Reign: Populations Crumble, Book 3

by K. A. Gandy

  A man I don’t recognize eventually whistles, and the exuberant chatter stops. “Welcome, family. Are we ready to eat?”

  A cheer goes up from the hungry crowd, and in the blink of an eye a line has formed, and we’re heading towards the back. We spot Glitch at one point, mingling with a group of men. Many other adults stop and introduce themselves to us on their way by our section of the line, and I lose track of all the names and faces before we reach the food. Despite the fun, worry niggles at the back of my mind incessantly.

  Nonetheless, the parts of the meal I can stomach are delicious, and I spend plenty of time pushing the rest around my plate when nausea rises up.

  While we eat, someone sets out a large flat rectangle. A massive screen slowly unfurls from it, and starts to play a newsreel.

  The first clip—Helena giving mundane updates about holiday guard schedules—passes quickly. Next are more unknown faces, and I quickly tune the news out and focus on the antics at our table. I’m nearly crying with laughter as Delia hangs spaghetti noodles from her brother’s upper lip, when a voice I’d recognize anywhere pours from the screen.

  “We don’t know who you are. We don’t know where you are. But I promise that we will find you. If you hurt a single hair on their heads, the wrath of the entire NAA will decimate you.” Relief floods me, and I have to hold back an ecstatic sob despite his battered appearance. His cheek has a blooming bruise across it, and I can see large purplish smudges all around his neck beginning to turn green at the edges, and the top of a sling on his left arm is in the shot. “We will not rest, we will not stop, and we will not accept any less than the return of both heirs in perfect health. The king has authorized capital punishment on sight for anyone who interferes with the return of the prince and princess, and we will not hesitate to execute his orders on this matter.”

  I feel like I can’t breathe, as I look into Peter’s larger-than-life eyes, hardened with resolve. My heart doesn’t want to beat, and numb gratitude that he’s alive—beaten badly, but alive—is all I can feel. Patrick slips his arm around my shoulders, and presses a kiss to my temple.

  “Keep it together, Sadie. He’s okay.” His words are a bare whisper against my ear.

  Swallowing hard, I force a neutral expression back on my face as Candy Thomas from NAA One appears on the screen next to Peter, concern etched across her features as she lays a palm on his shoulder.

  “Peter, I can only imagine how hard this must be for you, on a personal level. I myself have no siblings, but Princess Sadie is your younger sister, is she not?”

  His voice drops nearly a full octave when he answers, “Yes, she is.”

  “Do you have a personal message you’d like to share, in addition to the official message from the king’s office? If Sadie is out there listening right now, what would you want her to hear from her big brother?”

  His eyes tighten at the corners, but he gives no other sign of emotion away. He clears his throat, “We love you, Sadie, and we are coming for you. I’ll always come through for you, no matter what.”

  My heart is in my throat at his message, and I turn away from the screen as Candy continues talking on her own, Peter no longer in the frame.

  “It’s so sad, honestly,” Tate observes. “That poor girl had no clue what she was getting herself into, and she’s probably getting butchered in a lab right now.” He bites a hunk out of a chicken wing, and chews thoughtfully.

  “Tate, how morbid! They’re probably holding onto her until they can negotiate something with the royals. Don’t you four agree?” Halle’s gaze lands on me, and I can see the question in her eyes. She suspects something.

  “She’s far too valuable as the prince’s match, I’m sure they’ll be surrendered eventually.” Atlas’s tone is calm and bored, as if he’s discussing a squirrel finding a nut under a tree.

  Tate shrugs. “Depends on who’s got 'em, right? Those crazy butcher cabals wouldn’t take the risk of hanging onto them.”

  “True enough,” Atlas agrees, and on that depressing note, everyone lets the subject drop. But Peter’s message echoes through my mind.

  Impending

  Waiting sucks. Honestly, the kitchen sink is drippy, this house is too orange, the decorative obsession with pointy plants is asinine, and if the Resistance leadership don’t make up their minds and give us the go today, I’m going to lose my mind. I kick the ground harder, forcing the back porch swing to jerk in time to my mental tirade. I wrap my arms around my other knee, as I mope alone in the dead heat of the day. A single bird flies overhead, and I track its flight with my eyes.

  For the thousandth time in the last two days, since the gathering, I replay Peter’s message over and over in my brain. His face, his words. The fact that it’s a good sign he still seems to have his job after losing us, the worry my parents must be feeling, and how angry it all makes me that I’m still stuck under somebody else’s thumb, despite being in the supposed freest place on the entire continent.

  My foot slips with the next angry jab at the ground, and a puff of dust rises lazily into the air, making me sneeze. The sliding glass door opens slowly, and Patrick peeks his head out warily. Smart man.

  “Are you up for some company?” he asks before coming any further.

  With I sigh, I nod. “Yes, I’m just being childish. I’ll recover.”

  He chuckles at my admission, and shuts the door behind him softly on his way out, taking the seat next to me on the swing. His arm settles around my shoulders, and I lean into him a little. “That’s okay, we’re all childish at times. But why don’t you tell me what’s bothering you today, instead?”

  “Waiting. It’s the absolute worst. Zero out of ten—do not recommend.” I scrunch up my face in annoyance, and he chuckles again.

  “Fair enough. I think we’ll hear today, though. They’re cutting it close as it is.”

  I blow out a frustrated breath. “Good. They’ve taken their sweet time, knowing we’re stuck in limbo.”

  He takes over pushing the swing, and we smoothly glide forward and back, the rhythm much more soothing than my angry staccato jolts. I feel my tension begin to ease, and lean a smidge further into his side. “If they aren’t willing to help us, we’ll switch to plan B.”

  “We have a plan B?”

  “We will if they say no. And a plan C, and a plan XYZ, if that’s what it takes. Sometimes you just have to be the last dog holding the bone to get things done.”

  “Listen to you, sounding like a real country boy. My brothers are going to love it.” If we ever make it home again.

  The thought has tension knotting up my shoulders again, and Patrick reaches up a hand to knead one shoulder gently.

  “You’ve got magic hands. If this whole royalty thing doesn’t pan out, we’ll get you a job as a masseuse. Women would line up for miles to let you rub them.”

  He shakes his head. “I didn’t think you would be so eager to let me rub anybody but you. You’d better keep those thoughts to yourself around here. We don’t want any suitors lining up at the door for either of us.”

  “Amen.”

  We swing in amiable silence for a while. When the sliding glass door opens again, it’s Atlas who steps out, all business. “They made a decision. We’re on for tomorrow night. They approved the two of us, Glitch, Ajax, and two doctors to be the incursion team. They also sent some gear, if you want to come check it out.”

  “Hold up, what do you mean the two of you and Glitch? What about me and Nell?”

  Atlas looks surprised. “You don’t have any military or combat training. It seems a pretty logical choice to let you stay here where it’s safe.”

  “Right, because I’ve never felt safer than with Branch looming right outside the door all hours of the night.”

  Nell hollers over his shoulder, “She has a point—man is not trustworthy. Major creeper vibes. I mean, that mustache . . .”

  Atlas rolls his eyes to the heavens before looking at Patrick for backup. None is forthc
oming, “You married her, don’t look at me to save you now.”

  “That’s just cold, Patrick. We men are supposed to stick together.”

  Patrick grins from ear to ear but doesn’t say another word in defense.

  “Are you saying you actually want the two of them to come along? Because I find that hard to believe, given Sadie might be carrying your polymorphic heir right now. You’d be endangering her and the baby if there’s an issue with the breech.”

  Patrick grimaces at the reminder.

  I was wrong—not knowing is the absolute worst.

  “Sadie, what if you and Nell . . .” he starts.

  “Don’t even finish that sentence, Patrick. We stick together. We started this together, and we’re seeing it through. Together.”

  Nell joins us on the porch, cinnamon roll in hand, frosting on face. “Gee, Sadie, I think I hear a theme there. Do you want to go somewhere together? I’m not sure.”

  Atlas remains unmoved. “I get it, you want to help. We want you safe, and out of harm’s way. If something happens and we’re caught, at least you two are still free, and can make alternate plans.”

  “Uh, beg to differ. If you think Helena is going to let us waltz out of here past her merry band of meatheads without you, you’re dead wrong. We’ll have traded one cage for another, and this time without the two of you. And for better or worse, I’m pretty fond of you both.” I pause, thinking it over before giving Atlas my most menacing squint. “But if you keep trying to leave us here, I might change my mind about that.” He doesn’t quake in fear, much to my disappointment.

  “Patrick—all jokes aside—surely you see the wisdom in them staying here,” Atlas presses, tattooed biceps popping under his shirt in his annoyance.

  He looks at me, really looks at me. “Sadie, you know there’s a risk to both you and the baby if you come along, right? We don’t know how many guards will stay behind, or what kind of firepower they’ll have. They could be on high alert after we tampered with the facility in Mairmont, and we won’t know how effective the Resistance diversion was until we get there.”

  “I know.”

  “And you still want to do it, anyways? Both of you?” he asks, including Nell in the decision.

  She nods, and I hesitate before nodding as well.

  He turns back to Atlas. “Tell them we’re all five going, or none of us are going.”

  Atlas throws his hands up in exasperation. “What are you three thinking?”

  “If they don’t feel safer here than with us, I’m not forcing them to stay behind. If we lock Sadie up because she might be pregnant, we’re no better than the rest of the people we’re fighting against. She and Nell are adults, they can weigh the risks as well as we can.” His voice is firm, brooking no argument.

  Atlas shakes his head but doesn’t argue further. He glares at Nell for a moment, and then turns on his heel and strides back into the house. Nell looks unfazed, licking cream cheese frosting off her fingers.

  “You’re in trouble, girl. You better go talk to him.” I point after Atlas, but she holds up a finger. The front door slams.

  “I’ll wait until he comes back.” She heads back inside, and we’re once again alone on the swing.

  “You’re really okay with me coming along?” I turn to face him fully, needing to study his expression.

  He drops his arm from the back of the swing, and takes my hands in his, swiping his thumbs back and forth a few times before answering. “No, I’m not. But I’m not any more okay with you feeling unsafe staying behind. If I thought there was a guarantee that you’d be safe somewhere, I’d beg you to stay there. But the unfortunate reality of our situation is that we’re not surrounded by friends, so we have to decide. For what it’s worth, I’ll feel better keeping you by my side than apart, no matter where this life takes us.” He gives my hands a squeeze, before reaching up and sweeping a strand of hair off my neck and tucking it behind my ear. A shiver steals through me, like it does any time he’s touching me.

  “Is life ever going to get less complicated?” I ask, tracing his now-familiar face with my eyes, drinking him in. Straight nose, eyes deep enough to drown in, and high cheekbones. His tan has faded a touch since we met, but he’s still my bronzed god.

  One side of his mouth lifts in a wry grin. “Probably not, if we’re honest. Probably not.”

  “Why do you have to be so practical? Can’t you lie, and tell me what I want to hear some of the time?”

  Rather than answer, he leans in for a surprise kiss, making my pulse pound in my veins the instant our lips meet. Tipping my head back for better access, I melt into him like butter on a hot skillet. The sizzle between us is just the same, and I hope it never changes.

  ✽✽✽

  It turns out, checking tactical gear for three hours straight is incredibly boring. Atlas decides to punish us for disagreeing with him by boring us to death, so we can’t actually go on the op with them. I tried to sneak off twice to the kitchen, but both times he called me on it.

  Nell managed to fall asleep on the couch despite his incessant prodding, so he finally calls it a night. He stands from his spot at the end of the couch, and ever so gently leans down, and slides both arms under his sleeping wife. He lifts her to his chest as if she weighs nothing, and her head lolls against his shoulder, completely at peace. He starts towards their bedroom, but stops and turns back for a moment.

  “Sadie, there’s a package for you on the counter. Nell told Halle she needed a pregnancy test, and she had one stashed somewhere. Traded her the last of your cinnamon rolls for it. It should have directions in the bag, but you’re supposed to do it first thing in the morning. Try to sleep as late as you can, though. We’ve got a late night tomorrow.” Without another word, he turns and carries his sleeping wife to their bed.

  The soft click of their bedroom door may as well have been the shot from a starting pistol. I’m not going to sleep a wink tonight.

  Oxygen

  Ugh, why does the inside of my mouth taste so awful? Metal. It tastes like metal. It’s disgusting, is what it is. The thought is the first thing that hits me the next morning. The second, my urgent need to use the bathroom. With a groan and a lurch, I force myself upright. Taking a moment for my stomach to settle, I then shuffle as quickly as I can towards the bathroom across the cold tile floors.

  Patrick is already up and about, but I shut the bathroom door quietly, regardless. Even though I know Nell and Atlas are at the other end of the house, it still feels as if being too loud this early is rude, somehow. Turning, a knot forms in the pit of my stomach as I see the pregnancy test kit waiting on the back of the toilet. My urgent need to pee fizzles away as I stare at it, and I can feel my palms start to sweat, despite the cold.

  I take a deep breath, then another. A feeling is racing around inside my chest that I truly can’t identify. Am I hopeful? Full of dread? Do I want it to be positive, or negative? The thought strikes me, and it feels like an important question to get right—before I take the test—even in this rare moment of solitude.

  There’s no denying life would be easier right now, with all we have to do, if it were negative. We could carry on with our plans to change the institution, free the captive women, and heck, get to know each other a bit more before bringing another child into this world. Hopefully. I amend, because even in my own head, I’m well aware that a positive test doesn’t guarantee that all will be well.

  I let out a gusty breath, my chest tight with nerves. I’m not throwing up right now, which could very well mean I ate something bad, and had a stomach bug the last few days. I could be on the mend right now, and this was all a big hubbub about nothing. For some reason, that thought doesn’t lighten my mood in the slightest.

  There’s your answer, Sadie.

  No longer able to put it off unless I want to leave a puddle on the floor like an excitable puppy, I stop thinking about it and do the test. A few drips from a disposable dropper into the test receptacle, close it up, sh
ake, and then all the little dots along the test will color according to the strength or absence of the HCG. According to the instructions Nell relayed, it only takes thirty seconds to read, so by the time I’ve washed up, it’s ready.

  I can’t bear to look. It’s the most juvenile thing that I may have ever done, but without looking at it I clasp it in my palm, facing down. I give myself one last look of terror in the bathroom mirror, and then go out to find someone else to tell me if I’m pregnant or not. I poke my head out of our room, and find the living area empty.

  The telltale sounds and smells of coffee from the kitchen lead me there first. However, instead of Patrick, I find a bed-headed Atlas with a cup of coffee and a rumpled white t-shirt which I can see his tattoos through. Even freshly rolled out of bed, I still find him intimidating for some reason. He takes me in, and his eyes quickly land on my clenched fist.

  “Is that what I think it is?” he asks, voice unruffled, as always.

  My throat is tight, so I nod rather than give away my nerves.

  “What’s the verdict?” He raises one eyebrow in question, and I quickly shrug one shoulder. Just a quick, jerky up and down. That’s all I can do. I can’t look. I’m going to puke. No, faint. No, definitely puke.

  My expression must say it all because he seems to grasp my dilemma. He sets down the cup of coffee, and his expression softens. “Ahh, I see. Would you like me to look?”

  His gentle tone takes me by surprise, and I remain frozen in indecision for a single moment before I jab my hand out at him. He takes the test from me, but surprises me when he doesn’t look immediately. Instead, he walks around to a bar stool at the counter and pulls it out for me. I gratefully sit down on the pineapple-covered seat, and bite my lip as I stare expectantly at him.

  “One minute,” he says, and walks to the sliding glass door to the back yard. The door scrapes along the track, and he calls Patrick.

  He must have been exercising in the backyard. I should have thought to check there. This is so far from Atlas’s job. What is wrong with me? I’m about to stand when a familiar arm slides around my shoulders, and all the tension drains out of me with that single touch.