“They might’ve already started the council,” he said.
Andeal dropped the spoon and swallowed hard. His Burgian friend would not look at him. “What do you mean, they already started? They can’t have. Not without me.”
Joshua gave him a dismissive shrug. “Maniel protested at first but Seraphin insisted. They left me to watch over you.”
“No…”
Panic built from Andeal’s guts and up his throat. It pushed his fever away and returned strength to his muscles. The engineer threw his blankets away before sliding off the bed. His head spun and black stains obscured his vision. He waited for them to fade away before taking his first hesitant step. Joshua stood and half-supported, half-restrained him.
“You’re in no state to fly to your captain’s rescue. Sit down and eat.”
“I can talk. I can walk. I’m fit to go.” He grabbed Joshua’s fingers and removed them one by one. “I have to.”
Joshua gave him a long and silent look—an odd, serious expression for him. His redheaded friend spent more time joking and gambling than making important decisions and thinking through consequences. He was a boon to the rebels’ morale but not their chief planner.
“The Lady must love that man. He doesn’t deserve a champion like you.”
He stepped back, hands raised in defeat. Andeal hurried out of the room, stumbling through the first steps, and Joshua called after him as he crossed the door.
“I’ll eat your breakfast though!”
It brought a smile to Andeal’s lips but he didn’t stop to reply. He strode down the corridors, a hand on the wall for support. The tunnels seemed narrower than usual, as though they’d close in on him. Every step sapped his strength. The pain from his wound grew as he advanced, numbing his other senses. It left behind nothing but his anger. Seraphin knew he’d defend Hans but instead of waiting to hear him, he forced an early meeting. The blatant attempt to circumvent set his mind ablaze. These were his friends, his wife! He’d trusted them but it seemed Vermen’s unilateral execution was more important. Andeal’s outrage carried him through the network.
When he reached the meeting room, he felt woozy. His temporary vitality had vanished. He waited, his back to the wall, for his mind to clear once more and his balance to return. The voices inside felt distant but he knew he should hear every word. Settled against the wall, Andeal couldn’t help but giggle. What mess was he about to create?
He took a deep breath, wiped the sweat from his forehead, and entered the room.
Everyone hushed as he stepped into view. He walked to the wooden table around which Maniel, Seraphin, and Stern sat and grabbed the back of a chair for support. Stern glared at him from his left, tall and serious while Seraphin leaned back, his lips a thin line. Maniel moved to stand but Andeal stopped her with a raised hand.
“No, please, go on,” he said. “I’d love to hear what decisions you’d make without me.”
The silence endured after his intervention. Stern tapped his finger on the table, Seraphin cracked his knuckles. Heat rose to Andeal’s cheeks as they confirmed his doubts: they didn’t dare repeat what they’d said in front of him. He stood and set both hands on the table—as much for the support as for the impression. He captured Seraphin’s gaze and held the red-tinged eyes.
“This is disgusting.”
“Andeal…”
He ignored Maniel. Her agreement to this farce hurt him more than anyone else’s. Seraphin hadn’t twitched. He’d removed his glasses and waited for the onslaught.
“Did you throw your decency to the winds, Seraphin? This man spared your life and saved mine. He’s not a sick horse to execute but here you are, ready to condemn him. How is that fair? He doesn’t stand a chance without anyone to defend him.” Andeal’s breath was shaky and his fever fueled his anger. “You’re scared of what I have to say. Scared that I’m right, that he’s not his brother, that he knows what justice and honor mean. That he could be an ally. How can you fight a corrupt government and its suspicious ascent to power then cheat on a simple meeting? This is…”
A bout of dizziness forced him to stop. The table pitched and he stared at his blue hands until the world stabilized. Seraphin had maintained a straight face through his tirade. When he spoke, however, his voice turned cold and sharp.
“Are you done now?” he asked. “Sit down.”
Andeal plopped into the creaking chair, knowing his legs wouldn’t support him any longer. His Regarian friend leaned forward and continued.
“We let you rest because executing Captain Hans Vermen was already out of the question. Maniel made it clear from the start she wouldn’t come unless we respected your wishes. Perhaps you should spend less time at his side before you forget who your friends are.”
“I…” Andeal rubbed his face. Shame replaced his outrage and a headache built under his skull. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said…” He wrestled control over his voice and lifted his chin. He’d made a huge mistake but now was not the time to flatten and give up. Andeal shoved his growing guilt in a corner of his brain. “I got carried away. I apologize. What, then, were you discussing?”
“Not much.” Stern didn’t have Seraphin’s calm and his anger showed through his gritted teeth. “We lack a better solution. We can’t free him but we can’t feed him forever. There’s barely enough for us to eat.”
Maniel set her hand on his forearm. “You should return to our room. You’re still running a fever and I can tell you’re dizzy and weak. We can do this alone.”
“No. I can stay.” Screw his headache, his temperature, his shaky hands. He knew Vermen the best here and could help find a solution. He’d started thinking about this days ago. “In fact, I think I have your answer.”
Seraphin’s gaze went to Maniel. Did Andeal need permission from his wife to speak now? He squashed his rising anger—his hurried deductions had caused enough damage for the day. She sighed and withdrew her hand. Her exasperated frown told him he was in for a scolding tonight. Nothing irritated Maniel like someone disobeying her medical advice. Andeal gave her his best apologetic smile then gathered his thoughts into a coherent string.
“Two things pushed Hans Vermen to try an escape. First he thought his life was threatened. Second, he’s inactive. He roams his cell in circles, doing nothing but the occasional push-ups, and it’s driving him crazy. Tell him there’ll be no execution, take him out of his cell, and make him work.”
Dubious stares welcomed his suggestion. Beads of sweat formed on Andeal’s brow but he resisted the temptation to wipe them. He wished he’d seen Hans before this meeting. He had no idea if the captain would agree to help them. The poor man might be preparing for death even now.
Stern voiced his protests first.
“When there’s a spy in your midst, you don’t show him your secrets. One of our enemies just tried to escape and you want him to roam free in the tunnels?”
“He’s not our enemy.” Andeal’s gaze flitted to Seraphin, who shifted in his chair. Its loud creak filled the uncomfortable silence. “He’s Seraphin’s. He fought the rebels to get to him, not us.”
“I am not responsible for his actions. He caused these men’s deaths, not I.” Seraphin set his palm on the table, a habit that usually hid their shaking. “He made himself our enemy. The others will never accept working at his side. Letting him loose is not only a risk for our security. It’s a risk for his and mine.”
Seraphin was poised on his chair, as if ready to bolt. The unnatural whiteness of his knuckles and the widening of his eyes betrayed him. A plea. Don’t let it happen again. Seraphin’s fear of Vermen reminded Andeal of his own—of the labs, the white coats, the minuscule cells, the tests.
“He won’t hurt you,” Andeal whispered.
“You can’t know that.”
No. He only hoped for it. Vermen was devoted and restless. If they could capitalize on his energy…Andeal’s guts told him that after last night’s events, the captain would not betray him. No proof
confirmed his instincts, however.
“We should chain him,” Maniel said. “Remember those long shackles we stole from Reverence’s police station, two years ago? With those at his feet, he could walk but not run. He could work but any attempt to escape would be easy to thwart.”
Andeal restrained his sudden urge to kiss his wife. What a brilliant compromise! Once Vermen was out, he could meet other rebels, get to know not just him, but everyone. With time, perhaps, he might forget the tattered uniform he clung to. A smile birthed on his lips as he considered the future but Stern’s severe expression killed it.
“How wonderful a target he’ll be, then! Do you have any idea how many of us would love to smash his nose? How many are eagerly awaiting this council, hoping that we will shoot him? This will cause problems.”
“We’re all civilized folks,” Andeal said. “I’m sure they’ll find the discipline to hold their punches.”
“Discipline!” Stern sneered. “They aren’t soldiers.”
Andeal’s hand curled into a fist. Always, Stern lorded his military background over them. The rebels might be a potluck of outlaws, idealists, and homeless people, but they’d proven their determination and strength through the years.
“It doesn’t make them savage brutes. Proof: I’m not a soldier and I’m not punching you.”
Anger flashed across Stern’s face and he stood, rattling his chair on the ground. Before he could say anything, Seraphin snapped.
“Enough!”
Their leader glared at both of them in turn, then motioned for Stern to sit. The soldier obeyed, biting back his retort, but his gaze never left Andeal as Seraphin spoke.
“Captain Vermen will have his hands free. He can defend himself, as Joshua can attest to. I am inclined to try Maniel’s suggestion.” Every word seemed to cost him and he enunciated them with care. Although he’d chased the fear from his eyes, his jaw and neck remained tense. “This, however, assumes our good officer will accept.”
“He will.”
“He can’t,” Stern countered. “Not anymore.”
The finality in his tone took everyone aback. A lump formed in Andeal’s stomach. Stern refused to meet Seraphin’s gaze, a clear sign he’d gone against orders—and when it came to Vermen, there was but one clear order: don’t kill him. The Regarian’s tautness did not vanish.
“What do you mean?” he asked Stern.
The man’s discomfort was obvious, but he kept his shoulders squared. He took a deep breath in and stared at Andeal as he answered. “Most rebels have not forgotten those killed by Hans Vermen. They wanted justice.”
“No…”
“Where?”
Stern ignored Seraphin’s question and gritted his teeth together. Andeal’s urge to stride around the table and break his nose grew with every passing second. Before he could give in to the desire, Seraphin slammed his palms on the table.
“Dammit Stern, tell me where!”
“No!” This time Stern met his leader’s gaze. “I’m doing the right thing. You know it is, you just don’t have the courage to do it.”
“The right thing was to shoot Klaus Vermen. And when the time came for it, I got my father’s gun, strode into his tent, looked into his eyes and pressed the trigger. But Hans is a different man. If you believed for one second this was right, you wouldn’t be here, at this table. You’d be there and you’d at least have the guts to watch him die. Now, where are they?”
“The-the summit.”
“Good. To your room, soldier. I’ll want a word after.”
He spun on his heels and hurried out of the room. Andeal cast a dark look at Stern and scrambled after him. He managed two steps before his vision blackened and a strong hand caught his wrist, holding him up.
“Don’t you dare follow him. You have an appointment with your bed.” Maniel guided him toward the exit. “You’ll have to trust him, this time. You’re in no state to help.”
Heat burned Andeal’s cheeks as they proceeded through the corridor. He hadn’t given them a chance to defend themselves and prove him wrong, earlier. Perhaps he never should’ve left that bed. In a single rant, he’d damaged his two most important relationships for the sake of a man he barely knew—a man who might be dead already, thanks to Stern. Andeal wiped the sweat from his forehead. With every step he took, he leaned a little more on his wife. By the time they reached their room, his burning fever put an indistinct haze over the rest of the world.
Maniel was right on one thing: he was in no state to help.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The day after his night watching over Andeal, the rebels gave Vermen a new definition of a rude awakening. They broke through the damaged door, thrust a bag over his head before he could even straighten up, then shoved him to the ground. Confused, his heart pumping, he tried to push himself back up but a boot stomped his right hand, straight on the bite mark. He retracted it with a cry of pain, bringing a smattering of chuckles from his assailant. They grabbed his wrists, tied them behind his back, and lifted him to his feet. Vermen took a moment to regain his balance, his breath short, his head already hot in the bag.
“I’m going to go ahead and guess Andeal’s not aware of this,” he said.
“Aye. Somebody wounded him so bad, we couldn’t wake him.”
Vermen gritted his teeth. This couldn’t end well for him. He’d known this might happen when he’d caught Andeal’s bloodied body, had accepted the risk, but the prospect of dying so soon formed a lump in his throat. He hadn’t even talked with Andeal one last time. They pressed a gun—a shotgun, from the feel of the barrel—to his back.
“Move.”
Another rebel pulled him along, out of the cell. He wouldn’t die in his room, then. That explained the bag over his head. As they marched him through the corridors, it occurred to Vermen this wasn’t how he’d expected it to go. The rebels’ treatment of him had been ridiculously considerate since he’d been dragged in by Seraphin. They’d granted him a comfortable cell and he’d had a companion to chat with every day—not that he’d made the most of the conversations—and he was well fed, at almost regular hours. Maniel had even let him stay out of his cell for the night. He’d thought…This should be Holt leading him to the block. Not a random rebel he’d never met. The Regarian was a cold-blooded murderer but not a coward.
“I’m guessing Seraphin’s not aware of this either.”
This time, an awkward silence followed his statement. He imagined them, glancing at each other, ill at ease. Vermen snickered.
“What a cute band of lawless killers. You can’t even wait for your leader’s approval.”
A baton crashed against his back, knocking him down. He fell forward and landed on his face. Vermen struggled not to scream despite the pain running up his spine and tried to slow his breathing. The bag gave him the impression he was slowly choking.
“Shut up,” they warned as they heaved him up and pushed forward.
Vermen obeyed, more because he had nothing to add than because he cared about what they wanted. They led him through the tunnels going up the mountain, the slope steeper with every minute. The waterfall’s background roar covered the sound of their footsteps, but Vermen thought he counted five rebels. The air in his tiny bag grew hot and stuffy. Sweat drenched his forehead as they progressed, and soon he couldn’t breathe properly. He swallowed, tried to calm his quickening heart. He’d suffocate in this bag long before they reached their destination.
A sudden draft of fresh air blew the thought away, piercing through the tissue’s mesh. Three steps later, strong gusts of wind blew from his left, pushing against his body. He could feel the sun’s warmth on his clothes and hands. They’d left the caverns. He’d die outside, somewhere on Mount Kairn’s slope. Better than buried under tons of rock.
The rebels led him up a tiny staircase then pushed him along uneven rocks. Wind buffeted him. He kept placing his foot where there was no flat surface and fell twice, each time bringing a string of chuckles. His
elbows and knees hurt from the successive impacts but he clenched his jaw and held his protests in. Any kind of insult or plea would amuse them further. Instead he straightened himself back up, ignoring their jests at his expense.
“Look at him, so dignified. Stern would’ve had a blast.”
“He’s way cuter with that bag over his head.”
“Think he’ll fall again? You know what they say: third time’s the charm.”
He did not stumble a third time. He reached a large flat rock and stopped. The five rebels had a short whispered argument on whether or not they should remove the bag. Stern’s name came up more than once in the discussion. From what he overheard, at least one of them insisted he should stay standing, his head free. Judging from his voice, he was younger. He couldn’t convince the others.
Hans felt their return by the way their bodies blocked the wind. With the sunlight he could make out general shapes moving through the bag. They surrounded him. Not a good sign. You did not surround a man you were about to shoot, not from this close—you’d get your clothes bloodied. The one in front of him spoke.
“Do you remember Erika?”
Of course he remembered her. Curly brown hair, quick wits, multiple charges of thievery already registered against her. He’d caught her two years ago, sent her to prison. He turned his body to answer the voice. Before he could pronounce a single word, however, a bat crashed against his side. He flinched and jumped away. They pushed him back to the middle of the circle.
“And Justin. You remember Justin?”
The hit came from the front this time, crushing the air out of his lungs before he could recall this one. He’d say it was the young blond from Mikken they’d killed in a shootout, when they’d caught the rebels in Serenity. That boy was dead, at least, not just imprisoned. Vermen swallowed hard. Were they going to name every rebel he’d put in jail and call it murder? How long did they intend to keep this up? Perhaps he could speed it up for them.
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