C. Redwine - Deception

“I don’t get it. The Rachel I first met would’ve taken out that man and the two beside him without even flinching. Now you rush into danger with no escape plan. No spine for doing what it takes to win. What happened?”

Anger is a sudden brilliant fire warming the emptiness inside of me. Turning, I spit my words in her face. “ What happened? You were there for most of it. My city is destroyed. Most of the people I knew are dead.” I lean closer. “Melkin is dead. My father is dead .”

The silence within me shivers as my words scrape against it. I imagine cracks across its surface, the terrible depths of grief and guilt buried beneath it a yawning mouth of unending darkness. I’m not ready to dive in. Not ready to be swept under when I have no safety rope to keep me tethered to my sanity.

Willow watches me, a challenge in her eyes. “Except for Quinn, all of the people I knew are lost to me now. And my father is dead, too. You don’t see me hesitating when it comes to survival.”

Her words sting, but I take a deep breath and try to sound calm. “I didn’t know about your dad. I’m sorry he died.”

“I’m not,” she says. The coldness in her voice makes me wrap my cloak tighter around myself. “But that isn’t the point. You need to figure yourself out, Rachel. Either you’re going to help us fight our battles no matter what it takes, or you need to go ride in a wagon with the elderly.”

“You never cared about my choices before. Why start now?”

“Because until I saw my brother shield you with his body, I had no idea your actions might hurt the one person I still love.” She grips her bow with bloodless fingers. “He’s saved you twice now. And this time it hurt him.”

“I didn’t ask to be saved. I don’t need him to protect me.”

“Try telling him . I can’t convince him that you aren’t his responsibility. So I’m talking to you instead.” She leans closer. “Stop deliberately putting yourself in danger unless you’re sure you won’t choke. Start paying attention. You lost people you loved. Others did too. You killed a man. Others have too. You don’t have the luxury of losing your edge, Rachel, because if you do anything— anything —that costs my brother his life, I will make you pay for it.”

Turning on her heel, she grabs a low-hanging branch and vaults into the closest tree as the skies split wide open and streams of icy gray water plummet to the ground.

I turn my back on the ruins of Baalboden one final time, and start walking.

Ian walks beside me as I lead the group toward what I’m hoping will be a usable campsite for the night. According to Jeremiah, we have only another hour or so to walk before we get to a large rock that will shelter us from at least some of the elements.

Rain is a merciless companion as we struggle through the Wasteland. It pools on our shoulders, our hoods, and our boots, chilling us to the bone. It flattens the grass with quick-moving streams of mud and lashes stray twigs and leaves from the trees above us. It drastically reduces visibility.

It’s the best travel companion I could’ve hoped for.

Highwaymen won’t brave the storm, so we’re safe from them for the moment. And the sudden streams that make walking difficult also wipe the land clean behind us, destroying all evidence of our passage. Unless the Commander is able to track our wristmark signals, he won’t know which way we went once we reached the Wasteland.

We’ve traveled hard for most of the day and have seen no sign of the army at our backs. Even the rain can’t dampen the relief I feel. A relief I see echoed on most of the faces around me. We’re free of the Commander. Free of the threat of Rowansmark coming after us.

For the first time in three weeks, I feel like I can breathe.

It’s a temporary reprieve. Once the storm passes, the water that wipes our tracks away will become mud that holds the proof of our journey in sharp relief. We have to put as much distance between us and our starting point as possible before then.

A tree in front of me shakes gently, and Quinn drops from a low branch and walks toward me. He’s limping.

“Tree leaping instead of walking?” Ian asks beside me.

Quinn shrugs. “It’s how I was trained to travel. Leaves fewer signs for a tracker to follow and offers better visibility. Even in the rain.” He pulls a slim sheaf of papers from beneath his tunic and thrusts them at me. “Jeremiah’s map. He says the terrain gets tricky in the next two hundred yards or so and wanted you to have this.”

I roll up the papers and tuck them into an inner cloak pocket where they’ll remain dry. “What happened to your leg?”

“Got sliced by a sword.”

“How deep?”

He waves his hand in the air as if swatting away any concern I might feel. “It’s superficial. I’ll be fine in a day or two.”

“What happened?”

“Jeremiah was in the hall when Carrington broke down the compound’s door. Rachel went to rescue him. Willow and I helped.”

“You’d be better able to protect yourself if you carried a sword of your own.”

“That’s not an option.”

I swipe rain out of my eyes and look at him. His dark hair is plastered to his head, and his shoulders are hunched against the downpour, but his eyes are full of resolve.

“Do you need to ride in a wagon until the leg heals?”

He raises a brow. “I think you just insulted my manhood.”

I smile. “I think you’re right. Sorry about that.”

Before he can leave, I reach out and clasp his shoulder. “Thank you. For bringing the map and for helping Rachel. Both with Jeremiah and with the Commander.”

He holds my gaze for a moment and then says, “Happy to help.”

“I hope you mean that, because I need to ask you for a favor. It’s about Rachel.” I pause, but I can’t think of any way to ask for help protecting her that doesn’t make it sound like I think less of her skills. I don’t. I respect her tremendously. I also understand her, which means I know without a doubt that if the Commander is within reach again, every cautious word I’ve spoken, every careful plan we’ve constructed, will turn to ash in the flames of her need for vengeance.

“I’m always kept busy now,” I say, gesturing toward the crowd behind us. “And while Rachel is very capable of taking care of herself in a fight, if the Commander shows up again . . . he hurt her.” I push the memory of Rachel, broken and silent after Oliver’s death, away from me. “If he’s near her, I don’t know what she might do.”

“I know what she’ll do,” Ian says, grudging admiration in his voice. “She’ll kill him. Probably while extracting as much pain from him as she can. You have to admire that kind of dedication.”

“And what would be left of her when she finished?” Quinn asks. Ian looks away, and Quinn locks eyes with me. “She won’t sacrifice herself on my watch.”

“Thank you.” The words are inadequate, but they’re all I have.

As Quinn hoists himself into the closest tree again, Ian asks, “What’s his story?”

“What do you mean?” I glance at the crowd behind me, their chins tucked down and their cloaks clutched close to their throats as they trudge through the rain. I can’t see Rachel, though I know she’s near the back of the line. The people walk slowly, mud sucking at their boots, and I bite back a surge of impatience. I want to prod everyone to move faster. To ignore the discomfort and do what it takes to survive.

“He’s a Tree Person. Why is he with us? Why doesn’t he carry a weapon when he’s clearly been trained for battle?” Ian asks, and I face the trail again as it starts a gentle curve toward the northeast.