C. Redwine: Deception

Which is a really stupid thing to think about right now, because my skin refuses to keep secrets from Logan. It glows, my breath hitches in my throat, and a feeling just as real as the pain in my arm but infinitely more delicious spreads through my stomach in lazy spirals.

“This will work.” Logan’s voice is steady, but the fingers that reach around me to gently tug my tunic over my head tremble. His chest scrapes the sensitive skin along my back as he breathes in quick, little jerks as if he’s been running.

I sound like I’ve been running too.

“Hold still,” he whispers, and the shimmery undertunic flows over my skin like water. His hands cup my waist, and he pulls me against him. Pressing his mouth to the nape of my neck, he holds me in place for a long moment. Not that I’m tempted to move. Tiny shivers spark across the heat on my skin, and I wiggle even closer to him.

He lifts his head and says in a voice I barely recognize, “Walk away.”

“I—what?”

“Walk away from me.” His fingers dig into my hips. “Please.”

I don’t want to. I want to forget everything that haunts us, everything we still have to face, and just have this one perfect moment with him.

But something in Logan’s voice compels me to move. I take three steps forward until my knees hit the cot.

“Thank you,” he says after a long silence. Then he lifts the Dragonskin off the cot and carefully settles it over my head. It’s lighter than my cloak, and flexible when I move, but it still feels strange to wear something constrictive so close to my body.

I turn to face Logan, tugging at the Dragonskin with my left hand.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“For what?”

“For . . . being tempted by you.”

My smile feels just a little smug.

He smiles back. “Let’s finish getting you ready.”

He slides my outer tunic over the Dragonskin. Tugs on my boots and buckles them down. Straps my knife sheath where I can reach it with my left hand, but where it will be hidden from sight. And true to form, he spends the entire time giving me a litany of worst case scenarios, instructions, and plans. Finally, he drapes my cloak over my shoulders and pronounces me ready to go. The leather of my cloak smells like garlic and smoke, and I use the memories it evokes to focus on what matters in the next few moments.

Finding Ian. And making him regret that he was ever born.

Rachel leans heavily on me as we climb down a set of stairs and hurry through the main hospital hallway. The walls are a brilliant white, and the floor beneath us is smooth, dark wood. Quinn refuses Willow’s help as he walks, but his breathing is harsh, and his hands shake. Frankie and Adam walk in front of us.

Jodi, Drake, Smithson, and Nola meet us in the front hall, a circular room with a scattering of stiff-looking chairs covered in soft green cloth.

“Ian isn’t in the building,” Nola says. Her usually calm expression is set in angry lines. “No one’s seen him in here all day.”

“Well, if Clarissa was telling the truth, some of Ian’s tracker friends are here from Rowansmark. Maybe he went to find them,” Rachel says.

“Oh, good. More murderers to kill.” Willow adjusts her quiver and doesn’t look at Quinn.

“The triumvirate is expecting you in the council room now,” Elim says as she crosses the stone floor with brisk steps. “I’ll take you.”

“We don’t have time for this now,” Adam says. “We need to find Ian.”

I glance meaningfully at Elim and shake my head.

“We’ll tell the triumvirate we know who the killer is and ask for their help in capturing him. They know this city, and the probable location of the Rowansmark trackers, better than we do,” I say quietly. “But we aren’t going to stand around and wait for them to reach a decision. We’ll give them his identity, and then we’re going to turn this city upside down until we find him.”

We follow Elim out of the wide double doors, across the small, manicured courtyard, and through the stone archway that leads to the main road. With every step, I see Donny’s eyes lit with eagerness as he remembers to keep his knife ready. Sylph smiling while she carefully bandages my head. Thom sacrificing himself so that I could live.

Ian’s hands are covered with the blood of my people—my friends —and every breath I take is fueled by the cold, implacable fury that lives within me. Ian will die for what he’s done. I only wish I knew how to reanimate him so I could kill him again and again and again until he’s suffered the way he made us suffer.

Silencing the tiny voice that wonders if my motivations are so very different from his, I scan the streets as I walk and pray for a glimpse of him. My motivations might be similar, but I don’t plan to kill innocent people to achieve my goal.

Lankenshire is a city of gray-white stone, tidy yards, and streets that curve in gentle circles around the cluster of government buildings that rest in the city’s heart. Elim walks with her customary brisk strides, her dark hair swinging with every step. I’m thankful the hospital is only one street away from the council house. Rachel holds her head high, but I can tell every step she takes is harder than the last.

We follow the street as it spirals inward toward the city’s center. Most of the buildings we pass look like businesses. One tall structure claims to be a library. I can’t imagine what it’s like to live in a city where every citizen has access to a huge collection of books.

I guess the triumvirate doesn’t share the Commander’s conviction that ideas can be threatening.

“You can rest in the council room,” I tell Rachel as we round the corner and see the orderly square laid out before us. It’s a testament to how weak she still feels that she doesn’t argue.

The council building is an imposing structure made from polished gray brick. A tall statue of a man with a narrow face and an impressive sword stands in the middle of the square surrounded by pink and purple flowers.

Ahead of us, Elim halts in the middle of the paved path that leads to the council building’s steps. Casting a quick, panicked look over her shoulder at us, she lifts trembling fingers to her throat.

I peer around her to see what’s wrong and instantly reach for my sword. A line of Rowansmark trackers stretches across the steps leading into the council building. I scan the rest of the square and see more trackers stepping out of the shadows. In seconds, we’re surrounded by no fewer than fifteen.

Ian isn’t with them.

“Give us the controller, and your friends can walk away from this place unharmed.” A tracker near the center of the square steps closer. His skin is nearly as dark as Oliver’s, and his head is bare. His brown eyes are calculating as he assesses us.

Rachel lets go of me and draws her knife. Willow nocks an arrow on her bow.

“I don’t have it with me,” I say before anyone else can show aggression toward the trackers. If I can convince the trackers to separate me from the rest of my group, ostensibly to retrieve the device, I can keep my friends safe. As if she can read my mind, Rachel steps a little closer to me. Her hands shake as she holds her knife, but her face is a mask of furious determination.

I admire her courage, but on a day like this, when she’s already struggling just to stay on her feet, her courage is going to get her killed.

“You wear the device on your chest,” the tracker says.

Of course he knows that. Ian must have told his tracker friends every single detail he’d observed over the past few weeks.

I glance behind me. The trackers are closing in. If I’m going to derail what’s about to happen, I need to do it soon.