by Jess Corban
“Go on,” he rasps, getting to his feet.
“I don’t trust you to keep your big mouth shut if Teera gets to you. And I know you have supplies.”
Because this animal took them from innocent finca owners like your sister, my better sense tries to remind me, but I snuff her like a stubborn candle and continue.
“And I know you want to . . . change things.”
He raises an eyebrow. “If by ‘change things’ you mean pay the Matriarchy back for everything it has taken from us, then yeah.”
“Listen carefully, Brute.” We’re standing nose to chin now, and I’m surprised how little fear I feel in the face of him. “Your sloppy little band of revolutionaries is no match for the full force of the Alexia. You might have ‘testosterone’—whatever that even is—but you are outnumbered and way out of your league. You need me, and I—” the words taste all kinds of sour sliding out—“I need your help. Time is running out, and you can get back to Tree Camp faster than I can. If I let you go, you have to warn Torvus that Teera knows about them and could come at any time. Tell them I’m coming and that I’ll follow as soon as possible so we can figure out a plan.”
Dáin’s dense freckles bunch around his nose and eyes, features pinched in consideration. I wish he wouldn’t take so much time. Every second of silence that passes is another opportunity to question the monumental risk I’m taking.
“Will you do it?” I ask, commandingly.
“I don’t have much choice, do I?”
“Neither of us do.”
So it’s decided. My fingers shake, the key knocking against the hole as I try to ease it into the lock. But it won’t fit.
“Bats,” I mutter, trying again. It would be just my luck for each cell to have a different key. On the third failed attempt, I growl at the blasted lock and throw the key to the floor, grabbing the bone knife from my belt instead. The curved tip slides easily into the hole, and I finesse it this way and that, prying gently and willing it to work. I’m just about to crumple in defeat when a final twist clicks something free. I grab the door and tug. It swings out like a blessed miracle.
The elation of victory is slapped down by my sudden vulnerability. The protection removed, we glare at each other for a tense moment, and I consider slamming the door shut and making a run for it. I grit my teeth instead, trying to look more sure of my decision than I feel.
“Once we’re outside, you’re on your own,” I tell him.
“Don’t you worry about me, pretty thing. Shadows were made for the night.” He grins devilishly, stepping toward me, sending a rush of panic through me. Then he reaches out and grabs the dark blanket tucked under my arm. “May I?” he asks, after the fact.
My temper gets the better of me, and I press the tip of the knife into his chest. “Just so we’re clear, you won’t take anything from me without asking.”
“Simmer down, girl,” he says, ignoring the blade. “I admit I have a habit of taking things I like, but I won’t lay a hand on you.” His crooked smile does little to reassure me, but I lower my weapon out of necessity. We have to move.
“Have you considered,” he goes on, “that Torvus might not be willing to see me? In case you missed it, we aren’t exactly on good terms.” If I didn’t know better, I’d swear hurt flashes in his crazed eyes. “I don’t know what kind of deal you two have going on, but he might have a hard time believing I’m running with the enemy I offered to dispose of in front of the clan.”
Of course I’m not sure. I barely know Torvus, and from what little I’ve seen, he’s as moody as a pregnant llama. If only I had something I could give him, some token . . .
My hand tightens around the knife handle, protesting what my mind is considering. It’s my only weapon, and . . . Don’t be stupid. It’s just a knife, and it might work.
“Take this,” I say, flipping it to offer him the handle. “It’s Rohan’s. He’ll know it’s from me.”
“You managed to steal this from Rohan?”
“No—he gave it to me.”
Dáin whistles low. “Well, isn’t that sweet?” Then he snatches the knife, twirls it once, and shoves it into an empty sheath at his hip. Waving his hand with unnecessary flourish, he motions me to lead the way.
We move through the corridor between cells and slip through the door Trin used. A short, narrow staircase leads to what I remember as the entrance.
It’s locked.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I moan.
Dáin grunts, then runs back toward the cells. Thirty seconds later, he’s pushing me aside, producing the key I dropped outside his cell. The lock releases, and he cautiously opens the heavy wooden door into a curtain of tangled vines.
We’re met with the fresh scent of field and the watery sound of a nearby fountain. After quietly closing and locking the door, we scurry through the moonlit darkness to a deeply recessed alcove in the Arena’s outer wall.
“This is it,” I say. “You’re on your own from here. There are horses in the pastures if you know how to ride, but Jase said it was faster and safer for him on foot.” Dáin looks surprised, and I wonder if he knows Jase has been in Nedé. “It doesn’t matter. Just don’t get caught, okay? I’ll follow soon.”
A niggling worry resurfaces—I still don’t know how to find my way back, and someone who lived there is standing right in front of me.
“Hey,” I whisper reluctantly, hating to ask him anything. “How can I find Tree Camp?”
Amusement sparks in his shadowy eyes. “What, you want a map or something? Street signs? If you don’t know how to find it, you don’t belong there.”
“You ungrateful—” Ugh, I hate this wretched Brute. He probably doesn’t even care if I get back to the Jungle, and why would he?
He raises his fiery red eyebrows like the real reason he won’t help is obvious. When I still don’t see it, he says condescendingly, “Look, if I had an hour, maybe I could give you some general pointers, but camp is meant to stay hidden to anyone who doesn’t already know where it is.”
A sound from the direction of the barracks startles us both. We scan the open courtyard nervously.
He growls, “This ain’t exactly the place to chitchat.”
“Fine,” I say, like it’s no big deal. “I’ll figure it out.” I want to kick him, but I have more urgent concerns. Namely, how am I going to snatch Callisto and weapons from under the noses of my Alexia compatriots and get to Bella Terra without being seen?
Dáin wraps the blanket around his hunched shoulders, and before he’s ten meters away I can’t tell which way he went. Like a shadow. He wasn’t lying. Let’s hope he was as truthful about the rest.
I scan my surroundings to get my bearings. We came out just west of the Arena’s north entrance, a safe distance from the barracks and apartments clustered to the east. Unfortunately, the weapon caches are located in the Arena itself. And to get to the outer paddocks, the logical place for Callisto, I’ll have to sneak clear to the southern edge of the property.
The grounds are deserted enough to assume it must be the middle of the night. Still, there will be guards. At least I’m dressed as an Alexia. If I can keep my face hidden, I shouldn’t raise suspicion. Besides, how many Alexia would know I was being kept in the secret cells? By definition, their existence shouldn’t be common knowledge. So instead of slinking like Dáin, I hold my head high, hoping confidence works in my favor again.
I follow the gentle curve of the stone wall toward the west entrance, shuffling my feet through the dewy grass so as not to step directly on any of the croaking toads. Their bumpy backs shine a slimy moonlight silver as they jump away lazily, irritated at the disruption. Some of them meet my boots midjump.
A hundred meters and a few airborne toads later, I slip under the massive stone entrance and make my way across the tile courtyard onto the Arena floor. I’m in luck. Just under the awning, the weapons are unattended.
Make that almost unattended.
A medium-heig
ht figure in uniform and full weaponry slouches against the rack of bows, staring up at the night sky. Sensing my presence, she snaps to attention, whipping around to face the sound of my footfalls. When we lock eyes, she grins like a child who just got away with stealing a coin.
“I knew it,” she nearly giggles.
Is it possible I have the bad luck of twenty people? Of all the Alexia to be guarding the weapons . . .
“What are you doing here, Bri?”
“You know, you really need to diversify your arsenal of inquisitions.”
I sputter something unintelligible, making me feel small and stupid.
“Call it a hunch,” she offers, “but your beloved Trinidad has been acting real strange the past few days. She had some lame excuse for you going missing, then didn’t even flinch when I said old Teera probably did you in. So when I saw her sneaking out of her apartment tonight with some mysterious items, I offered to take Fallon’s shift guarding the weapons.” She caresses the shaft of a bow. “What escapee wouldn’t need a few accessories?”
Once again, I don’t know whether to be impressed or annoyed by Brishalynn Victoriana Pierce.
“Why do you care?”
“I was just so hurt by the thought you’d leave without saying goodbye.” Her thin lips make a paltry pout, but just as fast, she drops the act. “I’m going with you.”
“You’re what?”
“Going . . . with . . . you,” she says again, spacing the words like she’s explaining them to a four-year-old Gentle.
“No. There’s no way in bats I’m taking you with me, Bri.”
She hands me a bow and quiver. “Then I’ll be forced to let Adoni know some weapons went missing in the night.”
“You’re blackmailing me?”
“I could kill you instead.”
“Of all the stupid, selfish—” Ugh! “You don’t even know where I’m going!” If she did, I doubt she’d want to come, but I can’t tell her without breaking my promise to Torvus.
“Don’t care.”
I run a hand down my face. The nerve! “If you desert the Alexia and come with me, you’ll never be able to return.”
“Being a respectable citizen of Nedé is overrated.”
Knowing Bri, she’s more drawn to the rebellion of life on the run than anything else. Still, when she speaks again, I hear echoes of the vulnerability she showed when we snuck out of the afterparty at Finca del Mar.
“Why do you think I joined the Alexia?”
“Because you don’t trust Teera or Jamara, and you feel better about your chances armed.”
“And?”
“And what?”
“And you, stupid. I feel better about my chances with you.”
The weight of her words, the sincerity, stuns me into silence.
“You should’ve been the Apprentice,” she continues. “And I know, I was jealous and almost killed you and whatever. But there’s something in you I could follow. So I’m going to. And you can’t stop me.”
“Bri, this is so much bigger than the Succession. You have no idea.”
“Then you can tell me on the way. Right now, we better get out of here before my replacement comes.”
If there’s another choice, I can’t see it. My mind is too muddled with urgency, and incredulity, and . . . honor. I’m touched by Bri’s words, even if she’ll just as likely kill me by morning as follow me into the Jungle once she knows what I’m planning to do—once she knows about them. In fact, she’ll probably bolt once I do tell her, so why not placate her now to get away from the Arena safely?
“Alright.” I grab a short sword and a few extra arrows for my quiver, hoping I don’t have to use them on my new tagalong, then make for the exit.
Callisto is easy to find, her white patches and half of her mane glowing like electric light in the dark field farthest from the Arena. Her ears flick as I approach; she comes without hesitation, nuzzling my shoulder as I shower her neck with kisses and breathe in sweetgrass and safety.
“There’s my girl.” I rub her neck to ease her agitation before swinging onto the familiar curve of her back.
“Everything’s going to be okay, I promise.” The reassurance might be more for me than my steady companion.
Bri clucks in the background, trying to woo one of the dark equines nearby with an imaginary treat. When it trots away, she mutters, “Get over here, you miserable horse.”
I didn’t think it would be wise to chance raiding the stables, so Bri will have to ride bareback till we get to Bella Terra. If she can catch a horse.
“Hurry up,” I hiss quietly.
She shoots me a sour look, but fresh determination to prove herself works in our favor. After two more awkward attempts, she lands a seat on an exquisite, Alexia-worthy mare.
Now . . . all we have to do is jump the fence at the far end of the paddock, weave through the streets of Phoenix City, and travel four more hours down a deserted Highway Volcán without being spotted. No problem.
“We should make it to my mother’s finca before morning.”
“That’s your great plan? To go home?”
“I didn’t ask you to come.”
That shuts her up.
“I need to get a few things in order.” I don’t want to tell her any more than I have to, not yet convinced she’ll be sticking around. Or that I can trust her. “Then I’ll tell you where I’m going, and you can decide if it was a mistake to follow.”
But I’m suddenly unsure whether confessing I’m headed to the Jungle without a plan—even telling her about the Brutes—will be enough to lose headstrong Brishalynn.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE FIRST RAYS OF DAWN SPILL OVER the eastern horizon between familiar twin rain trees. Bromeliads grow in the crooks of the thick, mossy branches, and a flock of tanagers roost in the sparse limbs. The trees, gatekeepers of Bella Terra, beckon two tired travelers and their horses to turn down the lane.
Rolling green hills, zigzagged with neat crop rows, bend low to meet the hard-packed, red road. We wind the final half kilometer up, around, and down to the familiar villa tucked into fields and bordered by the Jabiru River on two sides. I breathe in the familiar, heavy orange scent, listen to the birds’ chatter and Diablo’s incessant crowing. How long will that rooster live?
I expect joy to follow—maybe relief—but the familiarity only reveals a deep, aching hole inside. Of the few anchors in my life, two have been severed since the last time I rode this path home, both ripped from my life by the Mother of Nedé.
Callisto’s ears twist sideways and forward, recognizing, remembering, enjoying; her steps quicken as we near the large open-beam stable. For a moment I unconsciously expect to find a certain someone there. Almost as quickly, the flicker of hope snuffs out like a smoldering wick between wet fingers.
He won’t be here.
Never again will I finish a long ride to the greeting of a flaxen-haired Gentle with kind eyes. No more chance meetings under the fig tree by the river. No hibiscus tucked under my horse’s browband to let me know I’m seen.
My throat tightens. Through the watery blur of tears, my eyes play tricks on me. I can almost see Tre in the early morning light, raking out a stall as we approach. The rhythmic motions slow but steady. Pausing to catch his breath. Swatting at a fly.
No, not Tre. But someone is there, where my best friend should be.
The short figure straightens and turns at our approach, revealing a Gentle with earth-brown skin, a round face, and a shy disposition.
“Neechi!” I dismount Callisto and nearly run into the breezeway. “You made it. You came!” Before I can think better of it, I’ve flung my arms around him, squeezing much too tightly.
“Yes, I came.” His quiet, lilting voice makes mine sound too loud, too fierce. But our smiles match.
“How long have you been here?” I ask.
“Four days. I did what you said. Solomon let me stay in the Gentles’ quarters with the others.” His voice lowers t
o a near whisper of sadness. “There was an extra bed.”
I bite my lower lip to still its tremble. “He would have wanted you to have it. He would want you to be safe.”
“I didn’t know him well, Dom Reina, but I would figure as much.”
I catch a glimpse of Bri in my periphery, walking her horse toward us. What must she think? A Nedéan, talking with a Gentle like an equal? To her credit, apart from wide eyes and a stern mouth, she says nothing about it. If she’s going to stick around, she’ll have to get used to my unconventional views.
“Neechi, this is Bri. Bri, Neechi. He was a stablehand at Finca del Mar. After helping me, I knew he couldn’t stay there.” Then, to him, “But you’ll be safe here. My moth—” The word catches in my throat, reality slicing me like a physical wound. If Mother is dead, she can’t protect him. What will become of Bella Terra? Marsa and Dom Bakshi could find other employment within their destinies, but what about Little Boo and the other Gentles? And after I begged Neechi to come . . . Who will care for them?
“You’re safe,” I repeat, hoping I can make it true. I smile and lead Callisto forward. She stamps and steps back twice. “Easy, girl,” I soothe. “These horses have had a long night, and we’re going to need them to be ready to ride in an hour or so. It’s not ideal. Just do what you can for them.”
“Yes, Dom Reina,” he says, tipping his weathered hat before turning to the steeds.
Bri follows me through the pasture toward the white-walled villa I know as home. Before we reach the entrance, I notice Marsa stoking a fire in the outdoor adobe oven; the delicious smell of rising dough warrants a detour. Marsa notices us coming. She wipes her floury hands on a towel as she jogs the distance between us, and in three seconds she has wrapped me in a hug so tight and fierce I fear my ribs might snap like chicken bones.
