But his words turn to ash now, standing in the doorway of Zara’s room as he nods toward the bed.
“They sleep there,” he says.
Two lackeys move around him then stop in front of the bed. I lock eyes with Zara, still terrified from her mother’s dying screams. Then she’s ripped from under the bed by her ankle. Dangled in the air by one of the lackeys.
“That’s not her,” Park says.
She’s found wanting. Throat sliced. Blood. Dripping. Plop, plop, plop on the floor.
A tiny gasp escapes my mouth as I stare transfixed into the deep crimson puddle.
I turn back toward Park, sure he’d be horrified at what he just witnessed, but when I meet his gaze, his eyes are no longer soft.
“There,” he says, pointing to me.
A hand reaching for me. I swipe the blade at it, but I’ve forgotten my training.
I scream out why? Why would he betray me? But he doesn’t answer.
Only when we returned to that tiny town years later did I manage to convince one of the men that attended our show to reveal that Park’s father was in debt. There was no doubt that the murder of four innocent people and my enslavement was the reason his family could afford to move into a much larger home a few days later. I struggle in the lackey’s grasp, kicking out. But I know I’ll die, too. Until I meet the eyes of the man who will be my captor for the next ten years, and I realize there are things much worse than death—
Arms wrap around my shoulders, restraining me, and I flail, trying to break free. Maybe they’ll drop me and I can escape.
“Rose, calm down,” comes a raspy voice from behind me. Rayce?
My eyes snap open, and I try to force my arms apart, but strong hands keep me fixed in place.
“What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” Rayce’s hands slide halfway down my arms, checking for wounds.
“Let me go,” I snap between heavy breaths. “It’s all lies.”
He immediately releases me, and I shuffle away from him, sweat dripping into my eyes as I push myself against the bed. The warmth of his touch smothers me. I pull my hair away from my neck, trying to cool down.
“What are lies?” he asks.
“Everything.” I lock my gaze onto his, hoping he understands I’m including him in that statement. “Where’s Marin?”
Rayce remains on his knees, his hand outstretched like he’s waiting to catch me if I fall. He doesn’t even have the decency to look smug that he’s seen me so weak. His brow furrows at my mood, and his eyes show the worst kind of sin—pity.
“Marin reported with the others for our mission,” he says. “She’s probably checking in with her platoon now.”
“Oh.” Relief washes over me. At least she didn’t see me cowering on the floor.
After a moment of silence, he clears his throat. “What were you thinking about? You didn’t seem…here, exactly.”
My cheeks burn from embarrassment, but a crippling fear of being alone in the middle of the darkness scares me worse than talking. Even if it is to him.
“About the night I was taken into the Garden,” I say.
He rubs his face, the scratchy sound of his fingers dancing over the stubble filling the air. It takes me a second to realize he’s hiding his shock, but whether it’s at the fact that I even answered him or over what I was thinking about, I don’t really know.
“There was word of little girls going missing in the town I was passing through with my guardi—” I stop then correct myself. “With my mother. Not that the warnings mattered. Not when someone you thought you could trust betrays you. Besides, when the Gardener wants something, he gets it.”
“You’re still scared of that night, even now?”
I swallow the knot in my throat and look away, to the rumpled red blanket on my bed flowing down to touch the floor like blood.
“It’s mostly their screams,” I say. “I’ve heard so many since I came to Delmar.”
His face freezes, and his hands flicker out like he wants to touch me, but he catches himself.
“What did you just say?” he asks, shock radiating from his eyes. He shakes his head, seeming to think better of his question. “Never mind. Don’t answer that.”
He takes a breath and clears his throat, leaving me to wonder why he didn’t want me to answer him. “Does this happen often?”
“Why do you care?” I ask.
His brow knits at my retort. “Because while you’re staying here, you’re my responsibility. I just want to understand you a little better.”
I sit back, wrapping my arms around my knees and study him. One second he’s swinging an iron-barred door in my face, and the next he’s trying to understand me. Though there is something honest about the way he looks at me and his simple explanation that I can’t deny.
I take a deep breath. He wants to know me better, fine. “Every time I close my eyes since I escaped, I can’t blink without seeing one of my sisters’ faces. That’s why I have to save them.”
My instinct to ask him for help again hangs on the tip of my tongue, but I bite my lip, keeping it locked inside. Oren’s suggestion to have a little faith in Rayce repeats in my head. I look over the leader of the rebellion, the man I saw happily cooking and serving his people yesterday morning, and my cheeks color for an entirely different reason.
He rubs both hands over his eyes and pulls in a deep breath.
“You should use that,” he says.
“Use what?”
“That innocence.” He rises and dusts himself off. “It makes people want to do things for you even when they know they shouldn’t. If you ever get yourself caught in a tight situation, that’ll be your best chance at survival, since we both know fighting isn’t a strong point for you.”
I’m not certain, but I think he’s complimenting me. In a very roundabout way.
He holds his palm out. “Anyway, time to get up now. We’re leaving.”
His words lull me into a false sense of security, his open hand the snake waiting to strike.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“Exactly what I said before. I want you to come on this mission with us. I think it’ll go a long way in convincing the council to sway toward your case to help the other dancers.” He half smiles, shaking his head. “Not that I should be telling you this.”
He scoops up my arm before I can protest and pulls me to my feet. He’s much more put together than the last time I saw him. Every black knot hook on his dark green shirt is fastened, and his long black sleeveless vest stops at the perfect height above his freshly polished boots. He looks more like the young prince he’s supposed to be than any other time I’ve seen him.
“You’ll need to put this on,” he says, handing me a neatly folded pile of clothing.
I take the clothes from him, and we stare at each other for what feels like a long time.
“Are you going to leave so I can…?” I shake the pile of clothes in front of me.
“Oh, right, yes, of course,” he says, and I notice a faint blush before he swings around on his boot and nearly runs out past the curtain.
I press my nose to the pile of clothes he handed me, the scents of lavender and grass greeting me. I shake out the brown pants and glance up. Rayce’s sturdy outline is silhouetted against the airy curtain, a breath away from being in the same room as I am. Not that I’m unaccustomed to men seeing my body, but the idea that he could stirs my stomach. I slide into the pants quickly. The deep green shirt matches the one I always see Marin wearing. My fingers fumble over the brown knot hooks, but I make sure to fasten each one.
“Can you tell me where we’re heading on this mission?” I ask.
“Dongsu,” he answers, his voice pressing in on me.
That name sounds familiar. I remember something about a failed food supply mission there and wonder for a moment what I’m getting myself into.
I let the final piece to the uniform out, a long brown vest, and run my fingers over the Zareeni crest sewn in wh
ite and silver thread. The intricate pattern creates a blazing sun surrounded by a tangle of knots in a diamond shape. It looks far more beautiful than anything I could have created, and I’m conflicted about putting it on.
If I wear this, does it mean I’m part of the Zareeni rebellion, supporting the same people who imprisoned me?
But what choice do I have? Rayce seems pretty certain that if I go on this mission with them, I can secure Zareen’s help in rescuing my sisters, and that’s far more important than my pride. The vest weighs heavily on my shoulders, but it takes away some of the chill from the air.
“Okay, I’m ready,” I say.
Rayce pulls back the curtain and steps into the room.
“There’s just one more thing to take care of,” he says, pulling out a second sword and a stunner from his belt.
Even though he’s made it clear he won’t harm me, my heartbeat picks up as his fingers wrap around the sword’s hilt. I have nothing to defend myself with.
“I wasn’t sure which one you’d prefer,” Rayce says, flipping the sword with a practiced hand so the hilt faces me. “Bear in mind, if you choose the stunner, you’ll need to ingest another vial of Zarenite, and that didn’t end so well last—”
“The sword,” I interrupt. “Definitely the sword.”
His mouth curves into a lopsided smile that I can’t help but get tangled in, and he hands me the sword. The weight feels strange in my hands as the leather-wrapped hilt molds to my grip, much heavier than I remember, and I wish desperately it were the curved golden blade from my homeland.
“All right, follow me. We don’t have much time.”
Rayce heads for the curtain, holding it open so I can walk through. The narrow doorway feels impossibly small as I brush past Rayce’s firm chest.
His eyes flicker over my face, and he pulls a piece of black ribbon out of his pocket.
“Tie your hair back,” he says. “It’ll get in the way of our mission.”
Our fingers brush as he gives me the thick ribbon, and I can’t help but wonder when he’d thought to set it aside for me. He doesn’t wait for me to obey, and I get the sense from the easy way he walks down the hall that he just expects me to do whatever he says without question. My fingers fumble over one another as I quickly braid my hair and rush to stay by him in the maze of tunnels. As I secure the ribbon around the end, I remember the comforting feeling of Fern’s adept fingers running through my hair.
Rayce turns at my quick footsteps, a crooked grin splitting his face. “Your hair looks good that way.”
I toss the braid over my shoulder so it’s no longer in sight and turn away from his gaze. He chuckles like he can hear my heart speed up from his compliment.
He walks with purpose, his feet stomping out a grueling pace for me to keep up with.
“So what exactly are we doing on this mission?” I ask.
“I’m sure you remember hearing about the food supply cart that went missing and that my entire squadron was wiped out.”
I nod, not wanting to interrupt him.
“We have it on good authority that the city they were heading to has been occupied by Sun soldiers,” he says. “And we can’t have that. Not only is Dongsu a strategic point between the Imperial City and our base, but I can’t let the townspeople come to harm because they’ve been assisting us. It’s the rebellion’s fault my uncle sent troops to occupy Dongsu, and we have an obligation to free them.”
The determination behind his words leaves no room for questioning. He’s clearly thought this mission through and believes it to be vital, even though it means putting his people in danger. I hate the tiny spark of admiration that flickers to life at hearing him speak and remind myself that no man can be trusted. Especially one in charge. “Why were you sending food supply carts to the town in the first place?” I ask.
“The recent drought has stretched far into this land,” Rayce says. “Part of the rebellion’s mission is to make sure all the people of Delmar have something on their plates at the end of each day. Piper’s been working on more effective ways to farm, among many other projects, and since we have plenty, we need to share it.”
Everything he says sounds beautiful. Like a dream. But I’ve learned far too many times that the most beautiful things are the most dangerous. I clutch the hilt of my sword.
As we move through the base, I catch glimpses of people moving along their everyday lives through doorways and branches in the path, and I find myself wishing I could explore it more. Any time one of them notices Rayce, they pause in their work and bow their head, letting us pass unencumbered.
And he greets every person like they’re part of his family, with a warm smile and most of the time by name.
I remember what he said about putting his people first, and my stomach twists. Was what he said actually the truth?
After ten minutes of sloping tunnels, we step through a doorway that opens into a large room. The quiet murmur of a crowd greets my ears.
Most of the men and women in the room wear uniforms identical to mine. Only a few people skirting the walls aren’t in uniform, the vibrant colors of their shirts and long-sleeved dresses brightening the room. Mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers and other loved ones hug those in uniform with the ferocity of someone saying a final good-bye, and judging by the report I heard when I first got there, that isn’t out of the realm of possibilities.
The crowd parts as Rayce steps through it, while I have to twist and turn to follow at his heels.
Marin catches sight of us and runs forward, her eyes bright.
“Are you coming on the mission?” she asks.
“It seems that way,” I answer.
She lets out a squeal, clutching my free hand in both of hers.
“Then that training yesterday will come in handy!”
I look at her with uneasy eyes, the soreness in my muscles a reminder of how well the training went.
“Don’t worry,” she says. “I’m going to make sure you don’t get into too much trouble.”
“She shouldn’t get into any trouble,” Rayce corrects her.
“Right, no trouble at all,” Marin says, winking at me.
Arlo stands at the front of the room, his long vest and knot buckles dyed a dark gray. As I search the room, I see some others in similar colors as Arlo, but no one wears black like Rayce. It must be a ranking system.
Back home, our military used colored cuffs to show rank, but all the colors could be found in precious metals—gold bracers were reserved for the king, chrome for the general, silver for the officers under him, following down the line to the black nickel bracers for the common foot soldiers. My father used to praise how practical the system was, since they could also be used for protection against incoming attacks to the wrists.
Arlo cracks a smile when he notices us and stands on the toes of his boots to look behind Rayce. “You were able to convince the Flower to come.”
My skin crawls, hearing him use that word for me. Several people near Arlo turn at his remark, and their eyes land on me. I straighten my sleeves and avoid their gazes.
“I prefer the name Rose.” I stare directly into Arlo’s eyes. “Just Rose.”
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I meant no offense.”
Keeping my face stern, I give him a quick nod.
“She didn’t need to be convinced,” Rayce says, breaking the awkward tension in the air. “She was eager to assist. Right?”
“Right,” I agree, though my tone isn’t nearly as convincing as Rayce’s was.
Oren wades through the crowd, a head taller than everyone else in the room, smoke from his dragon pipe trailing behind him. He stops next to Arlo and pats Marin on the head.
“Be careful out there, child,” he says, then turns to me. “That goes for you, too.” He places his other large hand gently on the top of my head. My usual need to shrink away from touch doesn’t come. “I’m praying to Yun that you both return safely.”
“Thank you
,” I say, even though a prayer to his god will do nothing for me.
I used to believe in the Great Creatress, Fatima, the almighty Varshan goddess, but I decided after Fern received her second lashing—which nearly left her dead—that any deity who allows the Garden to exist isn’t worth my prayers.
Rayce raises both his hands into the air, and all the guards fall silent, their attention locked on their leader.
“Thank you for gathering here,” he says. “We’ll be leaving in a few minutes, so please say your final farewells to your loved ones. I won’t lie to any of you. I fully expect this mission to be dangerous, but you all have been tested in battle and proven yourselves more than capable. Those Delmarion soldiers think they can push us around—so let’s go push ’em back!”
A cheer rises up at his words, and the energy in the room shifts into something electric.
“Is that even possible?” Arlo asks under his breath.
Rayce rubs his chin, his response muffled behind his hand. “I sure hope so.”
His lack of confidence leaves a pit in my stomach that not even the comforting weight of the sword strapped to my side can fill. What awaits us in Dongsu, and will I be strong enough to face it?
Chapter Fifteen
Rayce doesn’t provide me with details about our mission, and I don’t have time to ask. Marin stays next to me as we filter through a small opening in the tunnel Rayce made by pressing his hands against the stone, like the first time I came to the base. The narrow tunnel leads upward for what feels like hours, and with the fifty or so Zareeni rebels ahead of us, my lungs constrict.
We break aboveground just as sunlight paints the sky orange and move through thick forest. The twisting oak trunks grow in clusters, long branches reaching for the sky, and the ground is blanketed with dead leaves.
Besides the sound of feet crunching foliage, the group remains silent, leaving me to my worries. If I can’t convince the rebellion to help rescue my sisters, will I stand a chance on my own? And what will I have to do at Dongsu to persuade them? My dry throat quivers as I swallow my unease before it spreads to my limbs.
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