War of the Wilted

by Amber Mitchell

  My gaze falls back to Rayce as he bows his head, speaking softly to the middle-aged woman, asking about her young daughter. A white bandage now wraps securely around the wound Rayce was keeping closed and she clutches his bloody hands in hers.

  “But if a leader can find the strength within themselves to confront their own fears,” Oren says, “then the reward is oftentimes much greater than the effort.”

  His free hand moves toward my shoulder as if he’d wanted to place it there, but I take a sideways step away from him, not enough to move away completely, but enough to still his advance.

  As the memory fades, the feeling of my heart clenching in my chest washes over me and I’m left breathlessly wishing for more…more time, more moments, just one more chance to say thank you to Oren, who was as close to a father as I’ve been able to find here in Delmar.

  My time in the Garden hadn’t allowed me to stand so near a man then, no matter how kind he appeared. Knowing what I do now, I’d give anything to be able to go back.

  A leader must face their fears.

  I might never be as skilled as Rayce, but I can at least manage that. The Gardener no longer gets to control me through my own fear.

  My feet find new purpose as I head down to the holding cells.

  An older man with gray streaked in his long black hair stands guard across from a familiar-looking iron barred door, his heavy brow hanging over deep, sunken eyes. When I blink, the memory of Rayce staring at me through the bars floods the darkness, his face cold and unreadable as he told me I had to convince the rebellion I wasn’t an assassin for the emperor. All the hopelessness I felt in that moment clings to me. Not only must I face the Gardener, but I have to do it in another cage. The odds are stacked against me.

  I nod at the guard who stands alert beside the cell, trying to keep my voice causal.

  “I’ve come to see the prisoner.” Though I force as much confidence in my voice as I can muster, I hear it grow higher on the last word. “I believe Marin spoke with you.”

  The Zareeni man’s hand hesitates at his belt where a round chain hangs, suspending a single key, but at the mention of Marin he pulls the ring off his side with a sigh.

  “Yes, she did say something about a visitor. This goes so far beyond the favor I owe her.” He eyes me for a long moment and I wonder if he’s going to change his mind. Finally he shakes his head and holds up the key ring. “Just try to make it a quick as possible and call out if you need any assistance.”

  Determined to see my mission through, I nod, waiting for the telltale click of the lock before walking up to the iron bars. The Gardener’s willingness to provide information has to be about more than just saving himself. His last secret helped save me, but it was too well placed. If I don’t get the Gardener to reveal what he’s really up to, he might lead the rebellion into ruin. Nothing good grows under that man’s hands.

  The long shaft of light beams strong in the middle of the cell, giving the Gardener a taste of the sky he never bothered to let us see. The large cell is half covered by a pool of still black water, and a table and two wooden chairs sit in the middle of the room, a tray of mostly eaten rice and vegetables eschewed on it. Though it isn’t the decadent chocolates and fatty meats he was used to, the soy-flavored rice dotting the tray is better than we got in the Garden. Far too good for him.

  My eyes pick through the darkness until I see him tucked into a little stone alcove in the back, lying with a blue blanket covering him and a book in his hands. Above his head, there are little tally marks carved into the stone wall.

  My eyes flicker downward, studying my enemy, but who I see is hardly the same man who killed Fern. The blanket highlights his thinner frame, his lack of dietary variety clear in the weight he’s lost. His pocked face is clear of the bright red stain he often wore on his cheeks and the dark liner around his eyes he’d parade in before every performance. Forcing my fellow Flowers and me to dance until our petals fell off, leaving us broken and exposed, tucked away in our cages until our next appearance. This man, who stole us away from our families and forced us to comply off the wilted backs of the girls he locked us away with. He almost appears normal right now, the features on his face all blending together to give the appearance of someone wholly unremarkable.

  For some reason that lack of costuming makes my insides roar, the thorn pressing into the bottom of my shoe these past few months finally poking all the way through. How can the man who still makes my hands tremble lie below me, reading, without a care in the world?

  I touch the hilt of my sword for assurance. With a final breath and my fingernails digging into the iron handle, I open the door, the creaking sound echoing in the cavernous space.

  The Gardener turns from his book, his beady eyes shooting toward the door.

  Squaring my shoulders, I stride into the room, hitting the heel of my boots hard against the stone so that it causes the sound to reverberate.

  “Ah, my little Flower has found her way back to her master,” he says, charm oozing out of every word. Apparently the condition I’ve found him in doesn’t warrant the “exotic” accent he puts on underneath the flowing fabrics of his tent. “I was wondering when I’d see my Rose again. Tell me, what day is it?”

  “Get one thing straight, swine, I am not nor was I ever yours.” To accentuate my point, I purposely knock into the rickety stool in the middle of the room, letting the bang echo. “You’re not in control of me.” Not anymore. “And secondly, I’m the one asking the questions.”

  If my words have an effect, he doesn’t show it. Instead he lazily sits up in the alcove like a house cat stretching from a nap. The threadbare tan robe straining to cover his round form is so unlike the gaudy silk shirts he pranced around in while he was running his horror show.

  He sets his book aside but doesn’t move to stand. I stop right before the table in the pale beam of light so he can plainly see how I’ve blossomed without his oppressive thumb to push me into the ground. Tossing my braid behind my back, I plant my feet in a wide stance.

  “No, of course not.” Though his words confirm my statement, the way his face twists into a knowing smile sends anger surging through me. “I’m merely a harmless prisoner of the rebellion.”

  “You can drop that act, too. Everyone knows you’re not harmless.”

  His small, round eyes study me between the constant drip, drip, drip of water falling into the pool. We both barely blink, and his plump face doesn’t change.

  “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about. My only goal is to serve the rebellion.”

  “You’ll outlive your usefulness and—”

  “Then what?” he asks, his bushy eyebrows rising mockingly. “Certainly the good shogun won’t let you kill an unarmed man. Although…I think you’d like to.” He reveals his yellowing teeth. “Perhaps I had you in the wrong role in the Garden. I should have paired you with Shears and let you water the ground with the girls’ blood. Clearly you are much more like my lackeys than I knew.”

  My hand tightens around the hilt of my sword and I grit my teeth, my temper flaring up. I used to be better at controlling my facial expressions. They’re going to get me into trouble one of these days.

  “So tell me, Rose, how did your little mission go? Did you find exactly what you were looking for?”

  My glare shifts above his head.

  “The fact that you can’t look me in the eyes tells me everything,” he says. “Were you able to keep your little secret from the man it would mean something to? Now that the emperor knows who you are, it’s only a matter of time.”

  “He only knows because you told him,” I say.

  “Because information is valuable,” he says.

  “So I’ve heard.”

  After a moment, he rises. From the crack in my cage, he always looked so untouchable, his girth cutting an imposing figure. Or maybe it was the fact that he held our lives in his chubby hands. But seeing him here, the darkness turning his skin pale, I realize we are
at eye level with each other.

  “You will be the death of this rebellion.” How he can hone in on my deepest fear is beyond me. Maybe it’s because he’s spent so long in that space that he’s intimately familiar with it. “Your secret will spread through the empire slowly, killing anyone or anything you hold dear.”

  Oren said a leader faces their fears. No time like the present to face my fears up close and personal. Very soon, the Gardener will wish I hadn’t decided to grow.

  Swiftly, my boots pound against the stone floor, the sound of a small knife at my side singing free from its sheath, my gaze narrowed on the slit of vulnerable skin on his neck. If he wants to smile so badly, I’ll give him a second mouth just below his first. The blade in my hand flashes as I jab the tip right into his bulbous neck. It catches what little light there is, reflecting his unconcerned face back at him.

  “Stop talking.”

  “You won’t do anything. You can’t do anything. The difference between you and me, little Flower, is that the rebellion needs me. Without my knowledge of the emperor’s plans, this place would have already been discovered. Even if I thought you were capable of it, you are—”

  I shove my blade down into his shoulder, slicing through his flesh to warm blood underneath. His short scream reverberates through the room and I smile.

  “Don’t forget where you were before you were here.” I push the blade in farther. “I nearly killed you once already, but this time I’ll be sure to finish the task.”

  The spray of red staining his tan robe mesmerizes me as it blooms fresh. He throws his hands over my creation, falling back into the alcove where he was reading. Satisfaction spreads through my body like a root. It should frighten me, but it doesn’t. No one deserves pain more, even if he is unarmed. All of his victims were unarmed. We were just girls, the Flowers he forced to dance, and the Wilteds he forced to take the dancers’ beatings for misbehaving.

  “You’re mad!” he shouts, his voice bouncing around the room.

  Yanking my blade back, I aim for his chest this time, ready to prove my point again in the clearest way possible. Some place, deep down, part of me is screaming to stop, but I silence it, ready to draw more blood when the clattering of iron on stone resounds in the small space.

  “You’re right.” My voice is a low growl. “I am mad, but I won’t be after I kill you.”

  “Rose, no—stop!” comes a familiar male voice from behind me.

  “Stay away from me!” the Gardener yells, his tone high and twisted in pain.

  That fear shaking his voice is so much like the other voices he forced me to witness over the years… Star crying when he took one of her fingers after Calla tripped, or the burn mark on Fern’s hip when I talked back. Except this time, I’m the one causing the screaming. And from the look in his eyes, it’s finally clear to him now, as plain as the blood oozing down my knife to cover my fingers. I am the one who should be feared.

  Chapter Seven

  For a brief moment as the Gardener screams, everything in my world makes sense. This man that has been the constant shadow clawing onto my back finally trembles because of me, but just as the thought settles into my head, strong arms encompass my shoulders and my back hits something hard as I’m pried away from my tormenter. Thrashing my arms around proves useless against the strong grasp. I dig my feet into the stone to keep from getting dragged away but my assailant picks me up and rushes me back from the Gardener. I fight to keep a grip on my dagger.

  The scent of honey and spice washes over me. “Rayce, let me go!” I growl like an animal being torn away from its kill.

  “Calm down!” Rayce’s grip around my arms remains tighter than iron, and though I kick out my feet, I can’t get enough force to make him drop me. “What in Yun’s beard are you thinking?”

  “She stabbed me.” The Gardener points a bloodied finger toward me.

  “I’ll do a lot more than that!” My mind goes blank as I thrash against Rayce, trying to finish what I started months ago. “I’m not yours. I’ll never be yours!”

  Ignoring me, the Gardener’s angry eyes look above my head to Rayce. “How do you expect me to help you when you can’t even keep me safe?”

  Blood pours from between his fingers as he tries to cover his wound. Good, let him sit with it rotting in the darkness like he forced so many others to do. Maybe it will fester and put him out of his misery.

  “You aren’t helping anyone, you monster!” I shout. “The only way you’d be of any use to anyone is if you weren’t breathing.”

  “Stop it, now!” Rayce yells, tugging me across the cell in a few short strides. Though I toss and turn in his grasp like a wild thing on fire, he holds me securely to him. “Both of you.”

  “Do you think he would have stopped if the roles were reversed?” I ask, twisting around in his arms to glare at the Gardener.

  Pieces of my hair have fallen out of my braid, sticking to my sweaty face and blocking part of my view. He sets me down near the door and I finally get a peek at his face. His eyes simmer with an anger I haven’t seen since he last faced his uncle.

  “Not another word from either of you,” Rayce says.

  “Then you don’t want to know where you can get more troops?” The Gardener nurses his shoulder, rocking back and forth in the alcove to stave off the pain.

  Rayce’s mouth curls in disgust. “Make no mistake, you’re only here because of what you know. When the secrets stop coming, there are other ways we can make you talk. You’re only as useful as the information you can provide to us.”

  “I can’t provide any information if I’m dead!” the Gardener shouts.

  After a long pause, Rayce calls over the older man guarding the cell and tells him to bring aid to the Gardener. The guard’s eyes widen, taking in the scene before him, and he looks from the prisoner to the bloody dagger still in my hands.

  “You know”—the Gardener’s voice curls around my neck like a tightening rope—“I’ve been nothing if not cooperative, supplying you information freely without coercion.”

  “And you’ve lived rather comfortably for it,” Rayce says.

  “Considering the conditions you kept me in,” I add, taking a step forward.

  Cold air wafts through the large open space, slipping through the fabric of my robe. The anger pulsing through my blood just a second before succumbs to the chill as the realization at how wrong my plan went begins to settle into my bones.

  “I was told that I would be safe here as long as I cooperated,” the Gardener says. “But this is not the case. I must admit, shogun, that my feelings are hurt. I could reveal a way for you to obtain extra troops. Isn’t that what you and your little second-in-command were discussing yesterday when you thought I was asleep?” His mouth curls up into a wicked smile, mirroring the way he used to look right before he would order a Wilted to be harmed.

  Rayce ignores him, putting a hand on the small of my back to lead me out of the cell. “Come on, Rose, we’re going.”

  “Over a hundred trained soldiers that would fight for you,” the Gardener continues, his voice weaving through the air like a spell. “Stolen right from under the emperor’s nose.”

  The iron door handle chills my skin as I grab it to leave. His words hit my back like moths to a flame, but they aren’t meant for me. My gaze slips to Rayce, who holds his jaw clenched and his back rigid.

  “The only thing I ask in return is that the girl apologizes by serving me dinner every night, and a finer dinner at that. I’ll give you a menu. Then you would be able to spare your thinning troops from fighting against the entire empire. Think of the secrets these Sun soldiers could provide you about your uncle’s plans. Think of the people you wouldn’t have to sentence to certain doom.”

  Rayce falters at the snake’s words, his hand on the small of my back, gripping my robe. It’s impossible to tell whether he is trying to slow me down or keep himself from turning around. I can make the decision easier for him.

  “I wou
ld rather die,” I say, whipping my head around, “than serve you anything.”

  Rayce presses harder on my back and keeps moving. The second my boots pass through the doorway, my pounding heart begins to slow, even more so when I hear the door to the Gardener’s cage slam shut behind us. But Rayce’s firm grip sends a tendril of dread pulsing through my body, and I wipe my bloodied hands on the side of my robe.

  Rayce doesn’t speak as we walk the same steadily inclining hallway, staying two paces behind me. His silence serves to further fray my nerves and the ball of frustration in my gut tempts me to turn around and scream at him. Or go back in the Gardener’s cell and punch him in the face until I can’t lift my arm any longer.

  So much for facing my fears. Trying to do that led me straight into trouble. At this rate, I’ll never become the partner Rayce needs, no matter how much good advice Oren gave me.

  Only when we see a woman pass us, carrying a bundle of gauze in one hand and some healing vials in the other, does Rayce finally stop.

  Turning sharply on my boot, I only catch the top of his head. It’s hard to tell if his shoulders slump because he’s upset or has just given up. Excuses form in my throat and hang on the tip of my tongue, waiting for the moment he finally addresses me.

  “What on earth would make you do something so foolish?” The accusation in his voice bursts the fragile bubble holding in my anger. He looks up, revealing simmering eyes, and he clenches his jaw so tightly he might break his teeth. “Have you lost all of your sense?”

  “Of course not, but you aren’t listening to me.” I throw my hand back toward the way we came to exaggerate my point. “I knew if I spoke to him alone he’d reveal his true plans.”

  “Talking is not the same as stabbing someone, Rose.” He takes a deep breath, and when he speaks again, some of the anger that shook his tone is gone. “Do you have any idea what this is going to look like? You directly disobeyed an order. I forbade you from coming down here.”