C. Redwine: Deception

“None of you are going anywhere until the triumvirate decides your fates.”

“No one decides my fate but me,” Willow says as guards surround her and begin pushing her back toward the square.

I meet her eyes and shake my head slightly as I see her hand tighten on her bow. Even if we fought our way free of these guards, we still couldn’t get the gate open without the triumvirate’s help. And we’d be immediately surrounded by trackers. We’d have gained nothing but a certain verdict against us or Rowansmark watchdogs making it impossible to get to the device without an audience. We’ll have to go peacefully and hope that what I can offer—a way to fight Rowansmark’s tyranny and an end to the Commander—will be enough to secure our freedom.

If it isn’t, then Willow can do what Willow does best, and we’ll either fight our way out of the city or die trying.

The jail cell is in the basement of the council building. The stone floors are dark gray, and the bars are the same gleaming ebony as the gate. Our weapons are taken from us. Willow is placed in the cell next to mine, and she starts pacing its length the second the door clicks shut behind her.

I step into my cell, hear the door slam shut, and unfold the paper Ian left for me.

Bring the controller, along with all modifications, to Rowansmark or she will receive the punishment you deserve. I guarantee she won’t survive it.

My hands shake as I sink onto the single stone bench within the cell. Rachel is badly wounded and at the mercy of a madman who has no qualms hurting innocents to get his way. The Commander and his borrowed army are camped outside the city’s wall with a bounty on my head that I doubt Lankenshire can afford to refuse.

And I’m locked inside this cell, trusting the fates of everyone I love to the wisdom of three people I know nothing about.

Best Case Scenario: The triumvirate agrees to my bargain and sets me free to kill the Commander and rescue Rachel.

Worst Case Scenario: Everything else.

The wound of Jared’s betrayal bleeds somewhere within me. The weight of it—the weight of all of this—sinks into my bones, an ache that rubs me raw from the inside out. Once, I was Logan McEntire—loved by the mother who gave her life to save me, rescued by the baker whose heart was bigger than his fear, trusted by the most respected courier in Baalboden, and loved by the girl whose honesty and courage were a beacon of hope in my darkest hour.

Now I’m Logan McEntire—raised on lies, kept alive until I proved useful, and locked away from my own story like a fool who cannot be trusted.

I can’t demand explanations from my mother. I can’t ask Oliver if he saved me for love, or if he was charged with keeping me fed until my father held up his end of the bargain. I can’t confront Jared and ask him how he could look into my eyes and never tell me the truth.

The only person left who might know the answers is the girl I love, and she’s gone.

For the first time since I lay on the filthy cobblestones beside my mother’s lifeless body thirteen years ago, I am Logan McEntire—alone.

Taking a deep breath, I ignore the ache of betrayal within me and focus on what I can control. I don’t have any solid exit strategies. I’m weaponless, tech-less, and I can’t communicate with any of my people except Willow. A carefully reasoned plan full of logic and sound science isn’t in my reach.

We have until nightfall before we see the triumvirate. That’s more than enough time to put together a backup plan that hinges on sheer audacity and dumb luck. The odds might be stacked against us, but I have Willow. And I have the loyalty of the Baalboden survivors.

Plus, I once promised Rachel that I would always find her. Always protect her.

I refuse to fail.

Folding Ian’s last message into a small square, I shove it into my cloak pocket and begin to plan.

Sunlight paints the backs of my eyelids red and sends a piercing shaft of pain straight into my brain. I try to lift my hands to push at the ache, but my arms refuse to move.

“Rachel,” a voice says in a mocking, singsong rhythm. “I know you’re in there. Come out and play.” Something hard slaps my cheek, and the pain in my head doubles.

The familiar voice has lost its flirtatious charm, and the truth sinks into me like poison.

Ian.

Ian blew up the smoke bomb, dragged me through a side street, knocked me out, and . . . and what? I force my eyes to open, and immediately squint against the daylight that floods my head with agony.

“Oh, good. You’re awake,” he says, and I see him, crouched before me, his eyes glowing with hate like it’s the only thing keeping him alive.

I turn away and scan my surroundings. I’m inside the Wasteland, propped up against a thick oak in the middle of a vast sea of trees packed so close I can barely see the sky. Nowhere near the path. Probably nowhere near Lankenshire if Ian’s smart. Logan will already be looking for me. And when he finds me . . . I meet Ian’s eyes and bare my teeth in a smile.

“Logan will move heaven and earth to find me.”

“Oh, I’m counting on it,” he says, and a stray beam of sunlight gleams off the thick, double-edged knife in his hands. He flips the blade around to face me and cocks his head.

“We’re going to be traveling a long way, Rachel. Logan has his hands full with Carrington at the moment, but I have no doubt he’ll outsmart them somehow. And then he’ll come to ransom you from Rowansmark with the device, just like my father tried to ransom him.”

“You’re crazy.”

The knife plunges down, slicing through my bandage and digging into burned flesh. I scream as raw agony blisters my arm. Ian watches me with a terrible desperation in his eyes.

When he pulls the knife away, blood bubbles out of the jagged wound and pours over my hand.

He grabs my chin and tilts my face toward him. “You’ll watch your mouth.”

I spit on him.

The knife flashes, and the pain hits, and I scream until my throat fills with tears. Until the agony twists my stomach so that I gag.

“It’s a long journey to Rowansmark,” he says. “And I can inflict a lot of pain.”

My voice is hoarse as I say, “I can take it.”

He smiles, and something inside of me trembles. “There are all kinds of pain, Rachel.”

“You can’t break me,” I say, and I mean it. I’ve already been through hell, and I know I can survive it. I can rise above it. I might break for a little while, but I won’t stay broken forever.

“It will be a delight to prove you wrong,” he says, and yanks me to my feet by the rope around my wrists. “Now start walking. We have a lot of ground to cover before my spineless brother figures out how to bypass the Carrington army that surrounds him.”

“Let her go.”

I turn and see Quinn a few yards from us, lethal fury spilling off of him in waves. Blood pours down the side of his face from a gash in his head, and he sways a little as he stands.

“That’s quite a wound,” Ian says, and smiles. “Almost like someone kicked you in the head. I was actually trying to kill you. Pity.”

“You’ll have to try harder,” Quinn says.

Ian bows, his hands fluttering, and I see a second knife slide out of a wrist sheath and into his hand. The blades are dark gray metal and seem to absorb the sunlight that filters in past the canopy of leaves above us.

“Where did you get those weapons?” I ask, and pressure builds in my chest as the answer comes to me even before the pair of Rowansmark trackers step out of the trees behind us.

That’s going to making catching Ian off guard and killing him a bit more difficult.