Ben shook his head.
“These people here…they have the heart, I know they do. But they don’t have the stomachs for a fight. This isn’t Ballantyne’s first dance with sedition. That dynasty sits on a bloody throne and will continue to unless we do this right.”
Rogan chewed on his lip, mulling over the words. As long as they’d known each other, Benton had been a commanding orator. Paired with his sharp features and captivating dark eyes, people couldn’t help but love him. He had the same charisma that Cable had—only passion often clouded Ben’s reasoning.
“So much violence,” Rogan muttered.
“Huh?”
“It just all comes down to which sides dies the least.”
“Rogan…” Ben searched for words. “That’s how war works.”
“Don’t think for a moment that I don’t know how war works.” Rogan’s eyes narrowed and his grip tightened around his tumbler. Benton reached out and touched his friend’s forearm in a way only the closest of friends can without seeming condescending.
“Sorry. I know you know. I can’t even begin to understand where you’ve been.”
Rogan relaxed his grip. They’d all lost so much. Rogan had lost his father to the cause but Benton had lost his father to the Northern War, before Ben ever really had a chance to know him. Donal said Gregor Hollister came back from the war alive in body, but dead in the soul. He turned to drinking, heavily. The years had not improved his disposition. As far as Rogan was concerned, every fist Ben ever took from Gregor growing up was on the King’s head.
“Truth is, there isn’t a person in this Valley—hell, in this city—who doesn’t. Now I think it’s time you showed me what the hell is in that bag,” Rogan said.
Benton excused himself first and moved casually toward the men’s restroom before ducking into the back room. As instructed, Rogan waited ten more minutes, talking up Iris as she passed on her rounds to dispel suspicion. They could always count on her discretion.
Rogan made his way into the dimly lit storage room where Donal and Ben sat hunched over a rustic table, whispering. Ben clutched his satchel, still protecting it with his life, his knife a spit-second away from a kill if need be. Benton was born for secrets.
“Good,” Donal said in the same soft whisper. “Now we can get started.”
CHAPTER 11
Benton reached into his satchel and carefully lifted out a bundle swaddled in a thin blanket. He unwrapped the layer, revealing a package wrapped in crude brown paper.
“Good Sants, man, are you trying to kill us with the suspense?” Donal grumbled.
Benton ignored him and continued opening the package with the delicate precision of someone handling an explosive. Once the wrapping was brushed aside, Benton revealed a stack of papers with small faded type.
“What is that?” Rogan asked. Ben raised an eyebrow and twisted the left side of his mouth up in a calm, collected smirk.
“These, my boys, are transcripts. Proof that our esteemed Minister General Pantone plans to rig next spring’s High Council and county elections. And he’s going to use a little firm intimidation to do it,” Ben said.
Donal choked on his wine, nearly knocking himself over.
“What the hell are you talking about? Plans to rig the Council election?” Donal leaned over and squinted at the fine print.
“He knows the cause is gaining momentum across the counties. He can’t risk the council being taken over by a bunch of free-thinking progressives, can he? Pantone and Henri got it all set to skew the results and keep the status quo, using firm manpower to ease the process.”
“Ben,” Rogan started carefully. “I know he’s an evil bastard, but rigging a national election? Joining up with organized crime families? That’s pretty far-fetched.”
“Is it? Don’t for a minute put it past them. Most of the major posts are up for reelection next term, including the seat for Minister General.”
“The High Council is appointed by the King. He doesn’t have to rig it,” Rogan pointed out.
“That’s only half true, right, Donal?”
Donal nodded slowly, eyeing the stolen papers fearfully.
“It’s true that they have to win an approval nomination from two thirds of the counties first. All nominees do. Then Henri can appoint who he sees fit from that pool.”
“What makes you think Pantone will even have a contender? He’s sat in the Minister General seat unopposed for the last three terms. No one has even come close to gaining enough votes to even make it to the King’s veto,” Rogan said.
“You think the Cause will let this opportunity fall? They aren’t afraid anymore and they won’t be intimidated at the polls. We have nothing left to lose. Pantone knows this. And he’ll go as far as he has to in order to keep the power,” Ben said.
“The King will never let it come to this,” Donal said.
“This is a constitutional monarchy—not a dictatorship. You think a council full of birds won’t make a difference as to how this country is run? Or better, whether his line dies off?” Ben slammed his fist down.
Rogan felt his throat tighten. Whether his line dies off. His gut wrenched at the thought of something happening to El.
“Kings too, are made of clay. Don’t forget that,” Benton added.
“Don’t recite rebel maxims to me,” Donal grumbled, his patience thinning.
“All right, so let’s say he is willing to go that far,” Rogan raised his hands. “How do you know this is even qualified intelligence? What—who—is your source?”
At that, a placid grin crept over Benton’s face.
“Let’s just say I’m capable of charming more than pub girls.” Ben leaned back and rolled back his shoulders.
“Who?” Donal commanded.
“She works in the capital government and knows what’s in the works. She has a few spies here and there and let’s just say, she sympathizes with our cause.” Benton cocked his head to the side, self-satisfied.
“Damn it, boy!” Donal brought his fist hard onto the wooden table, startling them both back in their chairs and sending wine splashing over the sides of their glasses. “You’re going to get yourself killed. Not to mention send the rest of us to the firing squad.”
“Ben, what are you thinking?” Rogan asked, aghast.
“This is information we need. I did what I had to do.”
“You did what your hormones told you to do. The intelligence was an afterthought,” Donal grimaced.
Ben tightened his lips and rolled his eyes. Rogan could only imagine Donal’s reaction if he knew about Elyra. Just as he had taken Rogan under his wing, Donal had always looked after Ben, too. Ever since the day an 8-year-old Ben came by the pub to see Rogan with a busted lip and a fractured wrist, Donal had made sure he’d known a father’s love. But that also came with a father’s honesty.
“You’re a damn fool. A damn hot-headed, insatiable fool,” Donal grumbled.
“Who I spend my nights with is none of your business—”
“It’s my business when it’s a government spy leaking intelligence!”
“Both of you, calm down. What’s done is done,” Rogan piped up. “Ben, how did this even happen?”
“This wasn’t something I sought out. She approached me.”
“And you couldn’t say no to a pretty face, could you?” Donal sneered.
“Are you sure you can trust this woman?” Rogan asked. “You’re sure she’s not using you the same way? The government system isn’t for the naïve and sheltered willing to lift their skirts at the first sight of excitement. These are ruthless politicians who have managed to climb the ranks of a corrupt system. That doesn’t give them the most integrity in my book.”
“I’m not an idiot, Rogan. Despite what some might think.” He eyed Donal. “I know the kind of people we’re dealing with and I know the kind of woman she is. She…she’s actually in it for the right reasons,” Ben said as though it was the first time he had realized that.
<
br /> Rogan stared hard at his friend, searching his face for signs of uncertainty. Benton stared back, unwavering.
“Does she have a name?” Rogan asked. “Or will she remain your mysterious intel-serving lover?”
“You know I can’t tell you that. For her safety and for ours. The fewer people who know of our indiscretions, the better. Like you said, we could all end up on the wrong end of a ranger’s rifle.”
Donal let out a rough cough, then drained his tumbler of wine. He took a deep, husky breath and pressed both palms down on the table. He raised his eyes to Rogan intently, then refocused on Benton.
“I can’t impress upon you both the severity of what our organization is facing. We’ve operated in silos across the country for a long time now. But it’s becoming impossible to ignore the fact that it’s grown too large to hide in the shadows anymore. We all know what’s going on in the North. If Ben’s information is true, then things are grimmer than we thought. And Ben has shown us that we cannot trust even our own judgment in these times. What seems like an opportunity to do right by us all can be fraught with immense danger.” He stroked his beard and collected his thoughts. “As of now, say nothing to anyone. This stays here between us three until I know how best to proceed.”
“We have to bring this to Cable,” Rogan countered. “The rest should know about this. We need to focus our efforts and—”
“No! No one else can know until I have time to think on this. Ben, it isn’t that I don’t trust your word, but none of us are safe from our own gullibility.”
The boys stared at the table.
“Cable is going to flip if he finds out we held back information,” Ben said.
Donal raised his hand sharply.
“Cable may be the leader, but he’s not our king. We have the right to withhold information for our own protection. If Ben can wiggle his way into a government official’s bed, think how easily one of them could be lurking in our shadows,” Donal said. Both Ben and Rogan had to nod in agreement.
“All right,” Rogan spoke up. “We won’t say a word to anyone until we’ve had time to think. But you have to let us take this to Cable at some point. The most powerful thing this cause has going is trust. If he finds out that we’ve been holding out on him—”
“Boys, I love you both like sons. But must I remind you that of us three, I am the only one who has stood in battle? I am the only one with blood on my hands. You two are fierce, eager and passionate, and for that I am grateful our cause has you. But you are young. You don’t know what you’re asking for. I need your words that you will stay quiet until I say so.”
Rogan could see Benton’s mouth curl, taking offence to Donal’s accusation of naivety, but he kept his argument to himself.
“You have our word,” Ben said. “We won’t say a thing.”
They packed up their things in silence and were about to head back to the main room when Donal stopped them.
“And Ben. Mind yourself around that girl of yours. At the end of the day, the only one you can trust is yourself.”
Ben twisted his mouth but said nothing.
When Rogan returned home, it was well past midnight. He fumbled with the front door lock, his head spinning from a blend of stress and wine. He pushed his way into the front room quietly, trying not to disturb anyone else. A few steps into the front room, a sliver of a shadow whipped around the corner, grabbing his forearm.
“Watch yourself!” A whispered squeal shot out through the still darkness.
Rogan whipped around, his hand flung to the knife on his hip. He was both relieved and irritated to find Arianna with her arms raised and fists clenched, peering up at him with wide green-gold eyes that glowed like a cat’s in the moonlight.
“Ari! What are you doing awake?”
“Keeping you on your toes.” She smiled, dropping her fists.
“Yeah, great job.” He grumbled and released the grip on his knife. “You should be in bed. You have school tomorrow.”
“Oh please. You’re as bad as Lorena. How was the meeting?”
“What are you talking about?” He shrugged, pulling away from her and moving deeper into the room.
“Oh please, Rogan.” She ran to him and stepped out in front on his path. “Please tell me what’s going on.” She reached a skinny arm up and touched his cheek affectionately—the kind of touch he imagined worked on the boys in her school but was less than effective on a big brother.
“Drop it, Ari.” He swatted her hand away.
“Why won’t you let me come with you? I have skills you could use!”
“Sorry, but the role of whiney, needy female has been filled by Rawdry’s cat.” He pushed past her.
“Uhhh!” Arianna let out a high-pitch growl.
“Shhh! Keep your voice down. Trust me. You don’t want part of this messy business.” Rogan softened his tone and tried to pacify her.
“What if I do?” She brought her arm to her narrow hip and cocked her head to the side. Her defiance made him want to laugh, but he kept his composure.
“It wouldn’t matter. Even if there were something going on, you’re too young to be involved.” He could feel her energy sink. He reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder, then pulled her into him in a tight, brotherly embrace. He understood her eagerness. He was sneaking off to spy on Cause meetings when he was much younger than she was now. But he told himself that was different. He was already a jaded, angry kid. Ari still had a shot at happiness.
“You’ll have a place in history someday, Ari. I promise. Just don’t be so eager to get there. Once you’re there, there’s no going back.” They stood in the silent darkness for a few minutes before Arianna pulled away.
“Was Benton there?” She casually brushed her raven hair behind her ears.
“And why would that concern you?” He said. She didn’t answer, but brought her eyes down and shrugged. The rosy glow of her blush cut through the darkness. “That, little sister, is most definitely something you are too young for. All right, get to bed. Lorena will have your head if she catches you awake this late on a school night.”
She scowled at him, but obeyed.
That night, he tossed in his bed with images of both war and Elyra competing for his dreams. One moment he held her soft, lithe body against his in an open clearing, surrounded by lush vines and searing sun that he welcomed on their skins. The next moment, he felt blood on his lips, the scent of burnt flesh consuming his nostrils—choking, suffocating him.
CHAPTER 12
His pastoral dreams were consumed by flames, blood and screams. His eyes shot open and he gasped for breath. His right hand swung out to find his knife and it wasn’t until he clutched its leather handle that he realized where he was; safe in his bed. He let out his breath and closed his eyes, trying to call back her image. Realizing she was lost to the dream world, he surrendered to the idea of getting up for work.
Pulling himself from bed to the sounds of popping joints and muscles he should be too young for, he fumbled for a pair of cargo pants crumpled on the floor beside the bed and a long-sleeved shirt slung over his chair. Groggy and wrinkled, he trudged to the kitchen to find Lorena and Jasper bickering. She clutched a heavy iron pan in her right hand threateningly as he eased back into the counter. Her black hair was pulled into a tight bun, frizzy locks sticking out on the sides, and her cold, gray-green eyes were hard as ice.
“Have you no concern for your family?” She shrieked.
“Lorena, be reasonable,” Jasper begged, trying to bring his wife back to composure.
“You’d just throw it all away, wouldn’t you? Just like Theron did? Leaving us to rot in the palm of Ballantyne’s goons?” Lorena flailed her pan-clenched hand upward, sending Jasper up on top of the black rock countertop.
“Honey, please,” Jasper urged. His eyes flicked to Rogan standing in the doorway.
“If I wanted to end up a desperate widow like my sister, maybe I should have married a damned Elwood. Oh wait, I ca
n’t now. They’re all dead.”
Rogan cleared his throat conspicuously, drawing his aunt and uncle’s heads sharply toward him.
“Excuse me,” he said nodding his head in curt acknowledgment. “Please continue.”
“Rogan, I…I’m sorry,” Lorena sputtered, lowering the pan. Jasper glared at his wife. Rogan waved his hand to show he was unscathed by her rant.
“Ah, Lorena. You don’t think I know how you feel about my da after all these years?” He retrieved a jar of milk from the refrigerator and helped himself to a long gulp directly from the jar.
“Rogan, please,” Lorena said disapproving his lack of manners. He stopped mid-swig and cocked his head toward his aunt.
“Please what?”
“Would you please use a glass?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I learned my manners from Theron. You know, that foolish ass of a father of mine.”
“Rogan,” Jasper tried to intervene.
“Don’t,” Rogan held up his hand to silence his uncle. “I’d like to hear more about my foolish da. The way he left my ma and us to rot in…what was it? Ballantyne’s palm?”
“Rogan, you are taking this out of context. You didn’t hear—” Lorena started.
“I heard enough.”
“Well you didn’t know—”
“Didn’t what? Didn’t know him? Weren’t there?”
“Hold your tongue,” Lorena snapped, pointing a bony finger at him. “I know you were there. I know you witnessed a great deal. But no, you didn’t know him the way I did. Theron Elwood was a great man. He was a smart man, a brave man. A man who loved his family. Loved Atlanna, loved you and Arianna. But he was a man ruled by dreams. Ruled by honor.”
“Dreams? Honor?” Rogan mused. “Should we throw in integrity and make him the most foolish man alive?”
Lorena rested the iron pan on her hip and stood as straight as she could manage, eyes narrowing thoughtfully at her nephew. At the right angle, she was so much like his mother it hurt.
“It was those dreams and honor that ultimately brought him down, Rogan. He didn’t have the foresight to see that he was destroying everything he loved. His actions destroyed our family. I would not disregard his memory, but must I accept his fate for the rest of my family—your family? The only family we have left?”
Rebel Song Page 8
