Renegade: Book Six in the Enhanced Series
Page 1
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Next Up - Invader
Author Notes
Renegade
The Enhanced, Book Six
T. C. Edge
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Next Up - Invader
Author Notes
This book is a work of fiction. Any names, places, events, and incidents that occur are entirely a result of the author's imagination and any resemblance to real people, events, and places is entirely coincidental.
Copyright 2017 T. C. Edge
All right reserved.
First edition: April 2017
Cover Design by Laercio Messias
No part of this book may be scanned, reproduced, or distributed in any printed or electronic form.
THE ENHANCED SERIES:
The Enhanced (Book One)
Hybrid (Book Two)
Nameless (Book Three)
Assassin (Book Four)
Captive (Book Five)
Renegade (Book Six)
Book Seven Coming Soon!
OTHER BOOKS BY THE AUTHOR:
THE WATCHERS SERIES:
The Watchers Trilogy:
The Watchers of Eden (Book One)
City of Stone (Book Two)
War at the Wall (Book Three)
The Watchers Trilogy Box Set
The Seekers Trilogy
The Watcher Wars (Book One)
The Seekers of Knight (Book Two)
The Endless Knight
The Seekers Trilogy Box Set
1
I sit in the dim light of Lady Orlando’s quarters, right up against the windowsill. Beyond the murky, stained pane of glass, the blurred lights of the High Tower continue to stare at me.
And I stare right back.
The fire flickers behind, passing its warmth into the room. Yet there remains a shudder to my bones that won’t shift.
I’m alone.
Away through the door and down the short corridor, the main hall of the church has grown quieter. The raucous roars of debate have subsided. Many of those who had come here beyond the city to discuss what to do next have departed. Only a handful of the more senior members of the Nameless remain.
But not me. I don’t want to lend my voice to the debate. It seems inevitable right now that the decision will be made to destroy the High Tower, kill all those who reside within it.
To bring this entire war to an end in one fell swoop.
But will it?
Will destroying the High Tower bring the people of this city together? How can such an act of wanton violence do anything to seal up the rifts that have developed between the people?
I shake my head as I gaze at the tower under question. As I imagine the many thousands inside it right now, their fate being considered so heartlessly by the supposed leaders in this cause.
Rebels.
Revolutionaries.
That’s what they call themselves. But is that true? If they topple a building full of innocents, aren’t they just murderers? Aren’t they just as bad as Cromwell himself, presiding over the deaths of so many with such detachment?
But then, Lady Orlando – Cornelia – is indeed a Savant herself. She’s viewing this from a place of dispassion and objectivity. She may feel more than most of her kind, but she’s still able to separate her muted emotions from the decision making process.
Not like me.
So, I choose to not participate. I’ve made my thoughts known simply by my absence. When I stormed out of the church as the debate began, Zander was quick to notice me leaving.
When I re-entered, I didn’t stay. I walked straight through, up onto the stage, and back down the corridor to where I am right now. I blocked it all out and took myself away, leaving the rest of them behind to haggle over this war.
Adryan stayed back, leaving me to get some space and time alone. That’s another thing I’m happy for. Only an hour or so ago, I’d professed my love for him, and seen merely a reflection in his eyes. A reflection of the love he still holds for his first wife, Amelia.
His real wife, Amelia.
I’m not his real wife. Our marriage is a sham, a convenience. A union designed to get me close enough to kill Artemis Cromwell, a mission I failed to see through.
Now, I suppose our marriage can be annulled. In fact, given how I’m a spy and he’s a traitor, I’m guessing that the good folk down at the Council of Matrimony are already striking our marriage from the books.
He’s no longer my husband.
Whatever happens, Inner Haven will be changed forever, and our false union won’t stand. I am a single girl once again.
Right now, my thoughts can’t dwell on him. And they can’t dwell on what my brother and Lady Orlando and the other leaders are concocting either. My part in this is a simple, single one: to make sure those I care for are safe; to give them sanctuary when the whole world begins to fall down around them.
Already, it’s starting. The girl called Kira, described by Lady Orlando as the Nameless’ eyes and ears in the city, made it clear that the whole of Outer Haven is coming under occupation.
Soon enough, it will be too hard to get Mrs Carmichael and Tess, and the rest at the academy, to safety. They’ll stay there to the bitter end, stubborn as they both are, until they’re eventually taken for reconditioning, willingly or not.
In fact, given my escape, and our rescue of Adryan, I have my suspicions that Cromwell is going to start using my loved ones against me. Even now, he might be gathering them up and using them as bait. Luring me into another of his terrible traps.
All I have to go on is what my brother told me – that, a couple of days ago, he went to check in on Mrs Carmichael and found her in good spirits. That she is adamant that she’ll stick around in the city she knows and not abandon the kids who, according to Zander, cannot be given sanctuary here.
I understand his reasoning.
We all have people we care for. Were every member of the Nameless to go rushing off to gather up their friends and family, we’d be completely overburdene
d and overrun. The only way of saving them is to save everyone.
And apparently that means destroying the High Tower.
I look at it again, shining through the haze, and a numbness engulfs me. I turn away just as quick and look upon the flickering fire instead, crackling gently in the background as the odd spark is spewed from a piece of dry wood.
I stand and gravitate towards it, and find myself scooping up a glass of whiskey from the little side-table. My body is warmed by the fire. My throat is warmed by the liquor. I take a seat on an old wooden chair and let my ears fill once more with the subdued voices down the corridor beyond.
Then, the sound of a creaking door lifts in the quiet night, followed by a few slow footsteps. They stop outside the Lady’s quarters. A moment later, the second door is opening and my hus – Adryan – is staring upon me.
He steps in and shuts the door. His face, once so pristine, is etched with a network of lines that tell of his recent experiences. There’s a veil of pain and discomfort over his eyes that may never be drawn off, deep scars now cut into his body and mind.
We both need a wash, and a change of clothes. Mine have adorned me since I was taken in by Cromwell, held captive at the summit of the High Tower after my aborted assassination attempt. His are different, a grey jumpsuit that was thrust over his body as he was kept in a cell at a far more horrific place.
I see the stains of blood through the cloth. Some might be the blood of the wolves that attacked us on the road, slaughtered by Zander as they snapped at our heels at the base of that tree. Most, however, is his own, seeping from the wounds inflicted during his torture.
I wonder just what his body looks like now beneath his clothes. From the brief sights I’ve got of it in the past, I know it’s well honed and athletic, a pristine frame to match his pristine face.
No longer.
His body, like his face, is permanently etched.
“Have they made a decision yet?” I ask as he steps in.
I want to break the silence, the tension. There’s something different between us now. I feel numb to look at him.
“They’re getting there,” he whispers. “Perhaps they have no choice after all.”
I turn my eyes away from his and back to the fire. There’s something comforting about it. A natural force without prejudice or agenda. I’m beginning to hate the whims of men.
“I argued against it, Brie,” he says, trying to assure me of his humanity. “I’m just being…realistic.”
I nod, but don’t speak.
He comes towards me, expecting to draw up my eye. I don’t lift my gaze. I can’t look at him right now.
“Brie…” he whispers.
His hand slides across my upper arm. I still don’t look at him. Then it’s to my chin that his fingers come, pulling my eyes up.
“Brie,” he says again. “What’s wrong?”
A huff spills from my lungs.
What’s wrong?
Everything’s wrong.
I drop my chin again. My glass tips down my throat, and the whiskey tumbles. It doesn’t burn this time.
It soothes me.
“I…I do love you, Brie,” comes his voice.
His words bring a grimace to my visage. It fades just as quickly. I don’t care about all that right now. None of that matters in the face of all of this.
At least, I wish that were true.
I wish my heart wasn’t aching like it is.
His body drops to a knee, so that he’s right there in front of me.
“It’s hard,” he whispers. “You just…you remind me of her. Of Amelia. I can’t help that. But it doesn’t mean I don’t…”
“Stop,” I say, cutting through his voice. “Just…stop, Adryan. It doesn’t matter. We don’t matter right now, OK.”
A new silence fades into the room. Beyond it, the voices are heard again.
“I just want you to know,” he says. “I don’t want to see you hurt.”
“I’m not hurt,” I lie, still unable to look at him. “I’m just…tired. And dirty. And…”
“Scared?” he asks.
I nod.
“For your friends?”
My lungs empty. “For everyone,” I say.
“I understand. You have lots of people you care about in the city. It must be hard. I suppose I’m lucky. I only care about one person. And she’s right here with me.”
Now my eyes do turn to his, silver and soft and yet written with that pain that may never fade. I look at them, and feel a desire to enter his mind and see what he’s really thinking.
But I don’t.
I don’t want to see the truth. I don’t want to know.
I consider so briefly the option of altering his thoughts. I could rewrite his memories, dampen and dull those of Amelia, force his thoughts of love and affection to centre only on me.
I could do it all, change him to be how I want him. Make him fall madly in love with me and forget his first wife ever existed.
I could, but I couldn’t. I won’t. I’d never do such a thing to him. Not him.
He reaches out with his hand and cups my cheek. I feel him trying to draw me in, his lips moving towards mine. I pull back and turn away, looking at the fire once more.
“It’s OK,” he says. “I understand.”
He stands and takes a step back.
I feel horrible. I just want to be alone.
“There are showers,” he says, his voice firming up, hardening. “Your brother said there are fresh clothes for us too. Come on, Brie. Let’s get ourselves sorted.”
The idea forces me to move, to rise up from my stupor. I feel filthy, inside and out. I need to purge myself of it all.
So I follow him down the corridor and back out into the main church. And as we pass across it to the right, and another door, I look to see that the gathering has grown small. That the voices are no longer in debate, but in quiet and cool discussion. That heads are nodding as one, and people taking their turns to speak.
I see agreement and consent. I see a plan being drawn up.
And as we pass, eyes follow. Lady Orlando’s. Zander’s. I see Walter there too, and Rycard, and Beckett and Kira, and several other members of the Nameless whose voices are deemed important to the task.
All look at me briefly before turning away. But I only see them in a flash, out of the corner of my Hawk-eyes. Because I refuse to look at them right now.
And moving through the door, Adryan leads me to the washing area. Several shower cubicles line a wall, with compartments filled with fresh clothes against another.
I move towards one of the showers and pray that the water is warm. Opening the door, I hear Adryan open his. Just as he does so, I glance across and see him unzipping his jumpsuit, letting the top half fall. And as he does, I get confirmation of what I feared.
Confirmation of a body scattered with scars. Of a once beautiful frame painted in burns and cuts and blisters. Some will fully heal and disappear. Others will become blemishes on his body that will never leave him.
Like Rycard, his face now burdened forever, Adryan’s body has been morphed and mutilated.
And seeing him in such a state breaks my heart.
2
Adjoined to the main church hall are sleeping quarters, fitted out with a minimum level of comfort and used by the leaders of the Nameless when they gather outside of the city.
As far as I understand it, for the most part it’s only Lady Orlando, and a few others, who maintain a permanent vigil here. Mostly the elderly advisors of the rebel forces who can’t, for one reason or another, take an active part in the fighting in Outer Haven.
Mercifully, I get my own room. There are a few small, single rooms used for the permanent residents, and other larger dorms occupied by the rest when they take up temporary position here. Given what Adryan and I have been through, we’re given precedent over the two free, private rooms that remain unoccupied.
After a shower that does a great deal to invigor
ate me, I dress in a fresh batch of dark, rugged clothing – far more the type I’m used to – and happily discard the blue clothing of Inner Haven that I’m very happy to say I’ll never have to wear again.
Adryan leaves me at the door to my room. His is next door.
“Goodnight then, Brie,” he says, a little stiffly.
I offer the same in reply.
As he turns and moves to his door, my mouth opens and shuts without uttering one of the many things I want to say to him.
Mostly, it’s the sight of his brutalised body that lingers in my mind, now hidden behind his own outfit of dark jeans, shirt, and leather jacket. It’s a far cry from the smart suits I’ve only ever seen him wearing, and the blood-stained jumpsuit that’s found itself discarded alongside my blue clothing.
Like me, he’s only too happy to see those items burned and expunged from his memory.
I don’t think it will be that easy.
Despite feeling as weary as I ever have, I find it difficult dropping off. The bed is perfectly comfortable, and the night quiet and peaceful. Yet, there are images in front of my mind that won’t leave me alone, keeping me from slipping into slumber as I lie there, facing the ceiling and trying to distract myself with more pleasant thoughts.
I don’t know how long it’s been when the door knocks quietly. My chest flares a little with the thought that it might be Adryan.
“Yes,” I say.
The door creaks open and a far slighter silhouette greets me. Lady Orlando hovers on the threshold.
“You weren’t sleeping, were you?” she asks.
I shake my head and croak out: “No.”
She doesn’t ask if she can enter. She just walks in and shuts the door. Then she moves to the foot of the bed and takes a seat. The light inside is almost non-existent, at least for her. I can pick up her face with my abilities easily enough, but it must be nigh on pitch black for her.
She doesn’t object to it, or put on a light. Perhaps she prefers the darkness.
“I wanted to speak with you about the meeting, Brie,” she says. “You have a say in this like anyone else. You chose not to contribute. What are you feeling?”