Deliverance

  Reluctantly, Marcus moves back, tears shining in his eyes. I look toward Nola and Frankie. “Will you take care of him until we get back?”

  Nola nods and moves toward Marcus.

  “Wait.” Logan steps forward and wraps his arms around his father. Marcus hums Julia’s song as he holds his son for a long moment. When Logan lets go, Marcus is smiling, though tears are in his eyes. Logan smiles back and beside me, Frankie sniffs.

  “Are you crying?” Willow asks, her voice incredulous.

  “Maybe.” Frankie glares at her. “And that’s another thing we won’t be telling anyone.”

  “Ah, I see. We can’t tell people you cry at family reunions and puke when you get a whiff of the sewer. You’re really racking up the secrets, old man.” She grins at him while Adam climbs down the wall and joins us. Then she looks at me. “You said you have one more thing you need to do. I hope that thing is killing the Commander, because if you don’t do it, I will.”

  I wait for the hatred and anger that fueled me for so long to rush to the surface and claim me at the thought of heading out of the gates to kill the Commander. Instead, I feel nothing but resolve. This needs to be over. Not because it will make me feel better. Not because it will honor my father.

  It needs to be over because the Commander can no longer be allowed to hurt others.

  “How do you want to do this?” Logan asks. I anchor myself with one arm wrapped around him and one around Quinn while we follow Willow and Adam toward the gate. Frankie stays behind with Nola and Marcus. Quinn holds me for a moment, and then lets me go so that he can walk on his own.

  “I figured I’d go up to him and stab him with my knife, but I can only use my left hand, so maybe somebody else should do the honors.”

  “You don’t care if you aren’t the one who kills him?” Logan asks, a frown digging in between his brows.

  “It doesn’t matter who kills him as long as he’s dead, and we can move on,” I say.

  Quinn smiles at me, and I say, “So you burned down some government facilities, huh?”

  He gives a one-shouldered shrug. “A few.”

  “That doesn’t sound like you.”

  “I took a page out of your book this time.” His smile widens. “I made sure the buildings were empty so no one would get hurt, but I figured destroying the armory, the barracks, and the labs would weaken Rowansmark and give them something other than Logan’s arrival to focus on.”

  “Thank you for that. And for following Rachel,” Logan says. “I’m grateful you were looking out for her.”

  Quinn smiles a little but says nothing as we reach the city’s gate.

  “How did you get caught inside Rowansmark? You never get caught,” I say.

  “I’m not invincible.” He sounds slightly offended. “No one is.”

  “I’m counting on that,” I say as we leave the gate and see the Commander, his troops standing at attention behind him, striding toward the entrance of the city. The Rowansmark army—those who survived the tanniyn’s arrival—are kneeling on the ground fifty yards away from the city’s wall, their hands on their heads in surrender. The ground between the two armies is littered with bodies wearing uniforms from Rowansmark, Lankenshire, Schoensville, Hodenswald, Thorenburg, and Baalboden. No city-state involved in the ground battle survived the conflict without casualties.

  Another line of bodies catches my eye, and horror washes over me as I see many of the ranking officers from Rowansmark, Thorenburg, and Schoensville lying on the ground, their throats slashed.

  So much for accepting an honorable surrender. Just one more reason why the Commander can’t be allowed to live.

  The anger I was waiting to feel blazes to life within me, but it’s a steady, determined flame instead of the blistering fire of revenge. The Commander sees us, and his lips peel away from his teeth in a snarl.

  I let go of Logan’s arm and move to where Willow and Adam are standing, just outside the gate, their bodies blocking the entrance as if they alone can stop the Commander from taking over the city.

  “I have something I need to say to him, but then it’s going to get bloody,” I say. “Cover me, because I can’t do this by myself.”

  Willow inclines her head, and wraps her fingers around her bow.

  “We do this together,” Logan says as he walks up beside me. “For my mother, and Oliver, and your dad.”

  I meet his gaze and feel strong and certain for the first time in a very long time. No silence within me taking away the things that hurt me and spewing lies in their wake. No voices whispering that I’m guilty or broken. No burning need to rip the Commander to shreds. Just a resolute purpose driving me forward because I’m not a weapon, I’m a warrior, and the Commander is a threat that must be removed.

  “For all of us,” I say, and then we move away from the gate and toward the Commander.

  “James Rowan is dead.” Logan’s voice rings with authority as we come to a stop a few yards from the Commander. “Most of the tanniyn are too.”

  A slow, cruel smile spreads across the Commander’s face. “And you think that entitles you to claim Rowansmark?”

  “No,” Logan says. “I don’t want the city.”

  The Commander’s scar twitches. “Well then, boy, get out of my way.”

  “You can’t have it, either,” I say.

  The Commander’s laugh is vicious. “Look behind me. I have an entire army at my disposal, and you want to stand there telling me what I can and cannot have?” He steps closer to me. “I can have anything I’m strong enough to take. I thought I taught you that lesson when I killed the baker, but I can see that you need a refresher.”

  He draws his sword.

  Logan does, too.

  I pull my knife from its sheath and say, “You aren’t strong enough to take me. I choose not to bend to your will. I choose not to break.”

  “I know how to break girls like you.” He flings the words at me.

  “And I know how to stop tyrants like you.”

  His smile is cruel. “Not if I stop you first.”

  He lunges for me, his sword arcing toward my neck with terrible swiftness.

  I whip my arm up to block him just as Logan does the same. We stand, hip to hip, our arms crossed at the wrists as we keep the Commander’s weapon arm in the air.

  He glares, his scar twitching. I hold his gaze as Willow’s arrow streaks past me to bury its tip between the Commander’s eyes.

  He stiffens, his spine arcing. Slowly, he falls to his knees, his sword spinning away from him, and then he tumbles forward to lie unmoving at my feet.

  Several Baalboden guards step toward us, their weapons raised, but a harsh order from a ranking officer in a Hodenswald uniform stops them. We turn our backs on what’s left of the Commander and walk away.

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  CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

  LOGAN

  We buried Smithson beneath an oak tree at the eastern edge of the Wasteland. Nola put flowers on his grave, and I found words that I hoped would honor the kind of person he was. The kind of friend he was.

  Connor and Jodi left their lookout post in the Wasteland and joined us, and then I sent them with Frankie, Nola, Adam, Willow, and Quinn back to Lankenshire with the armada, promising to join them in a month or two. I sent Marcus with them as well, because he was in no condition to live on his own, and because I can’t turn my back on my father.

  Oliver would’ve liked him.

  The armada leaves on a brilliant summer morning, taking the surviving soldiers from the northern city-states with it. A few of the ranking officers have stayed behind to help Rowansmark rebuild and to help them choose a new leader. I spend four days working with them to get a plan in place, and then, satisfied that the worst case scenarios have been addressed, I leave them to the details.

  I don’t want to make any mo
re decisions. I don’t want to make any more plans.

  I want quiet. The space to think and invent.

  And I want Rachel.

  Three hours after sunrise on the sixth day after the battle at Rowansmark, I hoist my travel pack over my shoulder and take Rachel’s hand as we walk out of the gate and into the Wasteland.

  My heart feels like it could float out of my chest. I’m going to do the one thing I haven’t been able to do since all of this started: I’m going to spend time alone with Rachel.

  Without looking over our shoulders. Without running for our lives. Without grieving over our latest loss.

  Time spent talking. Kissing. Just breathing and belonging to the girl with the fiery hair, the fierce heart, and the smile that makes every logical thought fly out of my head.

  The sky becomes a patchwork of blue and gold glimpsed between branches loosely intertwined above us as we leave Rowansmark behind.

  “This is new,” Rachel says, her smile suddenly shy as she looks at me. “No one chasing us. Nothing we have to do because if we fail, everything will be ruined. It’s strange not having an agenda.”

  “Who says we don’t have an agenda?” I wink at her.

  She laughs. “Let me guess. You have a list of worst case scenarios we need to go over.”

  I spin her toward me and wrap my arms around her, pulling her close. “I look at you, and I see nothing but best case scenarios.”

  She smiles, and I feel like a prince.

  “How about this?” Her voice is sly. “Worst case scenario: Logan doesn’t kiss me right this second. Any idea how to solve that one?”

  “I think I can handle that.” I lean toward her, but she’s still talking.

  “Another worst case scenario: Logan stops kissing me before the sun goes down. Now that would be a serious problem, don’t you think?”

  “Absolutely.” I run my fingers up her back, tangle them in her hair, and tilt her head back.

  Her breath catches, a tiny gasp that makes me desperate for her. “Or maybe—”

  “Are you—”

  “—you could—”

  “—going to keep talking—”

  “—just kiss me already.”

  “Yes.” I crush her to me and kiss her like I never need to come up for air. Like everything I ever need is right here in my arms.

  She pulls back. “I love you, Logan.”

  “I love you, too. Always.”

  And then I kiss her until the sun goes down and the stars prick the sky and all I can hear is the way her heart pounds against mine. Until her breath and mine are tangled up and I can’t tell where one of us begins and the other one ends. Until all I feel is the way we love each other.

  This is all I want—all I’ll ever want—Rachel, and starlight, and peace.

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  EPILOGUE

  RACHEL

  I can measure my life in befores and afters.

  Before I saw Oliver die or realized that I loved Logan. Before I killed Melkin and became focused on revenge. Before I chose silence inside me instead of feeling the grief that consumed me after I lost my dad.

  That girl—a girl without scars, without doubts, and without the ability to see that life isn’t always black and white—is barely recognizable to me now.

  Now, seven months after the battle at Rowansmark, I live in the afters. After the loss and the betrayal. After the fight to right the wrongs and save those who needed saving. After I let myself feel the grief and the healing.

  I’m scarred, inside and out, but I’m also stronger. I’ve learned how to be a warrior. I’ve learned that hope rises out of the ashes if I let it.

  And I’ve learned that loving myself and others takes more strength than any sword fight. Especially if the person you’re trying to love is a boy stubbornly determined to invent a new steam-operated system of transit that will connect the city-states to one another now that we can safely outfit the trains with a sonic pulse that will keep away any lingering tanniyn.

  “It’s dinnertime,” I say as I enter the warehouse and push past the pile of junk—Logan would call it scrap or parts or nectar of the gods—and find him standing inside the framework for a boxcar that is four times the size of a wagon. Blueprints are stacked neatly on a table to the left, and schematics for the track are drawn on the wall to the right.

  “I’ll be there in a bit,” he says without looking at me.

  I roll my eyes. “That’s what you said about lunch. Five hours ago. And yet . . . here you are.”

  “I wonder if we need an ultrasonic signal on each individual car or just on the engine?” He gazes into space.

  “I wonder if you’re ever going to come out of your fancy Lankenshire warehouse and eat the meal I’m pretty sure I didn’t burn. Marcus made honey cakes for dessert. Nola and Quinn are going to come over tonight to sit with him so we can have some time alone. Or maybe because they want time alone. Quinn won’t tell me anything, of course, but I think he really likes her. So, time alone . . . what do you think we should—”

  “I’ve got it!” He snaps his fingers and looks around wildly before snatching a piece of chalk from the floor and climbing out of the framework so he can draw on the wall. “The trains don’t need to carry the signals. We can post them along the tracks themselves.”

  “I’m going to post you along the track if you don’t leave this alone for a few hours and come enjoy the sunset with me. We have things to talk about. The triumvirate is going to send me on my first courier mission next week. To Brooksworth. Of course, I have to take Cassidy I-Know-Everything Vaughn with me as my mentor, but still . . . Brooksworth!”

  His hand flies across the flat, gray wall as he draws yet another schematic, mumbling under his breath the way Marcus does when he’s measuring ingredients for a new recipe he’s experimenting with.

  I guess if dinner and a romantic view of the sunset are going to happen tonight, I’ll have to do something drastic.

  “Think of it, Rachel!” He pushes chalk-stained fingers through his hair as he gazes at his drawing. “We could visit any city-state in a matter of days. Faster than using horses, because we wouldn’t have to stop and—hey.”

  I slide my arms around his waist from behind and run my hand up his chest until I can feel his heartbeat quickening beneath my palm. Standing on tiptoes, I press a kiss beneath his ear.

  The chalk falls from his fingers and hits the floor.

  “Tell me more,” I say softly, my breath feathering against his skin.

  “About what?” He sounds dazed.

  My smile is smug as I step around to face him. “All the reasons why you can’t eat dinner with me and take a walk in the sunset and maybe kiss me for a while.”

  He wraps his arms around me and hauls me against his chest. “There’s nothing keeping me from any of that. Especially the kissing.”

  “I told you that Quinn and Nola are going to sit with Marcus tonight so we can have hours to ourselves.”

  He grins. “I think Quinn likes her.”

  I roll my eyes. “I told you that, too. And then I told you that the triumvirate approved my courier-in-training status, and I get to go to Brooksworth next week with Cassidy. I think they’re sending Willow as one of our military escorts, though how she and Cassidy will survive a trip together without killing each other is anybody’s guess.”

  His grin widens. “I’m proud of you.”

  “Are you sure? Because you said something about tracks. Ultrasonic pulses. Trains—”

  “I was a fool.” He kisses me and warmth spreads through me, lingering on my skin like sunshine. When he lifts his head, he says, “I love you more than trains, you know.”

  I laugh. “I know. But you have been pretty distracted since we moved into Lankenshire permanently.”

  He runs a hand up my neck and into my hair. Tipping my he
ad back, he says, “Let me make that up to you.”

  His mouth hovers over mine for a moment, and then he’s kissing me, and I’m holding on to him, and I don’t know where he ends and I begin.

  “I love you,” he says.

  I smile at the boy who thinks I’m beautiful, scars and all. Who fought to find me when I was lost and refused to let me disappear into my silence.

  At the boy who is mine to have, to hold, and to keep on his toes.

  “I love you, too,” I say. “Always.”

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  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  First and foremost, thank you to Jesus for loving me and giving me hope.

  A huge thanks as well to the following people:

  To my husband, Clint, for supporting me, picking up the slack while I’m on deadline, and for being my biggest fan. I love you.

  To Tyler, Jordan, Zach, and Johanna for understanding when I need to work, for being excited about my books, and for being the most awesome kids in the entire world.

  To my parents and my sister for being fans of mine whether I ever write another book or not. And especially to Heather for reading and giving feedback, even if you do keep threatening me with orange Spree.

  To my amazing editor, Kristin Rens, whose tireless belief in this trilogy and whose incredible insight have helped make me a better writer. I love doing books with you!

  To my agent, Holly Root, for being always in my corner.

  To my incredible writer bffs for talking me off ledges, cheering me on, and keeping me sane. M. G. Buehrlen, Jodi Meadows, Myra McEntire, Rae Carson, Shannon Messenger, and Claire Legrand—you are so cupcake worthy.

  To the outstanding team at Balzer + Bray who do so much to make my books shine. It takes a huge team effort to put a book into the world, and you are simply the best. I appreciate you all!