War of the Wilted

by Amber Mitchell

  Lily frowns. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s gotten into her.”

  She runs after her twin, Clover trailing like a ghost behind them.

  Marin grabs my hand. “For the record, I disagree. I think this deal is the perfect way to coerce the Gardener into revealing his true plans. If I were you, I would agree and use him for information.”

  “I don’t know if I can face him again.”

  She nods. “Whatever you decide, I’ll support you.”

  Marin squeezes my hand once and hurries after the other girls. I stand rooted in my place, watching my courage disappear with her and turn around, tugging down the end of my crimson robe and undoing the topknot of my high collar as the kitchen door comes into view. The clack of my boots sounds out in the cavernous room, each empty set of long tables I pass judging me.

  Revulsion stirs in my stomach at having to actually submit myself to serving the Gardener once more, but is it worth it to finally figure out what he’s up to?

  Fern down on her knees, long dark hair spilling wildly down her back, flashes before me, almost as if she’s in front of the kitchen door. The Gardener killed her without a second thought. Will I really be able to serve her murderer? Even if it is to use him.

  I push through the kitchen door, banishing the image from my head. It slams inward, colliding against the stone wall, and the loud crack echoes in the empty space.

  Rayce clutches a kitchen knife in his floured hand, his back pressed up to the third of three long wooden tables in the small room. When he sees it’s me, he takes a deep breath, setting the blade down, and grabs a honey crisp from a small green bowl next to him, popping it into his mouth.

  “Gods, Rose, you’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?” He runs his hand through his hair. It leaves behind a white streak against his raven locks, several strands slipping onto his forehead from the top bun he always puts it in while he’s cooking.

  “More like maim you permanently.”

  He doesn’t laugh at my joke. My gaze slides from him to just behind him where an entire mountain of pots and pans waits for me from the lunch rush. I roll my eyes. It’s been that way for the last few days, but I was hoping for a small break today. The idea of being in here with him any longer than I have to be churns my stomach. It’ll just give him more opportunity to press me for an answer I still don’t have.

  He wipes his powdered hands on a short ivory apron, clearing his throat. “I thought you might not come.”

  Maybe I should lie, but we aren’t going to get anywhere keeping secrets from each other. A lesson I learned the hard way.

  “I thought about it.”

  He lifts his head up to the ceiling so that I can’t see his reaction. Not that it would matter anyway. I’m held captive by the way his deep breath pushes up the muscles in his chest peeking through his white under robe. I force my eyes away from him and walk through the kitchen, past him, on the way to the sink. On the table in front of him, I catch a doughy lump and the sweet scent of honey tickles my nose. I’m not surprised he’s making honey crisps instead of dinner.

  “I’m glad you did.” He turns back to his work, his voice louder now that he’s facing me. “Considering it’s supposed to be a punishment for disobeying my orders.”

  Keeping my back to him, I dump far more soap than necessary into the wooden tub of water and snatch up the sponge, the only weapon I’ve been permitted to touch in the past few days.

  “Yes, you’ve made that very clear.”

  My response must get to him, because the sound of the rolling pin punishing his dough fills the room while I rip the first crusted pot from the pile and hurl it into the soapy water.

  “It isn’t like you gave me much of a choice in the matter,” he says. “If you’d listen to me, just once, maybe we wouldn’t be in this situation.”

  Throwing the sponge down in the bucket, I spin around and glare at him. He’s suspended over his creation on the table, the muscles in his arms flexing as he grips onto the wooden roller as if he’s one word away from snapping it in half.

  “Oh, so this is my fault?” Fury shakes my voice. “I tried to talk to you about all of this, but between you brushing me off, being too tired to discuss things, or shooting down everything I say, I don’t really see how I had a choice.”

  He throws the cooking utensil down on the table and walks around it, crossing the space between us the way fire spreads over logs. All at once, he’s only a few inches from me, ready to set me burning.

  “Because you don’t get a choice with an order, Rose,” he says. “That’s how it works. It’s not like I go around demanding things from you all the time. I only ever give you orders when I have to, and it’s to keep you and those around you safe. You know I would never abuse my power.”

  A war rages inside me, anger mixing with my desire to reach out and touch his jawline. The infuriating need to wrap my arms around him, feel the way his muscles flex as he pulls me close, his hands leaving a flour trail everywhere he embraces, mixes with my need for him to listen. But I can’t have both.

  “Then stop trying to.” I stare defiantly back into his eyes.

  He grabs onto his apron, snowing flour onto the ground as he twists it into a tight knot. He lets out a strained sigh. “I’m not here to fight with you. Too much has happened and I really don’t have the mental capacity to focus on another problem.” He lets go of his apron and runs his hand through his hair, knocking some loose from his topknot. “Have you given any thought to what the Gardener said?”

  Perhaps I should take his words as a peace treaty, but the way he suggested I’m just another problem he has to deal with makes me more furious. I take a step forward, so close to him now I could lift up on my tiptoes and kiss him if I didn’t want to shake him so much.

  “So again, I’m not allowed to speak to him until it’s convenient for you. Do you know how wrong that is?”

  He opens his mouth to respond, but the sound of the door opening cuts us off, and I take a step back, putting some space between us. Even though we’re furious with each other, it’s like we’re still drawn to be near by some invisible force. The only thing worse than being near him right now is being apart.

  When I turn toward our spellbreaker, I see Arlo walking fast toward us. His face is drawn in a tight line, lacking the easy smile that he usually wears.

  “Was I interrupting something?” he asks.

  It seems to have become his favorite pastime lately.

  “No,” I say, growing louder at the end to cover Rayce’s “Yes.”

  I narrow my eyes at Rayce. Maybe he thought he was getting an answer, but that’s not the case here.

  “Sorry about not interrupting then,” Arlo says. He turns to Rayce. “The unit we sent to Dongsu just got back, and it’s urgent that you hear their report.”

  Rayce straightens his weary shoulders and takes a deep breath, instantly rearranging his face to the cool, decisive lines of a leader. His ability to push everything else aside to attend his people makes him a great leader, but sometimes it makes being with him nearly impossible.

  “Thanks for letting me know,” he says, wiping his hands on his apron before trading it for his discarded robe. “I’ll be back shortly.”

  Without waiting for my response, he heads for the door, his shoulders squared. He takes the air with him as he leaves the room. Even the lights become duller without his presence.

  “If there’s nothing else,” I say to Arlo, turning back to the dishes, “these won’t wash themselves.”

  I sounded rude, but if I’m being honest, Arlo’s habit of interrupting us at every turn has me annoyed. The pot I threw in the water has sunk to the bottom, and I hiss as the chilly water attacks me all the way up to my elbow. After so much heat a second ago, the coldness should be welcome. Arlo’s shadow joins mine on the wall, but he stops a comfortable distance away, respecting my unspoken need for personal space.

  He clears his throat. “I’ve been looking for the right
time to approach you, but you’ve made yourself pretty scarce the last few days. My sister mentioned that you were reading an interesting book in your spare time.”

  My hands freeze on the dish as I try to remember what book he’s referring to. I haven’t had time to read since the first day we came back here. Then the small brown book sitting in the cubby above my bed comes to mind. Oren’s book on poisons. She did say that Arlo and Oren used to talk about them at length, that it was an interest of his. But I don’t have time to wax poetic about the benefits of liquid over powder poisons when there are far more pressing matters at hand, like figuring out what I’m going to tell Rayce about the Gardener’s proposition.

  Arlo takes a step forward, the glint of humor in his eyes replaced by something indefinable, but the intensity there compels me to pay attention.

  “So? What does that have to do with anything?”

  He frowns, resting his hand on the edge of the wooden bucket. “I overheard you arguing with Rayce on the Blue Wall and back at base afterward. He told me why you’re in here. I know that you snuck in to see the Gardener and I know what he asked of you.”

  Grabbing the sponge in a tight fist, I begin to scrub the burned-on stain stubbornly clinging to the pot, instead of snapping at Arlo.

  “I still don’t understand why it’s any of your business.”

  His hand disappears into his dark green robe and he pulls out a tiny vial, not unlike the one around my neck filled with Zarenite. Instead of the green powder in mine, this one is filled with a liquid the color of the sky wrung out. Desert rose.

  “Because I think you were on the right track with your reading.”

  He meets my gaze and the steady way he stares sends shivers up the back of my spine. It’s like he can read my thoughts in a single glance. Part of me wonders if this is another one of Rayce’s tests, but the way Arlo leans in, keeping his hand firmly over the vial, and whispers seems like he genuinely doesn’t want anyone else to know. Besides, even when Rayce believed I might be an assassin for the emperor, he was always transparent with his suspicions. He wouldn’t send Arlo to trick me.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I turn back to my punishment, taking extra care to keep my movements controlled.

  “You do,” he says. “And I want to help you. Piper didn’t figure out how the Borenite healed you, but she did figure out why it killed the other man. It’s poison in its most basic form, and if you’re brave enough to take it, you might be able to get what Rayce wants and kill the Gardener in the process.”

  Chapter Nine

  The little blue bottle he holds in between us beckons me nearer, promising a solution that seems too good to be true. My palm shakes as I reach out to grab the vial from his hand to examine it closer. Can I really hold the answer to all my problems in the palm of my hand?

  “Are you suggesting that I give this to the Gardener?” I ask.

  He nods. “Accept the deal the Gardener demanded and give him a drop in every meal. Prolonged exposure to the liquid should make his death slow. Headaches, numb lips, upset stomach. By the time his vision fades, and he floats off into nothingness, there will be no way to link it back to you, as long as no one finds that bottle. Rayce gets his information and you get resolution.”

  The cold glass feels a hundred times heavier than it should. What he’s suggesting is treason. If Rayce were to ever find out about this, he would never forgive me. Or Arlo for that matter. My gaze flickers to Arlo, standing so close I can see the dark brown ring capturing the sandy color of his irises inside.

  Were his eyes always this intense?

  Almost golden. Maybe that’s because he’s usually taller, but right now he’s ducking down, the firelight making his honey-colored highlights dance.

  “Why would you tell me this?” I ask. “You know killing the Gardener goes against Rayce’s direct orders. He wants the Gardener alive, even if it is the wrong choice.”

  My stomach expands, trapping too much air, as I wait for him to respond.

  “Because I agree with you,” he whispers, his voice low. “The Gardener shouldn’t be allowed to live after what he did to you and the others, and I know Oren would feel the same way.”

  A frown tugs on my lips, the tiny vial just a squeeze away from breaking in my grasp. Rayce’s hands are so big around mine, his fingers thick and sturdy, though his touch is as gentle as the whisper of butterfly wings. But Arlo’s thin, long fingers wrap around my hand with a nimbleness that Rayce could never accomplish, their sure movement comforting in an entirely different way.

  “You’re Rayce’s second-in-command,” I say. “If he finds out about this—”

  “So don’t let him find out.” He lets go of my hand, sticking both of his in his pockets. “Just because I’m on Rayce’s side doesn’t mean we always agree. I understand the need for vengeance, that burning feeling that hollows out your chest. I understand it all too well.” He lets out a deep breath.

  It’s clear by his tone that he’s speaking about the emperor. Though I have no doubt he wants to build the same world Rayce fights for, Arlo’s entire reason for being here is also personal.

  Biting my bottom lip, I take a second to gather my thoughts before I respond. “Because you want vengeance on the emperor?”

  Silence stretches between us for a few heartbeats and his eyes bore in to mine, his brows twisted over his seething eyes.

  “Yes.” The word is dark and ominious from his mouth. “For what he did to my family, for the life he forced my sister and me into, for all the pain he has caused.” His lighter eyes flicker away toward the fire and he straightens. “When I say I understand your want for vengeance, I mean it.”

  Sadness grips my heart. Marin joined the rebellion because she wants to see a better future, and it’s clear through Arlo’s actions that he wants that, too, but his words just now paint a slightly different picture. Something we both understand as naturally as breathing.

  “I know that the Gardener’s information is necessary, which is why I’m not telling you to be so overt about ending him. Poison will do that without casting blame on anyone. You both get your way.”

  “Are you sure about this?”

  He considers my question, his lips parting to answer, but he shuts them, perhaps reconsidering.

  “Yes, I’m sure.”

  The creaking of the door opening sends our gazes back to the front of the kitchen as Rayce strides in, shaking out his hands, his mouth drawn in a grim line. While Arlo turns to face him fully, I twist back to the dishes and tuck the vial into the right side of my robe. The chill stings me as it sits snug between my breasts.

  “The scouts briefed you.” Arlo doesn’t ask.

  “I really hope what they saw was an illusion,” Rayce says, wiping his hand over his face.

  With the vial safely out of sight, I swing around to face him. He paces the length of the kitchen like a trapped animal, his hands linked behind his back, a haunted look in his eyes.

  His jolted, staccato movement pushes aside the last of my anger from earlier. “What did they see?” Rayce crosses the kitchen quickly and leans on the last table nearest us, but the way he stares at the wall reveals he’s thinking about more than just this conversation.

  “An entire army. Not that they could tell me much more than that. Only that it didn’t look the same as the Sun Soldiers’ uniforms.”

  I scrunch up my nose, trying to figure out what that would even mean.

  “But who else would it be?” I ask.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Rayce says. “Whether it’s Sun soldiers or some other threat, without more troops, we don’t stand a chance of fending them off.”

  His gaze settles onto me, the unspoken question he hasn’t asked yet hanging between us, almost as damning as the vial of poison stuffed inside my robe. Indecision weighs on me so heavily I’d give anything to slip between the soap bubbles and disappear. If I do this, if I willfully deceive Rayce and go with Arlo’s plan, we both get
our way, but at what cost? The Gardener’s face comes unbidden in my mind, the whisper of Fern’s fingers twisting through my hair, the girl I loved like a sister and he stole from me. The choice leaves me torn asunder, my roots reaching deeper underground as my petals long for the sky.

  Arlo clears his throat, the sound slicing through our staring contest. “I’ll leave you two be.”

  Ironic that the first time I want him around to interrupt, he chooses that time to leave us alone.

  Rayce nods, but his gaze doesn’t break from my face. I stare back at him, wondering when we shifted from partners to enemies. Our argument from the day before flickers through my mind. I want to tell him that yesterday I had intended to face the Gardener as much for myself as for him. He has always been my safe place, and the need to confide my fear that I might never become the woman he needs me to be, the woman who can sit next to his side burns in my stomach, but the weight of his gaze stills my tongue.

  “I’m sorry I even have to ask you this, Rose, but with the recent news, our need for more hands has become even greater.” He sucks in air like the next thing he has to say stole it away from him. “Will you accept the terms the Gardener offered so we can get this information?” His voice is low and deep. “If you think you can’t, I understand.”

  The uncertainty in his movement tempts me into saying yes. Perhaps this sacrifice can be the thing that builds a bridge back to him. The vial Arlo gave me feels more like a boulder on my chest. Allowing him to believe I’m doing this for our cause is wrong, but Arlo is right—it’s the only way we can both win and Rayce will never need to know.

  “If his demands are the only way to help the rebellion, then I’ll do it.”

  The words should be far more satisfying. This little trick is the way we both get what we want. So why does it feel so shallow?

  More secrets.

  His eyes widen. Clearly he isn’t used to me giving in. I’m not sure whether to take that as a compliment or insult.

  “You have no idea how relieved I am to hear you say that.” He lets out a breath, his shoulders deflating as his tension dissolves. “It takes so much pressure off. Thank you, Rose. I can’t even imagine what this must be like for you. I wanted to protect you from him, that’s why I tried to keep you away from there in the first place. I know this isn’t easy and I’m willing to do whatever it takes to make you feel safe. If you want me to walk with you every night, and stand right inside the cell, I will. Whatever it takes to make this as easy for you as possible.”