C. Redwine - Deception

I can’t find an answer to this, but Rachel steps forward and wraps an arm around Drake’s waist. “Thank you,” she says.

“You’d have done the same for me,” Drake says.

“Yes, but you’ve earned it,” she says quietly. She’s right. Without Drake and Nola’s aid, I might have died in the Commander’s dungeon. As far as I’m concerned, Drake can ask me anything he wants for the rest of my life, and I’ll do it.

“Oh, I think you’ve earned it, too.” He smiles and wraps one arm around each of us. For a moment, I’m back in my cottage with Oliver’s arm wrapped securely around my shoulders, his love for me a constant presence I’d learned to depend on. The ache of missing him grows larger when Drake lets go and steps back.

“So are we going to stand around hugging all day, or should we figure out how to tell the camp their psychotic ex-leader has returned with friends?” Willow asks.

“Maybe we should also figure out how to explain to them that we’re now trapped inside the city until the tunnel is finished,” Ian says as he brushes bits of grass and dirt from a scabbard and then slides the soldier’s weapon back into its resting place. “Of course, I guess if you really do have a device that can control the Cursed One, we could just call the monster and set it loose on the army. Problem solved.”

He flashes me a grin. My stomach clenches as I remember the desperate screams of Baalboden’s people while the beast turned the city into their funeral pyre.

“We aren’t using the Cursed One as a weapon,” I say.

Ian shrugs. “Seems the easiest answer to our problem.”

The last time I believed that line of reasoning, the device failed, and Baalboden was destroyed. I’m not risking it again. Not when I have the tunnel at my disposal.

“We’ll leave through the tunnel.” A glance at the sky shows that the shadows of twilight are already gathering. “I want us out of here tomorrow morning, even if we haven’t reached the one-thousand-yard mark I set for us.”

“Suit yourself.” Ian bends to lift a handful of Dragonskin tunics. He’s taller than me, all angles and sharp edges, but he’s strong enough to toss five tunics over his shoulder and scoop up three swords as well.

Thom, ignoring Frankie’s strident insistence that he take it easy because of the lump on his head, gathers up the knives we found strapped to the soldiers’ ankles. The weapons look small in Thom’s massive hands.

“We’ll sleep in the compound tonight and leave at first light,” I say.

“No one’s going to be happy about sleeping in the Commander’s home,” Frankie says, his lips turning down like he’s just bitten into something sour.

“It’s that or stay out in the open and hope Carrington can’t get into the city.” I hold Frankie’s gaze. “I’m sure you can find a way to convince them.”

I turn to Quinn. “We need to double the guards tonight in case we didn’t get every soldier that came through the gate. Use people from your sparring class if you have to.”

As the rest of the group divides the supplies into bundles they can carry, I take the remaining Dragonskin tunics and jerk my chin toward the northbound road. “Let’s go.”

They match my pace as we leave the grass-lined path behind and enter what used to be Lower Market. The streets, a swath of broken cobblestones and haphazard piles of debris, cut a path through the burned-out husks of stores, tents, and food stalls. I turn the corner at what’s left of Jocey’s Mug & Ale, and my boots grind bits of glass that lie across the soot-covered cobblestones like diamonds.

Rachel’s mouth is a thin, pressed line, and her eyes are shadowed by the same demons that seem to haunt her when she wakes screaming from her nightmares. I let the others move ahead of me and fall into step beside her.

“I should’ve waited for you,” I say quietly.

She says nothing.

“When I went over the gate, I was sure you were right behind me, and I was focused on catching the soldiers who already went through. I didn’t know that I’d be leaving you to face the Commander alone.” I swallow hard as the unwelcome image of Rachel lying dead at the Commander’s feet taunts me.

“You did the right thing,” she says, but her voice sounds detached. Like she’s saying the words she thinks I want to hear, but keeping the truth locked somewhere inside.

“The right thing is to protect you.”

Her shoulders straighten, and she shifts the load of boots and knives she carries. “The right thing is to take care of those who can’t take care of themselves. You don’t have to worry about me. I could’ve taken him if Quinn hadn’t interfered.”

It takes a second for her words to register, but when they do, I have to grit my teeth to keep from raising my voice. “Are you saying you deliberately stayed outside the Wall so you could face him? Alone?”

“Not at first. A soldier caught me.” She still sounds like the words she says mean nothing to her, and the fear that slides through me flickers into anger.

“And you got away from him. Didn’t you?”

“Of course.” She sounds insulted.

A gust of wind snatches her hair and flings it in my face. I swat it away, trying to figure out how to get through to her. How to make her care that she nearly sacrificed herself for vengeance and left me with yet another loved one to miss.

A sharp turn takes us north, and I clench my jaw as we walk past the ashes of Oliver’s bakery. I try to remember the way his dark eyes would rest on me, filled with gentle acceptance and later with love, but already his memory blurs around the edges. I know from experience that I can’t hold on to it. Not exactly. The smell of his baking, the warmth of his hand, and the way he would quietly encourage me will keep fading with every day that passes without him. But I can hold on to what he built into me—the strength to do the right thing even when it feels impossible and the belief that if I put my mind to it, I can accomplish anything—I can hold on to that, and a part of him will never leave me.

I can do that for Oliver, but I don’t want to have to do it for Rachel. I don’t want to struggle to remember the exact shade of her eyes or the way she smiles when she thinks she’s bested me. I don’t want to be left with nothing but regrets and the heartbreaking certainty that if I’d only done something differently, I could’ve saved her.

Keeping my voice low, I say, “So you got away from the soldier and had a chance to follow us into the city, but you chose to stay and face the Commander?”

Something in my tone gets through to her, and she frowns at me. “He was right there. The man responsible for all of this.” She gestures at the remains of Oliver’s stall and then at the ruined city itself. “He took everything from us, and he was right there . Tell me you wouldn’t have done the same thing.”

I stop and face her. “I wouldn’t have done the same thing.”

She shakes her head, and this time, I don’t bother trying to speak quietly. “No, Rachel. I wouldn’t have stayed out there to face him alone. Not when an entire army was surrounding me.”

“They weren’t attacking anymore. They were waiting—”

“For him to kill you!”

Sudden fury blazes across her face, and her voice shakes. “I would’ve killed him first, Logan. In case you’ve forgotten, I know how to do it.”

“And then what?” My voice shakes as much as hers. “If you managed to kill him first, what was your exit strategy with the entire army of Carrington surrounding you? Death?”

“If that’s what it takes!” Unshed tears gather on her lashes, but her expression is fierce.

I can’t breathe. Can’t think beyond the terrifying realization that the pain Rachel has endured at the hands of the Commander has led her to this precipice. How can I save her if she doesn’t even want to be saved?