by Nina Walker
“Have they watched it?” I didn’t have to say whom I was talking about; I was surrounded by people who knew exactly where I was.
“They watched it in the dressing room, before they found you,” she said. “That’s the good news—they already had this information before they agreed to help. The bad news is I don’t know how long it will take for someone to second guess themselves and call that number. Not to mention, that reward…”
I nodded. “Okay,” I breathed. I needed to run. “At our next stop, I’ll sneak away. I won’t say a word to anyone about where I’m going.” Not that I knew where that would be.
“I’m going to prepare a pack for you,” she said, concern etched in her words. Her faint wrinkles deepened around her eyes as her shoulders sagged under the weight of her words. “Food and clothing, whatever I can find that might help. I’ll do that now.”
We stood, and she hugged me tightly, my tall frame towering above her. I could practically feel the guilt she had over this.
“It’s not your fault,” I whispered. “I’ll be fine. I promise. I’ve made it this far, haven’t I?”
“You need to get out of New Colony.” She stepped back and looked me up and down, her mouth falling into a sad frown. “You can’t stay here.”
I nodded.
She had no idea just how right she was. This was the worst possible place for me to be, but still, I had to know the truth. I still didn’t believe Lucas was dead, and that broadcast had only solidified the burning questions in my mind. Why would the King accuse a false killer? Why hide the body like that?
Something wasn’t adding up.
“I know. You’re right.” I smiled weakly. “But I can’t put you in any more danger. Thank you so much for all you’ve done for me. I’ll never forget your generosity.”
She nodded, hugged me once more, and then slipped out the door.
I fell back onto the bed, overcome with the weight of the situation. How had things gotten so off track? Lucas should have come with me when I ran. Or I never should have tried to manipulate Richard’s blood in the first place. Oh, there were so many things I could have done that would have avoided all of this.
All the regrets, they pressed down, threatening to suffocate me.
No matter. Don’t focus on the past. I repeated the words in my head, trying once again to find the sleep that eluded me.
Don’t sleep. You saw that broadcast. You’re a wanted woman. There’s a huge bounty on your head. You can’t afford to sleep with so many people near.
So, I sat back up and I waited. Waited for sunlight. Waited for my chance to flee. Waited for the moment that I’d be on my own again, running for my life.
3
Sasha
“Check it again.” I nodded at Mastin. My eyes flashed toward his pocket where he kept his slatebook. He shook his head slightly but still did as I said. Despite the warm sun, I shivered. Why was I suddenly so nervous? I should’ve been used to this kind of thing, this life and death thing. But no matter how many times I was faced with it, the possibility of dying always sent a cold shiver down my spine, always caused a shaking nerve, always made my breath quicken.
His mouth fell into a frown as he swiped the screen. “No news.”
“I don't like this,” Tristan added.
The three of us were bored, struggling as we waited in yet another cropping of overgrown bushes and trees. The afternoon sun had cut into me, pushing a sort of heavy lethargy deep into my bones. The constant rise and fall of temperatures weighed on me, but I didn’t want the others to catch on to my weariness. I needed to stay strong, not only for them, but for myself.
“You hungry?” Tristan changed the subject, shifting the backpack that rested between the three of us. He rummaged inside and pulled out a canteen and a couple of long leafy carrots. “Lucky for us that farmer was willing to give us some of their winter provisions, eh?”
Mastin scoffed, rubbing the heel of his boot into the dirt. “Only to get us off his property as quickly as possible.”
“It’s better than nothing.” Tristan smiled and tore into his sad lunch.
I shrugged and grabbed the extra carrot from Tristan, biting into it with a crunch. I rolled the thick pieces around in my mouth, trying not to think about the odd taste. I’d always hated carrots.
“Truth be told, I don’t really fault Taysom for wanting us to go,” Tristan said.
He was right to think so. We were a liability, a threat to the man’s family. The kind farmer may have made an agreement with Lucas, but that was about Jessa’s safety, not ours. He'd certainly never bargained for the three of us to come knocking on his door in the middle of a war.
“Neither do I, but that doesn’t change the fact that we’re stuck out here,” Mastin said. I sighed and focused on my measly carrot.
We’d been traveling northeast for the better part of two days, keeping out of sight during the sunlit hours and moving through the long dark nights as quickly as possible. The area was a mix of farmland and forests, with a few rolling hills for good measure. But mostly, the land was desolate and under-populated. That played into our favor. Now we were only a couple miles from our destination, and the closer we got, the more tense I became, my thoughts turning toward all the worst-case scenarios I could conjure in my mind.
Just breathe. Everything is going to be okay.
“What if this is a trap?” I said aloud, contradicting the lame mantra I’d been tossing around in my head.
The men turned on me at the same time, both with a mix of annoyance and frustration on their faces. Saying what everyone else was thinking didn’t serve the situation, I knew that, but that didn’t stop me. I held up my hands, carrot dangling. “I know, I know, this is what you’ve both been saying. I’m just … okay. Maybe you're right; maybe we should turn back.”
Not my strong suit, admitting I might be wrong. But, whatever, too late for that now.
“You’re unbelievable.” Mastin shot me a knowing look.
Tristan nodded slowly, his eyes drawn in as they studied me like I was some kind of unsolvable puzzle.
Inwardly, some small part of me … okay, maybe a large part of me, stirred. These two ganging up on me was not cool, even if I was wrong. Weren’t they supposed to hate each other or something? But no, the last couple of days they’d gotten along splendidly while I’d suffered with a chip on my shoulder.
“Let’s go over everything again,” Tristan said, leaning back on his elbows and looking up into the blue expanse of sky. I studied his profile, taking in his thick lashes and smooth tan skin. Why did he have to be so pretty? Why did they both have to be so pretty? It was annoying.
“You say Branson can be trusted? He was friendly with you back at the palace, but you never officially knew him to be part of the Resistance. Jasmine was careful to keep all her secrets to herself in the interest of protecting her people, so that part checks out.”
“That’s all true.” I nodded.
Tristan continued, “And I had heard of his name at basecamp. That makes me think he’s Resistance. And if he's really Resistance, then we shouldn't be surprised he gave you that email address. He probably knew he could trust you with it.”
Mastin scoffed. “The address you were supposed to turn in to my father.” He rolled his eyes.
“We can still give it to him. I’m sure you will,” I countered. “I just, I don’t know, I wanted to be sure ... ”
I didn’t add the rest of my thought, that I wanted to be sure West America wasn’t going to continue to treat Alchemists like violent criminals. It was true I wanted New Colony to be defeated, or at least, I wanted to dethrone King Richard. Did that mean I also wanted West America to take over the kingdom?
Not if it meant the end of magic. And the verdict was still out on that.
“And now all we have to show for that email exchange are a set of coordinates and a time,” Mastin replied. “It’s vague. It could be a trap."
Yes, it very well could be.
And that was exactly why I was beginning to feel sick to my stomach.
“Which is why we’re going over everything again,” Tristan said calmly. “One final time before we go through with it.”
I bit my lip and brushed a wayward strand of hair out of my face. Yesterday morning we'd used Mastin's slatebook to send an email to the address Branson had supplied. All we’d said was that there were two soldiers and one Alchemist on this side of the border, who wanted to help in exchange for safe passage back to West America. I’d expected Branson to give us directions, a mission, something. When we’d replied with questions, reasonable questions, we never got an answer. And now we were almost to those coordinates, the time was almost upon us, and we still hadn’t gotten a response.
What were we supposed to do?
“Coordinates and a time isn’t a lot to go off of,” Tristan continued. “But I do think Branson can be trusted, even if it is risky.”
“We should’ve just crossed the border on foot,” Mastin pressed, his closely cropped blond hair shining in the sunlight. He narrowed his green eyes as he rubbed at the dirt on his black boot. “Our Nashville base isn’t even that far.”
That had been his opinion from the start. It had quickly become clear that Mastin wasn’t willing to risk any more of his men to come extract us, and neither was his father. When Mastin had contacted his father about what had happened to us, we'd been horrified to learn the newest update.
The helicopter that left us had been shot down at the border.
The pilot, dead.
This was the second time American soldiers had died trying to get me out of New Colony. It would be the last. Guilt had gripped me at the news; I’d fallen to the floor, dry heaving and sick to my stomach. Mastin had punched the wall and broken his hand in two places, something I’d fixed up for him later with green alchemy. And Tristan had gone silent for hours. All very reasonable reactions.
I glanced over at Mastin, not wanting to let the guilt rip me open once more. He rubbed his bruised knuckles, the frown still deep on his face. The bruises were still there since he hadn’t let me entirely heal the broken bones he’d caused after punching the wall; those actions all watched over silently by Tristan.
General Nathan Scott’s livid yells still echoed in my mind, so loud he may as well have been here and not on the other end of a phone call with Mastin. What was worse, I had agreed with him. Mastin should never have come with me and we’d been in NC too long. The whole call I waited for Mastin to blame me, say it was all my fault. He hadn’t though. He only listened, never implicating anyone else for the damage done. Talk about laying some more guilt on my shoulders.
But worrying about that now wouldn’t change a thing. Open countryside, farmland, marshes, all stretched for miles around us. No matter which way we traveled, danger awaited.
We were stranded.
“We can’t just walk across the border of two warring nations without expecting to get shot,” Tristan said. “We couldn’t stay hidden at the farmer's place either. We weren’t welcome there. So as risky as it is—”
“Branson is our best chance at getting out of here,” I finished.
Mastin closed his eyes, face grim, but nodded. “Give me one of those damn carrots.” Tristan tossed him one, and Mastin bit into it like it had personally offended him. “I’m going to case the area. I’ll be back in ten.” He jumped to his feet and stomped away, back straight, dark camo clothes blending perfectly into the scenery and disappearing before anyone could protest.
Tristan and I fell into silence.
We’d never talked again about our earlier argument. I forced my eyes to look anywhere but at him as it festered between us like an undressed wound. Shame pressed down on me every time I thought of his words, of how quickly he’d pushed me on Mastin. And now we had only a few more hours until we had to be at our destination, facing whatever surprises waited. If there were things we needed to say, now was the time.
I glanced at him, only to find him staring. His black, unreadable eyes quickly flicked away. He reached for the canteen and took a long swallow. A tangle of confused emotions rose in me.
“I’m sorry,” I blurted.
“About what?”
“Everything. This.” I motioned to the cropping we were hanging out in, the backpack between us. “This situation. And ... everything.”
His jaw tensed, and he licked the water from his lips. I took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, too. I don’t think you understood what I meant by what I said.”
My cheeks ignited in a warm blush, and I couldn't help but look away. “No, it’s okay. I got what you meant. We’re better off as friends.”
His hand found mine and squeezed, his thumb sliding up my wrist.
An echoing boom exploded from behind us. We both jumped, panic bursting through my veins like dynamite. I pushed that away and replaced it with action.
“What was that?” Not waiting for an answer, I sprinted through the brush to get a better look, Tristan right behind me, his breath heavy on the back of my head. Branches and twigs scratched at me, but I barely noticed, intent on finding the source to the sound that now careened through the once-silent afternoon.
Mastin crouched behind a large oak, motioning for us to join him. Up ahead, on the edge of the horizon, a fire raged.
“What is it?” I asked, though the question seemed ridiculous the second it left my mouth. I already knew. I could see what looked like an outpost caught on the offensive. A row of buildings burned, and people ran to and fro, some getting into position, others trying to stifle the flames. Black smoke billowed upward, staining the crystal blue sky.
“That must be the frontline,” Tristan said, voice eerily calm against the backdrop of chaos.
Mastin nodded, a slight smile pulling on the hard lines of his usually stoic mouth. “They are under attack.”
My chest burned. My legs ached. My throat tightened with nagging thirst. But that didn’t matter. I hardly noticed any pain as I focused my attention straight ahead on our target. We ran together, at an all-out sprint, toward the mayhem. On the horizon, it appeared that several bombs had been dropped and at least one of New America’s fighter jets had been shot down in the attack. The wreckage was spilled across an open field as it burned. Rows of uniform brick and metal buildings were engulfed in angry-red flames that reached into the sky recklessly.
The New Colony soldiers didn’t notice the three of us as we approached, we were coming from the wrong direction. Several of them held massive hoses as they sprayed the flames, to little success. Others loaded their injured comrades on stretchers, running around a corner and disappearing toward more of the buildings that hadn’t been hit. But the majority of the soldiers seemed to be running toward the airfield. Among the gunshots, the screams and shouts, the crackling of fire, was the sound of them calling out to each other, getting into position.
As we neared the area, it was evident that we couldn’t just stay out in the open. We needed to take cover. Mastin led us to refuge behind a large dumpster. The three of us caught our breath and my brain ran through all the possibilities on our next move.
“Now what?” Tristan asked, looking up to the two of us from where he had his hands resting on his knees. Sweat lined his forehead and adrenaline sparked in his eyes. Tristan was the kind of person who could easily take charge when needed, but also knew when to back down and let someone else be the leader. That came in handy in times like these.
“Let’s go to the meeting spot,” I offered. “Maybe Branson will still be there.”
Mastin pursed his lips but he nodded anyway.
“Hold on,” I said, reaching toward the men. “Stay close and I can help us.” I felt the magic from my stone necklace begin to work its way into my body, like heat being poured through me. I sent out the blue as a protective noise bubble.
Gunfire, short pops followed by a series of successive clatters, punctured the afternoon just ahead of us. My heart rose up into my throat and I knew
that I could do more for these men under my protection. It was my fault they were here; I needed to see they made it out of this alive. I glanced down to the necklace, taking in the sight of the stones. The colors were fading. After today, I'd need to refresh most of these, including the amber stone that glinted like solid honey in the sunlight. I prayed there’d be enough to get us through tonight.
“Okay, we weren’t ever really supposed to do this,” I said. “I don’t even know if I can, not everyone is able to, but I should try ... ”
More gunshots, this time closer.
“Sasha, we’ve got to get out of here.” Tristan tugged on my hand, but I held him back.
“What are you talking about?” Mastin questioned. “Let’s go. Now!”
I turned and looked at the men, trying to get them to understand with a single expression. “If this works …” I said. “Don’t be mad at me, okay?”
Mastin was distracted, already in battle mode. His hand rested on his gun, his body was crouched into position, and his eyes were narrowed in singular focus. But Tristan had turned toward me, his eyes flashing in a slight accusation. He knew me too well for his own good.
“Why would I be mad?” The question came out of his mouth slow and testy. “What aren't you telling me?”
There was no use in hiding it. “Okay,” I sputtered. “I might be able to give you some of this yellow magic. I’m not sure it will work, but if it does, we’ll have a much better chance at making it to these coordinates without being shot dead.”
Mastin swung his head around. “I don’t want it,” he growled.
I wasn’t about to give him a choice. There wasn’t time to hash out an argument with the man.
The yellow already spun in tendrils of magic around us, already making its way toward the intended targets. In a flash, the tendrils caressed the men’s exposed arms and sank into their bodies like water through paper.
This is okay. This is going to work just fine.
Alchemists used magic on others for green alchemy. The King used it for his own persuasion, something I’d seen Reed do on more than one occasion. But some of the more volatile magics were kept to ourselves. We were trained to handle them, true, but more than that, we’d been born for the task.
