Rowan is happy with him.” All it took was the destruction of my city and the murder of my friends.
Marcus blinks rapidly. “My sons. Never safe with James. Not anymore. Save Ian, too? Promise?”
I clench my jaw tight. Save the boy who took almost everything from me? I’d rather swallow nails.
But Ian had dreams once. And none of them included ripping his father’s life away from him or being forced to cover his hands in the blood of those who’d never wronged him. And if I don’t promise to help Ian, I’ll lose Logan, too.
The words taste like ashes in my mouth as I say, “Yes. I’ll do my best to save Ian, too. I promise.”
He pulls away from the crack, babbling softly to himself, and then he returns and shoves something through the sliver of space. I stare at it for a moment, and then reach out slowly to pick it up.
It’s a pecan, broken in half so that it can fit through the crack between our cells. Another half follows and then four more. I grab all of them and shove them into my mouth. Their buttery flavor explodes across my tongue, and I nearly choke as I swallow too fast.
Marcus’s blue eye returns to the crack as he shoves another few nuts through. “Don’t die. Jared’s Rachel. Don’t die.”
I scoop up the rest of the nuts. “I won’t. And neither will your sons. Now, tell me how to find and disable the summoners, and then I’ll tell you how you can help me get out of this dungeon.”
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF–NOT FOR SALE
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CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
LOGAN
We’ve been on the water for three days now. Four, if you count the day it took us to sail on a small boat from Chelmingford to the drop-off closest to Lankenshire, where we rejoined the Commander’s troops, met the soldiers from Hodenswald and Lankenshire, and received the disheartening news that Brooksworth had refused to commit to our cause. The Commander wasted no time marching his army west to the river where the armada waited for us. I pushed hard for us to march faster, go farther, and the Commander didn’t argue. He didn’t want to lose the element of surprise.
I don’t want to lose Rachel.
Our army is stuffed into fifteen silver-gray ships. The Commander and his ranking officers are aboard the armada’s flagship vessel, along with my own people, and the ranking officers from Chelmingford. I’ve done my best to avoid the Commander at any cost. Partially because I wanted to finish transforming Melkin’s staff into a weapon that will make the device the Commander holds look like a toy, and partially because my usefulness to the Commander is finished, and I don’t have time to deal with a double cross. I have a promise to keep.
At the moment, the Commander is locked in the captain’s quarters, going over strategy with his officers in preparation for docking tomorrow just above Rowansmark’s dam. Nola is resting, trying to make up for the nights she spends grieving for Drake instead of sleeping, and Jodi decided to stay on the lower deck to watch over her. The rest of us headed up to get some fresh air and a brief respite from the Commander’s constant scrutiny.
Willow, stripped to her undertunic, shimmies up the tallest mast, her hair whipping in the wind as the ship cuts through the murky green water of the river that leads to Rowansmark. Smithson wanders toward the prow of the boat, while Frankie, Adam, Connor, and I lean against the rail and watch Willow treat the upper rigging of the boat like it’s a collection of tree branches.
“So we land tomorrow. I admit, I’ll be grateful to partake in sustenance that isn’t fish,” Connor says. “I’ve never been overly fond of it.”
“Sustenance.” Frankie laughs and shakes his head. “Boy, you are a walking collection of words I never heard before.”
“Sustenance. Noun. A means of sustaining life through . . . do you see that girl? Amazing.” Connor’s eyes light up as Willow races to the end of a long metal pole and leaps onto a rope ladder that will carry her to the very top.
Adam punches Connor’s shoulder. “She’s taken.”
Connor rubs his shoulder. “I was only commenting on her athletic prowess.”
Frankie laughs again. “Lots of boys notice Willow’s . . . athletic prowess.”
Connor’s cheeks turn pink, and Adam scowls. Willow reaches the top and pulls herself up while sunlight glows against her dusky skin.
“Still admiring her prowess?” Adam asks. “Or have you moved on to other areas?”
“I wasn’t—she’s very—” Connor tears his gaze from Willow and looks at Adam. “Um . . . well-equipped. Athletically speaking. Very fit. Very. Um . . . fit. I said that already. I’m done talking now.”
“You’d better be,” Adam says, though there’s no real threat in his voice.
I roll my eyes at Adam. “Are you joining Willow, or will you be staying down here to torture Connor?”
Adam grins and begins climbing the mast like he was born to it.
“He’s a bit territorial, isn’t he?” Connor asks. “I was simply commenting on her—”
“Athletic prowess. Yeah, I heard that.” I elbow him.
“Well, she’s an admirable specimen of the female persuasion.” Connor tugs at the collar of his shirt as if it’s become a noose.
“I think you just called her cute.” Frankie laughs while Connor’s cheeks darken again. “I’d give a lot to see you say that to her face.”
“And have Adam rearrange my internal organs? No, thank you.”
I sling an arm over his shoulder and turn him away from the mast. “Once you fall in love with someone, you’ll feel like that, too. But a word to the wise. Girls get pretty irritated if you act like you own them. I’ve made that mistake with Rachel plenty of times. I thought I was being protective. She thought I was being an idiot. If Willow had overheard that conversation, she’d have taken it out of Adam’s skin.”
Frankie nods wisely and nudges Connor in the ribs. “Girls like to feel special. Protected. But there’s a fine line between feeling protected and feeling like a fence post being marked by a stray dog.”
Connor ducks out from under my arm and shakes his head, though he’s smiling. “On that memorable image, I think I’ll take my leave and go see if Jodi wishes for some company.”
“Is Jodi also a fine specimen of the female persuasion?” I ask.
Connor walks away.
“Remember!” Frankie calls to his retreating back. “Don’t piss on the fence post!”
I laugh, and it feels good even though I miss Drake and worry about Rachel. Connor shakes his head and moves toward the stairs that lead to the lower deck.
Frankie and I lean against the metal rail in companionable silence. The warmth of the early summer afternoon bakes my skin, and I lift my face to catch the breeze, which carries the scent of damp bark, wildflowers, and freshly caught fish.
“The Commander ain’t taking us with him tomorrow,” Frankie says. “Not that I want to go to war, mind, but if the Commander has decided we’re useless, I figure he means to kill us.”
I nod and squint against the bursts of sunlight that ricochet off the river. “I know. I’ve got a plan for that.”
“Care to share it?” His tone is careful, and it hits me that he expects me to say no because I’ve said no so many times in the past. I shared my plans with Rachel, and then with Drake. But they aren’t here, and I’d be hard-pressed to find a more faithful friend than Frankie.
“I’ve been talking with Corey Burkes, the captain of the armada. Tara Lanning gave him permission to engage in the conflict as he saw fit. The Commander is using the ships simply as transportation and a backup plan in case Rowansmark
retreats to the river.” I look at Frankie. “Rowansmark won’t retreat up the river. They’d have to go through the locks, one ship at a time, before they could get to the top of the dam.”
“So basically the armada is useless to us.”
“Not exactly.” I glance over my shoulder in case someone has joined us on the upper deck, but other than Smithson, who is now pacing along the railing toward the middle of the deck, we’re alone. “The Commander wants to remove James Rowan from power and take over the city as his own, keeping the tech for himself.”
Frankie snorts. “Sounds like exchanging one devil for another.”
“Exactly. I want to remove James Rowan from power, keep the Commander from taking over, and destroy as many of the tanniyn as we possibly can. If the Commander doesn’t call the beasts, I’m sure James Rowan will. The tanniyn don’t surface underwater. Which means they can’t breathe underwater.”
“So you’re aiming to flood Rowansmark?” Frankie’s brows come together. “There are innocent people living there.”
“Rowansmark regularly gets flooded, even with the dam. The city has an evacuation plan put in place for this. Plus, all of their homes have three stories with balconies so that if necessary, people can get to their roofs. I won’t willingly put the Rowansmark citizens in danger.”
“And you’ve got Captain Burkes on board with this?”
“Yes. When the Commander makes his move, we’ll be ready.”
Frankie meets my eyes and grins like someone just bet on him in a fight. “I can’t wait.”
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF–NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
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CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
RACHEL
I finish the last mouthful of pecan halves that Marcus shoved through the crack in our cells and smile for him while he blinks anxiously, asking me over and over again not to die.
“More?” he asks. “Have oatmeal. Julia loves.”
“Was Julia your wife?” I ask, though I already know the answer. He talks to her night and day, mumbling about Ian growing taller and having big feet, about not remembering to clean the stove between meals, and then reassures her that he still knows her song by heart.
“Julia. Song.” He hums a few bars of his favorite discordant melody again. I’m guessing that’s his version of Julia’s song.
He disappears, scuttling toward his bunk, and then he’s back, shoving two fingers coated in oatmeal through the crack. I reach out, scrape the oatmeal from his skin, and put it in my mouth. It’s cold and gummy, but I swallow it gratefully.
“Music?” He hums for me and waits as if encouraging me to hum along. I try a few bars, copying his wandering notes as best as I can, and he rewards me with a flash of a smile.
“I’m sorry,” I say softly. “I’m so sorry that Julia is gone. And that Ian . . .”
“Ian.” He breathes the name like a prayer, and I shift uncomfortably, welcoming the stab of pain in my back to distract me from the anguished devotion in Marcus’s voice.
“Mostly I’m sorry that Logan was taken from you, even though that means I wouldn’t have known him.” The thought sends a tendril of aching loneliness through me. What would it be like if I’d never known Logan? Never sparred with the boy who didn’t mind the fact that I could beat him or argued with the boy who challenged me because he respected my intelligence?
Never kissed the boy who makes me feel like fire runs just beneath my skin?
“Know him? Know Logan?” Marcus watches me closely.
“I know him.” I tell him again, just like I have every day since I’ve been in the dungeon. “I know Logan.” Three little words that don’t do anything justice. I know the look on his face when he’s so busy thinking about an invention that he doesn’t hear a word anyone is saying. I know the roughness of his calloused fingers. The way his skin smells like ink and paper. I know the lengths he’ll go to keep his promises.
I know the smile he gives to others and the one he gives only to me.
I don’t realize I’m smiling too—a drifting, dreamy sort of smile—until Marcus makes a soft hooting noise and asks, “Love him? Logan? Love?”
“I do,” I say, and Marcus hums wildly. “And you love him, too. That’s why you worked so hard to finish the invention that would ransom his life. I want him to meet you. I want him to have a family. But to do that, I have to know where the summoners are located and how to destroy them before Rowan can use them against Logan when he arrives to rescue me.”
Marcus falls silent, his eye blinking rapidly as his gaze flits from my face to the floor and back again. “Know. Don’t know.” He shakes his head and speaks louder. “Know it. Know.”
I try to sound calm and soothing. “It’s okay, Marcus. We’ll take it slow. Please. You and I are the only ones left who can save your son.”
He quiets, and then says in a low voice, “Sons. Save my sons. James? Punish them? You promised. Sons.”
I close my eyes and try not to think of the way Sylph’s heartbeat slowed and then stopped as Ian’s poison coursed through her veins. “Yes. Your sons. I promised. We’ll do one question at a time, okay? First, do the summoners actually work?”
He mutters something that sounds like “inverse” followed by a string of unintelligible sounds that might be scientific equations or might be nothing at all.
“Did you say ‘inverse’?” I ask, leaning my face against the wall so I can watch Marcus. His ruined face contorts, the scar tissue that covers what’s left of his features pulling his mouth into grotesque angles while he mumbles and keens. He grabs his hair—still thick and dark blond like Logan’s, but with gray at the temples—and yanks on it so hard, I expect to see his scalp start to bleed.
I’m running out of time. If Samuel takes the bait and visits me, I need to be ready. I bite back the surge of frustration, and try again.
“The summoners work by using inverse?” I ask. That doesn’t sound like an actual thing, but he keeps repeating it, so it must be important.
Outside the dungeon’s window, a drum begins pounding, and what sounds like hundreds of boots slap the pavement in time to the beat. I’ve heard the same sound every morning for the past four days. I assume it’s Rowansmark’s army running drills. Dad and I visited Rowansmark fairly often, and I don’t remember seeing soldiers march in formation in front of James Rowan’s mansion, but then again, I wasn’t concerned with the military, the trackers, or anything else inside the city walls. I had Dad, so I was safe.
But I don’t have Dad with me now, and I can’t ignore the fact that even though James Rowan has tech at his disposal that can call and control an army of the tanniyn, he’s still prepping his army for war.
Which means he feels the need to have a backup plan.
Which means the tech can be destroyed, if I can just get Marcus to tell me how.
“Listen to me,” I say, cutting off another stream of mutterings that sound both mathematical and full of nonsense. “Where are the summoners?”
“Don’t know. Don’t. Do I?” He crawls to the wall and blinks at me, uncomfortably close. “Summoners?”
“Yes. Where are they?” My knees dig into the floor, and my back aches.
“Lab? No.” He stares past me. “After? Ian.” His eye finds me again. “After Ian.”
I put the pieces of his thoughts together and come up with the answer, my stomach sinking. “You don’t know where the summoners are because they moved them from the lab after Ian . . . after you were hurt?”
“Below? Yes. Below.”
“Below what?”
He huffs out a little breath. “Ground?” Patting his hand on the floor, he says, “Below?”
My chest hurts as the implication of his words hits me. “The summoners are buried somewhere? That’s how they work?” I shake my head as he starts muttering “inverse wave function anomaly Julia” over and over again. “Of course that’s how they work
. Melkin’s staff didn’t call the Cursed One until it was driven into the ground. But if the summoners are buried, how will I find them? How will I destroy them?”
The rattle of a chain being pulled from its lock drifts down the dungeon stairs seconds before the door creaks open.
My voice is harsh as I whisper, “Marcus, someone’s coming. Listen to me. How do I destroy the summoners?”
“Can’t? Can’t. Below. Inverse. Waves?”
Pressure builds in my head, an ache that begs to be released in tears as boots slap the stone steps. I can’t get the answers I need from Marcus. I can’t find the summoners because they’re buried. And even if I could find them, how would I destroy them when all Marcus can say is inverse?
“Ian? Knows. Inverse. Summoners inverse.”
My jaw clenches. “Ian knows how to destroy the summoners using the inverse of something?”
Marcus blinks rapidly while the chain on my door slides free. It’s too early for the butler to be bringing us our second ration of water. Either Samuel took the bait, or Logan is on the horizon, and Rowan wants me visible so that I’ll draw Logan close enough for the summoners to do their job.
Turning away from the wall, I watch my cell door open while Marcus hums and mutters to himself. Instead of Samuel, though, Ian enters the room, his eyes weary and his face as pale as if he’s been the one locked up and starved for days instead of me. Instantly, I clamber to my feet, cursing the wounds on my back for making my movements slow and cumbersome. If Ian is here, it must mean that James no longer needs me alive and has given Ian permission to kill me.
Marcus continues to hum in loud, discordant bursts. I wonder how long it will take him to pay attention to the conversation in my cell. I wonder what he’ll do when he recognizes Ian’s voice.
More than that, I wonder what Ian will do once I tell him his father is alive.
If I’m lucky, it will reach the part of him that used to understand right from wrong and keep him from killing me. If I’m really lucky, it will distract him enough to give me a chance to escape.