by Rachel Aaron
Woermann removed his boot. “Patch him up so he doesn’t bleed out and throw him in the brig,” he ordered. “We’ll hang him as soon as approval comes back from high command.”
“Yes, sir,” the Military Police officer said, glancing at Rosalie. “And the private?”
“Throw her in as well,” Woermann said. “I’ll inform her father.”
The soldiers saluted, and the man holding Rosalie began to drag her away. She fought him as hard as she could, digging her nails into his and kicking her heels against his legs until, with a curse, he struck her over the head, sending the whole world dark.
* * *
Rosalie bolted upright, wincing as the motion sent a wave of pain through her aching head. She was in a shadowed room on a stone floor. Woermann must have made good on his threat to put them in the brig, because she saw iron bars as well. She was looking for a door when she spotted Jax sitting against the wall in the adjacent cell. His leg was bandaged, which was a relief, but his face was terrifyingly pale. She was about to ask if he was all right when Jax tilted his head at the corridor beyond the bars.
Confused, Rosalie turned to see a standing figure silhouetted in front of the jail’s only torch. Between his Military Police uniform and the terrible light, she assumed he was a guard. Then he stepped forward, the flickering light shifting to reveal the familiar face of Charles Dumarque.
“Father!” Rosalie gasped, standing up. “What are you—how did—”
General Dumarque pushed a key into the lock of her cell door and swung it open. “Come,” he ordered. Then, to Rosalie’s shock, he turned and unlocked Jax’s cell as well.
“Can you walk?” he asked Jax, his voice devoid of emotion.
“I can hobble if someone helps me,” Jax replied, casting a nervous look at Rosalie. “Why?”
Instead of answering, Lord Dumarque snapped his fingers, and a guard who’d been lurking in the hallway entered and hoisted Jax to his feet.
“Father, what’s going on?” Rosalie asked as the guard shuffled Jax out of the cell.
“The consequences of your actions,” Lord Dumarque replied, his voice deadly. “Come with me and don’t say a word. Not one word, Rosalie, do you understand?”
She nodded, following him silently out of the brig. Other soldiers were waiting in the hall outside. Her father’s men, Rosalie realized. They escorted the prisoners up and out of the small jail and into the chaos of the Garrison at war.
It was still daylight. They were in the base on the other side of the Rose Gate from Trost. All around, soldiers scrambled past them, hauling supplies, marching off in small squads, helping injured comrades. Lord Dumarque ignored all of it, letting his guards clear their path toward the base of Wall Rose, which loomed like a cliff over their heads.
When they arrived at one of the lift stations, Rosalie watched as a giant platform was slowly lowered down the wall. When it reached the ground, a dozen wounded soldiers staggered off. Some were missing limbs, the stumps of their arms and legs tied off with crude field dressings. Many had so much blood on their uniforms, it was impossible to tell what Garrison unit they were from. But all of them had the same distant look, their blank eyes moving over Rosalie without seeing her as they shuffled past.
When the wounded had cleared the platform, the soldiers manning the lift saluted, and Charles Dumarque, his escort, and the prisoners stepped aboard. At least Rosalie stepped aboard. Jax had to be carried, his body slumping between the two soldiers holding him up. The scrape of his pained breaths was like a knife in her ears, causing Rosalie to shake as she moved closer to her father. “Why are you taking us to the top of Wall Rose?”
“Because I have no other choice,” Lord Dumarque said, keeping his eyes straight ahead as the lift began to rise. “Congratulations, Rosalie. You’ve finally gotten yourself into more trouble than even I can get you out of. Now we’re both going to have to play it by ear. Just let me do the talking, and we’ll see if I can’t save the life you seem so determined to throw away.”
His tone was coldly furious, but Rosalie didn’t even flinch. Now that the shock of seeing him had faded, all she wanted to do was wrap her arms around him and tell him how much it meant that he’d rushed from Wall Sina into a city besieged by titans for her sake.
“Thank you,” she whispered as the lift creaked to a stop.
Lord Dumarque dismissed her words with an angry jab of his hand and walked onto the top of the wall. Captain Woermann was already there, and next to him, looking out over the smoking city of Trost like he owned it, was a bald old man with a neatly trimmed mustache and sly eyes. His uniform was identical to every other Rose Garrison officer, but Rosalie knew him immediately, and she stopped with a gasp.
“What?” Jax whispered nervously, struggling to stand on his own as Dumarque’s guards positioned him beside her. “Who is that?”
“That’s Dot Pixis!” Rosalie whispered back, her voice frantic. “He’s the Garrison’s High Commander for the entire Southern Defense!”
Jax’s pale face turned even paler. “What’s he doing here?”
Considering what was happening, the High Commander’s presence at Trost was practically mandatory, but Rosalie understood what Jax meant. Why would the High Commander be here, with them? She was wondering the same thing when Woermann stepped forward.
“That’s them, High Commander!” he cried, flinging out his hand to point at Rosalie and Jax. “Cunningham attacked my soldiers on Brigitte Morris’s order, and Rosalie Dumarque led a mutiny against me to seize command of the Trost Gate for herself. I demand they be punished to the fullest extent!”
“So you have said many times,” Dot Pixis replied, sipping from the flask he carried before turning to face Rosalie and Jax.
“With respect, High Commander,” Lord Dumarque said stiffly, “this man is a fool. Rosalie Dumarque is noble. Her fate is the king’s alone to decide.”
Rosalie blinked in surprise. She’d never heard such genuine deference in her father’s voice when speaking to another military officer. Woermann, however, seemed to be finding new shades of red for his face.
“She’s a traitor!” he yelled in Lord Dumarque’s face. “The king will say the same!”
“She’s my daughter!” Lord Dumarque yelled back.
“Gentlemen,” the High Commander said, raising his hand, “I’ve heard both of your arguments already. I don’t have time to hear them again. The plans to retake Trost will be back from my strategist any moment.”
“Retake Trost?” Rosalie said, eyes wide. “You’re going to retake the city?!”
“We’re going to try,” Pixis said, looking her up and down. “You’re Private Dumarque?”
“Yes, sir,” Rosalie said, cringing as she remembered to whom she was speaking. “Forgive me for speaking out of turn, sir.”
“That’s the least of your worries right now,” the High Commander said with a chuckle. Then his face grew serious. “Do you understand the charges against you?”
When both Jax and Rosalie nodded, Commander Pixis stepped closer. “Tell me what happened at the Trost Gate.”
With a deep breath and a glance at Jax, Rosalie told him. She told him about the Colossal Titan’s attack and the desperate gambit to keep the titans from coming through the gate. About Captain Woermann’s arrival and the order to retreat, about Brigitte’s refusal and death. She told him about the cannon round and how the Trost Garrison soldiers had bravely held the gate until the bitter end. She told him about running through the city, about losing Willow and Emmett.
She told Pixis the whole story, but it was her father she was truly speaking to. She wanted him to hear what had happened so he’d understand why she’d done what she’d done. She would have looked straight at him if she could, but she didn’t dare take her eyes off the High Commander. So she continued, reciting everything exactly as it happened until she reached the present moment.
Wh
en at last she fell silent, Commander Pixis turned to Jax. “Is this your account as well?”
“Yes, sir,” Jax replied.
“You see?” Woermann said, shooting a victorious sneer at Lord Dumarque, who looked shell-shocked. “They both admit it was mutiny!”
“It was,” Commander Pixis agreed. “Private Dumarque’s story matches what I’ve heard from other survivors of the Vanguard.” He looked sadly at Rosalie and Jax. “They are traitors.”
“The boy is a traitor,” Lord Dumarque said desperately. “Hang him, but give my daughter back to me!”
“She may have been born yours,” Commander Pixis said. “But the moment she signed her enlistment, she became a solider of the Garrison, and soldiers must answer to military law.”
“But she—”
Pixis stopped Lord Dumarque’s argument with a wave of his hand, stepping forward until he was standing face-to-face with Jax and Rosalie.
“Brigitte Morris was an old friend of mine,” he said, reaching out to steady Jax, who was listing to the side. “She wrote to me just the other day asking for permission to recommend that a particularly troublesome squad be transferred to the Survey Corps.” He smiled. “That was you?”
There was no way he didn’t already know the answer, but Jax and Rosalie dutifully nodded.
“The Survey Corps,” Lord Dumarque whispered, his face horrified. “Rosalie, you didn’t.”
“Did you accept?” Commander Pixis asked, speaking over the general.
“Yes, sir,” Rosalie said, doing her best not to look at her panicking father. “We all signed up together. We were going to transfer as a squad, but then…”
She couldn’t finish. Telling the story of Willow and Emmett’s deaths once already had almost been too much. Fortunately, Commander Pixis seemed to understand.
“The loss of comrades is always hard,” he said gently. “But to die in battle protecting your home and your comrades is a soldier’s greatest honor. Why did you agree to join the Survey Corps? Most who seek out the Scouts do so because they have nothing else left, but you have a good home and a loving family. Why would you leave that world for such dangerous work? Is this just a way to escape your safe, dull life in Sina?”
Rosalie’s cheeks began to burn. “There was a bit of that at first, sir,” she admitted. “I joined the Garrison because I wanted to prove myself. I used to look at Wall Rose on the horizon and hate the fact that it was there. I thought I knew better, that I could beat the titans and show everyone, but that was before I served in the Garrison. I understand now how important it is to shield the people so we can hold on to what we have. Brigitte taught me that, and Jax, and Emmett and Willow and everyone else. So many Garrison soldiers gave everything to protect us today, and I deeply respect that, but…”
“But?” Pixis said, arching an eyebrow.
“But by itself, holding on to what we have left is not enough,” Rosalie finished, clenching her fists. “Important as the Garrison’s work is, we can’t defend forever. If we’re ever going to beat the titans, somebody has to go beyond the walls and take back what we’ve lost. Lieutenant Brigitte said that being in the military means putting your life on the line, but if I’m going to stake my life on something, I want it to count. I want to put the titan-killing skills I’ve learned to the best possible use;. And for me, that’s the Survey Corps.”
“The lure of the Wings of Freedom is strong indeed,” Pixis said wistfully as he turned to Jax. “What about you, Sergeant Cunningham? Did you feel the same?”
“Not exactly, sir,” Jax said, glancing nervously at Rosalie. “Rosalie had high ideals from the start, but I joined the Garrison because it was a job that kept me fed and let me kill titans. I’ve seen a lot of good soldiers die in the years since, but there never seemed to be a point. No matter how good we did our jobs, life never got better. Food was still scarce. The city was still crowded with refugees. Titans kept coming. I thought that was how it would always be, but then—”
He coughed several times, then caught his breath and continued. “But Rosalie and Willow and Emmett…they took everything I could throw at them. I came to trust them with my life. So when they told me about the transfer, I figured I ought to listen. I’ve always known that being a soldier meant risking my life, but I’m no more dead outside the walls than I’d be on top of them. If I was in the Survey Corps, though, there’s a chance my death might actually change something for the better. That seemed like a good trade, so I took it.”
Rosalie swallowed. Jax’s eyes had stayed on her the entire time. Pixis must have seen that as well, because his smile warmed.
“Those are good answers,” he said, turning to walk back to the edge of the wall. “You both seem to be good soldiers. I just wish you’d been wiser ones.”
“Sir?” Rosalie said, confused.
“Treason is not something we can take lightly,” Pixis replied solemnly, his arms folded tight behind his back as he stared down at the titan-filled city. He turned to Captain Woermann and General Dumarque. “By their own admission, Rosalie Dumarque and Jackson Cunningham are guilty of mutiny against a superior officer, the punishment for which is death, traditionally by public hanging. However…”
He glanced down the wall at the gate, where the Garrison was still evacuating stragglers from the city. “These are extraordinary times. Morale is very low, and the troops are afraid. A public execution would only make that worse. Therefore”—he turned to Rosalie and Jax—“as High Commander, I will accept the burden and execute your sentence myself.”
He pulled his pistol from his belt.
“No!” Lord Dumarque cried, lunging forward to place himself between Pixis and Rosalie. “High Commander, please, this is my daughter. My little girl.”
“That doesn’t matter to the law,” Pixis said.
“What about the lives she saved?” he cried, his voice closer to tears than Rosalie had ever heard. “Is this how the military recognizes heroism? What will the soldiers think?”
“They’ll think nothing’s more important than obeying orders,” Woermann replied, contempt dripping from his voice. “Which is the only way a military can function.”
“You coward, Woermann!” Dumarque shouted. “You can hide behind the law, but nothing will save you from my retaliation if you go through with this!”
Woermann staggered back as though struck. “How—how dare you threaten me! I’m a captain of the Garrison!”
Lord Dumarque proceeded to tell Woermann exactly what he thought he was, but Rosalie wasn’t listening anymore. Instead, she reached for Jax’s hand. He met her halfway, his eyes so full of sadness and pride that there was no need for words. He knew as well as she did that this was the end. They’d done the right thing. They’d held the gate, protected hundreds of thousands of lives. If they had to die for that, she’d count it a cheap price for what they’d saved that day.
“It’s all right, Father,” she said, reaching out to touch his shoulder. “I’m ready to accept—”
“No!” he shouted, whirling around and grabbing her so fast, he nearly knocked her over. “Don’t be stupid, Rosalie! You’re a noble, and you’re still engaged to the Smythes! They already paid for you. If you die, they lose their investment. That gives us a suit for damages against the Garrison. We can petition the king for your life!”
“What about Jax’s life?”
“He’s common,” Lord Dumarque said dismissively. “Nothing can save him. But you—”
Rosalie set her jaw. “If Jax gets shot, I get shot.”
“Now hold on a moment,” Jax said, his eyes wide. “I didn’t know we could bring the king into this. Rosalie, maybe you should—”
“No,” she said stubbornly. “There’s no point in dragging this out. We committed the same crime, we’ll face the same fate.”
“Do you not understand what’s going to happen, Rosalie?” her father said, his voice truly fra
ntic. I can still get you out of this if you’ll just stop—”
“I won’t stop,” she said, stepping around her father to face Pixis, who’d been watching silently. “The commander has already handed down our sentence, and I don’t dispute it. We did commit mutiny at the Trost Gate, and I would do it again. Because if we’d followed Woermann’s orders and retreated, half the city would have died today. If being shot is the price for that, then I’ll pay it gladly.”
Lord Dumarque began to sputter, but Pixis silenced him with a look. “Is this your final word?” he asked, turning back to Rosalie. When she and Jax nodded together, the High Commander smiled and holstered his pistol.
“What are you doing?” Woermann demanded.
“You’re sparing her,” Lord Dumarque said, his body slumping in relief. Rosalie wobbled as well, her knees nearly giving out as her body realized it wasn’t going to die. But though the Commander had put away his weapon, he was still shaking his head.
“I’m not sparing anyone,” Pixis said firmly. “The law must be enforced equally if we are to have order. But while the punishment for mutiny is death, Garrison regulation doesn’t specify how they must die.” He touched the pistol at his hip. “I don’t feel this is an appropriate time to waste good bullets or good soldiers, so I’m sentencing Rosalie Dumarque and Jackson Cunningham to the Survey Corps instead, effective immediately.”
Woermann looked at the High Commander like a child whose favorite toy had just been snatched away. “You can’t do that! They wanted to go to Survey Corps! You’re supposed to sentence them to death!”
Pixis shrugged. “Given the mortality rate of the average Survey Corps soldier, no one can argue it’s not a death sentence. And it puts two brave and proven effective soldiers back on the field at a time when we need them most. Personally, I think it’s quite an elegant solution. My only regret is that I’m losing them to Erwin.” He smiled at Rosalie. “You would have made an excellent Garrison officer, Private Dumarque.”
