He clears his throat. “You know that isn’t true, right? We discussed this and agreed—”
“No, you agreed,” I correct him, my voice shaking with rage. “You agreed. I told you we can’t trust him, no matter what that weasel says or does.”
“Rose, please, just listen…” His fingers brush against my arm, and I pull back, meeting his gaze. He blinks, clearly caught off guard by the vemon in my gaze.
“I did listen,” I say, clenching my teeth. I take a deep breath through my nose, trying to let out some steam when I release it. “And because I listened to you, the Gardener lives right underneath my feet in the place I’m supposed to feel safe in.”
“He’s trapped,” Rayce corrects. “Our prisoner.” He reaches out, taking both of my hands in his, and threads our fingers together. His eyes meet mine with an intensity I don’t expect. “And you are safe, Rose. You will always be safe. Even if I have to sleep outside your door at night with a stunner in one hand and my sword in the other to make you feel that way. Say the words and I’ll do it.”
That isn’t exactly the place I’d like for Rayce to sleep. Closer would be better, where I can feel the warmth of his skin, tuck my head into the crook of his neck, and feel the hardness of his chest pressing against me.
“But, the Gardener has given us reliable insight into my uncle’s plans, and that kind of information can’t be ignored. Even though he did it to save his own skin, he helped keep your secret—”
“Don’t say it.” Though I’m still mad, I can’t bring myself to part our fingers again, so instead, I close my eyes. “The Gardener will do anything for his own gain, including killing innocent, unarmed girls, so there’s no way I will ever understand or trust him.”
He parts our hands, and I let mine drop to my side as he caresses my cheek. “I’m not asking you to trust him. I’m asking you to trust me.”
Gritting my teeth, I pull away from his hand, feeling anger flare through my body. “You know I trust you, so don’t put that on the same level as my distrust of the Gardener.”
He frowns. “You’re right, but—”
“Rayce,” Arlo’s urgent voice comes just behind Rayce, and I twist to look at him.
“What is it?” he asks, responding to Arlo’s tone.
“The troops on the wall don’t have much to report except that they found a crate. I thought you might want to check its contents before we head out.”
He motions for us to follow him. Rayce frowns, his eyes pleading to put our conversation on pause rather than stop it altogether. I turn away, staring down at my feet. We shouldn’t be talking about this anyway. We’re still on a mission.
Arlo leads us to a small covered tower a couple of yards off, the upturned roof much more primitive than the arched roofs of Imperial City.
Upon seeing Rayce approach, the two guards on either side of the crate move out of the way, revealing a large wooden container, its top splintered into several pieces where they pried it off. The earthy smell of hay fills my nostrils and I blink, suddenly back in the hot stuffy cart I shared with Fern in the Garden, the prickly hay that lined the floor sticking into my back…her fingers weaving through my hair.
Rayce moves in front of me, pulling out a copper helmet, his brow furrowing as he holds it out for us to examine. The shiny metal looks new, though the design of the helmet is much sleeker than the clumsy large antennae that adorn the Sun soldiers’ silver helms, and all of the details are trimmed in red. I recognize it instantly. My blood runs cold, the last of my anger dissipating.
“This doesn’t look like anything I’ve ever seen before. Is Emperor Galon changing the uniforms?” Rayce says.
“It doesn’t make any sense,” Arlo adds. “The Imperial colors haven’t changed in thousands of years.”
My voice comes out hoarse. “That isn’t Sun soldier armor.”
Both men turn my direction, Rayce’s eyebrow tilted up in a question.
In my memory, forty neat rows of identical helmets line up outside in the palace courtyard, the hot desert sun reflecting back up at me as I stared down over a balcony rail at Father’s side. They reminded me of a giant copper fish, glittering in the early morning light.
I run my good finger along the ridge of the helmet, feeling the cool metal against my hot skin. “This is Varshan armor.”
Chapter Five
Without much more information to go on, Rayce instructs the guards to leave the crate on the wall, filing away its existence to think about another time, but it preoccupies my mind. Why would Varshan armor be on the Blue Wall? What would the emperor be doing, holding onto it?
The trek back to base stretches several days, and weariness clings to the squadron heavier with every step. At least we accomplished our goal and can bring back a victory for the rebellion. Even with everything Piper’s been able to invent, the tides of the war seem to be in an eternal stalemate. Very few missions have been successful after the showdown with the Gardener a few months back, almost like the emperor is trying to prove a point.
The paper inside the leather pouch around my neck crinkles as I touch it for strength. Oren, if you can hear me, please offer us some guidance, because no matter which angle I look at our situation from, I don’t see an easy solution. That, coupled with the argument Rayce and I had on the wall, sends fire through my veins.
My frustration eases as the trees of the Shulin Forest change before my eyes, from the thin white trunks near Imperial City to the fat gray oaks of the wild, their vivid green foliage above our heads allowing splashes of sunlight to guide our feet along. These subtle changes signal something in me I thought had died in the Garden…a sense of home. My heart longs for the glowing green veins of Zarenite in the base walls, the familiar feeling of pocked rock against my fingertips, and the blue curtain acting as a makeshift door to the room Marin and I share.
As we head underground through the maze of old mineshafts that tunnel into the Yinshan Mountains, the rebels around me sigh in relief, finally out of the harsh sun. My long blond braid slips free as I pull off the white cloth that has been covering my head for the past few days.
A hand presses against the small of my back, and I whip around to see Rayce standing next to me, a thick patch of stubble coating his chin and a mischievous grin on his face. Even though I’m still frustrated with him, my heart betrays me.
“You’ve been avoiding me the last few days.” His voice lilts with playfulness, but the second I look into his eyes, the seriousness of his statement hits me hard.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Which is a lie, of course. Our unresolved argument has made being near him difficult. As we walk, my good shoulder brushes his arm and his fingers flirt with the back of my hand.
“You do,” he says, his tone leaving no room for debate. He moves his hand to press our palms together, filling me with his warmth. “I don’t like leaving things hanging. Let’s find a resolution, some way we can both be happy.”
Though I fight against it, the question I don’t want to think about surfaces before I can snuff it out: what if this is something we can’t ever agree on or talk our way around?
I don’t meet his gaze as I speak. “To be honest, I’m not sure we can resolve this.”
Ahead, Arlo stops at a dead end in the tunnel, holding his hand up to the rock. Even though I’ve seen them open the base’s entrance close to twenty times, my lips still part as green light bursts from the point where his palm meets the rock, cracking through the stone like glowing veins. The dust motes in the air shimmer within the light, and then the rock splits apart as he pushes on it, turning what was once solid stone into open doors.
A gentle squeeze on my hand brings me back to the man standing close to my side. The sound of his voice as he desperately tried to keep me conscious not four days ago swells inside my chest, causing my stance to waver. Yun, I just want to forgive him.
My mistake is looking at him, watching the way sadness tugs at the ends of
his mouth. He licks his lips, spinning my mind in a completely different direction as he turns to face me.
“I refuse to believe there isn’t a way we can resolve this.”
His words seem so perfect, lulling me into a false sense of security, but the second I blink, the Gardener attacks in my memory, clutching Fern’s neck right before he throws her down on the grass and orders his lackeys to murder her. It doesn’t matter what Rayce says, how he tries to spin it, the Gardener needs to die.
My mouth parts, my true feelings bubbling up to the surface as the rebels begin to file through the entrance of the base, leaving the tunnel almost empty.
“Rayce, as long as the Gardener remains alive, I’ll never be able to rest.” I force my fingers to go slack and drop his hand. “It doesn’t matter how safe you insist I am, or what you do to protect me. I’ll always live in fear.”
He glances down at our separated hands, and I take a step back, the cold stone of the tunnel whispering past the thin layer of fabric covering my back. This isn’t something we’re just going to be able to gloss over. The longer it remains unresolved, the more discomforted I feel. It’s like a weed growing in the pit of my stomach, threatening to spread its disease through my blood.
Arlo stands in the hidden doorway, his silhouette darkened against the green light. “Rayce, we need to meet with the others and inform them of our findings on the wall. Timing is imperative for us to figure out what your uncle is up to.”
Typical. Even when we’re discussing something important, he doesn’t have five minutes. Lately, that’s what our lives have looked like. A relentless series of urgent meetings, critcal missions, training, and mountains of paperwork.
He rakes his hands through his hair and glances at Arlo. “Give us a minute.”
“Maybe you should go with him.” My tone sounds far more bitter than I intended.
His eyes tighten as his attention returns to me and he takes a step closer, his voice dropping low in his throat. “Rose, I’m trying here. And I’ll do anything in my power to protect you. I won’t let the Gardener go free, because he’ll never be forgiven for his crimes, but right now, I have no other options. The only way I can defeat my uncle is to use any resource I have. I’m not asking you to understand… You don’t even have to like it, but I am asking you to respect that I have to do what’s right for my people.”
It’s always about his people. His selflessness is one of the things that allowed me to trust him in the first place. It’s easier to predict someone when you know their motives, and Rayce has always been crystal clear about what drives him.
His selflessness is also what made me fall for him. Every time he pushes past his own exhaustion to aid one of his people, greets them by name, or I see him serving food he helped prepare in the breakfast line, it makes my insides squeeze.
A little voice whispers in the back of my head, reminding me that no matter how hard I try, I will never be as dedicated and good at leading people as he is. If he really will be emperor, he deserves a partner who can shoulder the weight of leading beside him. I will never be that person. My need to be near him won’t allow me to turn away, but I will always be trailing behind, stumbling to paint with the colors of a new world he’s engraved into his heart. Never mixing the right shades.
There are too many people I want to protect, and I’m too willing to risk everything to keep them safe, even if it means being selfish to do it.
My father used to say that leading was about sacrifice. I understand the meaning of that word now more clearly than I ever could have then, but because I’ve seen firsthand what true sacrifice means, the idea of it leaves me wanting to tuck myself under my covers and never surface again.
Rayce’s steadfast dedication to the whole over the one, to always being selfless over choosing himself, is also what pushed me away from him because I knew my position would put a terrible burden on his shoulders. He accepted that I was the heir to the Varshan throne, even after I kept it a secret from him for fear of him using my claim to bargain an end of the war with his uncle, and he hasn’t ever used my position against me. But he has paid for my presence, allowing his uncle to coax the rebellion into dangerous missions to keep my secret safe, and so far, I’ve offered very little in return.
I stare directly into his eyes. “As long as the Gardener remains here as a prisoner, there’s a chance for him to escape, and I can’t allow that.”
“Rayce,” Arlo says, his tone more urgent.
We both turn toward him this time, and I cross my arms over my chest, daring him to interrupt us again. He takes a hesitant step back, but his eyes caution Rayce to hurry.
Rayce squeezes my hand.
“I will never let anything happen to you.” He brings my palm to the lean muscles of his stomach where I can feel a lumpy scar press through the smooth fabric of his shirt. The place where his uncle’s dagger nearly ended his life a few months ago. “I’d take another dagger to keep you safe. I’ll do whatever you need to feel secure.” He slides his hand down my arm, his fingertips causing my skin to sprout goose bumps, his piercing eyes starting a revolution in my heart. “Isn’t that enough?”
I want it to be. I want to wrap myself back up in the comfort of him just being alive. But his question cracks through the calmness his gaze tries to lull me toward.
“No, it isn’t. I’m sorry.” My hand grips his shirt for a moment before I let go, the hard rock of the tunnel pressing, chilly, into my back. The way his breath catches makes me wish I could erase my words even though they are true. The fire in his eyes smolders with hurt and I hurry to continue. “But if we could speak with the Gardener together, perhaps I can find out what he’s really after.”
Whatever I’d seen flash in his eyes before hardens and he clenches his jaw.
“Absolutely not.”
“Why?” I meet his hard eyes with my own, pushing off the wall to stand a few inches away from him. “It might be the only way.”
“I didn’t shield you from him for this long just to throw you back into the lion’s den.” He shakes his head. “No, the only way to visit him is with me and under no circumstance will I take you down there. Let me handle him so that you don’t have to.”
“You can’t just—”
“We have to go,” Arlo says, taking a step forward. “Every second counts.”
Rayce grits his teeth and nods. “What I said stands. That’s an order.” He moves away from me, but his eyes pin me in my place. “We’ll speak more about this later.”
When I swore my life to the rebellion, I did it so that no one else would have to suffer the way my sisters and I did. That part of my oath I can keep easily, but it also means that I can’t disobey Rayce’s orders, no matter how unfair they are. He’s our leader.
Kicking my foot against the stone, I curse the day I faltered when I had a chance to kill the Gardener. A swift slice across his throat back then and none of this would even be a problem.
Rayce and Arlo head through the hidden doorway, leaving me alone in the tunnel with nothing to do but burn. I glare after them until the Zarenite overhead dims, my body heat alone unable to provide enough power to stay lit.
His words replay in my head, singing through my body in a roaring wave. His duty to his people comes first, I know that, but that knowledge doesn’t save me from the wave of frustration at having to push off our own problems in order to deal with everything else. I know Rayce puts me first when it truly matters, but it doesn’t ever make it easier having to share him. I snatch out my sword and slam it against the tunnel wall, the impact of metal on rock reverberating back into my hand. A few bits of rubble clatter onto the ground from my effort, but it doesn’t relieve the bubble that’s wound so tight in my chest it feels like I’m going to burst.
Stomping through the door, I head for the only place serene enough to combat the rising tide threatening to overwhelm me. Oren’s library, the last place I can still hear his voice.
…
The sme
ll of ink mixes with the dusty, ancient parchment, sending familiar waves of sorrow through me that cool some of the frustration welling up inside. From my perch, tucked in a red cushioned sitting chair with several different patches plugging up the abused fabric, I look up from the heavy book in my lap, my gaze picking over items that have become familiar to me in Oren’s small study.
A dried-up inkwell still lies open, a black feathered quill pen resting on top of the last piece of parchment Oren ever wrote on. Abandoned spectacles sit atop a stack of books on the corner of his desk, bookmarked and dog eared with sections that meant something to him at the time, and an old teacup sits unused beside them. Four bookshelves line the entire right wall, tomes stuffed into any available space, like some advanced puzzle only Oren could figure out. If there’s an order to the way he stacked things, I still haven’t unraveled it. On the other side, large pieces of parchment cover the walls with his messy, small handwriting scrawled over each one, and quick, practical sketches of war strategies and maps of different towns.
Everything exactly how he left it three months ago, as if any minute he might walk back in, with his dragon pipe in his hand, and ask me how I’m enjoying my book.
Except there’s no coming back. He went too far away for any of us to reach.
My fingers find the leather pouch around my neck and I wait for the fist clenching my gut to loosen, growing more desperate by the second. All I can think about is the way Rayce brushed me off an hour ago, how he keeps starting and stopping conversations, almost as if I’m the one in the cage.
I grit my teeth and look back down at the book I’ve been reading on poisons. The hazy notion of poisoning the Gardener came into my head as I plucked it from the shelf, but so far nothing I’ve read has been helpful, and I have no idea where I’d get poison from anyway.
Someone clearing their throat saves me from my circular thoughts. My fingers grip the cover tightly and I slam the book shut, sending a cloud of dust up into my own face. Marin laughs as I scramble to reopen the book, trying to find the place I didn’t even bother to bookmark.
War of the Wilted Page 4
