This guy might not want to hurt her, but he would if he had to. If she kept panicking, his finger might find the trigger of that gun.
Zeisha tried to slow her breathing. After a minute or so, she was able to sit and yank her knees into her chest. “What do you want?”
“I want to do my job.”
“What job?”
“I’m a soldier in the king’s army.”
“You don’t have jurisdiction here. Deroga is independent.”
“I’m not here to talk politics.” He gestured with both hands.
Zeisha’s eyes darted to the gun he still held. “Just let me go.” She swallowed, determined not to cry again. “I won’t tell anyone I saw you.”
“Don’t be stupid, you know I can’t do that. Just do what I say, and I won’t have to hurt you. But if you try to run—” He pointed the gun at her, and his voice took on an ominous tone. “Just don’t.”
Zeisha’s breath came faster. She hugged her knees tighter.
“We’re gonna travel to the king,” the man said. “He wants to talk to you. You, Krey, Ovrun, and Nora.”
Zeisha froze. He can’t take them too.
The man continued to talk, his voice low and steely. “I know Krey is in that building. I know you were just there. We’re gonna find a place to wait until Nora and Ovrun come to visit.”
“They won’t come.” The lie flowed smoothly from her mouth.
“I know they visit almost every day. My contact told me.”
“You mean Elo Golsch?” Funny how her mind was sharp, even as her heart raced.
His eyes widened, and he stiffened, confirming her suspicion. Apparently the spy had heard more from his room than they’d realized.
Zeisha drew a deep breath. “That man left here a week ago. He doesn’t know what happened since then. Monday, Nora told Krey she was done visiting him. She doesn’t trust him anymore because of—of what he did. Ovrun does what Nora does. We can wait if you want, but they’re not coming.”
She’d always been a terrible liar. Apparently, desperation changed that. She had no problem staring into this man’s eyes and telling him a story that might save her friends.
The man swore. Zeisha could see the storm of uncertainty in his fidgeting fingers and tight mouth. She didn’t dare flinch.
At last, he said, “We’ll wait until nightfall. If the princess and Ovrun don’t come by then, I suppose two’s better than none.”
“Okay.” That gives me time to figure out . . . something. But who was she kidding? She wasn’t like Krey, Ovrun, and Nora, who thrived under pressure. She’d never get away from this guy.
The man led her across the street and behind the houses there. They entered an abandoned house that smelled of shimshim waste. From the large, glassless window in the front room, they had a perfect view of the prison house. The man dragged two old, sturdy chairs across the room, settling them in the shadows, a few mets from the window. “Sit down.”
When they were both settled, the man tucked the gun in his jacket pocket. He folded his arms and leaned forward, watching Zeisha with cold eyes.
After tackling her, he hadn’t hurt her further, which told her he had some measure of self-control. But Zeisha knew the army leaders would’ve chosen someone capable for this mission. She’d seen the anger in this man’s gaze when she’d panicked. If she tried to run, he’d stop her with whatever force was necessary.
From one of his jacket pockets, the man retrieved a small, glass water bottle. He offered it to Zeisha.
“No, thanks.”
He rolled his eyes, then drank and offered it to her again. “It’s safe.”
The offer told Zeisha something else about this man: even though he was capable of violence, he hadn’t lost his humanity.
She took the bottle and sipped. The glass smelled like him, but the water tasted good. She handed it back. “Thanks.” Strange to thank this guy, but a new strategy was entering her mind. She had to build trust. Get his guard down. “What’s your name?”
“Lars.”
“Lars. It’s nice to . . .” She let out her breath and shook her head.
He ran a dirty hand over his filthier face and let out an exasperated grunt. “I know it’s not nice to meet me.”
After a long pause, she asked, “Will you tell me about yourself?”
He frowned. “What the hell, you trying to make friends?”
“If we’re going to sit here for hours, I’d like to distract myself,” Zeisha said quietly.
Lars nodded slowly and crossed his arms again. Then he told her how fighting in the army gave his life meaning. How glad he was that the king had brought those “damn New Therroan terrorists” under control. He oozed patriotism and loyalty.
True to his word, Lars didn’t hurt Zeisha. When they both started squirming from the effects of the water, he led her outside, keeping his back to her while they took care of business. She considered attacking him then, but he was still holding the gun. She looked around for a leaf, a weed—anything she could eat for fuel. But she was crouched in the dirt, and the nearest plant was at least a dozen steps away.
Back inside, hours passed. Zeisha’s stomach shrank into a dense, twisted ball of hunger and anxiety. Lars was right; Nora and Ovrun visited Krey nearly every day. She prayed they’d make an exception today or come well after nightfall.
Nora brought her dinner plate to a table in the militia dining room. Ovrun was already there. “How’d hunting go?” she asked as she sat.
“Not bad. Thirteen shimshims.”
“Nice!” Nora said.
“Did you enjoy sleeping the day away?”
She scowled. “I only slept half the day away, thank you very much.” She usually slept in on Saturdays instead of hunting. Her Friday-night flights with Osmius wore her out. “Hatlin gave me bad news last night.”
“Again?”
“Yeah.” Nora sighed. Her information-gathering meetings with Hatlin hadn’t been encouraging. Almost two months ago, he’d told her that the king had touched the New Therroan palace spy. While he hadn’t immediately interrogated her, she’d known it was coming. She’d fled, using her soil-lysting faculty to dig an escape tunnel.
Another week, Nora had learned that the king had secretly fired all his ministers when he’d locked down the palace. They were the people most likely to talk sense into him, and now they were gone. He’d paid the former ministers to stay quiet and bribed the newspaper not to report it, but word had eventually reached Hatlin.
And week after week, the New Therroan flyer had described the army’s increased size and organization. The soldiers were undergoing ruthless training, focused on teaching them to obey orders without question. That made planning an uprising difficult. Hatlin thought the army might now be disciplined enough to carry out an effective attack on Deroga.
Nora took a drink of water, then said, “The army has been recruiting lysters. They’ve gotten a few dozen of them by promising double the normal pay.”
Ovrun’s eyebrows leapt up. “Another militia?”
“No, just regular soldiers. I think my father learned his lesson the first time, when his entire militia switched sides because I killed the Overseer.” She took a bite, trying not to surrender to the emotion that was always close at hand when she thought of Faylie. “Plus,” she said after swallowing, “finding an Overseer can’t be easy. Most lysters die if they ingest brain matter.” She’d often wondered how many people her father had sacrificed before recruiting Faylie.
Ovrun let out all his breath. “Feels like the odds are getting worse every week.”
“Yeah, it does.”
After dinner, Ovrun said, “It’s still light out. Want to walk to our spot?” He gave her a sweet, hopeful smile.
Nora laughed. It had been eight days since Ovrun had told her he loved her. During that time, they’d gone back to the wooded space twice. It was always romantic, though they’d avoided any serious discussions. “As great as that sounds,” she sai
d, “I haven’t seen Krey since yesterday afternoon. We should stop by.”
Ovrun’s laugh floated on the air, finding Zeisha’s ears. She froze. Lars was talking and didn’t seem to have heard.
Her mind raced. Ovrun was coming, probably accompanied by Nora. Once the two of them entered the prison house, Lars would go across the street to abduct them and Krey. He’d warned Zeisha that he’d have a gun trained on her the whole time. With her life on the line, he figured the guards would do whatever he asked. She was afraid he was right.
I can’t let Nora and Ovrun go in that house.
But if she did anything, Lars would shoot.
Or would he? He’d let slip that the army leaders wanted Zeisha and her friends alive. And while his ability to embrace violence was written all over his thick arms and meaty hands, she thought he’d rather subdue her with strength than with a weapon. This was a guy who got into bar fights, not someone who executed people with firearms.
That was what her instinct told her, anyway. Was she willing to risk her life on that gut feeling?
Ovrun laughed again. Lars stopped talking. He pulled his gun out and stood next to the window. Holding his free hand out toward Zeisha, he commanded, “Stay there.”
Her joints froze. Every instinct told her to obey the man with the gun.
But my friends! Zeisha dug inside her for strength. Heart racing, she tiptoed toward Lars.
He spun to look at her. “I said stay there!”
“I just want to see which guards are coming. It’s time for a shift change.” Again, the lie emerged with casual ease.
Lars peeked outside again. “That hair—that’s the princess!”
Zeisha darted the last few steps to the large window. Sure enough, her two friends were strolling down the road. The sight of them injected her with a dose of sudden courage. “This man kidnapped me!” she screamed, the words ripping at the tissues of her throat.
Lars grabbed her and pulled her against him, her chest against his. His gun was in the hand that held her to him. While the muzzle wasn’t pointed at her, she felt the cold metal shape pressing through her shirt.
Nora and Ovrun had heard her—they’d stopped walking. Lars tried to grasp Zeisha’s mouth. She shook her head hard, avoiding his hand. “Get help!” she shrieked. “He’ll take us all to the king!”
Lars’s dirty hand found her mouth. Grunting, he gripped it hard. As he struggled to pull Zeisha away from the window, she saw Nora and Ovrun run to the side of the street.
Lars was breathing hard. He held Zeisha so tightly, she couldn’t move her arms. She kicked with her booted feet. He just grunted when they contacted his shins. His hand on her mouth squeezed painfully.
“Damn it!” Lars grunted, for no apparent reason. He adjusted the gun, pressing its metal muzzle into her side.
An electric buzz of panic permeated Zeisha’s body. She stilled and saw what had made Lars curse. Two guards had exited the house across the street. They ran into the dirt road, looking around frantically. One of them brought his gaze to the window where Lars and Zeisha stood. He sprinted toward them. The other guard followed.
“I have a gun!” Lars shouted. “Stop, or I’ll shoot her! Hands up! Get on the ground!”
The guards complied.
Zeisha heard footsteps. Someone was approaching—from deeper in the house.
Lars heard it too. In one strong motion, he lifted Zeisha over the windowsill, setting her on the ground outside. She tried to pull away, but he held her arm in a bruising grip. He joined her outside the window and pressed the gun to her head.
The footsteps behind them stopped. Zeisha swiveled her head to look.
Ovrun stood in the living room.
“Stop right there,” Lars said.
Zeisha’s gaze found Ovrun’s. “I told you to go.”
“Release her.” Ovrun’s voice was low, calming. “You’re surrounded.”
He can’t see the gun, Zeisha realized.
Lars had positioned himself with his gun hand visible to the guards. He pivoted so Ovrun could see the weapon too. “Get your hands up and climb out the window!” he shouted at Ovrun. “I’ll shoot her if you don’t obey!”
Zeisha’s knees weakened. Just moments ago, she’d told herself this man wouldn’t pull the trigger. With the metal muzzle pressed hard against her head, she had no such confidence.
Ovrun’s gaze darted to Lars and Zeisha, then to the guards.
“Now!” Lars shouted.
Slowly, Ovrun lifted his hands and climbed out the window. His expression was bland, nonthreatening, but his limbs were taut, ready to act. Behind his calm eyes, Zeisha knew his mind was racing, seeking any opportunity to turn things around.
“Ovrun,” Lars said, “lie on your belly. Face to the ground. Hands behind your head.”
All the air left Ovrun’s chest. Resignation weighed down his shoulders. He obeyed.
“Zeisha,” Lars said, “lie next to him. Feet even with his head.”
He kept his gun trained on her as she followed his commands. At every second, she expected a bullet. As she drew in gasping breaths, dirt entered her mouth. She spit and coughed.
Lars spoke again. “You. Pull those shackles off your belt. Put one side on the girl and the other on the guy. On their right hands.”
Murmuring apologies, a guard locked a cool, metal shackle on Zeisha’s wrist, then did the same to Ovrun. The chain rattled as Ovrun’s warm hand found hers and held it tight.
Next, Lars took the guards’ knives. He pointed at the house where he and Zeisha had hidden. “You guards, hug those columns!” he commanded, pointing at two narrow columns on the front stoop. “Shackle your own wrists together!” He stood back far enough to keep his eyes and his gun trained on all his captives. The guards had no choice but to comply. Lars retrieved their keys to the prison house and to their shackles.
“Zeisha and Ovrun, stand,” Lars commanded.
They obeyed. With the shackles on both their right wrists, there was no way to stand that wasn’t awkward. In order to face the same direction as Ovrun, Zeisha had to stand with her right arm across her body. “Put your left arm around my waist,” Ovrun said. She did, and it helped.
Lars led them to the prison house, where only one guard was left inside. After knocking, Lars shouted, “I have a gun on Zeisha and Ovrun. “I’ll kill them both if you don’t let us in!”
The door swung open.
Lars was quiet and efficient. Within three minutes, the remaining guard was shackled and locked in Krey’s room. Krey’s left hand was shackled to Ovrun’s left, making it even harder for the three captives to move.
Zeisha listened for rescuers. But as Lars ushered his three captives out of the house and into an unfamiliar part of the city, she realized whatever help Nora brought would come too late.
Lars kept his gun trained on them as he led them through deserted streets. The only sounds were their footsteps and frightened breaths, murmured instructions from Lars, and the far-off calls of feral caynins.
The Seer: 8
Sarza watched the street from the second-story window of an old, abandoned house. She’d seen Zeisha walk out the front door of the prison house, then watched a man attack her. From a rear window, she’d seen the man take Zeisha to another house. Now, after a confrontation in the street and a quick trip inside the prison house, the man had his three victims: Zeisha, Ovrun, and Krey.
Three people Sarza felt like she actually knew. By the stone, she’d wanted to cheer when Nora ran off.
What a pathetic thought. But hey, spying was lonely. Other spies probably developed fake connections with people they’d never met. Right?
The still street below grew blurry. For one illogical second, Sarza thought it was raining. She blinked and realized there were tears in her eyes.
Damn it, this has gotten out of hand.
Why had she come here, anyway? She’d seen all those dramatic scenes already. Several intense visions had given her a front-row sea
t to Zeisha’s frightened face, Krey’s angry shouts, and the Cellerinian soldier’s gun. Why had she watched it all again, in person?
I should get out of this city. Sneak back to the capital, find out where the army is, and join them. I’m getting soft.
But it all felt so pointless these days. What was waiting for her in the army? A promotion and more money, maybe. But what good was money when you didn’t have any friends to enjoy it with?
Sarza huffed and shoved away the thoughts. This place is messing you up. Look at the street, the buildings, the sky—anything. Stop thinking about people who have no idea you exist.
Stop thinking about how guilty you feel for not stopping this.
JUST STOP.
She gritted her teeth and brought her eyes to the sky. It was actually worth looking at. There was a gorgeous sunset she hadn’t noticed until now. Purple and deep orange and pink, the whole works. Sarza tried to let the sun’s dimming rays bring her peace.
It didn’t work. This sunset was just like the pay raise she’d been working so hard for. Pointless if she couldn’t share it with others.
26
The median age of digital forgers is now nineteen. Fifteen years ago, the median age was twenty-nine. In another fifteen years, will nine-year-olds be running the world . . . or at least the digital underground?
-“Conned by Kids” by Genta Ril
The Derogan Chronicle, dated Cyon 15, 6293
Nora sprinted to Deroga’s residential street. Panting, she knocked on the door of the first house.
No one answered.
She darted to the next house. A man, bleary eyed and unshaven, opened the door. A baby on his hip was wailing.
Nora spat out words between gasping breaths. “Someone attacked—the prison house!”
“Prison house? What is that?”
Oh, yeah—the prison house was a secret. A curse flew from Nora’s mouth. The man in front of her blinked. “It’s a few—streets away,” she panted. “We just have to—get some people—”
The Vine Eater (The Magic Eaters Trilogy Book 2) Page 23
