It hurt Ross, how fearfully everyone watched him. He wanted to explain, to apologize, but the words couldn’t get past his throat.
“Luis,” he said.
Luis met his eyes. He was scared. But he was going to try to look brave. Ross could feel it as if the thoughts were his own. Luis kissed his girlfriend. Their hands tightened, then dropped.
“It’s okay,” Luis whispered as he passed Ross. “You had to pick someone, and I’m the toughest.”
Then he marched to the platform and leaped up.
The crowd cheered. Luis held up his arms, turning in a circle. The shrill cheers of the little princes and princesses rose up, then died away as a military band began a drum roll.
Min Soo had her palms pressed together. She pulled them apart in a slow, ritual gesture, then held them out to Luis, palms up. He laid his hands on hers, and she gripped them.
Ross closed his eyes, hoping that the absolute worst that would happen would be an unimpressive Change that people would tease Luis about later.
A shriek of pain shocked his eyes open. Min Soo jerked her hands away, her fingers splayed apart. Blood ran down from her palms. Everywhere she had touched Luis, her skin had been ripped away.
She swayed. Luis moved to catch her, but she backed away, screaming, “Don’t touch me!”
Luis stared from her to his blood-stained palms. He wiped them down his white shirt, leaving red smears. His own hands were unharmed.
Voske vaulted past Luis and caught Min Soo, then settled her down on the platform. “Where’s the surgeon?”
“Right here, your majesty,” an older man called, pushing through the gathering crowd.
Ross recognized the man from the memories of the five trees. Looking from Voske to the surgeon, to Min Soo’s bleeding hands and the growing terror on Luis’s face, Ross felt as if he was trapped in a nightmare.
Soldiers started waving the crowd away. Luis’s girlfriend tried to dodge around them, yelling, “Let me through! Let me go to Luis!”
Voske gestured to the soldiers to let her pass. She leaped up on the stage.
“Wait,” Voske ordered. “Luis, don’t move. You should be able to control this, like Min Soo controls her power. Remember how it felt a moment ago, and don’t do that. Concentrate on not hurting her.”
Luis slowly stretched out his hand, his brow tense, his fingers trembling.
“Careful, Sophie. I don’t know if I can . . .”
Sophie glanced at Min Soo, who was being bandaged, then stepped firmly up to Luis, holding out her own hands. “I’m not afraid. I know you won’t hurt me, Luis.” But her voice was quick and tight, and Ross knew she was as scared as he felt.
Voske spoke quickly. “Not like that. Sophie, touch his cheek.”
Sophie stepped confidently forward and brushed two fingers over Luis’s cheek. She jumped back with a yelp. Blood dripped from her fingertips.
Luis closed his eyes.
Guards led Luis toward the palace, careful not to touch him. Sophie was escorted off in another direction. Ross heard a sob, quickly muffled.
Voske stepped down and joined Ross. “Well done, Ross. Very well done.”
Ross stared at him in horror. “I ruined his life.”
Voske glanced after Luis. “It’ll take some getting used to, but that is a very valuable power. Even if he never does learn to control it, can you imagine how terrifying he’d be in battle?”
A dizzying rage rose up in Ross. Voske was standing close enough that if Ross moved fast and caught him unaware, he just might be able to kill Voske with his bare hands before anyone could stop him.
The nearest soldiers stepped forward, weapons raised.
Voske held out a hand to halt them, his stance easy but ready. Ross breathed out. His chance was gone—if he’d ever had one.
“Go to your room and get some rest. Take another ride tomorrow. Clear your head.” Voske gave Ross another of those cool, deliberate smiles. Ross’s skin crept at his next words. “But next time, take some bread for the gophers. You should always keep your promises.”
Chapter Sixteen. Las Anclas.
Mia
Dad always told Mia that cooking was scientific. If you do each step in an experiment in the same order and the same way, the results are always the same, no matter who conducts the experiment. So if Mia followed Grandma’s dumpling recipe exactly, it should produce dumplings exactly like Grandma’s.
Mia peered at the crumpled, grubby paper. Step fourteen: add a quarter cup of cream, beating at a medium speed. Mia hoped one-fourth was right. It had been hard to get Grandma to be more specific than “a dollop” and “beat it.”
Mia poured the cream into the bubbling sauce, and began to beat at a medium speed. Whatever “medium” meant. The sauce broke into disgusting lumps floating in a nasty liquid. Mia beat harder, trying to squish the lumps. The sauce sprayed up, as if in revenge, splattering her glasses and stinging her face. Mia jumped back with a yelp, and her whisk caught the handle of the pan and flipped it off the stove.
Dad opened the door, then skidded back from the wave of curdled glop. “What is that? Or should I say, what was that?”
Mia groaned. “It was supposed to be Grandma’s cream sauce for dumplings.”
Dad gave a doctorly prod to the plate of objects the size, color, and consistency of rocks. “May I ask what inspired this?”
“I thought learning something new might take my mind off things,” Mia said glumly. “I will never again make fun of anything you cook, I swear. Even if it’s avocado-flavored vinegar-soaked oatmeal.”
“Ugh.” Dad tipped the petrified dumplings into the compost bucket. “Some experiments are too cruel to contemplate. Let’s eat at Jack’s. I know you’ve been training hard. You need to feed those new muscles.”
Mia prodded her bicep with her forefinger. Was the weight-lifting paying off? “I don’t just want to be stronger, though. I want to fight better.”
“If you want to improve your skills at anything, you have to practice.”
He had a point. Mia needed someone to fight with. Someone who wouldn’t make fun of her. Ideally, someone her own size . . .
“I’ll be right back.” Mia swept the glop-soaked rags into the laundry bin. “Actually, don’t wait for me. Say hi to Anna-Lucia!”
Mia didn’t stop running until she arrived at the Lowensteins’ house. There she counted her pants per minute, hoping they’d be fewer than the last time she’d run that distance. Instead, she counted three gasps more than her usual average.
Still, she’d only been training for two weeks. If Jennie were here, she could tell Mia how long she’d need to exercise before she saw consistent, measurable results.
Jennie and her team would reach Gold Point tomorrow night, if they hadn’t been delayed on the way. Tomorrow night, they might set Ross free!
Or the bounty hunter might kill him.
No, Jennie would stop him. But what if Jennie had to kill the bounty hunter to save Ross? What was Voske doing with Ross? Was he torturing him? Had he killed Ross and stuck his head on a pole? What if Ross escaped, with the entire Gold Point army after him, and then Jennie’s team missed him and ran into the army?
Mia’s thoughts ricocheted around her mind like a swarm of trapped, angry bees. She flung open the Lowensteins’ door. Meredith and her mother sat at the kitchen table, two coppery heads lit by the slanting rays of the westering sun. They looked up in surprise.
“I forgot to knock,” Mia explained. “I mean, hi!”
Ms. Lowenstein indicated a noodle casserole. “Have you had dinner?”
“It’s on the floor.” Mia wiped the sweat off her glasses, then replaced them just in time to catch the mother and daughter exchanging puzzled looks. “Meredith, can I talk to you? I need some help.”
“Sure. An explosion?” Meredith asked hopefully.
Ms. Lowenstein picked up her plate. “I’m going to eat on the porch. It might be cooler. But girls. Much as I’d love to see Preston’
s house blow up and give him something other than drilling to occupy his time, promise me that at least no one will be inside it.”
Mia raised her hand, palm out. “I swear.”
The door closed, leaving Mia with Meredith. Mia instantly felt awkward. Meredith was Jennie’s friend, not hers. She’d always liked Meredith, but they hadn’t been alone together since they were ten. The explanation she’d planned went out of her head.
Meredith broke. “Did you want to go look for your flame thrower?”
“No, it’s about me. I mean, about me and you.”
Meredith stared at her.
That had come out all wrong. Mia hastily continued, “You’ve always been so good at physical things, especially shooting, but really, everything. And I’m not, except for shooting, a little bit. I never cared before, but I do now, so what I was wondering was . . . would you mind training with me? When you’re not with the Rangers?”
“Sure, I’m always up for more training. But a group is better than two.” Meredith tapped her spoon on the table. “I’ll ask Paco. He’s been great in Ranger training. Jose, too. Yolanda is too young to be a Ranger candidate, but she’s pretty good. And she’s just your size.”
“She’s your size, too.”
“Oh yeah,” Meredith said. “I always forget.”
Mia wondered what it would be like to not even see yourself as small. Was that why Meredith was so confident? Or did she not see herself as small because she was confident? If Mia started imagining that she was Jennie’s size, would she—
Meredith snapped her fingers. “I know! I’ve got one more person. I’m not sure if she’ll be interested. We used to not get along. But she’s been serious about Ranger training, she’s good enough to challenge me, and if we could practice on her family’s land, no one would bother us. Okay. I’ll ask Sujata.”
*
Dry leaves rustled in the Vardams’ orchard. The last time Mia had been there—
“Oh no,” she breathed.
Months ago, she’d made a deal with Mr. and Mrs. Vardam to keep the raccoons out of the water supply. Then Voske had attacked, and Mr. Vardam had been killed. Mia had forgotten all about the raccoons. But the raccoons hadn’t forgotten about the water. They’d once again dug a canal to divert the Vardams’ stream into their little city. Mia mentally reorganized her schedule for the next day.
Everyone Meredith had mentioned was there, with the exception of Paco and a surprising addition. If anyone liked training less than Mia, it was shy Becky Callahan. But there she was, shrinking behind Sujata as if trying to hide, her pale hair lifting in the hot breeze.
“Becky wants to be in the group,” Sujata announced, stepping aside.
Meredith raised her eyebrows at Becky. “You realize that you’ll have to hit things.”
Becky looked horrified at the thought. Meredith’s red eyebrows went even higher.
“Tell Meredith why you’re here,” Sujata prompted.
Becky indicated the pink ribbon tied around her wrist. “My mom wants me to stop dating Brisa. She was okay with Brisa being Changed when Brisa was a friend of Felicité’s. But after the battle, Felicité called Changed people monsters, and she and Brisa stopped talking. Then Mom said I wasn’t allowed to date, um—” Becky glanced nervously at Yolanda and Jose, and mumbled, “She called them mutants.”
Meredith snorted. “Your mother would let you date a girl with three heads if her parents were rich enough, and lived on the Hill.”
Becky nodded sadly, cradling her ribboned wrist against her. “Mom said I had to take off Brisa’s ribbon. And I wouldn’t. Every time she sees me, she starts yelling at me. I just want to get out of the house.”
Meredith patted her shoulder. “You’re in. Let’s stretch.”
Mia automatically started for the back of the group. But Meredith arranged them in a circle, where everyone could see exactly how clumsy Mia was.
Meredith dropped into a runner’s lunge. “Left foot forward.”
Mia hastily got into position, only to hear Meredith say, “Other left, Mia.”
Her face burning, Mia quickly switched feet. She couldn’t believe she’d managed to mess up stretching. Even six-year-olds could stretch. Three stretches later, Mia again heard, “Mia! Other right.”
When Meredith finally had everyone stand up, Mia was briefly relieved. Until Meredith brought out the punching pads. Mia skittered over to pair up with Becky, who probably wouldn’t hit her too hard.
“Oh, no, you don’t.” Meredith grabbed her wrist. “Becky, you’re with Yolanda. Mia, you’re with me.”
Mia backed away. “You’ll knock me over the town wall!”
Jose and Sujata laughed.
“If you have a good stance, Sheriff Crow couldn’t knock you down.” Meredith sounded irritated.
In a panic, Mia couldn’t even remember what a stance was, let alone a good one. She planted her feet firmly into the ground. Meredith gently kicked at one of Mia’s ankles. “A front stance, Mia. Left foot back.”
Mia looked helplessly at her feet. Was her left the one that worked the treadmill? It was so hard to remember which was which when she used both her hands interchangeably. She never thought about left and right in her workshop.
“Other left, Mia.” Meredith sighed.
“Sorry. Sorry.” Mia was already regretting her ‘bright idea.’
“Am I annoying you? Get some revenge! Hit me as hard as you like!” Meredith swung one leg back like she always knew which was which, and held the pad close to her chest. “Punch!”
Mia flung out her fist as hard as she could. Pain shot up her forearm, but Meredith didn’t even blink.
“Ow!” Mia exclaimed, wringing her fingers.
“Keep your wrist straight.” Meredith adjusted Mia’s arm like she was a doll. “See? Forearm level with the first two knuckles. Try again.”
Meredith proceeded to criticize the angle of her elbow, the proximity of her elbow to her side, the angle of her knuckles, and the motion of her hips. About the only thing Mia seemed to be moving right was her nose. And if they’d done one more drill, Meredith probably would have criticized that, too.
Every muscle in her body ached when Meredith said, “Take a water break. Then we’ll spar.”
Mia shakily slurped down two cups of water. All the skin had been knocked off her knuckles. Meredith, Jose, Sujata, and Yolanda looked refreshed and cheerful. Becky’s lips were trembling as if she was about to cry, which was how Mia felt.
“Sorry I’m late,” came a new voice.
“Paco!” Meredith exclaimed. “Perfect timing. We’re about to start sparring. Let’s give them a demo, then we’ll pair everyone up.”
He and Meredith squared off, Meredith bouncing lightly, full of energy. Cloth popped as they struck and kicked, beads of sweat flying off them. Mia couldn’t believe how happy they looked. At least, Meredith looked happy. Paco looked . . . intense.
Mia could train every day for the rest of her life, and never be anywhere near as good as either of them. She could train every day for the rest of her life, and never be any good at all. She’d drilled thousands of times, and she still couldn’t keep her wrist straight.
What had she imagined, anyway? That if she trained hard enough, it would magically bring Ross back? That if he did come back and she could fight, she’d never let him down again? That she’d be like Jennie, strong and trusted— and trustworthy?
Ross was gone. She’d already let him down. No one had even considered sending Mia with Jennie to rescue him, because Mia would have been nothing but a useless piece of luggage. All the training in the world couldn’t change the past. It wouldn’t change the future, either. Terrible things could be happening to Ross and Jennie right now, and Mia was completely powerless to help them.
With all her strength, she hit out at the punching post Meredith had set up. And missed.
Chapter Seventeen. Gold Point.
Kerry
Kerry loved having breakfast with he
r father, just the two of them, in his private dining room of polished oak, golden and mellow and easy on her eyes, unlike Min Soo’s headache-inducing pink.
She glanced out the window as she sipped her coffee. The trees were bare, so she could see the guest house where they’d put Luis. She wondered if he’d learned to control his power yet.
Father opened the door. “Good morning, darling. Sorry I’m late.” Over his shoulder, he said, “Let’s fall back to the inner perimeter. We can safely assume that no one is coming from Las Anclas to disturb our guest. I want South Company Three pulled off patrol and sent to reinforce Captain Flores at Lake Perris.”
He shut the door on the aide-de-camp and sat across from Kerry. “I hope the pancakes are still hot.”
“They are,” Kerry said. “Did you send Pru to check on Lake Perris?”
“Yes, she left last night on ‘a prospecting expedition.’” Father picked up his coffee mug. “I gather our guest is still sulking in his room?”
“After three days, I was sure he’d be hungry enough to come out. I knocked on my way here, but he wouldn’t even answer.”
Father helped himself to the crispy hash browns. “What’s the next step?”
Kerry put down her cup. “We can’t let him sit in there until he starves—he’s only useful if he’s alive. If we wait too long, he might figure that out and try to bargain with us.”
Father smiled. “We will not permit him to build a citadel within our citadel. He must come out and engage with the world. That is your job this morning, Kerry. Bring him out, make him eat something, and get him ready to ride out with us to the ruined city. I’ll be waiting at the garrison at seven o’clock.”
Kerry could tell that Father was annoyed, though it was difficult to say how she knew. He rarely got angry, but when he did, he didn’t stamp or curse or yell. If anything, his voice got softer. Maybe that was it: his voice was too soft.
She finished her breakfast as fast as she could without letting Father see that she was rushing. It was hard to be around him when he was angry, even though he barely showed it. It was as if he had a force field like the ones she could make, only his could kill with a touch.
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