C. Redwine - Deception

“Please. Don’t,” I say, but another tentacle reaches my skin and sinks into my veins. Another bruise spreads, the pain twisting inside of me like a living thing.

“Look around,” Dad says, his gray eyes shining out of Oliver’s face. “You’re alone now.”

I stand up and try to run.

“Rachel!” Dad yells my name, but I don’t look down. I don’t look at his ruined face hovering over Oliver’s while their blood slides over my skin, leaving a trail of agony in its wake.

“Rachel!” A hand shakes my shoulder, and the blood disappears. Noises rush in—shouts, the rasp of a sword leaving its sheath—and my eyes fly open.

Logan looms over me. “Wake up. We’re under attack.”

He whirls away and lunges forward as a man nearly twice his size lumbers out of the trees, a pair of mismatched swords in his fists. The man’s clothing is a collection of bits and pieces of cloth from the old civilization patched and stitched into a haphazard outfit that is specifically geared toward surviving outdoors—tough fabric, thick lining beneath the tunic, and heavy rawhide coverings strapped around his legs.

A highwayman.

Two more men explode out of the woods on his heels, their expressions feral and hungry in the wash of moonlight.

My knife is already in my hand as I jump to my feet. Beside me, the men Logan and I recruited to stand guard with us are waving their weapons in the air like they can scare off our attackers if they flash enough silver.

I bend down and snatch my Switch from the ground. The highwaymen are too big and too well armed for knife work. I need to keep my distance.

More men pour out of the tree line and the sounds of battle fill the air—hoarse cries of fury, the clash of metal, and the solid thunk of a body hitting the ground. I sheath my knife and release the blade on my Switch as two of the highwaymen race toward me.

The guards sharing my post step in front of me as if to protect me.

“Get back!” I shove my way through them. “Stay behind me. When I knock them to the ground, you finish them, do you understand?”

I can’t wait to see if they agree with my strategy. The highwaymen are converging on me. I widen my grip, plant my left foot, and whirl out of the path of one and directly into the second. Slamming my Switch into his stomach, I dive out from under his feet before he can finish swinging his sword at me. His momentum carries him past me, and I slash the tendons behind his knees with my blade.

I’m already on my feet as he falls to the ground screaming. The second man is attacking one of my fellow guards with a curved blade that flashes like quicksilver beneath the stars.

“Get the one who’s down!” I yell to the other guard as I sprint toward the fight and launch myself at the highwayman swinging the blade.

The weighted end of my Switch smacks into his shin, knocking him off-balance. He whips toward me, his weapon slicing with terrible speed. I slam the middle of the Switch against the hilt of his sword, blocking his blow. Breathing in heavy pants, he sizes me up.

“A girl?” He sounds amused and interested in a way that makes my skin crawl. “This is going to be fun.”

He’s bigger than me. Stronger, too. He leans his weight against the Switch, and the sword slowly edges toward my face.

I let my arms tremble a bit as I quickly assess his weaknesses. I’m not going to choke this time. No one is going to have to rescue me.

And no one is going to get the chance to rescue him.

A smile smears his face with malice and his rancid breath fills my nose as he chuckles. “Give up now, sweet thing, and I won’t kill you.”

“I can’t say the same.” I go limp and drop to the ground. The sudden lack of resistance causes him to stumble forward a single step.

That single step is all I need.

Dropping my Switch, I snatch my knife and lunge to my feet, burying my weapon in his sternum as I stand.

He deflates slowly, and I shove him away as he crumples. My knife glistens beneath the moonlight, and I shudder, but I can’t stop to count the cost of adding more blood to the overwhelming tide I’ve already shed.

“Logan!” I yell his name as I run toward the place I last saw him.

“Here,” he says, and I find him crouched beside Keegan, who is moaning in pain. A quick glance around shows all is nearly quiet again.

Two of the intruders are attacking Adam and Ian. I take a step forward, already sizing up the situation to see where I could make the most impact, when Adam just comes undone. Screaming, he dives at one of the men, his weapon flashing. It’s like watching a tornado—all fury and strength and very little finesse. Not that he needs it. The intruder is motivated by greed. Adam is fueled by loss and a desperate need to make someone pay for it. It’s over in seconds. When I see Ian can handle the second one, I scan the rest of the meadow.

One highwayman peels away from the camp and runs toward the tree line. The soft thwing of an arrow disturbs the air, and he falls to the ground. It’s almost frightening how accurate Willow’s aim is even in the dark. The other highwaymen appear to be dead or wounded. No one is fighting. No one is looting. We won.

We won .

I crouch beside Logan. “We did it. The camp arrangement worked. We held our perimeter. The new guards got a taste of experience.” I look around again, afraid we might have sustained losses that will destroy this small moment of hope. “I don’t know how many wounded we have, but we did it, Logan. We defended ourselves.”

His hand finds mine and squeezes. “We did it.” His voice holds wonder and weary satisfaction.

Neither of us points out the obvious: This was a small group of highwaymen. Twenty at the most by the looks of things. Defeating twenty highwaymen is a far cry from defeating the Commander’s army, but still, it’s a victory. We’ll take every victory we can get.

We killed twenty-three highwaymen. Two of our inexperienced recruits died, and five others are injured seriously enough to need medical attention.

The loss of two of our own hurts, but even through the pain of more death, the people stand a little taller, and I imagine the spark I see in their eyes is a tiny glimmer of hope.

I help Logan carry Keegan, the guard with the stab wound in his leg, to the medical wagon. Blood pours from his wound, and he shivers uncontrollably. Sylph meets us at the wagon’s entrance, her dark curls thrust into a messy bun, her sleeves rolled up.

Another bruise spreads across her left wrist like an indigo stain.

“Your wrist!” I say.

She shakes her head. “One of the injured was thrashing around. It’s nothing. Let’s get him into the torchlight.”

I meet Logan’s eyes, my stomach clenching. This much bruising isn’t normal. Not for Sylph. Not for anyone.

“Rachel!” Sylph says. “Help me with him.”

I shake off my unease as best as I can and follow her. There’s no room in the wagon for another patient, so we stretch him out on the ground. Thom drives a torch into the soil beside Keegan. The heat of the flames licks against our skin.

“I need to seal up the camp’s perimeter again,” Logan says softly.

“Go. We’ve got this.” I wave him away and something wet flies off of my fingers.

I look down. My hands are slick with Keegan’s blood. My throat closes as I frantically clean my hands on the grass beside me.

“Press on this,” Sylph says as she shoves a folded cloth against the wound.

I lean forward and press, gulping back nausea as the image of Keegan blurs and becomes Oliver lying beneath my hands, his blood pouring out in a thick, hot river.