Hostage

by Rachel Manija Brown

  Yuki had been meant to become a king. He couldn’t make the excuse of not having been raised with a sense of responsibility. He knew his duty, and he’d failed.

  Mr. Vilas scouted ahead, then returned, strolling casually. Yuki walked with him, hoping they’d look like two carrot farmers. Jennie trailed well behind. Three older women walked by, carrying push brooms. They barely glanced at him. In Las Anclas, a stranger would have been noticed immediately, but Gold Point was so big that people lived among strangers.

  The palace loomed ahead. Yuki had never seen such a gigantic building, not even on the Taka. At least twenty guards patrolled it, with more on the roof and at the stairwells. Yuki forced himself not to count guards, or check to see who might be watching them. “Don’t give the sentries any reason to want to check you out,” the bounty hunter had said. “Gold Point citizens are used to the palace. They won’t be staring like they’ve never seen it before.”

  Yuki forced his eyes down by imagining the weight of all those alert gazes. It was a relief to get past the enormous building.

  He hoped Mr. Vilas was right that the ‘guest houses’ only had six guards each. It would be impossible for each of them to take out—kill—more than two guards without risking noise.

  At least they shouldn’t be seen. Mr. Vilas had said the ‘guest houses’ were walled with shrubbery so Voske could interrogate prisoners in private. Until Voske began using them to house his special prisoners, they had been kept for rebellious members of the royal family, with no one allowed to see in or out.

  They walked by the narrow entrance to the first house. It was unguarded, the windows dark.

  As they approached the second guest house, Yuki saw light through chinks in its leafy wall. He tightened his hand on his backpack, then released it, trying to look like a normal, non-suspicious passerby. He and Jennie kept a lookout while Mr. Vilas peered between the waxy leaves.

  Mr. Vilas beckoned to them. They followed him through the bushes and into a garden behind the house. To Yuki’s surprise, there were no guards in sight. But light shone through the open windows.

  Yuki met Jennie’s wide gaze. It seemed too easy. Jennie gestured to him to join her as they crept toward the back porch, leaving Mr. Vilas on lookout.

  A girl’s voice carried on the night air. “He should have chosen Andrea. I could tell it was between her and you. And her family needs the reward.”

  A boy responded, “I don’t blame Ross for picking me. I would have, too.”

  Yuki was so startled that he missed the next few words. Jennie slithered up behind a flowering bush to peer through the window. Yuki followed her.

  The girl sat on the arm of a sofa. She wore a military uniform, and both her hands were bandaged. The boy was dressed far too warmly for the night, with barely an inch of skin showing. He even wore heavy gloves and a scarf around his neck. He stood behind the sofa, his arms held tight to his chest, as if he was trying to put a barrier between him and the girl.

  “I could see how bad Ross felt,” the boy went on.

  Yuki wondered if it was the same Ross. Why would a prisoner be choosing anything? Yuki glanced at Jennie, who put her finger to her lips.

  The girl stood up. “Let’s try again. I’m not afraid.”

  The boy skidded backward until he fetched up against the wall. “Don’t come near me!”

  The conversation made more sense now—the boy must have some destructive, out-of-control Change power. Yuki waited for another mention of Ross.

  The girl looked hurt. “At least let’s try. I can’t stand not being able to touch you. And you’ll never learn to control this unless you practice.”

  The boy began to shout, “I’ll never learn—” He stopped, then said in a low, forced voice, “I’ll never control it. Every time I’ve practiced at the slaughterhouse, it’s only gotten worse. If I put a finger on you, I could kill you.”

  “Luis,” the girl began, extending a hand.

  Luis lunged toward the door, his face twisted in misery.

  Yuki and Jennie bolted out of the garden. A door slammed behind them. Jennie gestured Yuki and the waiting Mr. Vilas into a huddle.

  “Ross isn’t there,” Jennie whispered. “The people inside mentioned him, I think. But they didn’t say where he was.” She looked at Mr. Vilas. “Where else can he be?”

  “He could be in the garrison prison, or the hell cells. Or the palace, being interrogated. Or . . .”

  “We can’t comb the entire city for him,” Jennie said. “Where’s the best place to eavesdrop on people who might know where he is?”

  “The path from the palace to Voske Village,” Mr. Vilas said. “If anyone knows where Ross is, it will be people with palace business. Let’s get some gardening tools.”

  He led them to a gardening shed, where they switched their baskets of carrot tops for pruning shears, a broom, and a watering can.

  They passed a garden with an arched bridge and artistically gnarled pine trees, larger versions of the ones that Yuki’s father had grown in pots on the Taka, carefully trimming them and shaping their growth with copper wire. In the heart of the garden, bright against the dark leaves, were two orange pillars topped with an orange beam. Yuki hadn’t seen one in five years, but its name and meaning came immediately into his mind: a torii, the gate that separated the ordinary world from the realm of the spirits. Beyond the torii rose a beautifully carved shrine.

  The electric lights, the pines, the shrine, and the torii called up an image of his father bent over a favorite bonsai. If the scent of pine had been mixed with salt air and ocean brine, Yuki could have almost believed that he was home, floating on the ocean—except for the sharp pang of grief.

  There was so little in Las Anclas that resembled anything on the Taka that Yuki was rarely ambushed by unexpected recollections. Now memories washed over him in waves, making him stumble on even ground.

  He wrenched his attention away. This was no time to be distracted. But it didn’t seem fair that this enemy town had so much of what Yuki had lost.

  They took up stations by a flower-lined path. Yuki crouched behind a jasmine trellis, occasionally snapping the shears. He hoped no one would come along who knew anything about clipping jasmine, because he certainly didn’t. Mr. Vilas was right about one thing: it was a popular path. He heard one conversation about farming, two about family problems, and one break-up. No one gave Yuki a second glance.

  Maybe he could build a shrine and torii in Las Anclas. The sea caves had always felt like a sacred space to him, inhabited by some spirit of ocean and sand. His first mother had an ancient picture in her throne room of a huge torii on a beach, half-submerged in a high tide. Mia would probably know how to build a gate in sand so it wouldn’t topple when the tide came in.

  Teenagers’ voices caught his attention. He raised his shears to a tendril of jasmine as a slender girl and a young guy came up the path.

  The girl poked the boy. “Come on, Diego. Santiago and I are on the same team! All I want to know is what he’s doing with the prisoner. And how come he got to go and I didn’t.”

  The guy stopped short. “You don’t want to go, Bankar.”

  Bankar put her fists on her hips. “Don’t tell me what I want to do. Of course I want in on the fun. And the chance at promotion.”

  Yuki peered through the trailing vines. The light from the palace reached the two, revealing the flash of fear that widened Diego’s eyes. Then he scowled at Bankar. “Shut up.”

  Kids’ voices echoed through the trees.

  “If you’re smart, you’ll drop it before you win another ten.” Diego ran down the path.

  Bankar called out to his back, “I’m not afraid of anything!”

  As three kids appeared, accompanied by a pair of bodyguards, Bankar chirped, “Hey, Owen. Fiona, Bridget.” She clapped each kid on the back as she said their names. “How was the party?”

  Though the kids’ hair and skin were different, they were clearly related, with the same prominent
cheekbones and sharply pointed noses and chins. Yuki wasn’t sure why, but they all looked vaguely familiar.

  “It was great. We had cream puffs,” Bridget, the tallest, said cheerfully.

  “What’s up with Diego?” Owen asked, peering down the path. “Did you have a fight?”

  “He’s being a snot,” Bankar said. “Just because his brother got to go with the king on that special mission with the prisoner. Hey, do you guys know what that’s about?”

  Bridget nodded. “They’ve gone to the ruined city.”

  Fiona, the smallest, bragged, “We’ve seen more of the prisoner than anyone. Bridget spotted him trying to pry the bars out of the windows.”

  “He was using that gauntlet,” Own said. “But he broke something on it.”

  Yuki froze, then snipped randomly at the jasmine. White flowers fell at his feet.

  “What’s he like, Bankar?” Bridget asked. “You caught him!”

  “Is he a good fighter?” Owen asked.

  “Nah,” Bankar scoffed. “I could take him out easy. I don’t know why he got special treatment. A room in the palace!”

  “I know that,” said Fiona. “He’s afraid of rooms without windows.”

  Bankar threw her arms out wide. “Then why doesn’t the king give him a dose of Sergeant’s Aid and throw him in a hell cell? He’d be doing anything we want before the scabs fell off his back.”

  “That’s not how it works,” began Owen. Before he could continue his lecture, Fiona picked up a pebble, which popped out of existence and then in again, dropping onto his head. “Ow!” He clenched his hand into a fist.

  One of her braids yanked by itself, and Fiona let out a squawk. Owen grinned.

  “Stop that, or I’ll make your shoes rot off your feet,” Bridget said to the two younger kids.

  She turned to Bankar. “Father says that torture makes people so desperate that they’ll say whatever they think you want to hear to make it stop. So you can never tell whether or not they’re really telling the truth. You can make them say they’re loyal, but if they get a chance, they’ll turn on you.”

  Owen spoke as if reciting a lesson. “Torture is for prisoners you don’t need any more, so you can use them as examples to intimidate other people.”

  Yuki wasn’t sure whether to be relieved that Ross hadn’t been tortured, or horrified at what might happen if Voske decided to make an example of him. And the casual way those little kids talked about torture made his skin crawl.

  “Uh-huh.” Bankar had clearly lost interest. “Gotta catch up with Diego.” She ran off, leaving the kids and their bodyguards to continue on to the palace.

  Jennie, who’d been sweeping up fallen leaves, signaled to Yuki and Mr. Vilas. They quickly retraced their steps back to the wall.

  Indra’s relief was plain in the moonlight when they rejoined him, then turned to disappointment. “You didn’t find Ross.”

  Jennie shook her head. “He’s at the ruined city, with Voske. And they’re keeping him in the palace. It looks impossible to break into. I think our only chance is to catch him at the ruined city before he’s brought back.”

  And maybe they’d get a chance to take out Voske himself, Yuki thought. It would protect Las Anclas, and Paco would probably feel a lot better if Voske was dead and his mother was avenged. As for Yuki, he’d love to get revenge on the man who had taken the joy out of Paco’s eyes.

  Jennie nudged Yuki. “We have to ride all night. We’ll need Kogatana to scout.”

  Yuki abandoned his bloodthirsty daydreams. They weren’t on an assassination mission, and Voske would undoubtedly be surrounded by bodyguards. If they could just rescue Ross, Yuki would be satisfied.

  Chapter Nineteen. Ruined City Outside Gold Point.

  Kerry

  Kerry woke before sunrise. She loved sleeping under the sky. Her sleeping bag was warm, the air still and cool. Stars still twinkled above the jagged silhouettes of the mountains, but the night sky over Gold Point had lightened to the shade of her sapphire earrings.

  She leaned on her elbow, careful not to disturb Santiago. He looked so sweet as he peacefully slept, his eyes moving under his eyelids. She wondered what he was dreaming about. The strengthening light outlined the contours of his face, and caught on his sparse whiskers. She extended her finger and gently caressed his stubble. Without waking, he turned toward her, cradling his forehead on her hand. His skin was so soft.

  Ross slept on Santiago’s other side. His face was half-hidden by the fall of his hair. He looked so relaxed that he was almost unrecognizable, his strikingly long eyelashes feathering one cheek. He didn’t even have stubble yet.

  As if he’d felt her watching him, he awoke with a start. The wary, unhappy expression Kerry was used to instantly tightened his face. She turned back to Santiago, but the peace she’d enjoyed was gone.

  The camp was astir. Somebody laughed, and a horse stamped at the picket line. Santiago’s eyes flicked open. He smiled up at her, but as she smiled back his gaze drifted up to the open sky. Then, like Ross, his expression changed to one of wary tension. What was going on with him?

  “Are you okay?” Kerry leaned down to kiss him.

  He kissed her back, but she could tell that his heart wasn’t in it. His gaze shifted to the grand tent where her father slept.

  Kerry was about to ask if he needed the medic to check his collarbone when a guard offered her a steaming mug of coffee. She handed it to Santiago. As she accepted her own cup, Father emerged from his tent, fully dressed. Six guards immediately flanked him. To her surprise, he gestured for Kerry to join him.

  Kerry set her untouched coffee down on a rock and pulled on her boots. She straightened out the traveling clothes she’d slept in and grabbed her gold hair clip to pin up her braids. They felt fuzzy. This part she didn’t care for: no maid to brush and braid and pin up her hair.

  “Walk with me,” Father said.

  The guards closed around them as he led them to a fall of giant rocks, the granite glittering as the edge of the sun appeared. When they were safely enclosed between walls of stone, Father dismissed the guards.

  Kerry waited eagerly for him to explain how he’d make Ross prospect for him. She wished she knew, to impress him with her insight. But a stupid guess was worse than no guess, so she kept quiet.

  “It will be fascinating to finally learn what’s inside that city,” he said.

  She couldn’t wait any longer. “How can you trust Ross to not just walk into those singing trees and out the other side, back to Las Anclas?”

  Father gave her an approving smile. “I’ll never trust him that much. That boy will always need a minder. Santiago is perfect for the job.”

  “Santiago?” Kerry struggled to hide her horror. “You’re going to get Ross to take Santiago into the forest with him? But there’s nothing to stop Ross from having the trees kill him!”

  “I’ve studied Ross,” Father said, his eyes narrowing. Kerry breathed in slowly, determined to control her voice, her face, as he went on, “I know his weaknesses. The most striking one is sentimentality. Santiago will walk into the forest, and Ross will follow him to save his life.”

  The emphasis on ‘weaknesses’ was not Kerry’s imagination. Father would hardly stake her boyfriend’s life on a prisoner’s sentimentality. “This is a test for me, right? It’s to figure out that this isn’t your plan, and come up with a better one? Ross would never give up a chance to escape for the sake of someone he barely knows.”

  Father’s smile faded. If it was a test, she’d failed. “No, Kerry. Number one, he knows Santiago very, very well by now.”

  So that was the point of Santiago’s babble about himself and his family and even his relationship with her.

  Father went on, “Number two, if you give him power over others, he’ll try to protect them. We saw that when I dressed him in the royal colors and gave him the run of the town, and when I set him to choose a candidate on Opportunity Day.”

  “But if he can get away
—“

  Father continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “Number three, he’s weak. He couldn’t bring himself to kill Santiago once he’d looked him in the eyes. I gave him the opportunity to take anything he wanted, and he went off by himself to cry. He’s afraid of everyday things, like rooms without windows. You broke his will in fifteen minutes. But then, you’re strong. Don’t worry, Santiago is in no danger.”

  Kerry burst out, “But why Santiago? We’ve got plenty of cadets here. Use one of them.”

  There was a long silence. Father leaned against a boulder. “Don’t you trust me?”

  That was the test for Kerry.

  Memories battered her like sand in a storm: Santiago’s hoarse voice as he told Ross yet another story about the family he loved; Ross shouting at her that Father had killed his own people with crystal shards; blood dripping from Min Soo’s hands; Ross looking away from the skulls on the palace garrison gate; the girl Sean had chosen for Opportunity Day, falling dead on the stage.

  Sean had been so sure that anyone he selected would get a wonderful power that he had picked the candidate he liked best. His crown had fallen off as he’d flung himself at the dead girl and shook her, crying, “Wake up, wake up!” Father had patted him consolingly, saying, “Next time you’ll have better luck.”

  Would Father say that to her if Santiago died in agony, his strong body devoured by crystal? Next boyfriend, you’ll have better luck.

  “Kerry?” Father was still waiting for her answer.

  Forcing herself to sound calm, she replied, “Of course I trust you.”

  Once the words were out, she knew them for a lie.

  But she had control of her face. Her voice. “Are you going to send them in now?” That came out properly casual, the way a crown princess would speak.

  “No, we’ll wait until Santiago has his arm out of the sling. Next week. And don’t mention this to Ross, Kerry. He isn’t to know Santiago’s role until then. This trip was just to get Ross used to the idea of prospecting for me.”

  And me used to the idea of you risking Santiago’s life. Kerry’s heart was hammering so hard that she felt as if he could hear it.