The Breeders Series: The Complete Box Set

by Katie French

  “You’re Lord Merek’s wife.”

  She nods, her smile wilting. “A lesser wife, but yes. And you’re a bender.” She looks my body up and down and I fight the reflex to cross my arms over my breasts.

  I clear my throat. “Sorry to bother you and thanks for covering for me, but I should go.”

  “Go?” she asks, sitting down on her wrought-iron bench and closing her book. “Where would you go?”

  I shrug, not sure I want to trust this girl. “Out.”

  “Out of the compound?” She smoothes a hand down her sheer dress. If she’s embarrassed by how see-through it is, she shows no sign.

  I say nothing.

  “They shoot on sight here,” she says gazing over the wooden wall toward the concrete one. “You wouldn’t get ten yards even if you did get out of the compound.” She looks up at the moon forlornly and then pats the bench. “Sit with me.”

  “I really should go.”

  “I lied for you.” She lifts up calculating eyes. “You owe me.”

  I study her for a moment. So young and sweet one moment, so demanding another. Like a spoiled child, I think, as I sit on the bench beside her. She slips slender fingers through my own rough ones. I flinch, but she holds my hand harder.

  “Riley, do you know you’re the first person to touch me, other than our good Lord Merek, in three years?” She turns to me.

  I shake my head. This is all very strange.

  “Well, I guess Doc has touched me, but a doctor’s touch can hardly be counted, can it?”

  I shake my head again. Inside the building behind us, a door shuts. I glance back nervously, but Annabell doesn’t turn.

  “It isn’t right for a girl not to be touched, is it?” Her eyes stare out into the night and I have a feeling she’s talking more to herself than to me. I’m just a prop, more responsive than her book but just barely.

  “And now he tells me if I don’t produce him an heir, he’s going to discard me.” Her voice is bitter now. Her eyes shine with tears. When she squeezes my hand even tighter, I try not to move.

  Her head snaps to me. “How fair is it?” she asks. “How fair is it that Mina can get pregnant if someone sneezes on her, but I…can’t?” A sob stutters in her chest. She tugs a strand of gold out of her braids and curls it into her mouth for chewing. “It’s not fair.”

  I don’t move, but stare at her tear-streaked face and think. Her life would be my life if I had chosen differently in that exam room. Her life is my life if they find out. No, when they find out. Unless I win the tournament. Unless I win my freedom.

  “Do you know anything about Lord Merek’s birthday tournament?” I ask quietly.

  Annabell shakes her head. “I know a bunch of his men have been scheming about it in the great hall for at least a month. They seem pretty pleased with themselves. I saw them sharpening swords one day.” She looks at me. “Why?”

  “No reason,” I say, wringing my hands. Swords. Mister could cut my head off without much trouble.

  Another door slams inside the house. A woman cries out. Footsteps stomp this way. I spring up, pulling my hand free of Annabell’s grasp. “I gotta go.”

  “No, please.” Her eyes are frantic. She begins tugging at the strings that hold her sheer dress in place. “I know they say benders can’t get girls pregnant, but I wonder if the fault is with Merek. Please.” She grabs my hand and tries to draw me toward her even as the right shoulder of her dress comes undone and slides down. The white flesh of her collarbone is ivory in the moonlight.

  “No.” I say, scrambling back. “Sorry.” For the second time that night I run to the wooden fence, grab the top, and hoist myself up. Her hands scramble at my ankles pleadingly, but I manage to throw myself over. When I land in a heap back on the other side of the wall, two dusty boots greet me. Bukowski. He taps me on the shoulder with his baton.

  “Having a peek in the garden?” he asks, smirking like he just said something nasty. When I say nothing, he yanks me up. “Field trip’s over, sunshine.”

  He prods me toward the bunkhouse. I glance around the courtyard, but see no sign of Mister or his guard friend. Thank heavens for small favors. Still, this business with Mister can’t be over.

  “I’d ask you how you got out,” Bukowski says, shoving my shoulder in the direction he wants me to go, “but I seen Mister and one of our night guard’s looking for someone. Made an enemy already, sweet cheeks?” He shoves the baton hard into my spine. I bite my lip to keep from crying out.

  “I just needed to pee,” I lie.

  “Right,” he says, clearly not believing me. “Mister’s a thug that thinks he can get away with whatever he wants, but not on my watch.” Before he pushes me through, he places the baton on my chest and locks me with a look. “But, if I were you, I’d do whatever Mister wants.” He looks at me and waggles his eyebrows, suggesting something disgusting.

  I turn my eyes away, anger and frustration building inside me.

  He taps my shoulder with the baton. “I’d say there ain’t much worse’n the powder.” He runs a tongue along the bottom of his mustache. “But I’ve heard Mister can be creative.”

  Anger prickles at my skin. I hate this guy. “Can I go to bed now?”

  He narrows his eyes, considering. Finally he pushes the door open. “Sure, sunshine. You’ll need your rest. Tomorrow we get another shipment.” He smiles wickedly like I should know what that means, but I’m too tired to care. Doing powder might be awful, but I just have to make it two more days until the tournament. And in the meantime my conversation with Annabell has put an idea in my head. My favor from Doc will come in handy.

  The morning bell rings way too early. I sit up as the bell clangs and immediately lie down again. If my body ached yesterday, today it feels like a herd of bison have trampled on it. My back throbs where Mister kicked it and my shoulders are so knotted, I won’t be able to move my arms.

  Doc shakes my bunk with his foot. “If you don’t get up, they’ll remove you.” He offers his hand. “Come on.”

  I look at his hand and then at his face, still handsome and calm, a politician’s face, one that screams, Trust me. Do I tell him what happened last night with Annabell and the guard? I decide no, not yet. I’m still not sure I can trust him. Everyone here is out for themselves.

  I grab his hand and he pulls me up. Biting back the pain, I focus on taking one step, then the next. Nada waits at the end of the row, looking as wide-eyed and anxious as ever.

  “Another day with you, powder buddy,” I say to her, trying to smile. Nada doesn’t respond, just walks nervously alongside us.

  There’s no breakfast, just a soupy drink that tastes of rotting oranges. Everyone sucks it down, standing in the courtyard. I look at the wooden fence and think of Annabell and her tear-streaked face. What’s she doing this morning? Frowning as Mina shows off her newest babe, another in line for Merek’s throne? Throne, ha. What a house of cards. A strong wind could knock Merek off his throne.

  Before being herded into the factory, they collect our now empty cups and give us today’s job assignments. Doc is ushered into his medical building. Mine and Nada’s jobs remain the same: powder duty.

  Nada and I work chained to the table again even though we’ve been walking free out in the courtyard. I wonder if it’s just to make the grinding of powder more difficult. It’s meant to be a punishment, after all. But it’s clear this job could be a death sentence. If this powder were to suddenly catch flame, there’s no way we could run. The char marks on the metal surface and the pitted, blackened concrete around us show it’s happened before. How do I keep it from happening now?

  Two more days, I think.

  Midmorning rolls around and I realize what Bukowski meant about a new shipment. Slack-shouldered benders fresh off the truck are herded past the open warehouse doors. I count five in all. They’ll meet up with Doc to be examined like I was yesterday, and then we’ll have more fresh meat for Mister.

  Speaking of Mister, I cat
ch him eyeing me from across the room. His braid is gone and now his hair lies in rippled waves around his angry, pitted face. Judging by his glare, he isn’t finished trying to teach me a lesson. Do I really think I can take him on if I enter the tournament? I must be desperate if I’m even considering it.

  An hour after the new benders arrive, Bukowski leads them into the warehouse. He deposits a few at different stations. Then he leads the tallest, most ostrich-like bender I’ve ever seen in our direction.

  “Shali,” Nada says, watching Bukowski and his prisoner walk over. “Oh, my God.”

  Shali notices Nada and her eyes go wide. Another escapee brought home?

  Bukowski chains Shali to a loop welded into the table across from us, taps on it with his baton, and begins to sing, “Reunited and it feels so good.” Then he cackles and walks off.

  When he’s gone, Nada leans over the table. “I thought you were dead.”

  “Thought the same about you,” she says, craning her long neck around to survey the warehouse. “Mark’s gone.”

  “Barry, too,” Nada adds, frowning. “Shot trying to bolt over the wall, Doc says.”

  Shali nods solemnly. “How’d they catch you?”

  “Trader got me.” She nods in my direction. “This one let me go and then another picked me up about fifty miles from here.”

  Shali looks me over with inquisitive brown eyes. “You got a name?”

  “Riley,” I say. “I’d shake your hand but…” I clank my handcuffs against the chain.

  She smirks a little and then directs her attention back to Nada. “How’s the powder?”

  Nada shrugs. “Seems pretty stable. But, you know.”

  “I know,” Shali says

  “You worked here before?” I ask, mixing some ingredients into a bowl. The smell of sulfur fills my nose and I try to breathe lightly until the powder settles.

  Shali nods, waggling fingers on her left hand. Two are missing, and her arm is burned up to her elbow. “Gave digits four and five to the powder gods.” Then her face gets serious. “Powder is no joke. Did you tell her?” she asks Nada.

  “Everyone’s been telling me,” I say, feeling my chest constrict. I focus on grinding my newly mixed powder together. The scrit, scrit sound is repetitive and mesmerizing.

  We work in silence for a while, the three of us side by side in our misery.

  Suddenly, there’s a whoosh. Heat. Light. And fire. Fire jumps up, a huge flame, eating the powder in front of Shali in a second. She shrieks and pulls away, but it’s no use, she’s shackled to the table. I watch as her hair catches flame, then her clothes.

  “Help!” I scream, yanking against my chain. “Help her!”

  Nada’s screaming, too, a long, unending screech. Flame eats up the small trickles of powder on the metal table. Eats its way to us. Everything’s happening so fast.

  I tug against my handcuffs, hoping to God they’re loose, but all I do is nearly dislocate my wrists. The heat is intense. Shali’s screaming and writhing. Her hair gone and now her scalp and her face seem to be melting. It’s horrible, one of the worst things I’ve ever seen—charred flesh and bubbling skin. And the screaming. I can’t even reach her if I tried, and what can I do? My hands are bound.

  “Help!” I yell again. I cough on smoke and the smell of charred flesh. Someone has to come.

  And come they do. Guards with fire extinguishers. Shali drops to her knees as one of them aims the red extinguisher at her. They press the lever. Nothing happens.

  Another pile of gun powder flares up inches from my arm. I scramble as far to the other side of the table as the chain will let me. Nada and I bump into each other.

  “We’re going to die!” she screams. “Shali!”

  Shali’s clothes are gone and smoke rolls off her skin like she’s an overdone steak. Her wide, staring eyes lock onto mine as she slumps against the metal table with a clang. Somehow, through the flame, her eyes shine bright.

  Another whoosh. The flames burn so hot I’m sure we’ll die. I lean into Nada and send a prayer up to whoever is listening. Mama, I think. Mama, help me.

  Foam sprays out of the other extinguisher. White foam covers Shali and the table before coming to us. Wet foam plops on my skin and my clothes, suddenly cool.

  The fire is gone and so is Shali. She doesn’t move, just lies in the pile of white, clotted foam. My eyes land on her blackened hands, chained to the table. The fingers are still twitching.

  “She’s dead!” Nada screams. White foam speckles her face and clothes.

  I stand silently beside her. Bukowski comes over, his humor gone, and unchains Shali’s wrists. Her arms drop to her foam-covered body. As the guards stand around and stare, I hate them. If she hadn’t been chained, she would’ve lived.

  Beside me, shaking, Nada’s eye lock on Shali. “They wanted this,” she mutters. “They wanted everyone to see what happens to runaways.”

  The other benders stand at their work sites, parts and bullet casings in their hands, but their faces are twisted in a horror. It makes sense what Nada said. Sure, they could shoot Shali or whip her, but there’s nothing worse than watching someone burn to death. Hearing their screams. Smelling their cooked flesh.

  “They gave her old powder. Volatile,” Nada says. She’s shaking hard. “I know it.”

  “Shh,” I say. The guards are close enough to hear. I lean into her, but she backs away.

  Doc runs in, his face white with concern. He sees Nada and sags with relief, but when he spots Shali, his body tightens again.

  The rest is a blur. Guards carry Shali’s foam-covered body away for disposal. They unchain Nada and me. Doc looks us over, but once he’s forced to announce we’re okay except for a few minor burns and some smoke inhalation, they herd us into the bunkhouse. They have to clean up Nada’s dead friend, after all.

  In my bunk, I try to close my eyes, but every time I do, I see Shali’s charred face. I roll over on my back and watch the springs above me shake as Nada trembles.

  An hour later, Doc strides into the bunkhouse. “Nada,” he says, gripping her bunk, “are you okay?”

  She says nothing. I sit up and exchange a glance with Doc. “She hasn’t said anything this whole time.”

  Doc chews on his bottom lip. “Another of her friends died this way a month ago. She was pretty torn up about it,” Doc whispers.

  “Quit talking about me like I’m not here,” Nada says, flipping over. “You still treat me like I’m five.”

  Doc’s smile fades. “I’m trying to protect you. I’m always trying to protect you.”

  “Just leave me alone!” Nada screams. She rolls over and faces the wall.

  Doc sighs, looks up at Nada and then at me. “Let’s go,” he says, waving me to the door.

  When we get to the door, it’s open and no guards run up to shackle me. I glance at Doc.

  “I told you,” he says, drawing a pack of hand-rolled cigarettes from his breast pocket, “there are perks to being friends with me.”

  “Now we’re friends?” I ask, lifting an eyebrow.

  Doc offers me a cigarette and I shake my head. He sticks one of the tightly rolled bundles in his teeth and lights it with a match. The smell of tobacco is thick and sweet. “We might as well be friends,” he says with a puff of smoke. “I’ve got enough enemies.”

  I say nothing. We lean against the shady part of the building and stare out across the courtyard. With the wooden fence in view, I think of my encounter with Annabell, Lord Merek’s wife.

  “Still think you made the right choice?” Doc says, blowing out a puff of smoke. He nods to the wooden wall enclosing Merek’s courtyard. “You could be in there.”

  “Yeah, getting humped by his royal highness,” I say, thinking of Annabell’s tear-filled eyes. “No, thank you.”

  Doc lifts one corner of his mouth. “Humped till sundown and humped some more,” he says, taking another drag of his cigarette. “Merek’s always fond of the girls when they first arrive.”
>
  “He’s a pig,” I say, frowning.

  “That he is,” Doc says quietly.

  “Then why are you so close to him?” I ask, kicking at a small brown rock. It skitters into the sunshine.

  “I like the perks,” he says, smirking again. He purses his full red lips. “It helps me protect Nada.”

  “That doesn’t seem to be going too well right now,” I say.

  Doc sniffs and stubs his cigarette into the dust. “She keeps trying to run away. If she’d just do as I say, everything would be fine.”

  “Yes, she’d be a fine little slave,” I say, turning cold eyes on Doc.

  He regards me for a moment. “You’re just like her. Stubborn.”

  I blow air through my nose. “If by stubborn you mean I won’t let someone enslave me, then, hell yeah, I’m stubborn.” I look over at this face. “What do you know about the tournament?”

  Doc shakes his head. “It won’t be easy. Merek likes sport. He’ll want big stakes.”

  I turn my eyes away, considering this. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll die like Shali if I don’t get out.”

  “What’s out there?” Doc asks, gesturing toward the dusty landscape, his tone heated now. “Nothing.”

  “Clay’s out there,” I say and then regret it. I shouldn’t tell Doc too much. “My… brother.”

  Doc eyes me. “Clay isn’t your brother. Clay’s the one you’re saving yourself for. The reason you wouldn’t go to Merek as his wife.” He lifts one eyebrow, and his eyes sparkle as he studies my face. “You found love? I thought love was extinct.”

  I drop my head, my emotions suddenly too big for my chest. “It’s not.”

  “Well, then I guess you have a reason to leave,” Doc says, pressing a palm into the concrete. He runs the other hand through his brown hair. “Nada doesn’t.”

  “She can’t love?”

  Doc snorts. He turns his body until it faces mine, both our shoulders pressed into the wall. “Who loves a bender? Only another bender, right?”

  All of a sudden I realize how close our bodies are and how he’s looking at me. His eyes track over my face like a caress, pausing to linger on my lips before darting back to my eyes. His chest seems to be rising and falling faster, like he’s out of breath. His lips part slightly. “Riley,” he breathes.