by Rachel Aaron
“Was fine,” Jax finished. “My people checked it from nose to base. That gun is in perfect condition. So you want to tell me why Brigitte thought it wasn’t?”
Markus wiped his brow. “How am I supposed to know what the gate lieutenant is thinking?”
Jax leaned closer, his eyes gleaming with a cold, deadly light. “You knew that cannon wasn’t broken.”
“I did not! I—”
“Shut up,” Jax growled. “I learn every damn secret on this wall eventually. If I discover you had anything to do with my squad getting sent on a wild goose chase, I’ll tell Brigitte every dirty deed you’ve ever done, and you’ll find yourself getting fitted for a hangman’s noose.”
The blood drained from Markus’s ruddy face. “Since when do you care so much about recruits?”
“Since I had to cut one of them out of the Gobbler’s throat,” Jax snarled. “You’ve been here long enough to know what comes out in the snow. You could have gotten her killed!”
“Her?” Markus smirked. “So that’s it. You ain’t mad about the cannon. You’re mad because of what happened to the Dumarque girl.”
Jax grabbed the Supply Corps sergeant and slammed him into the wall. “I’m mad because whatever stunt you and Woermann were trying to pull nearly got us all killed! And if I find out you had anything to do with it, I swear I’ll do the same to you, except I won’t screw it up.”
“All right, all right,” Markus said, putting up his hands. “I admit there weren’t nothing wrong with the cannon. I was supposed to mess it up a bit, but—”
“Mess it up?” Jax repeated. “You do know sabotage is a hanging offense?”
“I was only going to remove the firing line!” Markus protested. “And I didn’t even do that! I ain’t going up on the wall in Gobbler weather.”
“Our squad was sent to fix the cannon you failed to break,” Jax went on, ignoring him. “Brigitte said it was orders from above, which can only mean Woermann, but that makes no sense. If Rosalie died, her father would have the captain’s head on a platter. Why would Woermann risk that?”
“How should I know?” Markus said angrily. “You’re the one who likes secrets. I just wanted the money. I will say this, though. No one knew that storm was coming, or that it’d be so bad.”
“Brigitte knew.”
“Brigitte’s crazy,” Markus said. “Always feeling the weather, the batty old—”
He was cut off with a gasp as Jax grabbed his throat. “Say one more word about my lieutenant,” Jax said, tightening his fingers. “One more and it will be your last.”
Markus nodded rapidly, eyes bulging, and Jax let him drop to the ground. “I want you to keep an eye on Woermann for me.”
“You want me to work for you?” Markus said, rubbing his bruised neck. “After the stunts you’ve pulled?”
“If you don’t want me exposing everything you’ve done, including attempted sabotage, then you’d better work like your life depends on it.”
“But there’s nothing to watch,” Markus pleaded. “It wasn’t no big plan. Woermann just wanted to put her on the spot. I was supposed to sabotage the cannon, then lure in a few normal titans. Not too many, just more than you could handle on your own. Then, when things looked bad, Woermann and his men would ride to her rescue. A simple wag the dog, that’s all it was, I swear. No one dreamed the Gobbler’d be there. Most of the guys at HQ think he’s a myth.”
“Thank you for the information,” Jax said. “But you’re not getting off the hook.”
“Oh, come on!” Markus cried. “I was straight with you!”
“And I’m being straight with you,” Jax said, stabbing his finger in Markus’s face. “Get back to HQ and keep your big ears open and your big mouth shut. If you catch wind that Woermann’s come up with any more brilliant ideas, you make sure I find out first. Got it?”
“Couldn’t miss it,” Markus grumbled. “But I still don’t understand why you’re risking both our necks for Rosalie Dumarque. Didn’t you say all nobles should be fed to the titans?”
“I’ll feed you to a titan if you don’t watch it,” Jax snapped. “And this isn’t about Rosalie. Woermann’s idiocy put my squad in danger, and I take it personally when people try to kill me.”
Markus sighed. “Whatever you need to tell yourself, mate.”
Jax gave him another of those murderous looks, and Markus backed away. “No need for additional threats. I’ll give you a heads-up the moment I hear anything, like a good little dog. But in the meanwhile, kindly go to hell.”
“Feeling’s mutual,” Jax said, stepping aside so Markus could scuttle away.
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As word of the Gobbler’s death spread through the Garrison, everyone conveniently forgot all the grim rumors about Jackson Cunningham.
Instead of nervous looks and whispers when he walked through the courtyard, soldiers greeted him with smiles and salutes. They even invited him to eat with them, which Jax treated as a joke before Rosalie convinced him to give it a try. He looked hunted the whole meal, awkwardly answering questions like he was being interrogated. Clearly, being respected was a new experience for Jax. Rosalie, however, loved every moment of it.
She and her team were the heroes of the base. Wherever she went, people smiled and greeted her—not as Miss Dumarque or Charles’s daughter but as Rosalie, one of the soldiers who’d killed the Gobbler.
The blizzard had brought winter to Trost in earnest. Every morning dawned with new snow and ice, which meant that not only did squads have to patrol the wall, but they had to shovel it too, scraping the rails and walkways so no one would slip to their deaths. It was brutal work in bitter cold, but the fact that they no longer had to fear the Gobbler made everyone breathe easier. Morale only improved when the new equipment arrived.
As promised, Brigitte had spent every cent of Rosalie’s bride price on gear for her soldiers. One frigid day, a dozen huge wagons rolled up to the Garrison courtyard packed with hundreds of sets of brand-new vertical maneuvering gear plus new wires, blades, gas canisters. The works.
It was all so shiny that the soldiers were afraid to touch it at first. But once Brigitte started passing out sets, they all fell on the wagons in a gleeful rush, strapping on gear and hauling themselves all over the base just for the joy of flying. But the real treat came the next day.
The soldiers of the Trost Gate had been making do with the same threadbare uniforms for years, sometimes wearing mended clothes that other soldiers had died in. Brigitte used the leftover money to commission new clothing for the entire force, for both summer and winter. Rosalie didn’t truly understand the gravity of the decision until she discovered her bunkmate Henrietta crying with joy because she finally had gloves without holes and a coat that kept out the wind.
Between the new gear and new clothes, the Trost Gate Garrison was a new force. Nothing could make life on the wall easy, but the general atmosphere of marching toward death had lifted. People smiled more, laughing even as they griped about pushing cannons in the snow.
The Garrison wasn’t the only thing getting better. Squad 13 still trained together every morning. It was brutal work, but they were improving every day. Even Jax said so, which Rosalie, Willow, and Emmett all agreed was like being awarded a medal by Garrison Commander Dot Pixis.
Jax’s reading had also improved dramatically. He was capable of devouring Rosalie’s books on his own, but neither suggested they stop the lessons. When they’d finished all the books Rosalie had brought with her, they just started over, sitting side by side at the top of the empty gate every night. Not even the winter weather could stop them. When the snow piled up, Jax just scraped it away, making an enclosure in the lee of the can
non where the wind wasn’t so strong. It was still bitterly cold, but secretly Rosalie liked the icy nights best. They gave her an excuse to move closer to Jax, who was always warm.
Sometimes—the best times—he put his arm around her shoulders. When he did that, reading the familiar stories in his accented voice, Rosalie could easily forget about her upcoming marriage, about leaving the wall and how impossible it seemed that she’d ever reconcile with her father. All she thought of was her and Jax, reading by the light of the winter moon.
So it went for weeks, the short days blending together until winter finally began to wane. Despite his threat to drag her off the wall, her father never came to Trost, and eventually Rosalie stopped worrying about it. She was far more interested in watching the spring crocuses poking up through the crust of the melting snow on the titan side of the wall. A sight she enjoyed often, because now that they were better, she and her team went off the wall nearly every day, killing titans whenever they could get away with it. The attacks weren’t strictly permitted—Garrison rules clearly stated that titans could be engaged only if there was an immediate danger to the wall—but Jax was more than happy to look the other way if it meant one less monster in the world.
One evening, a few days after the last of the year’s snow had melted, Rosalie was on the gate with Jax as usual. They had spent a long day pushing cannons in the rain, so she’d made herself comfortable, sitting with her head pillowed on Jax’s shoulder. She must have drifted off, because she woke with a start when Jax nudged her arm.
“Sorry,” she said drowsily.
“It’s all right,” he replied, his voice strangely deep. “I don’t mind, but someone’s coming.”
Sure enough, she heard the creak of boots on the stairs. Rosalie had just enough time to scoot to a respectable distance away from Jax before one of Brigitte’s personal aides, an elderly veteran with a long scar across his face and neck, stepped onto the gate.
“Private Dumarque?”
When she stood, he handed her a sealed note. “From the gate lieutenant.”
Rosalie opened it to find an invitation. A command, technically, since it came from her commanding officer, but the language was polite rather than demanding, requesting Rosalie’s presence in her office the next evening.
“That’s strange,” Jax said after the soldier had left. “I’ve known Brigitte a long time, and I’ve never seen her do anything like this.”
That sounded ominous. “Should I be worried?”
“You should always be worried,” Jax said. “That’s just common sense. But I don’t think it’s bad.” His face fell. “I guess this means you’ll miss reading tomorrow.”
“You could always read without me.”
Jax scoffed. “Don’t be insulting. I’m not going to sit up here reading out loud to myself.”
She laughed. “I meant quietly.”
“What’s the point in that? Hearing it out loud is way more fun, and you know I do the voices better than you do.” He smiled at her. “I’ll just wait.”
The idea of Jax waiting for her made Rosalie very happy as she headed down the stairs to bed.
* * *
Immediately after dinner the next day, Rosalie changed into a clean uniform and went into the gate tower to see Brigitte. When she announced herself, the guard at door escorted Rosalie straight to the lieutenant’s office, as if she was an officer rather than a private.
“Rosalie,” the lieutenant said when she came in. “Right on time.”
Rosalie nodded, taking a seat in one of the new chairs someone had crammed into Brigitte’s closet-like office. She was still getting comfortable when she noticed the lieutenant had a stack of papers on her desk in front of her. She spotted her own name written on the top document.
“Um, Lieutenant,” she said nervously, “what is this about?”
Brigitte chuckled. “Don’t worry, you’re not in trouble. I called you in because I have an offer for you and your squad. One I trust you’ll like more than fixing cannons in a blizzard.”
That was a relief, but, “If for me and my squad, why am I the only one here?”
Brigitte’s smile widened. “Because you’re the one they listen to.”
She leaned back in her chair, looking up at the map of the land surrounding the gate pinned to the wall behind her. “You’ve outstripped my expectations, Private Dumarque. I have to admit, I had serious reservations about taking you into my division, but despite a few hiccups at the beginning, you’ve proven yourself both brave and reliable. Your squad is now one of my top units in terms of training and skill. You’ve even managed to put a veneer of civility on Jackson Cunningham, which I’d always thought was impossible. The four of you are among the bravest, most dedicated, most creative soldiers I’ve ever had the pleasure to work with, which is why I’m requesting that your entire squad be transferred to Survey Corps, effective immediately.”
Rosalie, who’d been floating on a cloud through all the praise, jerked up in her chair. “What?”
“I want you to go to Survey Corps,” Brigitte repeated, folding her hands on her desk. “I say you specifically, because I know most of these changes are your doing. Willow and Emmett were already practicing on their own, but it wasn’t until you convinced Jax to teach them that they started getting anywhere. You’re the one who brought your team together and pushed them to the next level. Now I want you to do it again.”
“I’ll try,” Rosalie said, more confused than before. “But…if you’re so happy with us, why are you sending us away?”
Brigitte looked her straight in the eye. “Because you don’t belong here.”
Anger flashed over Rosalie’s face before she could stop it. When she tried to argue, though, the lieutenant put up her hand. “This is the Garrison,” Brigitte said solemnly. “We’re defenders, not attackers, but you wouldn’t know it from your squad.” She narrowed her eyes. “I know all about your little hunting trips off the wall. I’ve turned a blind eye so far because your squad’s killed more titans than anyone else has managed to all year, but I can’t keep doing it.”
“Why not?” Rosalie asked. “So long as we’re not endangering the wall, where’s the harm in killing titans?”
“Because, as I told you the first time you came to my office, that’s not why we’re here,” Brigitte said sharply. “Our job is to keep people safe, not to go out and pick fights. That’s the Survey Corps’ job. They were created to do exactly what your squad can’t seem to stop doing. And as your officer, I think you’d be much happier working under Commander Erwin than you would under me.”
The mention of Commander Erwin’s name made Rosalie’s breath hitch. She’d never met him, but even her father admitted he was a genius in his own mad way. Yet even though Brigitte’s argument made a great deal of sense, there was one vital flaw the lieutenant had yet to address.
“I appreciate what you’re saying,” Rosalie said nervously. “But…the Survey Corps is a death sentence. I’ve seen their record, and it’s the worst in the military. It doesn’t matter how well we’d fit in there, I can’t ask my team to go die.”
“You already do,” Brigitte said, folding her hands in front of her. “Being in the military means putting your life on the line, Dumarque. You risk your skin for the Garrison every time you climb onto that wall. The only reason Survey Corps has more deaths than the rest of us is because they take the fight to the enemy. Attacking is inherently more dangerous than defending, but if we do not attack the titans, we’ll never break free of the corner they’ve pushed us into.”
Rosalie stared at her, speechless. Brigitte’s words sounded so much like what she’d said to her father, but she’d never thought she’d hear them aimed at her.
“I’ve dedicated my life to the Garrison,” the lieutenant went on. “But proud as I am of that, I know the Garrison can’t win this war. If we want a future without walls, it’s not enough to just defen
d them. Someone has to go beyond and face the enemy. That’s what Survey Corps does. They are the vanguard, the ones who are willing to take risks so that everyone might one day be free. That’s why they get to wear the Wings of Freedom, and why I think you should too.”
She pushed the stack of papers across her desk to Rosalie. “This is a copy of my letter of recommendation as well as a transfer request for each of you,” she said. “You don’t have to make a decision tonight, but I want you to talk to your squad. The bulk of the Survey Corps is outside the wall right now, but the acting commander has already agreed to take you on, so if you decide to go, I can put in your transfer immediately. If you decide not to join, you’re welcome to stay as my soldiers, but I will be much stricter about unauthorized trips off the wall going forward. The Garrison is no place for personal heroics. If you want to be a titan slayer, go join Erwin’s circus.”
Rosalie nodded, her mind spinning as she took the papers. “I’ll relay this to my squad,” she promised. “But for myself, I’m afraid I can’t accept.”
Brigitte frowned. “I’m sorry to hear that. I’d thought you’d be the first in line. You’re the one who said she came down here to fight the titans.”
“I did,” Rosalie said quickly. “And I would, but…” Her voice trailed off, and she looked down at the applications clutched in her fingers. “It’s not my choice to make. I’m to be married soon. The arrangement is very important to my family. So while I thank you for the honor, I’m afraid my answer has to be no.”
Lieutenant Brigitte sat back in her chair with a huff. “It’s not my place to say this, but I’m old and I don’t care about Charles Dumarque, so I’ll say it anyway: You shouldn’t do what your family says.”
Rosalie’s head jerked up in surprise. “But they need me. My engagement secures a vital—”
“The Dumarques are one of the oldest noble houses,” Brigitte said. “They’ll survive a broken marriage contract, but we’re all done for if the titans aren’t stopped. This is war, Rosalie, and wars are only won with good soldiers. You’ve proven yourself again and again to be resourceful, brave under fire, respectful of your team, and a crack shot with a cannon. Those aren’t qualities that grow on trees. I try not to stick my nose into my soldiers’ private business, but I’ll be damned if I let a weapon like you be wasted on whatever rich idiot your father’s picked out.”
